Toffee for Toffee PV Sarah Lightwood Finished

Sarah wasn’t the best at making and keeping friends. She was hesitant to trust and reluctant to let anyone else in who might be able to hurt her. The Slytherin had already had to deal with more loss than most her age and her preferred way of ensuring she didn’t lose anyone else was to simply push them away. It was destructive and counter-productive, of course, and she knew that. She felt the emptiness her decision to stay alone left within her more often than not, and over the break, she’d realised just how lonely she’d allowed herself to become. The number of people she considered friends could scarce be counted on her hands, and the number of those who she truly trusted was an even more depressing number.

It was painful, a constant ache inside of her which had grown progressively more deep-set since the day of the accident which had taken away her family. She’d vowed five years ago to never let anyone close enough to hurt her again. But she’d come realise that it was a promise she had to break, she had to let someone in – call it a New Year’s resolution. So, she’d decided that this year would be the year she’d started trying, making an effort with her peers and actually attempt to form a friendship which could last. She just had to find the unfortunate soul who’d be stuck with her.

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It was the weekend, and unlike many of the students of Hogwarts, Sarah didn’t have any plans. She’d spent the morning writing a letter to send to her Aunt, wanting to tell her about the muggle novel she’d just read about Anne Shirley and her adventures at Green Gables. Something about the story had hit so close to home, and she’d been desperate to tell someone about it as soon as possible. But she was at a loss for what to do for the rest of the day.

That was how she ended up aimlessly wandering the corridors of the castle, hoping that something interesting might happen to catch the Slytherin’s attention for long enough to occupy her day.

She hummed idly to herself as she walked, fingers spinning her wand in a way which was quickly becoming second nature. She supposed she had Zyk to blame for that, he’d been the reason why she was so intent on learning how to do it in the first place. She passed a few groups of students – Hufflepuffs debating whether the winter or summer was better, Slytherins discussing the Potions homework she herself had been neglecting, and a few Ravenclaws and Gryffindors who were enraptured by an apparently tense game of wizard’s chess.

Sarah walked the corridors without fully paying attention to where exactly she was going. Which was why was caught so off-guard when something hit the back of her leg. She stumbled, immediately irritated that whatever it was that had struck her caused a lapse in the usual grace she moved with. She spun around quickly, hair flying wildly around her shoulders, as the hand which held her wand came up to face whoever it was that had attacked her.

Only, there wasn’t anyone, just a couple of students who were looking at the second year with raised brows and mild curiosity. But she was certain she’d heard laughter. Her eyebrows furrowed as she scanned the corridor quickly, seeing nothing which seemed out of place. She blamed her paranoia on her father who’d spent much of the holidays seemingly sneaking up on the girl to drag her to events she’d wanted nothing more than to avoid.

Eventually, her eyes drew downwards, and landed on the small box just in front of her feet. Curious, she mused, as she slowly lowered her wand and bent to pick it up. The potential that this box could be hexed flitted through her mind, but as she took hold of it, she felt no dark magic. Hesitantly, she opened it, eyes widening when she saw the partially eaten toffee and small note which sat atop it. Is this Cannibalism? Her immediate confusion was quickly overtaken by the memory of that evening in the rehearsal room.

She wanted to be angry – annoyed that her peaceful walk had been interrupted, and irritated that she’d no doubt have a bruise on the back of her leg by tomorrow. But her lips curled, and a bubble of laughter escaped before any negative thoughts could overcome her. Apparently the nickname had stuck. She let her fingers run along the rim of the wooden box for a moment, before another poorly hidden chuckle caught her attention. She looked up and once again glanced around for the source.

“I suppose you think you’re funny,” She said to the corridor, using the most exasperated tone she could muster. The fact that she herself had too been laughing just moments before was one she chose to ignore. She took the sweet out of the box and glanced back down at the small note inside. “Book two in my series of novels: Why Cannibalism is Good for the Soul,” She grinned to herself before taking a bite out of the toffee in her hand. The delighted sound she made afterwards only being half put on for show.

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Sarah was so rarely childish. She’d had to grow up far faster than most children her age, both through experiencing loss and from being her father’s daughter. He didn’t approve of frivolous activities, believing everything you do should be productive to the mind or body or to simply make oneself a more accomplished young woman. When she’d tried to argue that running around the manor playing chase with the house elves was in fact a form of exercise and therefore bettering her body, she’d been sent to her room without dinner for back talking. That had been the last time she’d ran inside the manor.

She never got to be childish, and the wide grin which stretched across her face as she squinted through the smoke to watch Ross’ retreating back, made her realised how much she’d missed it. She blamed her father wholeheartedly for the absence of immaturity within her and felt a spark of anger rise up within her. The sound of laughter echoing down the corridor was enough to push it away - yet another emotion she’d repress to deal with later, never to really get round to it. But the laughter pulled her back to the moment and suddenly she was running after the sound, eager to hear more of it.

As she ran around corners, darting between passing students and hoping beyond anything that she wouldn’t accidentally run head first into a professor leaving their classroom, she silently cursed herself fro wearing a skirt. The material constricted her legs and she knew that trying to catch the boy who had already had a head start to begin with was likely a fools errand. Yet she carried on anyway, shouting quick apologies to a few people she ran particuularly close to as she passed and one of the school ghosts who she ran straight though.

When she became short of breath, she stopped, letting her palms rest against her thighs and huffing out a laugh of her own, even as passing students stared at her as if she was a mad woman. Perhaps I am, she mused, not sure she took it as the insult it would likely mean to be. She knew she’d lost the Hufflepuff by now, and reluctantly admitted defeat, the small box still clasped tightly in her hand. She glanced at it, eyes glinting with mischief as she realised what it meant. “The game is well and truly on,” She muttered to herself, as she circled back towards the dormitories. She had some plotting to do after all.