Unfair
Some things are better left unsaid than told, or so my father claimed before he killed himself. I was nine, having just been accepted to Hogwarts, not having the chance to celebrate as I was on my way down to his funeral. I vividly remember my tearstained face, buried in the crook of my mother's neck as she kept stroking my head with no emotion whatsoever. Just because she believed I needed the emotional and physical validation that my feelings were, indeed, legitimate to have at the time. Tragic, innit? An orphaned daughter by a suicidal father, left with a hardworking mother that tried to keep up with the typical 'norm'. My mother is a heroic figure in the Wizarding world – essentially, Aurors tend to be looked up to around here – yet, she has nearly gone mad. Probably my late father's fault; you will hear her murmuring whispers in the middle of the night when even the owls are asleep, talk to herself under the pale moonlight, manic with keeping everything around her neatly clean. That's how I was taught to have a clean environment around me, any form of disorganization sending me to a state of panic. Through psychotic, manic episodes of my mother dealing with her grief by licking spotless our narrowed spaced home. Couldn't blame her, never would, she has been through a lot and I was the only piece of memory left by my father – our resemblance as clear as day, so she insisted over the years – leaving me to take care of her as best as I could. From a young age I learned that the world was cruel, that my father had left not even a singular penny for my mother, let alone myself – and he was known for being a wealthy man, pureblooded families were always rich for some reason – driving my mother to the point of selling our previous house and madness.
'Coward', my mother still calls him, the owls hooting in the background like an ironical soothing melody. 'Stingy, hungry man,' another usual phrase of hers, directed towards the window glass looking out to the rustling leaves of a dark forest. There were many insults to the dead, many hopeful curses so that the man that was once known as my father and her husband would never find peace. 'Good for nothing,' that one was directed to me, most likely, via a hissing whisper through her sleepless nights, pacing back and forth from window to window of our home like a living corpse. Unfairly judged just for being Knight's daughter, the carrier of his supposed legacy. 'Don't choose a man like your father, you'll be miserable for eternity,' mother plaguing claims resumed, ignoring all the holiday pictures from Paris, Tokyo, Maldives, everywhere her and father had taken, her cold, perished gaze distant. The numerous – having lost count of them at this point – golden, sparkling earrings, diamond rings, pale baroque pearly necklaces similar to a dramatic poem mirroring the moonlight's innocent soft gleam against her pale skin. I could only be silent through her break outs – sitting on the warm, soft couch that held no sentimental memories, letting her bobared me with her words as the crackling fire inside the hearth sang along – my head lowered to the ground, as if it was my fault for having a dead father that had no morals.
Hogwarts, on the other hand, was serene compared to one woman's unhinged mind. There was no pestering mother here, no dead father. But their names kept haunting me like a living, constant reminder of who I was aimed to be. How this close-minded society perceived me as a pureblood status rather than a teenager. 'Late Sir Knight's daughter, eh? We expect nothing less than perfection from you, may his soul rest in peace', 'Anna's child? Strange, she never mentions you', 'Ophelia, stop talking. Your father and mother would be ashamed by your actions and vile words', 'Only a daughter? Such a shame, the Knight legacy has come to a saddening end'.
Strangely, everything seemed to be my fault when the only thing I had done was be born.
Looking back at my childhood memories I seem unable to locate a blissful one, one where both of my parents were happy at the same time. The pictures have forever engraved their dismal eyes and vacant hearts over the ink. No photo of them holding me dearly while laughing, handing me Christmas presents or toys, no joyous smiles filled with love for themselves, let alone me. Now that I think about it, my parents never truly loved each other. Maybe due to their marriage being one of convenience – so their blood would stay pure – quite frankly, that was the reason they did not have another child and focused on their money-loving activities. Even in my father's funeral, mother cared more about the inheritance – though I swore I had seen a tear gliding down her dark brown eye.
"Ophelia, Snape is looking for you," a girly voice called out to me, her knock over the door of my dorm passing completely unnoticed, her eyes stern, as if judging my life choices. I sighed heavily, eyes rolling in my head; detention. That's what Snape wanted to privately talk to me about, no doubt. I forced myself off the bed, the warmth of my covers still evident on the tips of my fingers. "What are you, his entrusted messenger?" I asked the girl still standing on my doorstep, pushing my feet in my shoes, tapping them over the dull, stone floor to make the soles fit perfectly. The girl shrugged her shoulders, a yawn escaping her tiresome mouth as her eyes followed my every movement. "Don't shoot the messenger, Knight. Snape seems troubled, he sent me to fetch you as soon as possible," she stated with a steady, neutral tone behind the hand covering her open yawning mouth, her expression unmoving like a doctor ready to give grave news to a patient. Though her expression wasn't grim there was a hint of wariness in her tone and guarded, reserved posture against the hard wooden doorframe. Troubled? Snape? Over a detention that had become a daily basis for me by now? More like troubled about how to hex some common sense into me, how to find the efficient punishment. Making my way out of my dorm, the girl followed me closely behind, her expensive Mary Jane's made a rhythmic tapping sound, which echoed through the dormitory's hallway as she crossed the black, velvety carpet covered floor. She seemed hesitant to leave me alone, as if unable to leave my side. My footsteps grew heavier and lazier over the now rocky, grey stone tiled ground, the thudding sound following me along every stride.
