10. ⚠️domestic violence⚠️

»Harry, look, she's moving.«

My voice is soft, almost a whisper, as I stare through the thick glass at the snake. Her eyes sparkle in the darkness and for a moment I imagine that she looks directly at me.

Next to me, Harry also presses himself against the glass, our glasses almost slip off our noses.

»What if she comes out?« I ask, my words half carried by curiosity, half by concern.

Harry grins. »I bet she doesn't like Dudley.«

Dudley, who tramples around like an elephant in front of us, gives us little attention, too busy pressing his greasy fingers against the glass.

The snake doesn't move. Not immediately. But then it happens. A crack. A clanking. And suddenly the glass pane is gone.

»MUM! DAD!« Dudley shouts as he plunges into the water basin.

His face is distorted with fear, and me? I laugh. Just briefly. The snake escapes and hissed us a quick thank you.

It's an honest, thoughtless laugh that escapes me, but it's enough to make me feel guilty right away.

»Sarah, stop,« Harry mutters nervously, but he also holds back a laugh.

The scene runs in chaos. Screams. Steps. And then that moment of silence.

The silence that haunts me.

Uncle Vernon doesn't say a word as he leads us out of the zoo. Not a single word on the way home. But I feel his anger build up, like a storm ready to break out.

»You ruined the day!« He finally screams as we close the front door behind us.

»It was an accident,« I say, without thinking. My voice is thin, almost suffocated, but the words escape anyway.

His gaze meets me, and my stomach tightens. »What did you say?« He asks quietly, far too quietly.

»It wasn't Harry's fault! It was an accident!« I repeat, this time louder.

The slap hits me before I see it coming. My cheek burns, and the world blurs for a moment. I stumble back, feel Harry grab my arm to support me. My glasses fly to the ground, a glass breaks. Harry hastily picks them up.

»Don't speak to me like that, you little brat!« Uncle Vernon's voice is like thunder and I feel so small. So tiny.

»I'm sorry,« I mutter, but Vernon just snorts.

»Sorry? You'll be sorry!« Uncle Vernon screams.

Uncle Vernon grabs Harry by the collar and drags him to the stairwell. »And if I hear another sound from you, it's your turn!«

I can taste the taste of salt on my lips, and it takes a moment before I realize that I am crying. I want to follow Harry, but Uncle Vernon suddenly turns to me. »But you...no, you're coming with me. I'll show you the respect, brat!«

My breath falters as he grabbed my arm and drags me up the stairs. »Aunt Petunia!« I scream desperately. But she's just in the kitchen. Turns her back to us. She says nothing. She doesn't save me. Mommy's sister.

He pulls me into Dudley's second bedroom and slams the door behind. My legs are shaking, too frightened to defend myself. The tears flowing.

»You dare to talk back to my face?!« His voice is a growl and before I can justify myself, a slap hits me again.

I cry out, but there is no one who hears me.

He hits me again. And again. And again. And again. Only harder. Until my face is numb. »You're just as worthless as your useless brother! Just as worthless as your mother was!« He hisses. And I want to say something, but I know it won't help. It only gets worse for me.

An iron-like taste in my mouth. Blood. My lip is bleeding. The salty and iron-like taste mixing with my saliva.

His fist finds its way into my hair, drags me back so that I have to look into his eyes. He pulls harder.

»You will learn to behave!« He says and pushes me roughly to the floor. My head hits the hard ground. Headaches occurred immediately.

My tears ran down my cheeks. I fluttered. I cry so much with fear and... pain?

Finally he pulled me behind him again, down to the stairwell. When he pushes me in, Harry caught me directly. I heard the castle.

I sink to the ground and Harry put his arms tightly around me. I cry like a child, what I just am.

I'm just a kid. I miss Mom and Dad, who I never met. But I know that their love is much greater than my uncle and aunt's love could ever be.

Harry, hold me tight. He takes an old piece of cloth and holds it to my lip. His other hand gently stroked my - probably swollen - cheeks.

»It will get better, I promise. I promise you, Sarah. I will kill him one day!« He says quietly, almost as if he wanted to convince himself.

I nod, but I know I don't believe him. Not really.

𓆗

I wake up abruptly. My breathing is heavy, as if I have a marathon behind me. My heart races so fast that I can hear the pounding in my ears.

Sweat is sticking to my forehead, my pajamas are damp and my hands are shaking as I run them through my disheveled hair.

It is dark, only the faint moonlight falls through the curtains and dips the room into a pale gray. I feel like someone has pushed me into an ice bath, even though my body is hot as fire.

The nightmare still hang on me like a second skin that I can't shake off.

It is more than a dream - it is a retrospective, an ugly fragment from the past that I have been trying to bury for years.

I feel the dull pain in my cheek, even though I know it was just a memory.

