Dislaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, it belongs to J.K. Rowling, the literary genius.
Searching for Serenity
I draw my knees up to my chest, and peer around the enormous garden.
It is my escape, my
little haven.
My father does not come outside often. He prefers to
hole himself up in his private chambers when he is not serving
You-Know-Who.
Yes, I do call him that. He is no Lord. He is just
a murderer. A manipulater. I joined to protect my mother, and now
that she is dead, I do not want to return.
Muggle-baiting used to
be fun, but now it seems pointless. I cannot enjoy it any more, and I
see no point in torturing them if it is not going to do me any good.
My father has been getting very angry. I come out here to get away
from him, to think.
Think freely.
Think how I think, not
how father thinks.
How Voldemort thinks.
The garden is beautiful
in the summer. The flowers have bloomed, and the animals are lurking
in and by the pond.
The garden is free, how I want to be.
The
garden has found it's point and purpose in life.
I am still
searching.
Searching for peace, quiet, tranquility.
Searching
for serenity.
Please review if you have time, it would make my day.