Author's note: As always, reviews and constructive crit are greatly appreciated. Also, if anyone likes my story enough... or something like that, I am in need of a beta. : )
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Platform 9 and 3/4 again. It is cold, and dull. The famous Harry Potter should be arriving with his throng of sickeningly giddy fans. He makes me sick. Everyone cares about Potter.
I get wary glances wherever I go. They know not to mess with me. I am king, their powerful dictator. They all fear me because of the Dark Lord. They know I'll be next, I'll stand up on stage and assume the role as humble servant. Or they think they know me. I might just prove them wrong.
It is Father's fault. He created this dark child, and pushed me out and cut into my flesh. He carved words and spells into my mind, and the words flew. He created this monster, me. I can't blame him, entirely, though. He only wants what's best for his only dear son. This is his love, and I shall accept it most humbly.
Well, look who's decided to arrive. Potter. Just when I was thinking that for once in my entire life I would have good luck. Potter and his fan club swarm like bees, getting ready to board the train, en route to Hogwarts. They're everywhere, and new ones, too. First years already shouting his name and trying to get a good look.
Seven years that have all felt the same. Each year Perfect Potter manages to make himself a hero, and manages to push me even deeper underground into that black world of evil. It is quite surprising, actually. I thought hell would have been warmer, but it is just a cold, dark, and lonely place. Seven years of putting up with Potter, seven years of the sad warmth of good seeping into my very pores. Father hates it when I talk of the good winning this war.
It's all how you look at it. Our dark side could be the good side, and they wouldn't even know it. It's like many mirrors all together. Which one reflects the truth?
It doesn't matter if I think that Potter's side is right. I was born into this play, and my part is the part of the dark child. The dark child who no one can feel sorry for. Not even Potter the protagonist. Actors don't always pick the parts they play, they; just play them. Potter needs me though. He won't admit it, but he does. I am the foil of this play; I make him the hero. Without me, he wouldn't be that great.
Back to the train. Everyone's boarding it, and if I don't hurry, I may get left behind. As if I hadn't enough things to be embarrassed about. I can just imagine Potter, Weasley, and Granger all getting a good laugh if I blundered like that. I won't let them have such gratification.
Thank God I scare everyone, or it would have been impossible to find a free compartment. I laugh at a bunch of frightened first-years, who are whispering my name in quiet little shivers. My laughing makes them clear out faster. Why would I need company anyway? It's not like I really care whether I am alone or not, right? Besides, Crabbe and Goyle should be shuffling in the moment they find their brains. I swear, one could probably not find a dumber pair. For one who picked the intellectual flower of Hogwarts, Goyle isn't even weed-category. I don't really care if they show up or not. Maybe they are finally going to leave me alone.
Speaking of weeds, where is that Pansy? I would have figured that she would be hanging all over me. Maybe she joined Potter's side. That would be marvelous. Ha! She is really quite daft if you ask me. She reminds me too much of my doting mother to actually be attractive.
I can hear Potter's noisy fan club chattering. He must be in the compartment next to mine, or a few down. I want to get up, and maybe move around but I don't think I could stand seeing him, or even throwing a punch. It is all too sickening and perfect. When I walk out, I'll just turn the other way. I can be casual and suave that way. He is not better than I, why should I care what he thinks am? I should say something, though. I couldn't bear for him to think that I was becoming soft. I will just turn the other way, which is all that I will do. I won't notice him.
But, of course! My plans never work as I wish. I turn straight into the woman with the candy cart. Perhaps I should look where I am going next time instead of worrying about stupid Potter and his dumb lot. Now they all are laughing at me, all I can do now is run out. I can still be graceful and I know it. I'll just watch out now.
I suppose being outside is a lot better than in. Now I can think without worrying about what Potter thinks. Standing by the railing, all of the sights pass before my eyes in a hypnotic blur of trees and countryside. Finally, a beautiful ravine of sharp jagged red rock, like the cliffs in Wales. I could picture myself jumping from this train. It would be a beautiful death; my blond hair flying with my black robes, with petals of rose red blood on the dusty copper rocks. Perhaps I have been standing out here for hours, I don't know. Time loses me in folds of imagery.