My uncle's voice still echoes in my mind, every word like a shard digging deep into my soul.

"Disrespectful, ungrateful... I teach you manners!"

My stomach tightens when I think of how he had grabbed me and dragged me up the stairs. And it wasn't a one time thing

My hands clenches into fists and I shake my head unconsciously as if I want to push the memory away. But it is there, still present, like a shadow that never disappears.

Why now? Why did I have to think about it now?

I'm here at Hogwarts.

Away from them.

Far away from him.

But even the thickest walls of this castle cannot protect me from what rests within me.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm down, but the tightness in my chest doesn't let go.

The darkness of the room is oppressive, almost suffocating, and I feel tears running down my cheeks before I even notice it.

Weak, a voice whispers in me.

You're weak, Sarah. They won.

I close my eyes, press my face into my trembling hands. "No," I mutter softly, barely audible. "You didn't win." But why did it feel like they did?

It was as if something is breaking in me, as if all the walls I have built to protect myself are slowly cracking.

I want to scream, want to do something to get rid of this pain but instead I just sit there, frozen in my own weakness.

I think of Pansy who was lying only a bed away, probably sleeping soundly and carefree. How easy it seems to be normal, to be free from all the demons that haunts me at night.

I can wake her up, I can turn to her, but I don't want her to see me like that.

Broken. Small.

Instead, I pull my knees to my chest, clutching them like a child hiding from monsters. My fingers clawing into the fabric of my pajamas as I force myself to breathe evenly.

In. Out. In. Out.

The nightmare will pass.

The memories will fade.

At least that's what I tell myself.

But deep down, I know it isn't that easy.

Some things don't disappear. They become a part of you, sticking to your insides like poison that flows slowly through your veins.

"It's over," I whisper to myself, but the words feel hollow.

They give me no consolation.

The moonlight now falls directly on my bed, as if to remind me that the night will eventually pass. I sigh and close my eyes.

Fuck you all, especially you, universe.

For the life you gave me, which is so damned.

𓆗

I had told Pansy in the morning that I'm not hungry when she suggested going to breakfast together. It is Sunday, I had an extremely uncomfortable nightmare. I am done. And now also staring at all the food? Nope. Ain't. No. Way.

She had sharply patterned me, for a moment. Her eyes searched for a discord, as if she expected more from me than just this answer. But finally she shrugged her shoulders as if she was convincing herself that there was nothing she had to worry about. She told me to call her if there was anything, and she left the room, but I could still feel the wary in her eyes.

When the door behind her falls into the lock, I take a deep breath. Finally alone. I have no desire for company, no desire to explain why I feel so empty, why every thought is heavier than the last.

I just want some time for myself – to breathe, so as not to lose myself.

I slip out of my pajamas, let it fall carelessly to the floor and turn on the shower. I take off my glasses. The hot water splashes down on me, enveloping me as if it can wash all the dirt from my thoughts and my soul.

The heat pulls into my muscles, releases the tension that has accumulated in me, and for a moment I feel almost like a normal person.

Oh by Salazar's beard, it feels heavenly.

I close my eyes, let myself fall, enjoy the moment of silence and being alone. But then I hear it.

A soft knocking, little more than a hammering in the background of the shower. At first I think it was the aftereffect of the noises from the shower, a hall that moves through the room, but then it comes back.

It is clear and unambiguous. A knock on the door.

Who the hell is knocking while I'm standing here in the shower?

I pause, the water is still warm and soothing, but the peace is now disturbed. I listen, but the knock doesn't stop. My brow furrows as I think.

Who knows I am here? Who was at my door now? Aren't they all at the breakfast?

Maybe it is Pansy. Maybe she wants to ask if everything is okay. But why not just come in? I pull off the water, the splashes falls silent, and I listen. Nothing.

Knocking again. This time clearly.

With an annoyed sigh, I wrap a towel tight around my body and go to the door.

What did they want from me?

Call me paranoid or something, but I can feel it in my guts that something is off.

I open the door just a tiny gap, just enough to look outside. But there is no one. Only the empty hallway. The feeling of emptiness in my stomach grows.

Then I notice it. A folded sheet of paper is lying on the floor, in the middle of the door frame, as if it has been deliberately placed there.

Again?

A sharp breath escapes me as I pick up the folded piece.

What is it?

I stare at the paper and shake my head. Maybe it is better to just not think.

But it is too late. An unpleasant feeling creeps into my chest as I stare at the folded sheet and go back to my room.

I wonder if it is another drawing. Is someone really in love with me? Like Pansy had said...?

I slowly sit down on my bed, the paper in my hands trembling.

The air in the room is stuffy, and the room suddenly feels much too small.

I slowly unfold it.

The drawing is different this time.

She is dark and painfully real.

