Author's Note: Title is from "The Road Not Taken" by Robert Frost - one of the few poems I like.
Written for...
The Mystery Competition. Prompt: Write a poem about Millicent Bulstrode.
Millicent
The beatings became more frequent
the older Millicent grew.
She wasn't smart enough, powerful enough.
She had never been pretty.
Hogwarts was meant to be
her real home.
But the teasing there
was as bad as the beatings.
Charcoal was her first pet,
and also her first friend.
He was black with scars along his back.
No one loved him.
She could relate.
She just wanted to be useful.
She wanted to be liked.
They told her she was important,
and that they couldn't do it without her.
These were the lies she repeated to herself
whenever she did as they asked.
Maybe Father would like her.
Maybe Mum would care.
Hogwarts changed as the war continued.
The lines between school and home
blurred and faded.
People fought and shouted.
Millicent never slept.
The second of May came.
The moment of truth.
They told her to shoot, to kill.
She was not smart,
or kind,
or pretty.
But she would not take a life.
Millicent Bulstrode lived on.
She survived the darkness.