Detention Diaries

Time kept ticking by quicker than any other night Theodore and I were left locked inside the Room of Requirement. The shelves were all cleaned by now, our hands soar from having to reach from the top, highest shelve down to the lower ones. Making sure everything was spotless for Snape’s inspection about our punishment. Or detention, however he would like to call it. I had come to the conclusion that Theodore wasn’t half bad than how I had judged him all these years. He was...chill, calm and collected, yet incredibly funny and entertaining. He could be serious at times; he could be understanding and have a mind of his own. Remarkable, he was.  

Both of us were now finished with cleaning, fortunately, our backs pressed on the dull, stone-built wall as we sat on the floor. I could sense some movement from Theodore’s part, his clothes rustling as he searched his robes and pants for something specific. Already knowing his addiction was kicking in after nearly four hours here. I straightened my back against the wall, hard, pointy stones sinking into my back, slightly turning my posture towards him; witnessing his panicky, shaky fingers patting himself down, his head low as his gaze combed through the layers of fabric to seek something he needed.  

“Lighter?” 

“Cigarettes.” 

I hummed in response, his voice hinting deprivation with its slight tinged raised manner, seeing his Adam’s apple bop up and down, a trail of cold sweat trailing down his flawless forehead. He hastily wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, his distressed eyes wide and looking everywhere around the room, eager to find something specific. Cigarettes.  

“Here.” Swiftly, my fingers dipped into my high socks covering my knee caps, pulling out a compressed pack of long cigs. The package was colored black like the night sky on a starry night, nearly crashed from having to hide them in my sock-covered legs. I stretched my hand out to him, giving him a tilted cigarette of my own, just a tad bit dried, as if I had this pack for emergencies. Only one more left in the package now. Curse this addictive toxin for making us this obsessed.  

Theodore’s eyes went even wider, bigger than ever before, eyeing me up and down like I had done something considered an anomaly. His orbs landed on the extended cig, hesitant to take it, his brows slightly pushed together in uncertainty before his eyes landed back up to mine. 

“Are you sure...?” 

“It’s not the prettiest cigarette you can find but it’s better than nothing, isn’t it?” I let the cigarette land on the palm of his left hand, a small, reverent smile curling the ends of my lips before I took hold of the last cigarette. Theodore found the lighter he was looking for a minute ago, dragging it out of the pocket of his pants. His lighter right in front of me as the cig touched my lips, the dim, spare fire crackling under my eyelashes, casting a shadow under my nose, lighting my cigarette before he proceeded to light his. 

“Thank you, really. It tastes like heaven.” 

“Weird, I thought they would taste like feet.” 

“How come you hide them in... there?” Theodore pointed at my socked knees, “Normal people would put them in their robes, clothes, pockets.” He continued shortly with a thoughtful tone, taking a long drag from the dried cigarette, not minding the dent on its length. His hands freely gesturing the places he mentioned. “You are a bit abnormal, aren’t you?” 

“Aren’t we all?” I replied with smoke coming out of my nostrils, the cigarette tasting funny on my tongue, burning my throat and entire neck, having to cover up the coughing with the inside of my elbow. Theodore shrugged his shoulders, neither agreeing or disagreeing with my statement. 

“You don’t smoke anymore, do you?” Theodore suddenly spoke up, an observation he seemed to be contemplating with whether to say it or keep his mouth shut, deciding on the former one. His head turned to me, his blue eyes dark due to the dim light coming from the candle chandeliers on the ceiling.  

“Not really.” I bluntly responded with a gruff voice. 

“Why did you start smoking?” Theodore asked directly, taking another puff, huffing out the smoke through his teeth, our gazes locking. 

“It was a solution to my problems.” The revelation felt bitter on my tongue, licking my bottom lip to hydrate it before placing the cigarette back to my mouth, sucking the air into my lungs. Momentarily feeling alive. 

“After... After my mother died, two years after my birth, I grew up with no emotional support from my elder father. I began smoking ever since I turned seventeen. Strangely, it made me feel alive.” Theodore confessed, his voice growing smaller and smaller, each syllable coming out more hesitant than the one before. He looked like it was the first time he was speaking about such a sensitive topic. A death of a parent. Of a mother, even worse. I nodded along his words, understanding his point of view. 

“Reasonable. I started when I was thirteen.” 

“ What? ” Theodore exclaimed with a deafening voice, his jaw nearly falling to the floor at the honesty of my admission. I simply shrugged my shoulders, taking another inhale of the noxious object coming in and out of my mouth. The smell poisonous enough to kill anything our radius, but, Merlin, did it make me feel something. 

“I stole cigarettes back then because I couldn’t legally buy them.” 

“ Cazzo , Knight. No offence, but are you listening to yourself?! That’s crazy!” 

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock. It was the only thing that comforted me with the loss.” 

“Of your... father?” 

“No, my pet iguana. Of course, of my father, Nott.” A sigh escaped my mouth alongside some pent-up smoke, the end of the cig lit up like fire, the ashes falling to the floor, only to magically extinguish. Theodore bit the inside of his cheek, nodding his head alongside his own thoughts. Then, he sighed as well. 

