Set the summer after 5th year. I know Voldemort returned the previous year, but now that he is in the open, Death Eater activities are stepping up a notch.
Disclaimer: As the name of the website suggests, this is fanfiction and I do not own
The night should be my refuge: the solitude, the quiet; the oblivion. But oblivion does not come.
I wake; smothering my cries in my pillow. Cedric… Sirius… don't go… all my fault…
I wake; smothering my screams in my pillow. The graveyard… The Ministry… Voldemort… pain…
I wake; smothering my tears in my pillow. Mum… Dad… Sirius… why does everyone leave me…
Memories haunt my dreams, even as I try to keep them from my waking mind. They tear me apart but I have to swallow them down, hide them inside. No; the night is just another day passed.
Lock it down, lock it down, don't let them see your pain.
The summer should be my refuge: the quiet, the solitude, experimenting with my potions. But this year the potions are not my own.
When I brew the Dark Lord's potions, I focus only on each step, the intricate balance of ingredients and reactions. I do not think about what I am making. I do not think about how they will be used. Only when I return to Hogwarts, the safety of my quarters, do I allow myself to acknowledge what I've done.
I do not go to the bedroom; I do not deserve sleep.
I do not go to the kitchen; I do not deserve food.
I do no go to the bathroom; mere water will not make me clean.
Instead I brew again. Healing potions, salves, balms, antidotes. I can do nothing for those my potions harm, but by healing others I can try to balance the scales, to in some small way assuage my guilt. And when I finally collapse into bed, my stomach full and hair freshly washed, sometimes, for a while, I can remember that my skill brings good as well as ill.
Lock it down, lock it down, show only your mask.
"Freaks… worthless… no-good layabouts… criminal… better dead… "
I do not listen to their words; I have heard them a hundred times. I do not listen because then I would be unable to stop myself from defending them – my parents, my godfather – and that would only get me in more trouble. They are gone, they can not be hurt by words.
"Burden… abnormal… bad luck… freak…"
I do not listen to their words; I have heard them a thousand times. I do not listen because I am deafened by my own litany, chanting in counterpoint – my fault, my fault they died. I know their words are true.
Lock it down, lock it down, don't let them see your pain.
When he starts ranting about muggles – filthy vermin, exterminate them all – I can not think about the Evans, the couple that took me in and made me feel like family. Instead I think of my father; the one from whom I was running.
When he sneers at Dumbledore – the light-loving fool – I can not remember the Headmaster, my colleague, perhaps even friend; who gave me a second chance when I deserved none. Instead I remember the Leader of the Light, dismissing a student's near death because he is a Slytherin and interested in the Dark, not one of his favoured Gryffindors.
When he questions my loyalty – a double-agent to which side – I can not show him the truth; that he lost it all when Lily was killed, that I stay near only to ensure his downfall. Instead I show him my past; the desire for belonging and power that drove me to him, before my eyes were opened to the cost.
When I am with him, I am only what he wants me to be.
Lock it down, lock it down, show only your mask.
At times I am almost glad of my relatives. With them, I do no need to talk, or think, or feel. I just exist. Dusting, or scrubbing, or gardening; the familiar motions take over, lulling my mind into an empty haze, blocking memories of That Night from my thoughts.
I do not have to feel the helplessness, the loss, the pain. Sirius; falling through the Veil, only surprise showing on his face. My last hope slipping away; my chance at a family, someone who cares – although even with him it was little more than a dream.
I do not have to feel the helplessness, the anger, the fear. The prophecy; one or the other, never free until the end. The burden becomes real; everyone expects me to kill him, and it seems true that only I can – although this secret power is unknown to me too.
I know this, and accept it as my fate. Yet sometimes – when Dumbledore sends me 'home' for my protection, or the school is jumping to conclusions, or the Ministry turns a blind eye – I can't help but wonder; is the world as it is worth trying to save?
Lock it down, lock it down, don't let them see your pain.
When I am forced to go on raids, join in the revels, I do not see the victims as people. As men, women, and children; as individuals and families. They are pawns. And pawns must be sacrificed in this game between Light and Dark; the wizards who control my life.
Of course, it is not just pawns that are sacrificed; sometimes only a knight will do. It is with regret that it is placed in the firing line, but there is no hesitation. It is for the Greater Good; the game must be won. I am too important to be risked, for now. No, my sacrifice will be saved until they play for the king.
I know this, and accept it as my fate. Yet sometimes – when I condemn a family to maintain my cover, or I look out over the Great Hall and count the orphans of the last war, or I see the scars left both on body and mind – I can't help but wonder; after all the sacrifices that are made, what will remain?
Lock it down, lock it down, show only your mask.
The summer arrives, and I fulfil my role; bow my head, obey unquestioningly.
"Yes, Aunt Petunia. Yes, Uncle Vernon."
Lock it down, lock it down, don't let them see your pain.
The summer arrives, and I fulfil my role; bow my head, obey unquestioningly.
"Yes, Headmaster. Yes, my Lord."
Lock it down, lock it down, show only your mask.