It is a drawing of me again, but not the Sarah I want to see in the mirrors. This version of me is... desperate.

I can see myself hanging on the toilet, my body sinking, as if every single force is escaping from me.

My hand is resting on the edge of the toilet, and my knees are shaking almost under my own weight.

My face is pale, my eyes are flooded with tears and sweat, the lines of my face are tangled in a grotesque expression of despair.

It is a side of me that I have been trying to hide for so long.

The drawing is frighteningly precise, as if the artist is banishing my innermost trauma on paper.

Each stroke is like a knife that cut into the deep wound.

I can feel the tremor that goes through the drawing.

I feel empty and yet at the same time flooded by this terrible truth.

This person has known something about me that can not be put into words. Something that only I and maybe Riddle could understand.

And here it is, unpacked, like a cruel mirror of myself.

I lower the paper, but my eyes linger on the writing underneath. The words burn into my head, as if they has been pricked with a glowing needle:

"You're nothing but your parents, Sarah. Just as pathetic, just as weak. You will never be anything more than the waste they left behind. They didn't love you, and no one will. You are destined to perise."

It is the same font as in the first drawing. A little bit different though.

The words are like poison. A vicious accusation against me that shakes everything in me.

It is as if someone knows my deepest secret. I am so angry to read something like that about my parents who sacrificed themselves for me and my brother.

I am never enough for anyone. And those words – these damn words – make it clear that I would never be enough.

I feel my throat tighten, the feeling of powerlessness falling over me, and I fight against the rising feeling that takes my breath away. But I don't faint.

How can anyone know? How could this someone drill so precisely into my innermost fears and pains?

Why does he draw me so beautifully in the first drawing and now so perverted. So disgusting and horrifying.

I hold the drawing in my hands, but the words and the picture has long overwhelmed me. The darkness they radiate was more than I can stand.

Until I can think of something.

Angry, I feel the warmth in my body rising, my heart beating faster and faster.

How could he?!

Fucking. Bastard. Lord have mercy with him, because I will kill him.

I turn around, walk frantically to the dresser, hastily put on my clothes while trying to get the picture out of my head. I put on my glasses quickly.

But it doesn't work. It haunts me.

The picture. The words underneath.

"Just like your parents..."

My breathing is getting shallower. That can't be true. I close my eyes briefly to collect myself, but the thought remains.

Who the hell would do that?

Who would do that if not someone close enough to know everything about me?

And I know that only one is: Riddle.

I reach for my wand, which is always near me, as if it would give me some support.

My hair is still wet, dripping on my neck, but I don't care about it.

I have to...

I just have to do something now.

I feel the anger growing in me.

How could he do that?

I run to the door without wasting another thought. I will not allow what he has done.

No fucking chance.

I storm out of my dorm, my heart pounding loudly in my chest. Anger boils up in me, so hot that I can hardly breathe.

Tears run down my face, but it's the anger that drives me, not the grief.

The wand in my hand feels heavy and cold as I stand in front of Mattheo's door.

Without hesitation, I swing my wand and mutter the spell to open the door. The door pops up loudly, and I storm into the room without losing a moment.

»What the hell?!« Mattheo jumps up in surprise, his eyes widening when he sees me. For a moment I see the expression of surprise on his face, but it only takes a fraction of a second before he regains his composure.

»What do you think you're doing here?« I scream, my whole body trembling with adrenaline.

I throw the crumpled drawing at him, floating in the air until it finally lands on his bed. He looks at her and as he holds her in his hands and unfolds her, his eyes widen for a brief moment.

But his reaction is only for a fraction of a moment. It feels like everything in me is exploding.

»What did you do?!« I scream, the words come so fast that I can hardly grasp them. »What the hell is that? How can you?! How can you detest a person so abysmally that you resort to such means, you disgusting bastard!«

The tears continue to run down my face and I raise the wand and point it at him.

It almost feels like a matter of course that he is now feeling the consequences. »You dirty bastard!" I roar, my voice almost overturning. »How could you?! You goddamn scumbag!«

Something changes in his eyes. A tiny spark but I see it.

A look that I can't quite interpret, yet I feel that it's not just trouble he brings to me.

He puts on a dirty grin, as if he's making fun of me. »I told you I would destroy you,« he says with a cruel smile, his voice calm and threatening. »Slowly and painfully I will show you that you are as filthy and lost as all of us, Potter.«

My heart tightens, and my anger explodes.

I blink, the tears continue to run, but in my head the thoughts are racing. I can't think anymore, it's like my body is moving itself. »You're just like your fucking father, just as disgusting! You know what? Rot in hell you and the entire Riddle genealogy!« I push out. It comes out of me without me really thinking about it.

My words hang in the air. Something changes in his expression, but I can't interpret it exactly.

