Kapitel 3: Wicked Lies
𝑶𝒄𝒕𝒐𝒃𝒆𝒓 17, 1995
𝑹𝒐𝒔𝒆
Amelia couldn't possibly have said that. Harry isn't actually here. But he was, he walked in and my world exploded. Emotions hurled themselves in every direction of my body, especially my heart. I couldn't contain my tears.
He was gone not even two months and I missed him so much. So much that I cry because of what I've been through since he left.
It was never like this, it never got 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 bad. But I don't care, I never cared. They can keep beating me up and I'll still survive because I have to. I need to—for him. He's my only reason to be here, because what if I stop fighting? Then who will he have?
We're orphans, we only have each other in this cruel world.
"Rose," I had never heard my name said with such concern and anxiety. "Bloody hell, what happened?! Why—what-"
I yank him into a hug and stop his rambling. He couldn't even speak, and even less now that his face is on my shoulder. I hold onto Harry tight and control my emotions, I only sniffle to try and show him I'm alright.
I push back to look him in the eye, his worried face making me talk faster. "I'm okay, I was strong like I promised."
He made a weird face for a second, almost like confusion then something switched like a light. He remembered and smiled, nodding to what I said now. I mirrored the expression of confusion he did.
Harry held my hands. "You did promise, and you did well. But you know it's okay to not be strong all the time, right?"
"Of course, I know." 𝐵𝑒𝑐𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝐼'𝑚 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑛𝑔, 𝑖𝑡'𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑎 𝑙𝑖𝑒．
When he made me tell him everything that happened, he couldn't stop balling his hands into fists. I had never seen Harry look so angry and especially when I told him a boy hit me. And he said a name, said something that switched something in my brain.
It was that familiarity again. Deja vu. But I knew never in my life had I heard that name. It almost made me think I'm crazy.
"Tch—they're worse than Malfoy, who would've thought someone could be worse than ℎ𝑖𝑚?"
I catch his hand. "Who?"
He shook his head and then waves a hand as if dismissing the matter and I frown. Suddenly he wanted everyone out of the room so I can rest, but he stayed by my side as they left. Benjamin gave one last glance at the door and I held eye contact, the electricity frying my brain.
And he smiled, some sort of gesture saying he'll come back. It made my heart skip a beat, it probably skipped many beats. I smiled back before he was gone.
That interaction makes me think back on all the commotion that has happened. It seems impossible it would end with me in this clinic and 𝑠𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 at the class president. It seems unreal again. Getting beat to a pulp was the first but not the last. I knew that the safe bubble I'm in when Harry comes home won't last. It stays as long as he does.
I don't want it to burst, I want him to stay. But for some reason, these two days with Benjamin have been my safe bubble. It's weak but it's there, and the smallest inconvenience will pop it.
I won't let that happen.
When I look at Harry, having been stuck in my brain again, he's asleep. He's in danger of falling off the chair he pulled over to the bed. I smile, and the thought of pushing him off corrupted my brain. I almost did it—but I don't.
Harry looks so peaceful and it almost made me sad. I missed watching him sleep beside me.
But I stare too long and become jealous of his cheeks because he has no freckles and I do. I'm made fun of them so I hate them. I hate everything about myself because 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 do.
The windows looking out to the street caught my attention suddenly. I saw something black flutter, like a coat. Or a robe. But I feel like my eyes tricked me into seeing that vibrant and odd hair I can't keep out of my mind.
I saw him hours ago, the sun is almost gone and the clouds covered our world. It made it darker outside, and it made his hair stand out so much more.
But clearly, it's impossible, he left me there to fend for myself so he wouldn't be here, right?
My traitorous legs defy me, I get up from the bed and it squeaks, making me freeze. But I keep going, slower now and stealing Harry's jumper. It's bigger and thick, making me feel warm on this October day.
As I pass the door where the others left, I take a peek through the crack and almost feel guilty. I look back at Harry and feel even more guilty. This feels like more than it should, almost as if I'd sneaked around like this for ℎ𝑖𝑚.
The stranger.
In the back of my mind, a hole lingered. I've always been confused but got used to it, and lived with it. But it almost throbs, my head, as if it works to try and fill the hole.
I keep walking and leave the clinic then make a right, following the patch of blond hair and robe I thought I saw. The only route this takes you is the back of the clinic, nothing is there.
