Death, cold receptions and other struggles
It's easy to move around the castle undetected at night and it was during one of these outings she made the welcome discovery of the long-forgotten (supposedly) enchanted tub she's submerged up to her neck in. The candle she'd lit upon entering the room fizzled out some time ago, the once warm water in the tub now unpleasant and cold enough to make her joints hurt, a sensation she hardly notices as she's focused on the feeling of her pruned fingers. It reminds her of something she'd tried her hardest to forget, a memory that manages to suffocate and destroy all and any fond scenes from her childhood.
The first thing her young self had noticed was the smell. Servants had placed scented candles around the cold, dark chambers in a vain effort to mask the sickening stench permeating the air but it had only made it more unpleasant. On the slab in the middle laid the source, skin now a terrible blotched mess of yellow, purple, blue, red and white. The texture giving her the impression of a dried fruit that had expanded in the sun only to shrivel and shrink into the sad state she now saw. His head was shaved. She remembers his face twisted beyond recognition, swollen, cracked. The scar on his bicep. The still visible tattoo further down his mangled arm worming its way into her mind to tell her that despite the thing on the slab bearing to visual similarity to her father was without a doubt, him. This was what had become of him, what he'd been reduced to. What he'd amounted to. She'd cried and screamed in hysterics until her voice gave out as servants were forced to hold her desperate body still to prevent her from injuring herself in her panic.
At first it's hard to tell if her shaking is due to the freezing water or her nerves as the memory flashes before her but the sharp pain of her nails digging into her arms as she embraces her frame in a vain attempt to anchor herself back to reality tells her it's the latter. "I'm here. I'm here." Her voice rings out as sobs wreck her body, hands now running up and down her arms in a soothing motion.
Her family line was...Old. Ancient by some accounts. This combined with them living in a small wizarding community in a land far less hospitable than the one she now found herself in meant the following: Everyone knew who they were along with intimate details about all and any events taking place in the household both past and present. The funeral had been a sombre affair with few guests, the gathering feeling impossibly more pitiful due to the size of the cathedral. All those old family connections. A lifetime of networking with fellow families and this is the sendoff he'd earned. Afterwards she'd learnt her first impossible truth of life: everything is finite and mourning is no exception.
For a time you'll be met with pity and polite compassion. It fades at different rates with different people but regardless of who they are there comes a time when your grief is met with exhaustion at which point disgust is never far behind. You must mend. You must go on. You cannot dwell forever. If a person fails to meet these set expectations...
The chill of the night air tousles her hair as she sits atop the battlements, feet dangling off the side as wind tousles her drying hair. Her stormy blue eyes are focused on a spot in the clearing just outside castle grounds...Long grass moving around unseen hooves, the gentle sound of the creatures enjoying the calm of a still night. Being denied the privilege of seeing them is indisputable proof that she's unworthy, her percieved grief nothing but an overreaction, a convenient excuse to blame her still-crippled emotional state on. Shame burns her cheeks.
Her footsteps are staggering and slow as she makes her way back into the castle proper, heavy boots falling on the plush carpet of the hallway. She knows she doesn't need to avoid being detected by prefects, the headmaster far too concerned with how pureblood families percieve him to punish anyone from a prominent family for activities like this...Nevertheless she makes an effort to stay out of sight while admiring the artwork lining the halls. A particularily friendly portrait of a plump lady with a warm smile stops her in her tracks to tell her that she looks tired, to which she chuckles in reply and assures her that she's quite alright, thank you miss.
It's about time to return to the room of requirement to sleep away the day while her fellow students "enrich their minds and form lifelong bonds" as she'd seen the experience tauted in the local newspaper...But a painting catches her eye. It's a wizard holding his wand triumphantly over his head in a grand gesture, pale blue light enveloping both him and the scene to push away dark clouds threatening to overtake the plateau he's stood on. The focus of the painting and the source of the light is a great big bird made out of magic, colors pulsing and morphing as she studies it. No doubt a rendition of some brave soul using the Patronus charm.
"Just try, will you?" are words she's heard many, many times from professors unfortunate enough to be tasked with her education. Even the kindest of souls will grow frustrated with a student who, despite their best efforts, remains the intellectual equavilent of a stagnant pond. Expression impassive, darting eyes ever framed by dark shadows and a voice which rarely comes out strong or clear enough to be heard. Seemingly never willing to put in any effort. But for once...She had. She can't find the words to explain that she'd really, truly tried for the sake of her mother. She feared what would happen to her frail daughter if she ever crossed paths with a Dementor and for as long as she could remember she'd been encouraged by tutors to practice her wand movements and visualization to ensure she could perform the charm when the time came. And yet her wand wouldn't as much as flicker. (Afact she was secretly grateful for as she was sure she'd conjure something decidedly unpleasant. A swarm of angry bees? A giant leech? So many possibilities.)
"Full moon tonight, innit?" a familiar Gargoyle comments as she pauses to catch her breath while climbing the grand staircase. "Mhm, it's very pretty." she wheezes out while her exhausted frame rests against the banister. The monument huffs in reply. "Pretty? Are you daft, girl? These are werewolf times!" Tired eyes blink as their owner considers her next words, smile threatening to break out before she's able to.
"Wherewolf?"
"What?"
"...WHERE-wolf?"
"Are you off your rocker?"
"I wanted to make a there-wolf joke but now you've ruined it."
"...Bugger off."