Broken Home – Papa Roach.
Some of the lyrics have been slightly altered.
...
I can't seem to fight these feelings
I'm caught in the middle of this
my wounds are not healing
I'm stuck in between my parents
...
I was 20 years old when it happened; it was only a few weeks after my birthday. Dromeda had finally succumbed to her need for the man she claimed to love a year after she'd finished Hogwarts. Of course our parents were furious; he was far from a pureblood wizard. I on the other hand had married Rodolphus the year I finished at Hogwarts, I became a death eater, and I grew up as the daughter they wanted more than anything.
...
I wish I had someone to talk to
someone to confide in
I just want to know the truth
I just want to know the truth
Broken home
All alone
...
I remember my little sister crying as I stayed and hid behind a wall. I was too cowardly to defend her. I took the dark mark, married out of obligation and was willing to be harmed at the hands of the dark lord yet I couldn't even stand between my sister and my parents. She needed me so badly; I could tell she wanted me to be there to help her. Before then I always had been. As the tears poured down her cheeks I could see that she was longing for someone to say they loved her and to mean it.
When I said it, I meant it.
...
I know they love me
but do they even care
If I'm sad or I'm angry
...
I remember the earth shattering yells my father released upon her. Dromeda was so small, still very much a little girl, even if she was an adult. She would always be my little sister.
I tried to fool myself into believing that they loved her, and that was why they were telling her that if she chose him she couldn't choose us. I tried to harden myself as they screamed horrible things at her. Part of me had wanted to curl up on the floor and cry like I knew she wanted too. I knew that she wouldn't choose us, choose me...
...
You were never ever there
When I needed you
I hope you regret what you did
I think I know the truth
your father did the same to you
...
Our father's voice pounded against my ears, the sound of mother's shrill and disgusted voice making my skin crawl, Dromeda's tears... I stopped covering my ears, I stopped crying. I moved the curls from my face and took a deep breath. I stood and revealed myself to the room. My father looked so mad, his face was red and stern, and he was challenging me for being there. Dromeda turned to me with her tear streaked face and eyes so much like my own that I had to look away.
"Tell them..." She whispered.
I didn't move.
"Please..." She begged.
I clenched my fists. I wanted so badly to do what she was asking of me. She wanted me to tell them what I had told her. What I had told her all those nights while we were children. I couldn't. I couldn't lose my status as a Black like she would. I hated myself for it, but I couldn't.
Dromeda turned back to our father who now looked furious at me as well.
"Well Bella?" He asked through gritted teeth.
Now everyone was staring at me again.
"I..." I began as I turned to the sister who was so much like myself.
Her dark eyes bore into me, begging for my help. I turned back to our father with the strongest, most unemotional face I could manage.
"I think you're right." I whispered.
It was then that my sister cried harder than I'd ever seen her, or anyone cry. I'd held her heart for so long and now that I was under threat I had dropped it.
"Fine..." She whispered defeated.
I watched my little sister turn and walk away, out the door she would never walk through again.
She didn't even give me a second glance.
...
I'm crying day and night now
What is wrong with me
I cannot fight now
I feel like a weak link
Push it back inside
It feels bad to be alone
Crying by yourself, living in a broken home
How could I tell it so y'all could feel it
Depression strikes me hard like my old earth would tell it
Pain bottled up about to blow like a gun
Stories that I tell are nonfiction
And you can't take it back cause it's already done
Broken home
...
I remember how my father had retained this satisfied look as his middle child walked out the door. I remember how he'd been so disgustingly satisfied with me that he'd held me for an inappropriately long time as my mother just stared into space.
She had always been like that.
I remember how when he'd let me go I felt just as I had when we were children.
I remember how that night I had stayed at my childhood home in my old room, how I had cried all through the night.
I remember how I told Dromeda that she could marry anyone that she loved.
If only it hadn't been Ted Tonks.