What’s a girl to do? (Open)

Astrid felt like she was messing things all up lately. Sure, she would never admit to it and she did love playing the field like she had been… she liked to be the center of attention for as many guys as possible but they were beginning to become a little more difficult to juggle lately along with the friendships she was trying to keep alive. She sighed as she walked around the dungeons, not yet wanting to go into the Slytherin common room. She had missed her date with Carter the other night, it had completely slipped her mind when she had been in the lounge trying to comfort Ptolemy. She would have never forgotten a date before! Then again, most of her dates back home had been for little more than status. She liked to be shown off and whoever asked her out obviously wanted to show someone off. That was as far as things had ever gotten. She had always just been arm candy for whoever needed a beautiful, rich date who would make them look good wherever they went. It had been exhausting but there had never been feelings involved. This was different. Guys actually seemed to want to date her. For her, not because she knew how to make them look good. She didn’t understand it! Of course, she would never admit it either but the thought of actually having feelings for any of these guys who had asked her out lately or just looked too long in her direction was terrifying. A sigh left her lips as she leaned against one of the walls of the dungeon. When did life get so difficult?

Daughters...

Inside an old, disused Potions classroom in the depths of the dungeons, Perdita sat, cross-legged and wearing Ptolemy's clothes that were so ill-fitted to her they sagged at the waist. Whatever dignity she had left, she was trying to preserve by being a woman. Men weren't supposed to cry, after all. At least Perdita, with her puffy red eyes and blotched, damp cheeks, didn't seem so out of place. Anyone who heard her crying would think it was just another hormonal teenage girl feeling sorry for herself, and would hopefully pass on by, leaving her to get it all out.

Ptolemy Rowle didn't cry. At least, he couldn't recall a time that he had. Likely it was when he was a child and trying to get his own way, because he didn't know any better.

Perdita sniffed. She looked up at a pane of glass that saw through to a store cupboard. It was dark inside of there so she could see her reflection, and it wasn't as bad as what she thought. Would his daughters sit here, fifteen or sixteen years later, crying over some deplorable bastard who had treated them cruelly?

Then, she thought, would she want these girls to be treated in a way that Ptolemy treated Alayna? Deliberately and spitefully hurt? No, she wouldn't want that. She would want to raid the school, find their pathetic faces, and curse them until they were unrecognisable.

She really had a lot to think about here...

@Astrid Eriksson