I, Doxy
A/N - So, I thought of this idea...what? A year before? And, today, I was re-reading my stories, trying to find some motivation to write...and came across ways to improve the meaning of the story...just little changes, but I admit to being sort of a perfectionist- at this, that is. Well...sometimes.
Anyway, I'm thinking this is the first of its kind to be on here...told from the POV of a Grimmauld Place doxy. A bit strange, but I like it, weirdly.
Enjoy.
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The Order of the Phoenix. I don't know the meaning of these words, but I hear them often enough in my small, heavily-populated home. Along with "weapon", "Voldemort", and the one that seems to put a stinge in the air- "destroy."
There are so many of us; more of us than there are of them. Them, who sit around at the table talking, in hushed importance, about something. Protecting this. Destroying that. And all the time, we sit here, huddled in our own clusters, second-guessing the words of those at the table.
For years upon years we've been here, as the generations before us had. We were here before they were. But they speak of "cleaning", and the few who have been listening as I have, know the meaning of this word. For us, it means destroy.
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Those who knew nothing of their upcoming fate just saw it happen along as another average day. They suspected nothing from the masked enemies; and thought nothing more of the hazy toxic fumes that were entrancing them to a permanent slumber. Those who were weak, were taken; those who were strong, resisted, prayed for success, ended without.
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They had came; they had conquered. All but me. The only one left of my kind here, left to fend for myself. If only their feeble minds would have filled with observance rather than ignorance; this would not be.
The one with the dark hair; he lives here. Not as long as I have, but close to it. I see him sulk, I see him cry, I see his pain. I suspect he, too, is the last one remaining; the sole survivor in the family. And yet he talks of destroying, along with the rest. I do not see how he, the lone existor, can speak of such things when he knows what it feels like to be destroyed.
To be destroyed. The greatest defeat which can be suffered through. But how much suffering must one go through to realize that- to selfishly triumph for yourself, another will be destroyed. Maybe these creatures are different. Maybe they do not truly understand what loss is.
They will, though. This- destroying has gone on too long. Someday, somehow, some way, they will pay. And then, no matter what I thought they had known in the beginning,-
They will know what it is like to be destroyed.