“Does it still hurt? I didn’t know your father, nor do I know you that well, but... do you still think about him?” 

“Not in a pleasant way, but I do,” my gaze fell to the floor, the cigarette hanging by a thin thread from falling off the tips of my fingers, “he wasn’t the good man many pictured him to have been.” I added with a slight tremble on my lips, unable hold back and restrain the overwhelming pain that man had brought upon me. Theodore’s eyebrows frowned, eyes squinting as he tilted his head, listening intently on my words.  

“Did he... did he do something to you?” Theodore hesitated to ask, his chest rising and falling slowly, the smoke engulfing his sharp features like an autumn’s fog, covering his signature tilted, round eyes like an endless grass plain. 

I remained still, thoughts halted lost in time, unable to remember a scene of my childhood out of a sudden; as if my memory had been whipped, Obliviated, the words having trouble to exit my trembling lips.  

“He did everything wrong. Everything a child could expect from a parent – everything wrong. No protection, no guarding, no love or care left for me. Everything was wrong.” I kept repeating over and over, the words coming weirdly slurry from my usual witty and rebellious mouth. I nibbled on my bottom lip, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill after such a long time of restraining them. Feeling like an overflowed sea full of pain and hidden secrets, being thrown tons of buckets with even more cold water. My feelings were all over the place, dangling by the same transparent thread the cigarette in my fingers loosely lingered. I had never spoken about my father, my mother and what had happened behind those unforgiving, pale painted walls of that unforgettable house. The house mother sold. The house that carried my miserable upbringing. The house my father shot himself in the head – as if wizardkind didn’t have any other means to end yourself – and the house that we lost due to the debt that my father bore. 

Theodore stared at me, nearly dumbfounded from the raw emotions attached to each letter flying from my trembling lips. I took another long and deep drag from the cigarette, drinking in the smoke, only a mini blurring cloud exiting my nose. Theodore seemed serious, his piercing gaze burning my profile like cigarette ashes, he seemed troubled by the way his eyebrows frowned down to his eyes. 

“...Did he touch you?” 

“What--” 

“Did he touch you?”  He persisted, his voice raising with each word, his jaw clenched and lips pursed together tightly. 

I gulped, taken aback from his question, “He would hit me,” a breath left my mouth alongside some smoke, “and touch me inappropriately, if that’s what you meant.” I finished, trying to sound as normal as one at this situation could. An unforgiving father, abusing his own little daughter, the image too fresh in my head to not react in some way. Theodore’s eyes widened in shock; his eyebrows furrowed upwards, his fingers twitching, as if threatening to comfort me in some way, any way he could find. But I’d rather not be comforted. Not when everybody’s touch made me feel dirty, used. Not when this was the first time, I had ever spoken about this.  

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.” 

“Did your mother know? I mean, she is an Auror, sì ? She could have done something to him, anything!” Theodore practically shouted at me, his shaky voice tinged with desperation, pleading that there was some form of punishment for the man I once called father. 

“She knew. They booked a flight to Paris the day my mother heard my father assaulting me.” I plainly replied, emotions suddenly deprived from my voice and features. The same way they always did when I was a child, feeling stuck in the same time loop of reliving these events again, again, again and again. There was no escape, no fairness for little Ophelia. Theodore’s fingers finally twitched into movement, slowly drawing his hand towards mine over the floor. Our pinkies touched, his petite finger caressing mine softly, as if afraid if he placed more pressure he could break me. 

“I’m sorry you had to go through something as painful as that.” 

“This is the first time anyone apologized to me.” I laughed bitterly, nodding my head to myself, throwing my head back on the wall, eyes staring up at the grey, stone tiled ceiling. Feeling like a bird stuck in an iron cage with invisible railings, unable to find the way out. Theodore’s hand fully gripped mine, taking me by surprise. My eyes snapped up to his, big and shocked by his bold actions. 

“You are a blooming flower that does not deserve to be withered in such way,” Theodore squeezed my hand, “These people do not deserve the title of parents. I’m glad your father is dead.” 

“That’s a crazy thing to say.” 

“I would have killed him if he wasn’t dead. And it wouldn’t have been an instant one, I promise you.” Theodore snapped, dragging his free hand down his agitated, clenched face before fixating his eyes back at me. My eyes widened further, never having been the one to be protected – if that’s what Theodore threatened to have done – always being the one to protect and defend myself. A small, hesitant smile curled my lips, squeezing Theodore’s hand before letting it go. 

“I appreciate your chivalry, Nott. I can take care of myself now. I’m old enough.” 

“Sure thing, gnocchi. Whatever you say goes.” 

“Your girlfriend must love it when you agree with her immediately, huh? She has trained you well.” I exclaimed with a roll of my eyes as the mention of his girlfriend slipped from my mouth, my lips forming into a scowl due to the strange animosity this girl had brought upon me. Theodore readjusted uncomfortably his posture against the wall, his eyes drifting from every corner of the room, every spare instrument and every peculiar magical object surrounding us. He was avoiding the conversation.