Categories > Books > Harry Potter
The tears come with your face pressed against the mattress and his arousal buried within your body. Fingers clawing at the taunt fabric stretched over the mattress, you give him what he wants and take everything in return. You never agreed to this.
The dull, grey dishwater winter light comes in and illuminates your weak forms when you're done. Your voice rasps as you curse his presence in your life.
"This is all your fault."
He doesn't even look at you and you want to punch him and make him hurt for what he has done to you. You had never wanted to feel like this! You hear the rain coming to wash away the pitiful amount of snow that has gathered on the ground. It drips weakly against the eaves and makes your spirits dip even lower. This isn't even worthy of a snowfall.
Once you have pulled on the bare minimum of your uniform you stand and watch him expectantly - unsure of what you are expecting, and then chastising yourself for being foolish. You turn away, and he has not yet stirred from where you left him.
"Goodbye."
---
Two weeks later, you say yes to a tattoo more permanent than any muggle could imagine. It burns on your skin for weeks just as it did when it was made, the pain never fading. Just enough to be distracting, like a burnt tongue. His eyes follow you, over and over again.
It feels so cold.
It slowly fades until it is only an outline of black, unnoticeable when you're wearing long shirt sleeves.
By that time, there is no one else around to see it. You might as well be dead.
The dull, grey dishwater winter light comes in and illuminates your weak forms when you're done. Your voice rasps as you curse his presence in your life.
"This is all your fault."
He doesn't even look at you and you want to punch him and make him hurt for what he has done to you. You had never wanted to feel like this! You hear the rain coming to wash away the pitiful amount of snow that has gathered on the ground. It drips weakly against the eaves and makes your spirits dip even lower. This isn't even worthy of a snowfall.
Once you have pulled on the bare minimum of your uniform you stand and watch him expectantly - unsure of what you are expecting, and then chastising yourself for being foolish. You turn away, and he has not yet stirred from where you left him.
"Goodbye."
---
Two weeks later, you say yes to a tattoo more permanent than any muggle could imagine. It burns on your skin for weeks just as it did when it was made, the pain never fading. Just enough to be distracting, like a burnt tongue. His eyes follow you, over and over again.
It feels so cold.
It slowly fades until it is only an outline of black, unnoticeable when you're wearing long shirt sleeves.
By that time, there is no one else around to see it. You might as well be dead.
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