I heard her cry in the shower. Correction. I heard her scream. Blood curdling, broken screams. Hysterical.

I couldn't stay in the room. I had to leave, distract myself before I find Marcus and hurt me.

Ophelia cried all night. When she slept, when she was awake. All of it. When she fell asleep her voice would still whimper out little please of "no" and "stop" her arms thrashing and her body shaking. Her heart hurting even as she slept.

She screamed at points, making me jump and hold her until she drifted off unaware of me being there. And then I would return to sitting on the edge of the bed. Watching the world go by hour after hour.

Eventually when the birds began making a noise, I decided to go shower. Allowing myself time to process.

Marcus should be killed.

I left Clark....Ophelia. Clothes. Scribbling a quick note and then leaving her, cutting down the corridor and out the common rooms.

The dark lord had given me a task, along with a gleaming new tattoo to accompany it.

Normally when you leave a party you get a gift bag...not the dark lord. No. He gives you an entire future of despair and self loathing.

I had to fix a fucking cabinet. And then kill Dumbledore. Simple right?

Wrong.

I was petrified. Throwing my studies out the window and being forced to do this made me feel like I was drowning. Over and over again.

My throat tightens every time I would reach the Room of

requirements.

And this time was no different, the doors opening, throat closing as if a snake was winding its way around my neck, it's skin slithering around me as I chocked. And just when I would feel like passing it, the snake and suffocating would stop. Laughing as it disappeared.

I walk in. Air still. Musty. No life, only impending doom. My feet walking towards the cabinet like muscle memory.

It stood crumpled in a far waste pile. A bayou in a sea of broken objects. Looking at it made me queasy, unsure and scared.

I can't get Ophelia involved. It was dark, twisted. And it would end with sorrow. And she had felt enough of that. She isn't like that. She is light. Happiness. A cold lemonade on a hot day.

What am I even talking about? Why am I such a dumbass? I help her once. And suddenly she won't leave my head.

But I'm lying.

She's seared into my brain. Leaking in each cell like poison. But this poison was delicious, and I craved it. My own personal drug. I crave her. I want her. To feel her. Touch her. Taste her. Feel her heart race. Feel it race for me. Hear her voice moan for me like honey dripping off a spoon.

But she is broken, and I will not touch her when someone touched her like they did. I'm not a monster.

Letting her call me Draco was enough for me.

I'll help her get fixed.

"Fucking hell" I mumble aloud. Stepping inside the cabinet beginning my daily chore.

Ophelia Clark.

What are you doing to me.

**************