So this is just an idea that popped into my head...that happens a lot with me. I've always thought ole Barty was a pretty cool guy (other than the fact that he's completely evil) and wanted to do a story chronicling his life during the 1994/1995 school year. The intro is a little bit boring, and who knows, the whole thing might turn out to be boring also. That's a risk you'll have to take. Also for those of you reading my story Tumble, I'm going to post another chapter really soon, and for the none of you reading Spiral Down, it might take a little longer. Enough of my rambling. Here ya go:
Ever go to bed wishing you won't wake up in the morning? Well, welcome to my world. My life has no point, ever since the Dark Lord fell. My days are filled with nothing. Literally nothing. I am allowed to do nothing but sit, in the kitchen, with an Invisibility Cloak covering my body and our dumb House Elf by my side. I am not even allowed a wand.
My father does not love me. I know that, give me no bullshit about him. He is not fit to be a father.
My mother loved me. Loved, because now she is dead. She died to free me, and I hate her for it. I left one prison for another. In Azkaban, at least my imprisonment was noble. There is nothing noble about prison in my father's house.
I should be seeking him out. I know it. I am under guard of no dementor. I should be free.
My father is almost worse than the dementors. With them, I could not remember anything pleasing. With him, I am forced to remember. The memories haunt me, reminding me brutally of better times. Reminding me brutally of what I should be doing.
There is no way I can find him. Not with the guardianship of my father. What a joke. He only keeps me because he fears what I will do if he lets me out.
Rightfully so.
And there is no way the Dark Lord can find me. He lives still, that I know, but he is no longer the same man he was before. He is broken. I can feel it. He is broken, and he needs a faithful follower to renew him. He cannot possibly find me. Especially not when the only person outside my household who knows of my existance is the heedless Ministry witch Bertha Jorkins. She is not one of his followers, I know that much. He did not let even his most loyal followers know of the others. But Jorkins is not fit to serve the Dark Lord. No one is fit to serve him like I am.
I am trapped here. Trapped, in a greater torture than Azkaban. In a greater torture than death.
I would kill myself if I could. There is no point to life without the Dark Lord. But my father does not even allow me a wand to take my life. My pitiless, useless life.
One last thing (I didn't want to overload you in the beginning): this marks my fifth story on ! I can now officially become a beta reader :D (This probably doesn't matter to you, but it makes me happy)
