I don't know what's right and what's real anymore
A/N: This One-shot came to me during one of my English classes. This is my first shot at writing Fan fiction, so I hope you can enjoy it and that I get some feedback. Good or bad. It doesn't matter to me. I thrive on criticism. It only makes me stronger! Although some positive points are always appreciated (nudge, nudge, hint, hint)!
Warning: This is a very dark fic, so people who feel uncomfortable with dark themes like suicide should probably not read this.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters.
I used to yearn to be a normal teenager with normal problems and lots of friends, just like everyone else. Then fate decided to play a trick on me so that I would stumble down the path to my own personal hell.
After I completed seventh year in Hogwarts, Hermione, Ron and I decided to retreat in the muggle world. We were just so tired of the wizarding world after all that has happened over the years and all the staring and stalking from all our fans was getting on our nerves. We felt, we couldn't be ourselves around people who had preconceived notions and expectations from us.
We found a bright, homey apartment at the fringes of muggle London and while Hermione took a job as a Primary school teacher, both Ron and I opened up our own little Pub which we named "The Hungry Shed". I know it was nothing that could have been considered exciting, but I kind of enjoyed the casual life where there were no evil lords to worry about.
For so long I felt like I was going to drown in the depressive thoughts that the people which have been killed evoked in me. Hermione, Ron and our Pub were the only things that still kept me sane and from sinking into the black hole that I feared I was going to slip into.
It was Christmas, the year after we graduated, when it happened. On Christmas night, when we three were driving back in our Mercedes from a big party we attended, I suddenly saw two bright lights to my right before my world went dark.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . .
I was the only survivor in what has been labeled as "a drunken driving incident". Hermione and Ron both died on the scene leaving me with a burnt, scarred face and two broken legs. I was never the same again.
Yet again, I was lying awake in my cousin's bed at one in the morning. Since my friends passed away I was barely able to sleep, with nightmares roaming my dreams. Due to McGonagall's suggestion I moved back in with the Dursleys. I didn't really care anymore what happened to me, so I just went back because she told me to.
My friends had long since abandoned me from the Pub which I closed down after the incident. I couldn't keep it without seeing Ron's face smiling back at me from my right. I didn't talk to anyone. I was a shell, left with no emotion, save the burning self-loathing eating away at my soul. Tonight was different. For the first time in months, I felt fear. I had this feeling of being watched, yet when I turned around I only saw the old black cupboard standing in the corner of my room. That's when the voices began. "Don't worry, you're not alone anymore. I shall be with you from now on and guide you through your hate," a papery voice whispered. Now I was certain that it came from within my cupboard. "Yes, come look inside," it hissed. I didn't look. I was afraid.
After that first time, I continued hearing the same dry whisper telling me horrible truths and feeding me lies every night. It said I could call him Baalzaban. "Nobody cares or sees you anymore, nor do they wish to make your life any easier. They all just look out for themselves and see you as their hero. If you want something, you must just take it and forget about the others," he breathed into my mind. I always tried to resist; saying it was wrong just to take whatever you like by stealing and killing in the process. Week after week I said the same thing to myself over and over, yet after a while, I started to forget why such acts should be wrong. All the while, Baalzaban crooned sickly sweet words of courage to me. I was terrified of him, yet needed him at the same time. He was my nightly companion. He was the only one who still listened to me and genuinely seemed to care.
Then it finally happened. That very night, I was starving as my aunt and uncle had locked me in my room without food as they had done so in the past. The faces of all the people who I got killed floated in front of my face. I finally snapped, and with a burst of raw magic I broke myself out and ventured to the streets of London. When I was in a particular section of town, I saw a brunette walking into a dark alleyway who just screamed "rich and bitchy". "This is your chance. Take it. She is just another one of those mindless drones who look down on you," Baalzaban spat into my ear. My morals didn't seem to jump to life at that, so I made a snap decision and followed her into the dark alley with the dagger I had bought a while ago to carve lines and words of hate into my skin. I carefully snuck up behind her, raised the wickedly gleaming blade and stabbed it deep into her back. Just like that. She briefly shrieked into my hands that were clasped around her mouth, before she sank to the cold hard floor beneath. I bowed over her body, casually took the wallet from her handbag and looked into her open petrified ice-blue eyes. I laughed. It was so easy. A month ago I would have felt regret, yet now I felt nothing. I got what I wanted and it would fill my self - hate. That was all that mattered. I walked away without once looking back.
After that, I continued to kill people with mirth. I preferred the redheads. They screamed the loudest and hence gave me the most gratifying sweetest taste of pure adrenalin. Baalzaban continued to tell me to come and look into the cupboard every night. I never did. He was the only thing I was still afraid of, even though I needed him every night.
I lost my sense of reality. I was reduced to a dark creäture filled with self-loathing, blood-lust and no morals. I didn't know what was right and what was real anymore. And the enchanting whispering continued.
One night I was compelled to take my dagger and stand in front of my cupboard. "It is time," Baalzaban hissed hollowly from within my cupboard. I could hear his hollow breathing and the moaning of a thousand other voices crying out. I knew what he meant and slowly opened the creaking doors of the giant black cupboard. The sight that greeted me terrified me and I was petrified at the door, unable to move my limbs. The poisonous orb-like glowing green eyes staring back at me hypnotized me until I felt numb and calm. "You know what you have to do," the demon hissed at me. I knew. I raised my blade, which previously had been meant for others, and plunged it into my chest. Spurts of beautiful vital blood pooled on the floor, cascading over my body. The demon's sneering face was the last thing I saw before my world went dark.
A/N: Please let me know how it was and what would make it even better. The title of my story is a quote from a well-known English poem. See if you can figure out which one it is.