"Daphne Greengrass," the girl – Daphne – finally spoke up, halting just behind me as my hand landed on the door to creak it open, her overprized shiny shoes now in deafening silence like a serial killer finding his next victim. My eyebrows lowered down to my squinted eyes, standing still before the door. I span back at her, utterly confused, wondering why she was only now introducing herself. At the time, I wasn't wearing my robes – classes were done by now, what, I was not going to detention formally dressed – my skirt twirling along my subtle, swift movements, the sweater clinging loosely over my form.
"You have detention with Nott, correct?"
"Unfortunately."
"Keep your filthy claws away from him. He is off limits." Daphne declared with a threatening, strong-willed hiss, supposedly meaning to intimidate and discourage me from interacting with Theodore. As if Theodore and I had ever interacted, let alone had a decent chat, throughout these six years of Hogwarts we have been here. I couldn't help but stifle a cackle with my hand covering my mouth. Her face was priceless; singed, dirty blonde eyebrows, glaring daggers at me as if able to telepathically hurt me, her lips upturned into a sneer, wrinkling her unblemished features and a vein popping visibly over her forehead. Absolutely hilarious, I tell you!
"Trust me, Daphne, I have no... ill intentions with your little boyfriend. Maybe, next time, you should train him to follow the rules or else him and I might be seeing a lot of each other." I winked provocatively at Daphne with a huffed laugh, shooting her my infamous crooked smirk, chalky top teeth visibly teasing as I waved back at her before exiting the Slytherin common room. I could hear her gasp an insult, something along the sides of 'bitch' according to my fine hearing, shaking my head in amusement at her animated reactions. The chuckles came to a sharp end when Snape appeared in front of me, his presence uncalled for, even if expected sooner or later, making me immediately halt on my feet. His expression was anything but welcoming, not to mention anything but 'troubled' Daphne had so genuinely affirmed me. I gulped hard nervously as his height towered over mine, feeling like a mouse caught in a mousetrap, ready to be violated. Verbally. Snape's gaze was chilly and strict, first time in my life had I ever seen brown eyes so cold. His robes were practically covering his entire body the same way Batman's suit did in the movies – all dark and mysterious. He stood still as if frozen in time, his chest barely rising and falling with each slow intake of breath, posture as straight as a bow bent by a string stretched between its ends, ready to shoot its sharp arrows engulfed in devouring fire.
"Professor Snape."
"Miss Knight."
"To what do I owe your presence?"
"Detention. You are late."
"Royally late by five minutes-"
"Silence. Mister Nott came right on time, unlike you." Professor Snape cut me off, rudely or fairly so, given I lost track of time and was now late to detention. Even Theodore – known for being tardy to matters of time and never arriving timely at classes – was already in the detention room. Snape began walking down the empty corridor, his robes flying behind him like a hero's cape, he looked magnificent despite his best efforts not to, even his silky straight hair were freshly showered leaving a detect smell of mint behind him. But as he walked in the front – me trailing not so far away behind him, trying to keep up with his hurried steps – I couldn't help but notice that the route Snape was leading me to was different than the one leading to the colorless detention room. And, trust me, I knew these corridors like the palm of my hand, yet this route was...unrelated to the usual path of the detention classroom. Let alone any part of this castle that was reachable by feet. This was it. He was going to murder me, that's for sure. After all these years of losing House points continuously this was my final punishment, the final boss: Smelly Snivelly. No bullying pan intended. I felt nervous, coming to terms that Snape had finally snapped and was going to demolish me. Every turn we took, every curve of the stairs leading me further and further away than any student habitat by now, the dim lit torches over the walls casting a spooky flicker over Snape's black hair.
"Do you know where we are, Miss Knight?" Snape suddenly spoke up, sarcasm barely audible through the waves of his monotonous tone, his ghosting footsteps over the stone pavement floor coming to an acute finale, the pointy tips of his inky shoes pointing to the grey, brick wall in front of us. His question directed to me had only one obvious answer: the Room of Requirement. But, then again, I was not supposed to know what this room was, according to many professors that warned students not to enter for various of unknown reasons.
"No." The Room of Requirement, of course.
"Yes, you do. I have seen you enter and exit this room countless of times." Oh, dang it!
"I have no idea what you are talking about, professor–"
"I didn't expect you to admit anything, Knight. Cleaning awaits, in you go." But before I could even deny the plain truth laid before me, Snape's strong hand landed on my back, shoving me inside the dark lit room, a gasp of surprise escaping my mouth as I stumbled inside with barely restraining my balance. I snapped my head back, hair slightly disheveled from the force of his strength well hidden under the oversized layers of robes and clothes, all black and concealed.
"W-what? Cleaning? Clean what–"
"I believe Mister Nott will fill you in about your... task." He replied curtly, not bothering to deliver any piece of information regarding this supposedly 'task'. With those enigmatic words (demands) Snape shut the wooden door of the crowded space, the loud banging noise rattling some angled bookshelves leaning on the solid, gravelly walls. The majestic, hard wooden door gloomed before me, its elevated position seemed taller than any door I had encountered in the school, now tightly shut, beginning to disappear before my eyes bit by alarming bit. I had been here before, yes, but now the power of the room was not in my hands. Snape had bewitched the door to remain out of sight until the task was done. Or else the only way out wouldn't just simply vanish before my very disturbed self.
"This is unfair! How can you lock two students here for a bloody detention!?" I shouted desperately at the other end of the door, the pounding of my fists similar to the rapid rhythm my heart casted, but all in vain. Snape was gone. The room would block out my voice and any noise coming from the room.