It is always the quiet one, they say. The quiet one always blows up in the end… always turns out bad. When you first heard that, you could not help but agree. After all, it is hard not to turn out bad when no one is there to stop it from happening.
It hurts.
It hurts you when no one notices the new robe you're wearing… the one you've been planning to wear for a while… the one you hoped would finally gain some attention… and not just any attention, but his attention. It hurts you when no one notices that new hairstyle that you wished would be enough for him to see you. Really see you… see you as a girl… not the younger sibling of your sister.
It hurts.
It hurts when everyone thinks that you're the runt of the liver, the moron of the grade, when you know that you're smarter than any one of them. You just don't have a reason to show off.
It hurts.
It hurts you when your own sister is among the group of girls who laugh at you on a daily basis. Of course, you never mind, because you never really loved her anyway… and she never really loved you. But it hurts all the same. It hurts when she does it in front of him, even though she knows exactly how you felt about him. You never meant for her to find out about it. After all, it is your deepest, darkest secret. It is not your fault that she found the hidden picture.
It hurts. But it's nothing compared to the humiliation you feel now. There is no way to run from this… no way to hide. Everyone saw you do it. You are finally getting the attention you've always wanted, but it's for all the wrong reasons.
You scan the crowd frantically, hoping to see a friendly face. You see the rows upon rows of hostile, disgusted faces. Your gaze settles on your sister's face. Your heart, traitorous as it is, swells, hoping that for once, just this once, your sister will stand up for you. You watch your sister carefully as she answers the question from one of her acquaintances: Hey, Daphne, isn't that your sister?
You watch as your sister's beautiful face contorts in an ugly sneer. Daphne turns to her companion and loudly says, "As if! I'd be insulted if I were associated with scum like her." Daphne turns on her heels, and marches away from the crowd, her sheep friends following her. She does not spare another glance in your direction.
Your last hope is gone, and although you should have been scared, you are oddly detached. You realize that this will change nothing. The others will still ignore you, he will still ignore you and you still will not have any friends.
Then you catch sight of something that you had not seen before. It is his face. He watches you pensively… the expression on his face is one that you have never seen there before. It is one of… of… disappointment. That one face, out of the hundreds before you, manages to crumple your defenses.
All of a sudden, you realize the gravity of what you have just done. The detached feeling is gone, and you are overwhelmed with the pain. You try to get a hold of yourself… it will not help the situation if they see you cry. You find yourself wishing to be detached once more… to be numb… to be free of all this.
Yet you cannot escape. The evidence of your misdeeds is right there in front of you. You see the bloody, battered body of Pansy Parkinson at your feet. Her head is tilted at an odd angle, her eyes mercifully closed. You do not think you can handle it if they were open. Her books lay scattered along the corridor, mingled with yours. Your wand is on the ground, no longer in your trembling hand.
You know she's not dead… at least, you hope. You did not mean to be so violent. She did not deserve it. Guilt overrides every other feeling and you crumple to the ground, your face hidden in your hands.
No one offers a comforting hand. You realize that you were wrong. It will never be the same. At least before, these people were indifferent. Now, they are all going to hate you. They are all going to know that you are the sour lemon among them.
After all, it is hard not to turn out bad when no one is there to stop it from happening.
A/N: I'm in a very foul mood, and I was crying as I wrote this. I'm glad I got it off my chest though. I hope that it moved some of you. That's really all that I can hope for as an author.