Cutting Off the Past SOLO fin.

Potential CW: swearing and IC internalised racism to follow.

Date: Saturday, 8 December 2024
Time: Shortly after 20:00
Location: Abandoned Toilets

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A stagnant chill hung in the air as Koko ascended the stairs to Hogwarts's second floor, a rather nasty location she rarely frequented. The girl, clad in a loose cashmere jumper, flowy trousers and leather boots, set foot on the floorboards of the corridors with her chin raised, amber eyes narrowed slightly, almost as if she were disgusted. Her lips betrayed very little—no gasp of annoyance, no muttered words escaped them. Even still, she held her leather messenger bag closer to herself, and she brushed her long, blonde hair away from her face, tucking stray locks behind her ears. Perhaps the action was an insurance against the horrors her destination sometimes held.

That was where it all began, after all. Things had been different back then, Koko mused, walking past suits of armour in a manner that was perhaps nonchalant. She shouldered open the door to the abandoned toilets, pleased to find the dilapidated room still very much present. The dim, gloomy lighting of the candles cast long shadows along the floor: what little light there was did nothing to illuminate the autumnal night.

Everything was just as uncomfortable here as it had always been. Draughty air wafted all around, and Koko stared down at the stains on the floor. Dirt, muck, whatever it was, just like old times. Plenty of litter, plenty of things that could have been shrapnel from mishaps of olden times. Glancing at the window, Koko wondered if it were open, or if cracks from years ago still existed in the glass.

She took a step. Something creaked—a tile, a floorboard, a stray gust from her movement attacking a stall? Who could tell? She sneered down at it before her gaze caught on her the reflection of her expression in the cracked mirrors, and, slowly, the muted disgust evident in her eyes shifted to horror. Who was she, even, to be here?

Just like old times.

The thought reverberated so loudly within her skull that, for a moment, she imagined someone had spoken. She glanced around, moving slowly, cautiously, and saw no one but herself. Herself: a ruthless, disillusioned, holier-than-thou prefect—everything she had once despised to see in people. And here she was, embodying it.

Here was the monster she had created.

The unfamiliar warm sensation behind her eyes, in her nose, was not something she had encountered much. The last time she'd felt this way, she had refused to acknowledge what it had meant—that vulnerability, that unmasking, that knowledge that came with tears. But now she couldn't turn away. She met her own gaze, blurry with anger, grief, bitterness, in the mirror, and she watched as small rivulets gently dragged mascara down her cheeks.

She watched, unable to name the feelings inside her, as tears dripped down her cheeks. It had been a mistake to come here. A mistake, a mistake, a mistake.

She wanted to tell herself that it wasn't that important. That everything at school was just that—a small part of her life that she would likely not remember in twenty years. But it kept seeming that if she did not succeed at all costs, she would let her family down. She would let herself down, and she could not have that, not even if her goals kept seeming meek and worthless, anyway. She would never be the perfect pureblood heir she claimed, to be, anyway.

It was that revelation that caused her to lean forward, gripping onto a sink to tightly her knuckles turned white. Why, oh why, could she not be a fucking Leblanc? In all but name, she embodied the French family's nature, even looking much like a younger version of Rosalie, but what had Rosalie said all those years ago? Part-Veela. To Koko, something disgusting. Not even human. What a disgrace.

She could not blame the Leblancs, nor herself. She heaved a breath and glared at herself in the mirror. Her breath fogged up the glass, making her appear almost ethereal in all of her 'pretty' tears, and she backed away, her eyebrows drawing downwards.

She could not be a perfect pure-blood, but that was not to say that she could not change. She had already let go of her strict adherence to the rules, of the principles she had so vehemently abided by, so what was something more? What could she do, she wondered, to detach herself from her heritage?

Her status as a full-blooded member of the respected Leblanc family was a façade. But, as she stared at herself in the mirror, she smiled coldly, tilting her head to the side to get a better view. Right. A façade. Appearances were as false as anything, especially the appearance of a part-Veela. She couldn't change much now, she thought, but, anything, really, would be good.

The tears had momentarily stopped, leaving her eyes and cheeks sticky with their salty remnants, as she pointedly opened her messenger bag to pull out a pair of scissors, the type she kept with her for use with embroidery.

She watched as her gaze steeled in the mirror, and, leaning over the same sink from before, she began to cut her hair. The sound of the blades against long hair was routine, almost comforting, and it was almost as if she blinked, and she was a different version of herself. She stared at her reflection once again, this time more neutrally, her expression no longer tinged with disgust. She would have to touch it up later, she decided, but this... this was a good start.

To change, one has to let go of the past, she reminded herself, and this time, the smile that graced her lips was not a cold one.

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fin.