Disclaimer: Harry Potter is Jo Rowling's. 'Broadway' is the property of John Rzeznik and the Goo-Goo Dolls.

Note: This is depressing. I am not depressed. I'm quirky and funny. Don't tell me to see a shrink. Oh, and this was done around nine at night, all at once, in one sitting. It's a little abstract, and there is no dialogue. I never state who's point of view it is, but you'll figure it out. Poor depressed girl…

All The Faded Girls

Lying on faded blankets day after day had become my ritual. I did nothing, I didn't eat; I didn't talk. I laid and I thought, and I wondered. Where is my family? The warm-light family around the dinner table where we talked and we smiled. This war has torn us apart. If I knew that Fred and George were alive, maybe I'd have some bread. If I knew that Ron was okay, I would have more than water to drink. If I knew that my dear Charlie was breathing, I would turn over and quit crying. If I knew Mummy, Daddy, and Bill were fine, I'd get up. If I knew where Percy was I'd breathe in the mold of these blankets until it turned to carbon monoxide.

I've had time to think through my tears, as I am alone. I refused to go to war, and when I was taken away by Bellatrix, the last thing I saw of my family was three blood spots on the floor, and green light. Then I was pulled away by the asphyxiating arms that held a Dark Mark. And there I lay inside a cage for a month, held prisoner of war, drinking in the shafts of daylight that I could catch by luck, until I drained them to moonbeams. And then the man came. The light man with black hair and blue eyes. He rescued me but I was not saved. He brought me here, where I still hear the screaming inside a threadbare linen confine.

It has been a year now, and I still hear young men coming in, their minds deteriorating from spell overdose, from seeing childhood friends be the victim of emerald light so dim. I cry pools of dreams and wishes for them, the pearls from my eyes knitting together comfort in which still I am inferior to. I wonder whom the green light hit. Maybe when this hell is over I can return home and I will forget this all. I won't be affected any longer by this poison that they pour down my throat, the lies they slip into my mouth as I pretend. Pretend on the faded blankets surrounded by faded girls, in the faded light, through my faded eyes.

Broadway is dark tonight.

A little bit weaker than you used to be.

Broadway is dark tonight.

See the young man sitting

In the old man's bar

Waiting for his turn to die.

The man smiles at me, as if I'm stupid, and holds a spoon to my lips. I knock it out of his hands and he looks angry, but it is the least that I can do. I'm skin and bones, but I'm not hungry. I don't want the food. I need it to live, but I no longer want to live. I would rather fall victim of a random curse. I would rather have joined the war. Hermione did, and Harry too. Even poor, sad Colin. And he never had a family to begin with; his life was as washed out as mine has become. A watercolor imitation of happiness, the sadness masquerading as a smile, as the artificial joy sleeps in a sad facade.

I wonder how long I've gone without food. I hear them talking when they think I'm sleeping, while I'm careful to close my eyes so they look shut, so I can look through my lashes, flames encircling my view, keeping my breathing steady and sleepy. I hear them talking, and they speak about me. They say it's been a month and I've eaten two meals. But I've been here much longer. They say they want to call in a doctor. Well good, you do that then. I won't care. I haven't slept in two weeks; my eyes are circled in gray. But all I do is lie on my faded blanket, looking out at the faded town through the dirty window; my dingy hair flying in the breeze they allot to fly through once every day.

The cowboy kills the rock star.

And Friday night's gone too far.

The dim light hides the years

On all the faded girls.

Another whitewashed sunrise, as I am already awaiting it, I know it well. I am able now to count the seconds before it breaks its Plasticine cover with its beautiful tentacles of light, dancing its way upwards into the blue sea of skylight. I live for this now. I think it's lovely. Martha, beside me, wakes up first, and finds me fascinating. She thinks my deadened words are curious. Sometimes she'll sit on her cot and stare at the back of my head. We'll talk about our families and sometimes about the war. She arrived about five months after I did… me in December, and she in May.

I only saw Martha once, when I turned so she could hear my words. I was taken aback by her striking platinum curls and bright blue eyes. They were looking up in her head, and I knew she didn't see me. She reminded me of a girl I once knew: Fleur. Once I asked if that was who she was, and the man nodded. She was brought here by her sister Gabrielle, she had gone quite crazy after going to war. She knew not who she was. I thought that was sad. I looked back upon my singed twenty-one years. Is this where I want to be?

Did I want to be frail and faded? Lying upon blanched blankets with my mind half-asleep and head half-spinning? I sat there in the dark, and I stood up and almost collapsed, my legs weak from under use. Step by step I made it to the stairs. Step by step, I made it to the first floor. Step by step I got to the door. And that's when I left. I left the faded girls, and the faded misery, I left my faded friend.

Forgotten but not gone

You drink it off your mind

You talk about the world

Like it's someplace that you've been

You see you'd love to run home

But you know you ain't got one

And you're livin' in a world

That you're best forgotten around here

Soon after that I left my faded life, heart racing so fast that it defied the law of a dizzied man. It was fun, in the rain, for awhile. The streetlights danced in the water on my windshield, dripping down in the deluge again and again. I should have known where I was going, before the stolen car and I fell off of the pier. There were lots of lights and lots of noise, and I still faintly remember that night, but it's faded.

I was unresponsive for awhile, but soon I came back around again. I am back on my faded blankets, but Martha's bed is empty. The night I got back I lay in her bed, taking in the scent of flower petals that remained of my only friend. They don't miss her, but I do. I miss the faded girl who laid in the cot where I am lying now. I listened to her stories, fabrication though they were. I understood the truth beneath the heavily brocaded falsehood.

You choke down all your anger

Forget your only son

You pray to statues when you sober up for fun

Your anger don't impress me

The world slapped in your face

It always rains like hell on the loser's day parade

You see you'd love to run home

But you know you ain't got one

'Cause you're livin' in a world that you're best forgotten

And when you're thinkin' you're a joke

And nobody's gonna listen

To the one small point

I know they've been missin' round here.

Lying on the faded blankets, each tear carefully crushed within the folds of a tired linen that gave in; I wonder why I ever fought. There is nothing anymore left that I want besides the sunrise, and I'm sure they get those in Heaven. So this time I'm sure that the next time I die, I will see my family, and again, we'll sit around a warm kitchen, hand in hand, saying the words I know so well. As I savor the amen along with the first taste of my meal, I know I'll be home.

The war is over now, and although we won, I feel like I lost in so many ways. I'm faded through and through. I'm struggling to eat now; my body's going to shut down soon. I know that there is no one left. The Golden Trio is a cursed bronze. All that's left of my family is blood mixed on paper, and a sad-smiled little child that lays on faded blankets, tired, gentle, and as washed out as the silver sunrise she holds her breath for.

Broadway is dark tonight

A little bit weaker than you used to be

Broadway is dark tonight

See the young man sitting

In the old man's bar

Waiting for his turn to die