As I passed the last window I stop and notice how fucking terrible I look. It's not me. My bruises look excruciating and my freckles are blended with red spots. My scar isn't visible because of cuts and bruises. All my insecurities are covered with pain.
It made me feel—invisible.
But I keep looking, too determined to even leave before finding a shred of evidence. I need something to tell me I'm not crazy, to tell me my eyes didn't deceive me. Maybe I had been thinking of him too much and thought I saw him. I hit my head, I think I'm still seeing things.
I turn around, almost angry because my stupid brain is stupid. But I bump into something, and I still because I realize it's 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑒. I look up, silver eyes I didn't have a chance to see staring down at me.
I back up quickly, almost like a skittish animal and I hold the jumper closer to my body.
"You," I whispered.
He looks void, no 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙 emotion showing besides annoyance. "Took you long enough,"
I tilt my head with confusion. I'm not crazy? Was seeing a glimpse of him a signal to follow?
When the stranger saw my confusion, it seemed it amused him since a smile tugged at his lips. The bastard wanted to smile, and yet he didn't. He saw the annoyance I felt, it made it all the more entertaining for him.
"And why am I here?"
He narrowed his eyes. "No matter how incompetent you are to be in my presence you're a witch. And I need to make sure you tell no one," He stepped closer and I shrunk, intimidation at its best. "And I mean 𝑛𝑜 𝑜𝑛𝑒 of what happened. Understand, freckles?"
I turn bright red. I thought the red spots would cover them, I thought he wouldn't notice and be given the chance to make fun of me. But then my mind rewinds to what he called me.
"I'm sorry, did you just say witch?"
He looks stupefied for a second and then raises a brow with a newfound expression of neutrality. He almost scoffed. "Don't play dumb, you saw the Dementor."
I take a step forward. "Listen you arse," He didn't flinch at my insult. "I don't get what game you're playing here but I want no part of it. Now sod off."
I make a run for it but didn't make it far. I really just wanted to get away from the confusion and cold, I hate it. This conversation reminds me of what happened in the tunnels. The fear took control once again like always and drove my feet to move.
I can't be here anymore.
But my luck ran out years ago. He stops me, the grip of his hand around my arm has me trying to pull away but he yanks me toward him. The force almost caused our chests to collide. And I almost choked on air.
My gasp didn't come out properly since my body kept reacting. It didn't know what to do, 𝐼 don't know what to do. This has never—I've never-
"Freckles," he said, and for the first time, I don't hate the nickname I'd been given. The fact he doesn't say it with disgust like them makes it all the better. And the stranger seems to study me, look at all the lines on my face and I become self-conscious of the bruises.
"What?" I snap, and all he does is scowl.
His brows furrowed, then suddenly he leaned closer, making my eyes widen. "You really don't know?"
I don't dare move. I don't because I could feel his breath on my face. It tells me he's too close, too fucking close for my liking. And the fact I can smell ℎ𝑖𝑚, God, I can breathe him in any day because it's so good.
Liking how cologne smelled was my weakness, it's just too good. And now this arsehole seems to win above all the others.
"I don't know what?" I asked angrily. This guessing game he's been doing is pissing me off.
He stepped back, the closeness a bore to him now and I could finally breathe. My lungs were no longer aching, but the weird thing is that the ache continues even as he was away.
But as he stayed silent I grew restless. I itched to grab him by the collar and yank and fucking yell. I just need to know. Because my life these past few days has felt like years and I can't help but think I'm being lied to by many people like this stranger—but for some reason the one who surpasses them is Harry.
"You don't know you're a witch."
My brows pinch together. "You're fucking with me again. Stop."
The smirk that formed on him made my insides twist in a torturous way—but in a good way. "Hmm, most tell me to go harder but for 𝑦𝑜𝑢, I'll stop."
I feel like I've been turning red from embarrassment too much. But I can't help the blush covering my face and my ears growing hot, suddenly everything pulsed loudly and I couldn't hear.
Everything this stranger has said is bullshit and I'm so done with him. Done with 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔.
I shove him away, something that wasn't necessary but very deserved, and turn to get the hell away from this sick fuck. But once again I'm stopped and this time he doesn't make me face him.
