It's been twenty years, but I still remember exactly. The dampness, the cold... the misery.
I spent an entire year in a dark cell with all the other mudbloods. The rest of the filth.
I still don't know how I survived. I still don't know why I am still alive, when so many others are not.
Children, mothers, grandparents...
Dead. All dead.
We were all the same to them.
Filth. All filth.
We were treated worse than animals. They showed no pity, only revultion, and some glee when they tortured us.
Crucio.
How can such a small word be so painful?
It was sport for them. A sort of gambling game.
« I'll bet you ten galleons, that that mudblood crys faster than that one... » and then,... crucio, crucio, crucio.
« How is this much pain possible? »
« how can people be so cruel? »
« what did i do to diserve this? »
« kill me, please have mercy and kill me now... »
After the liberation, you tried to help us. You tried to fix what the death-eaters had broken. In vain.
Even if you fix a broken mirror, the cracks are forever visible.
Reparo can't fix a soul.
And then when you think you have fixed us you ask, you dare ask, « what was it like? »
What was it like?
It was pain, and death and misery and hopelessness, and blood.
It was hell.
You want to help me? You're too late. You should have stopped them when you had the chance.
But you didn't.
Blood. What a stupid reason to hate someone.
My blood is dirty? Look it's just as red as yours.
Its been twenty years, and I still remember. I still haven't forgiven you.
To me you are filth. All filth.
Well? What say you? Please please review!
Oh and I don't own Harry Potter...