It has been a year since my arm was scarred. A year since I lost so much blood that I needed a blood replenishing potion to fix the damage. Most people thought Harry got the WORST scars. Most people thought me mates Fred and George would have the MOST scars. The truth is that there scars were rather small. Fixable with a bit of magic. Harry chooses to wear his as a badge of pride. Fred and George chose theirs as a brand of defiance. Mine were different. Because while their scars were allocated to the backs of their hands, mine spread. Past the arms and down my back. A few reach to my face.
I never wanted to be a writing board. A poster of my past deeds. But I can no longer hope to hide them. I should have expected that with the list of things I did that the scars would need to spread to show all of my "sins".
I never before wanted to show my scars. Because showing them used to mean more punishment. It used to mean being beat down by Umbridge and her followers.
Now I am not afraid to show them. Because it means I fought back.
"I shall not use spells in class"
"I shall not sing in the hallways"
"i shall not smile"
"I shall not read books that are unassigned"
"I shall not comfort those who cry"
"I shall not agree with a liar"
"I shall not show defiance toward the ministry"
"I shall not heal my scars"
"I shall not destroy quills"
"I shall not protect those who misbehave"
"I shall not fight"
These scars that litter my body will never fade.
Not because they can't be healed with magic. They can.
It is because the sentence I carved into my skin of my own accord would have no meaning.
"A sentence is not made of chains and scar is not what defines you."