There was something gold glinting right above Mary Anne. Mary Anne stared at it. It looked like snazzy glasses. The glasses stared back, cause there were eyes attached to the golden glasses glinting above Mary Anne. And then Mary Anne did what any sane nineteen year old girl would do in a situation where they wake up to some rando old dude with glinting golden glasses hovering above themーscream.
And screamed.
Screamed some more because the old man just stood there blinking at her and not running away after being impressed by her highly impressive vocal capacity (wow my voice is freakishly high pitched right now, like elementary school high pitched?) or even you know trying to threaten her in a typical rapist motherfucker way.
Mary Anne stopped screaming. Weird Old PervertTM with the long ass beard and weird ass robes (robes? robes? What the fuck, it was some freaky Son of a Bitch PervertTM in her room, Man this dude must be fucked in the head. Hell, were his robes twinkling? OMG I think that shooting star design on those robes is actually like shooting. Whatttt the fuckkkkkkkkkkkk?) opened his mouth.
Mary Anne rubbed her eyes. Mary Anne wasn't gonna let some shooting star distract her from the real problem here (Old PervertTM with the beard and the robes above her. Ring a bell? Glinting golden glasses? Jesus, keep up with the story, Mary Anne has better shit to worry about than whether or not you was paying attention for like the last two minutes here. What, motherfucker, do you have the attention span of a goldfish?). Mary Anne grabbed the lamp from her beside (lamp? bedside table? I don't have that shit? IDK, whatever, focus on that shit later) and aimed it at Old PervertTM. Old PervertTM blinked some more and reached into his robes (is this motherfucker about to whip out his wrinkly Old Pervert DickTM, because I swear to GOD!).
Unfortunatelyーor fortunately(?)ー for Old PervertTM and me, a lady inーwhat?ー a WWII nurses uniform runs in with aーstick?ーin her hands.
Wait this isn't my room. This shit be like a hospital. The fuck?
"Mr. Potter, what's the matter? Headmaster Dumbledore, what ever happened?" middle aged lady with the WWII nurse fetish asks.
I stare at her. She stares back at me all concerned and shit.
"Potter? Dumbledore? What kind of freaky Harry Potter role play do you think this shit is? And Mister? Seriously? ME? Are you blind? Can't you see myー" I pause to grab my boobs to make a point (Double D's thank you very much, I'm proud of how I raised my girls. Yes I am, they're the best!) and then I pause some more cause this insanity and my own meltdown clock had ascended through to a whole new level.
Motherfucker.
"ーboobs. Where the FUCK are my BOOBS? You SICK SONS OF BITCHES! Where the fuck are my boobs? MY GIRLS? Stephanie and Elizabeth Khan, we've been together since 5th grade, when I grew them?! They've taken a lot of maintenance and money (I fucking hate bras. An expensive af jail for my girls that hurts like hell. No, thank you, sir, we good). WHERE THE FUCK AREー" I pause mid screech, fucking freeze mid shriek really, because side step the girls for a second, the fuck is up with my hand and my whole body for that matter? I seem to have shrunk and managed to become even paler somehow(as a brown desi girl, my racist relatives have always complimented me on how white my skin is. Something that I haven't been given by the majority of my genetics or the whitening products most Pakistani women use, but my general distaste for humanity and the sun, which has lead to me becoming a hikikomori and as such low-key passable as Spanish), the hand clutching at my now flat board chest was small and thin, and my luscious brown, hip length hair was nowhere to be seen.
Didn't she say Mister?
Horrified, my hand reaches down.
And then Mary Anne did what any sane nineteen year old girl would do upon learning that she had an added appendage more befitting a Marcus.
She screamed.