It's like he's suddenly in another dimension, and for a moment I don't know what he's thinking or feeling.

I feel his grip on my arms before I can even react.

The air becomes scarce when he grabs me and throws me against the wall with such force that the air is squeezed out of my lungs.

My wand drops out of my hand and I hear the clinking of my glasses hitting the ground hard.

I blink, my head turns by the impact of my back against the hard stone wall and the pain shoots through my temples.

Just before my head can slam into the wall, I feel Mattheo's hand shoot behind the back of my head, his fingers locking into place.

His knuckles hit the stone, stopping the impact, preventing my head from colliding with the hard surface. The air between us freezes for a moment, the sound of the blow echoing in the silence.

I feel the pressure of his hand, the proximity between us almost electric, and the tension hanging in the air is palpable.

The pain is there though, but somehow it's not what affects me the most.

It's his eyes that are now focused on me.

His dark brown eyes, filled with a strange mixture of anger and... something else.

My heart beats faster, and I can do nothing but stare at him.

»You're a fucking bastard,« I hiss, my lips trembling as I try to hold myself, but the tears continue to run. »You're the last person who deserved to set foot in this world.«

He doesn't say anything.

Instead, he moves closer, and in an almost casual movement he snaps his fingers.

My glasses, which are on the floor, seem to be floating in the air and suddenly end up back in his hand.

How does he do that? With no wand...?

I just stare, unable to move because his whole body is pressed against mine while he puts the glasses on my nose. He adjusts it.

»Oculus Reparo,« he murmurs, the spell flowing almost casually from his lips. My glasses fixed themselves.

I swallow, the pain in my neck still there when he looks at me, the words come calmly over his lips, but with a sharp undertone. »Just for the record, you goddamn bitch. I didn't draw that. But whoever drew that deserves a goddamn cup that I would make for him with my own hands.«

I don't know what strikes me more: the cruel grin on his face or the way he's controlling the situation right now, how he leaves me standing here, exposed with tears, trembling lips and all my weaknesses.

I can't believe it.

How could I feel so weak again? I hate it.

Again near him and again this relief, this weakness in me, which overwems me.

My thoughts are racing.

Why couldn't I help it? Why did I have to give him this power over me? He's an ass, a bastard who only uses myself to hurt me - and yet, he has that control again.

And yet – inside me, the memory of Pansy's words flickers.

"Kiss him. You can control him so much more than you think. Get the power back."

A strange but fascinating feeling spreads in me.

The idea of showing him that I'm not just a toy in his hands. That I can take the control.

I take a deep breath.

Damn it.

I want that.

I want him.

Not in that way.

I can't allow him to control me like that.

With an abrupt decision, I pull him closer to me. The decision is made, and I can't go back.

Our lips meet, rough, demanding, without regard for what stands between us.

He returns the kiss immediately, as if he had been waiting, as if he was losing himself at this moment as much as I did.

I feel his hands press me tighter against him, how he pushes me against the wall, as if he is the one in control.

His knee pushes between my legs, and the kiss becomes more intense, hotter.

I can feel him entering my mouth, with this wild, untamed strength.

One of his hands runs into my hair, grabs it with a fist, while the other holds on to my waist, pressing me even closer to him and even more against the wall.

But then - as if something had broken in him, he suddenly becomes softer. The hand that was in my hair gently moves to my cheek. His fingers caress tenderly over it, and a strange tingling spreads through my stomach.

For a moment I feel lost in this moment.

In this kiss.

It's like fireworks are exploding in me, but at the same time I feel this anger and shame because I allow it.

I can't take it any longer. Everything in me screams that I have to regain control.

I turn the tables. Suddenly it's me who presses him against the wall.

I feel strong, I feel powerful, while he leans against me.

And then – without warning – I tear myself away from him.

All of a sudden, just as Pansy advised me.

He remains confused and surprised as I distance myself from him. It's like the air between us remains electrically charged while I reach for my wand lying on the floor.

He was breathing heavily from the kiss.

I quickly pick up my wand, take it in my hand and point it directly at his neck. A slight grin on his lips as he breathed heavily.

Fuck this bastard.

»Expelliarmus,« I murmur and the spell shoots out of my wand. But it's fast. He dodges the attack with ease, as if he had been waiting for it.

The spell hits him only slightly and he staggers a little against his desk, but then stops and then leans against it.

I see it in his eyes, that smoldering, arrogant sparkle. But his smile disappears. He moves his thumb over his under lip.

He's impressed, I can tell. But the frustration was also in his eyes. He stared at me with his gaze.

But I don't care.

I turn around, take one last look at him, at what happened between us and leave the room without saying another word.

I leave the drawing in his room.

It wasn't him

But whoever it was, that person doesn't have any good intentions.