My back falls to his chest, fitting like a jigsaw puzzle, and I couldn't breathe. He held me down by his forearm against my neck and fear spiked.
I had never been treated like this, not like the bullies because touching me was disgusting they said. They tried to avoid it unless it was to hold me down so they can beat me up. But with him, it felt different.
I'm still scared for my fucking life but a different feeling occurred. And I don't know what it is; I'd never felt it.
My chest rises and falls quickly, then his breath suddenly caressed my cheek. "I wouldn't be surprised if you're a filthy mudblood, a fucking nobody for all I care. So forget about this, forget you have magic before you even knew about it. Because if I somehow see you again, just know I'll make your life hell."
He shoved me away and not like how I did. Ha, no, he fucking pushed me until I collide with the brick wall and I grunt from the impact.
When I look back he's gone.
❀𓆙❀
Harry is still asleep when I get back to the clinic. The interaction with the stranger is still fresh in my mind and I replay it over and over.
𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑟𝑒 𝑎 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝑐ℎ, he had said. I scoff to myself. It's so ridiculous. Those things only exist because of books or films, it's formed from people's imaginations for the pleasure of others. It makes you happy and confused by all the magic you see on film.
But that's all it is—fake. An imagination that made it on the big screen.
So why is this attractive stranger saying this rubbish? Why am I staring at Harry and 𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑢𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 contemplating on asking? I want to laugh at how absurd this is.
Getting on the bed roused him and the sewing from his sleeve marked his cheek. It was red and his lips were swollen, and if I weren't mad I'd think he looked cute. Either way, I get comfortable, sit crisscross and stare at him. He looks surprised to have been watched the second he woke.
"Rose?"
I'm so going to regret this. "Do witches and wizards exist?" I asked.
He fucking 𝑝𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑑 at my question, it was as if I asked the most impossible mathematics question. I obviously didn't, it's simple and I should have a simple answer. I begin to worry because he's supposed to say no. Why is he hesitating?
𝑆𝑎𝑦 𝑛𝑜. 𝐷𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑙𝑒𝑡 ℎ𝑖𝑚 𝑏𝑒 𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡. 𝑆𝑎𝑦. 𝑁𝑜.
My brows furrow and I force my voice to be hard, I don't falter. "Harry? Yes or no?" God, please don't let it be yes.
He smiled, his worry gone, and then he chuckles. "Were you dropped on your head? Stop being silly and rest, Lily."
I froze at the name. I hate it when he addresses me by my middle name. It brings too many painful memories. But I remember the matter at hand and the anger from my name sparked it to grow when he evaded my question.
"That's not an answer, 𝐽𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑠."
He scoffs and it made my unease grow, my curiosity grew and everything made no fucking sense. Why can't he just tell me no?
He started to walk away but I laugh as I followed. "Oh hell no," I said grabbing his arm and making him face me. "You're going to bloody tell me what the fuck is going on."
He narrowed his eyes. "Don't use improper language Rose."
I saw red. "Fuck that! It's a simple answer, Harry, yes or no?"
He remained silent and that was when my patience went past its limit. I couldn't comprehend why everything was spinning, going miles per hour but my mind didn't stop working. The hole kept trying to fill and it made my head throb.
My heart ached, something was telling me something. When this happened and I didn't know what to do, when the pain was unbearable and my scar hurt—I went to the Leaky Cauldron.
I looked around that alley for more than I should've. Because something told me to search there but I'm a coward and never entered, I never got close enough for my discomfort. And after a while, after people looked at me like I'm more than a maniac, I asked about that pub.
They looked at me as if I was crazy, but I thought I was too when they fucking told me it didn't exist. What did they mean by that? I saw the building with my own eyes, how can they say it wasn't there?
I shove myself out of my mind and look at Harry, he noticed I became lost in thought.
"Why does that happen to me?" I asked. "Why do I go into my own world and become lost in thought? Why does my scar hurt weekly and this hole in my bloody mind and chest won't go away? Why can I do weird...things?" I pause. "Why did I see a Dementor?"
He didn't bother to explain, he didn't hide his expression that I couldn't decipher. Sadness? Worry? Surprise? It didn't matter, he blurted what I didn't want to hear.
"Yes,"
Wöchentlicher Energiestatus
-- Power-
Rangliste 
-- Power-
Stein