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"Literally, fuck the Ministry."
Blythe gives Cress a scathing glare, one that Cress tries not to wither under. Her mother is known for making grown men weep with that stare, and Cress has received it all of twice in her life. It is always followed by raging lectures that will tear down a person's will to live. Cress intelligently steers clear of it. She doesn't take back her statement, though, because fuck the Ministry. Fuck them and their mistrust in Harry; fuck them and their stupid pompous rules; fuck them and the hearing they want Cress to attend — one to see if she can go back to Hogwarts.
Fuck the Ministry.
"Crescent, please," Blythe says, and there is a furrow in her eyebrow. Cress bites her lip. That only happens when Blythe is on the verge of a meltdown.
"I just don't see why I need to go. It's not like they're going to let me go back to school. I'm a Vacua, Mum," Cress retorts weakly. She stares at the parchment in her hand, the official letter that the Ministry somehow got to her despite the fact that she was hidden in headquarters that no one could find unless they knew where it was.
It stares back at her, and the black of the ink is mocking her very rudely, calling her names as it announces the very thing that she knew was coming. Her trial.
Ugh. Cress throws herself into the pillows and wants the world to swallow her whole. Her tears are fresh, and they burn her nose. Her nostrils flare in an attempt to keep them at bay. She coughs, and Blythe rubs her back.
"Mum, I don't want to go," she cries like a child being forced to go to the doctor's.
But that's what it feels like — a doctor's appointment. Somewhere where Cress is a spectacle and the disease she has is nothing like anyone has ever seen so everyone needs to get a glimpse of it — to see the girl who lost her magic because of her fucking brother. She'll be like an animal in the Muggle world, behind glass where no one can touch because they're too scared to get close to the beast in fear that they will end up with the same fate as the prey.
In this case, the spectators won't get too close in fear of losing their magic.
Wimps, the voice in her head sneers. For once, Cress agrees. She almost wishes she could suck the magic out of them, just because of their fear. Succubi do that right? That's what Hamlin told her, back in third year when he claimed a Slytherin of being one. Cress would most definitely be one, if she could. Probably a rocking one. At least she'd have her magic.
Blythe rubs her back. The room is hot from lack of circulation, and Cress is due to leave and help the other adolescents beat the dirt out of the house while the adults talk about "grown-up things." Ugh, Cress hates that they treat them like they're six-years-old or younger. Just say that you're plotting to overthrow You-Know-Who next time, Sirius Black. It'll be so much simpler since they've already decoded it.
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𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎. fred weasley
FanfictionSTOLEN DANCE ❝Oi- Little Diggory, if you wanna ask me to the Ball you should probably do so, like yesterday. As you can tell, ladies are lining up just to get a chance to ask me.❞ ❝Literally no one has asked you to the dance, F...