- - i'd never say i love you { nick

[becca]

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I DONT WANNA BE THE FOOL
T H A T G E T S L E F T B E H I N D I N T H E D U S T
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It was a typical Saturday for Becca. She wasn’t going to go into Hogsmeade. There really wasn’t much to do there. There were more Death Eaters there and so she wasn’t able to taunt anyone. What fun was that? She had been looking for her brother, Avery, which was a bit unusual since she despised him, but she needed entertainment and he was probably the best source for that. Unfortunately, he was nowhere to be found. For some reason, she had this bloody terrific idea how to bug him- try taunting him a bit and then call him a ‘mudblood’ when things got bad. Becca knew it’d bug him since her father had been absolutely furious when she called him that. The feeling of triumph warmed her body and she smirked. She leaned back in her chair as her brown eyes gazed at the words on the page of her book. She wasn’t paying much attention to the details, but somehow everything managed to make an imprint in her mind. Becca was incredibly smart for someone who didn’t like to spend more than half an hour on homework. She could’ve made it into Slytherin, which would’ve been nice, but apparently the Sorting Hat didn’t think she was ‘mean’ enough. That’s when she became a burden to the family. She hated her family. She hated her brother. She hated her father. She hated her stepmum. The only person she would never even think of hating was her mum. Most people thought Becca had enough hatred to fill a room and it was most likely true. She wasn’t really fond of anyone and certainly didn’t take the time to get to know them. Over the years, she had become less fun to be around and more intimidating than a girl her age ought to be.

If you had known Becca when she was young, she was a sweet and innocent girl. She went by the name ‘Beccy’ when she was little, but now, it was just ‘Becca’. If anyone called her by Beccy now, she’d probably hex them with no warning. She sighed and put her hand in her hair, brushing it out with her fingers. When she was alone, her thoughts often went all nostalgic like. It was unfortunate that she had to move when she was seven years old, but somehow, the memories still stuck to her like glue. Becca stared at the fire place, tossing random pieces of paper into the flames. She closed her eyes, but even then, she could still remember France. Ah, the smell of the bread, the sounds of laughter, the feel of the air around her, it was all like peace. Her memories of France were usually the things that kept her from going crazy during the day. If someone saw her closing her eyes, this was the reason. Becca took her wand and waved it twice in a circle, creating a series of purpley sparks. She wasn’t careless with her magic, but she often did it just to watch with fascination. Even after eight, nine years of knowing her abilities, it still was beautiful to see magic in the process.

Becca rolled her eyes as she put the book down. Whatever. It wasn’t worth trying to read it when she wasn’t interested. She bit the inside of her cheek, trying to think of something worthy enough to do. She started walking towards the trophy room, which was another odd thing she decided to do that day. She didn’t really like history, but she wanted to know whether her father had won anything. Hardly likely. He hasn’t ever done anything remotely worth taking note and she knew it. Becca probably had a much more interesting history than he had in what- forty years? I mean seriously, nothing special. She merely glanced at the other kids, two first years before they scrambled away in a rush. She liked the power she had over these kids. They needed to learn a little more respect, huh. She walked inside, leaving the door open. Becca just looked over the trophies, not to surprised to see Mr. Harry Potter’s trophy completely trashed. It wouldn’t burn, be removed, or vandalized, even with magic, so the students were allowed to mess it up in any way they could. She smirked again, seeing that the name ‘Nott’ wasn’t on any of them. In her seventh year, she would do well. She would get a trophy and then show it off to Avery. He wouldn’t be able to something that great. After all, he was just a git. Becca looked into the reflection, applying a new coat of lipstick. Her other coat had started to fade and looking good was definitely an essential. She simply smiled, satisfied with her appearance.

NOTES BLARGH, NOT THE BEST. WORDS SEVEN, NINETY SEVEN.
TAGGED NICK ZWOLFT. OUTFIT OUTFIT.
CREDIT BY HEY BAYBAY !? AT CAUTION !