Oh, Ophelia | Tom Riddle

Nothing Really Matters

It didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

"There's always a way out." Whispered Grindelwald as she passed his cell to the side of the court room on her way out.

She didn't feel anything. She just felt numb. Ophelia wanted to do nothing for the rest of her life, she didn't want. She didn't deserve anything. The world was a blur, and her heart was dully thudding in her chest reminding her of the curse that her life was. As soon as she exited the court room her face fell, her eyes closed and she felt far too aware of her breathing,

"I just want to know how you did it you, bitch," said Timothy Spencer-Moon, catching Ophelia's wrist as she exited the courtroom, and forcing her against the wall,

Her face was completely blank, and her honey like eyes had changed into a cold gold stare like frost had covered her soul, she didn't even flinch when she was shoved up against a stone wall roughly,

"You get my brother killed, steal my family's money, and lie to all of us and now you just get to walk away with a slap on the wrist?" Said the younger Spencer-Moon, and Ophelia met his eyes blankly,

"It wasn't my choice." She said, and he pushed his arm against her throat choking her,

"Why shouldn't I kill you right now?" He asked, clearly angry and tears begun to form in Ophelia's eyes as she tried to draw in a breath, "Give me a reason not to. You, you-"

"Do it." She whispered, and the two words shocked him enough that he stumbled away from her, and her lawyer, one Billy Requin Flynn pushed him away from her,

"Miss Marigold are you alright?" Asked Mister Flynn and Ophelia nodded as she gasped quietly for air, not wanting to trouble him, "I would appreciate it if people didn't keep trying to kill my clients right after I've gotten them off,"

"I hate her," said Timothy, as Ophelia was guided away by Mister Flynn, and they stopped by a set of magically made windows,

"Aren't you happy, Ophelia?" He asked, and she looked out the window, "You're free,"

The jurors were walking by, wishing her well, and then the judge and the prosecutor passed looking at her, and Ophelia wanted to vomit, her stomach turned over and the feeling of complete and utter shame gripped her,

"I'm not free," muttered Ophelia, buttoning the top buttons of her shirt,

"I'm a lawyer, not a therapist, sweetheart," said Mister Flynn, "You have been my favourite client so far, but then I say that to everyone,"

"I'm sure."

"I wish this trial could have been publicized, oh the press you would get, the fallen angel," said Billy Flynn, grinning and gesturing, even lifting up her chin, but Ophelia had spaced out completely, her vision blurring as she payed little mind to the lawyer's words because,

It didn't matter.

It didn't matter who he was, or what he thought, or if she was supposedly free, or that she'd gotten off with nothing more than a slap on the wrist and three months of probation since she'd gotten them to throw out any and all testimony against her, because she'd, shed- it didn't matter,

Because it couldn't matter.

"Anyways, best of luck Miss Marigold, and here is my card if you change your mind about getting your story published,"

"I thought you were a lawyer, not a writer,"

"I worship money, Miss Marigold. Have a nice life,"