1:24 AM

4:32 AM

I am going to die at midnight. There is nothing I can do about it. The world has left me as helpless as a raggedy ann doll, torn in its misery. The worst part is not even that I'm dying. The worst part is that I know who my killer is, and it hurts.

"Someone fed you a Sicarius Hora Potion, Ms.Parkinson." The doctor told me just two hours ago, when I rushed to St.Mungo's as soon as the coughing began. This wasn't the usual petty child coughing, mind you. I coughed up my blood-traitor blood in small spits, making the episode last over a long period of time. Twenty minutes, to be precise. I was surprised to be able to stretch my arms and legs and get on my feet after the amount of blood I lost. When gazing at my own reflection, I found a pale ghost staring back, with the longest dark curly hair hugging my back, the tips soaked with my fresh blood.

I had never meant to hurt my father. Every time I encountered him, his eyes spoke disappointment. Disappointed of me, because I hadn't joined his little Death Eater herd as he had wanted me to, as soon as I left Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. But I refused. I wanted to be a leader for the first time in my life, not follow a bunch of weak men obeying the Dark Lord's orders. I had done that for the past eighteen years of my life, following someone that I still think about today. I wanted to change, bring my inner self into the open and be what I always wanted to be. I wanted to be a doctor. I craved passion for my work, respect from my peers, and most of all, love from my patients. I sure had the ambition, proof of being in Slytherin, and I thought I had the intelligence for it, but my father had to shatter my dreams like glass broken with a dangerous arm.

Ever since I had bought my apartment in South London, two hours from my parent's house, I had never visited my parents for three months. That night, I finally broke out of my shell and went to visit them. My mother was pleased to see me, instantly deciding that she was going to make her daughter her favorite meal, steak. My father, however, glared at me as if I was a nasty fly that had to be squashed. His fingers moved up and down, and that signal meant that he was concocting one of his brilliant ideas in his mind. I was scared to know what it was, now that I look back at it. My father had never been the best parent, always yelling, degrading me to feel like a worse person than I really was. He would beat me senseless when I enraged him by the pettiest things. I had the scars to prove it, making me look at them everyday I woke up. But hell, I didn't need them. No scars pierced on my body could compare to the scars burned in my heart like a never-ending torch.

We ate our dinner silently at the dinner table, until my mother brought up a topic to discuss. She asked me what I was doing in London these days, and I told heri had signed up to become a doctor and had started my first year of training at a special school. She said that the career was very productive and wished me good look on the path. My father, however, contradicted me, asking if it was a suitable profession for me, considering that I had only gotten three N.E.W.T's. I didn't answer him. I admit it. He intimated me. He always had, ever since I was six years old when I had fried one of his pants by magic accidentally and he had blown with fury and smacked me right across the face like a wild animal. Maybe I should have answered him, because what happened next, I could never take back.

Dinner was over. He went into the kitchen, fiddling with clattering items that I could hear from the table. He had never been much of a cook, considering the apple pie he had cooked one day and it had ended up burning to smithereens, turning out as a charcoal pie in the end. However, it wasn't food he brought out. It was champagne, or at least it appeared to be. It was separated into three wine glasses and passed around the table in cheers, but no one was in a cheery mood. Without thinking anything of it, I drank it, devouring every drop of the champagne's taste.

I didn't know it was poisoned. I drank it at exactly 1:24, and I never would have thought I had twenty four hours to live after that. I coughed up my blood for twenty minutes, and then was rushed to St.Mungo's by my mother, where, once again, the doctor told me I had been poisoned. I was only going to live for one more day, and then I would be gone. There was nothing they could do about it. My mother looked at me in shock, soon dripping wet with tears, but she knew who had done it. I knew it too. My father poisoned me in punishment of becoming a traitor, and he wanted me to feel the pain too. What more pain was there to know that you were going to die within a day and nothing could be done about it?

And now I'm home, lying in my bed, thinking about my father, my childhood, basically my whole life. I feel like I haven't accomplished anything. I have never had a true love I can trust and care about, or a best friend I can rely on. I am distrusted by everyone and everything, even my own father. Am I good in education? No. If I had been given five more years, I could have said proudly that I had achieved something, but it's impossible now.

What shall I do on my last living day? Who shall I spend it with? Thinking about it makes me want my life to end even faster.

6:45 AM

If there was ever a night that I couldn't sleep, this was it. I tossed and turned and got out of bed five times to get a drink or take a leak, but nothing worked. I gave up trying to sleep, knowing that I wouldn't have to try in very long. After taking a long shower, I dressed up in my best clothes, a semi-simulation of a robe, but with no sleeves and skirt length up to my knees. It was a flush rose color, complimenting my ever so pale skin and dark hair. I put on almost every single piece of makeup I owned. I tried out all my jewelry and ended up deciding on a silver necklace with a pink stone in the middle, and matching earrings to go with it. Now, you would think that I should be crawled up in my bed, frittering and anticipating the worst to come, but I have something to accomplish. I might not be able to become a doctor, but I can certainly pursue my true love. I have a mission, and I have to see to it that it's finished.