I - the words you say (they crumble around me)

Disclaimer: All characters are the property of JKR.

Written For: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments) — prompts at the bottom!

Word Count: 884

And in my best behaviour

I am really just like him

Look beneath the floorboards

For the secrets I have hid

You are born into a family of cowards.

Or perhaps it is simply that there is a lack of love, a lack of familial trust.

It does not matter, either way.

Your father despises you. From the minute you are born, he brushes you off with casual dismissal, putting work first and foremost.

You would truly believe your father to be incapable of love if not for the affection he occasionally gifts to your mother.

It is a bitter feeling, twisting away at your insides.

You want him to see you.

You just want some sort of recognition, appreciation, anything.

You make many, many, many attempts to gain your father's love.

Your efforts are futile.

You begin to lose hope.

(But then you wonder, which one of you is the true failure?)

You feel yourself turn.

It is a gradual process, but a sure one, and soon you have powers that you never knew were capable of existing.

You watch others suffer at your hand, and you experience utmost delight for the first time in your entire life.

You befriend Regulus Black, a kind boy with beautiful, dark blue eyes who you willingly drag into a crowd he will most likely never find his way out of.

Perhaps it could have been something more, if only you weren't too busy torturing Muggles for fun.

Is there any regret at all?

You are not sure.

And still, your father pays no attention to you.

He wears a mask, a face of courage and strength and pride, the true qualities of a leader — or so they say.

You loathe it, because you know that, behind it all, your father is just the same as everyone else.

He is no better than you.

The man they see, the man they love, the man they admire, the man they want to be — it is all a lie.

You know it.

But perhaps you are the only one.

You take bigger risks.

You slip up.

You are caught, you are put on trial, you are sent to Azkaban by your father, who barely even glances in your direction.

But it does not matter, because you have become hollow inside, and nothing will bring you back.

Where there used to be love, where there used to be desperation, where there used to be a craving for attention, there is absolutely nothing.

In a last-ditch effort, you lunge at him — and he snaps. You see your mother faint.

The mask is off, you realise.

He is all but snarling, and you watch as everything he has done over the years, the perfect world he has so carefully built, comes tumbling down.

Finally, the world will see him for what he truly is.

And when you look back at him for the last time, the only thing you feel is hatred. And a final, burning desire to prove to him that you are worth something.

The day he realises it will be his last.

You swear it to yourself.

You will kill him.

Your mother sacrifices herself for you.

Internally, you scoff at your father — has he really weakened so much so that he would willingly bring his hated son, the person who destroyed what he loved most, back into his life?

You realise that he simply no longer cares. That without the mask, he truly believes he is nothing, so why strive to be anything at all?

Then you think that perhaps it is a ploy to get rid of both of you, sending you and your mother to your deaths.

You were practically dead anyway.

But in the outside world, you know that you can survive.

That's what you do.

You breathe in, and you carry on living, no matter what.

It is possibly the only thing of value your father has ever taught you.

He has made a huge mistake.

Gradually, your strength returns to you.

You feel yourself fighting the enchantment, and periods of clarity enter your mind.

You begin to plot your escape.

But even when you become his puppet, even when you are lost from your body, you do not forget the vow you made to yourself.

You will kill him.

You look your father directly in the eyes just before he dies, and, knowing the potions' effects will wear off any second now, you force his face towards you, wanting him to know who you are, wanting him to know that you have won.

The recognition that lights up in his eyes is unmistakable, and you grin maniacally, triumph blazing across your face.

A single tear slips out before the light dims completely, and he slumps back against you, onto the ground.

He is dead.

When the Dementor approaches you, you do not cry.

You do not laugh, either, although a kind of gurgle reaches up through your throat, and you gag, omitting a kind of cackle that you can tell immensely frightens the other occupants in the room.

You stare Minerva McGonagall in the eye, and smile voraciously.

It does not matter that you are about to die.

There is only jubilance within you.

You have succeeded in your mission — you have served your master, and well.

You are immensely proud of yourself.

But it has always been more than that.

You have proved your worth.

It does not matter that you are about to die.

Because in the end, you are still victorious.

Prompts:

365 Prompts: 364. (word) Victorious

Assignment #3: Herbology: Dangerous Plants — task 1 (write about someone who wears a disguise)

Insane House: 979. (emotion) proud

Resolutions: 5. Write 100 stories in 2018 (#2), 8. Write a story in a style you've not used before, 62. Write a collection based around Death Eaters (#1)

Scavenger Hunt: 13. write a fic featuring polyjuice potion

Serpent Challenge: 39. Lancehead (word) hollow

Writing Club:

- Character Appreciation: (relationship) Father

- Disney Challenge: Aladdin - write about a survivor

- Showtime: 10. A Sentimental Man (relationship) Father/Child

(Lyrics — John Wayne Gacy Jr, by Sufjan Stevens)