Itching Out
Mikia
Chapter One: His Eyes
Her shoulders shuddered, her feet shuffled against the tiled floor, and her mind itched to be ripped open. All she could hear was screaming, screaming that vibrated against her skull wanting to be heard, screaming that keep her from remembering, a scream that kept her awake at nights, and it was this head splitting scream that was making her mad. Her eyes would lazily gaze from side to side, trying to see if anyone would even show signs of hearing the screaming, but they wouldn't, they never did, all they would do was watch her.
Some of those who were there were quite young and would scribble down on their parchment, glancing over their enlarged glasses a few times, before they would scratch down a few more things. Then there were those who watched because they had to. They were no longer a bother to her, quite kind actually; helping her walk when the shrieking got to loud for her to concentrate, they brought her food, and talked, but that part didn't matter, she could barely pay attention when all she could hear was screaming.
Then there was her most favorite watcher of all time. He was barely there, but for some reason she felt a strong attachment to this person. His face was round, a dark youth of hair on his head, and very tender hands. The kind of hands that would accept things with gratitude, hands that worked for the benefactor of others; it was the kind of hands that were frail, but could do wonders. She always took delight to see his hands move, usually clutching his pants or twiddling his thumbs, but she loved it when he would take her presents. It was how they would clutch them tenderly, shaking as if he might lose it, but holding it as if it was precious.
Then there were his eyes, the kindest eyes she had ever seen. Eyes that were so familiar, but so distant to her it felt, well-wrong. She had seen these eyes before, but everything was so loud for her to remember. They always looked like they were going to cry for some reason, so full of hopelessness but a love for someone. She didn't know who, but it was a delight to think the love in his eyes was for her. Nobody else stared at her like that, not so full of love and kindness, even those his shoulders would shake from fear, or to hold back tears.
She wanted to know where this boy came from. His appearance was so familiar, but everything was so far from her and so LOUD! She wanted to know this boy; she wanted to know why he looked at her with such tenderness, and love. She wanted to know! Why couldn't she find it? Why couldn't she remember this boy, she knew it was in her memory, BUT IT WAS SO LOUD!
Then there was the woman always with the boy; the one with the funny looking thing on her hat but constantly with the boy. The woman was most kind to her and the man who shared the room with her, always having the kindest voice, even though she didn't look it. The boy would barely speak, saying words she couldn't concentrate to pay attention to, but his words were so-so-sad. Maybe he understood her; maybe he could stop the screaming.
Yet, it wasn't only the screaming she wanted to stop, it was another thing that barely scratched her head. It was almost the same noise nails on a chalkboard make, forks scraping against a glass plate, but it wasn't the same, it was, a cackling, some sort of-laughter. It came to her when the screaming would quiet on a rare basis. It would screech some sort of word, and it would mix itself amongst the screaming, cackling, chuckling, laughing. She could barely hear it, but she knew it was there. It always made the screaming to become louder, and louder, and louder-
Oh how she tried to block out the sound. Pressing her bed pillows against her ears, distracting herself by humming, or just chewing on candies hoping something might make it stop. Not to mention it was a full blown tragedy for her when nothing would work. Sometimes she would scream in pure annoyance, getting headaches, being sleep-deprived, or just trying to outdo whatever was taking place in her own mind. She wanted it all to stop, she wanted it to be quiet, and she wanted everything to be okay, she wanted-
Her eyes popped open wide when it got louder. Was it actually quiet while she slept? Could she actually think of what she wanted? Well, she couldn't anymore, for everything in her head itched, like a horrible rash, wanting to be itched, wanting to be noticed, just wanting her attention. Her eyes shifted around the room, eyelids trying to block the light of the lamp, even though it was so dim. The woman with the kind face was back, and so was the boy.
It was getting louder.
The woman said something, but she couldn't concentrate on the words. She twitched her eyes around the room trying so hard to keep the screaming quiet. It was another failed attempt, and so began the humming. She shifted to get up, still humming, and put another candy in her mouth, still humming. The humming wasn't working; it was getting louder, louder than ever. She could hear the screeching, the laughter, but nothing wasn't working. Her eyes closed shut, trying so hard to squeeze out everything. Her hands clasped over her ears. It just wouldn't stop.
A hand touched her shoulders and she opened her eyes to see the woman looking at her. She dropped her hands and stared back, seeing almost the same kind eyes the boy had, but not the same. She looked over at the boy, who was looking at the ground, sad without a trace of hope, and she tilted her head in confusion. Why wasn't the boy looking at her, where was his eyes, the ones that showed such affection for her.
She scooted down her bed a bit and placed her hands on the boys face so he was looking at her. His eyes were still so sad, but she saw the love in them. She felt him shiver, before placing both his hands on hers. Oh how it was delightful for her to have his hands on hers, but they weren't shaking. The fear seemed to have passed and the screaming was going quieter. All she could do was to stare at this boy, wanting to keep his gaze, wanting to know what affection he had for her, and why.
It was an impulse, she had never done it to anybody else, but it seemed so natural for her to do it. She carefully took one of her hands and smoothed his hair back, as if she had done it a million times. His hair, so wonderfully brown, and rich of youth, not aged of stress, like hers.
And all they did was to stare at each other.
Something was itching in her mind again, stronger than ever. His eyes seemed to have enlightened something, something stronger for her to concentrate on, and something louder than the screaming. Then, it all stopped.
The screeching laughter had stopped, and the screaming was no where to be heard. Like a dam bursting out in a stampede of water, everything came rushing in.
Images of people, places, and objects swayed themselves in place. She remembered a pain inside of her, and a feeling of relief. Then she saw a man's face, happy in pure joy. She felt something being put in her arms, like a precious gem. She remembered craning her neck to look down at the bundle, and saw-and saw-
His eyes.
This boy-this boy was HER boy! How she remembered the flutter in her stomach to see her son in her arms. It was the same pair of kind eyes that stared at her when he entered this world and it was the same that was staring at her right now.
Yes, this boy, he's my boy.
She blinked back, her eyes pondering along with her thoughts. Then it occurred to her, she could think! She could concentrate! It all stopped, everything was clear, but-what happened?
She remembered Bellatrix Lestrange, she remembered what she did to her and Frank, but how the screaming left, how her madness had stopped, didn't matter anymore. All she knew was that this boy-her boy-had saved her.
She released his face and clasped her hand over her mouth. Had she escaped her madness? Was it all over? Her head craned from side to side, gazing around the room-a hospital room. So, she was mad, but the important thing was that she was. She took her hand away from her mouth and looked up at the other woman. It was Frank's mother.
She took in a breath and opened her mouth to say something, but she stopped, and looked back at her son, who was watching her every move. She gently placed her hands on his shoulders, which he inevitably nearly jumped at, and pursed her lips to hold back the tears. Her son, how could she have ever forgotten?
She bowed her head, and then lifted it seeing the gaze of her son at her with concern, and the ever present sadness.
"N-N-Neville," she said. Oh gracious how it has been so long since she last talked. It felt more like a croak to her than a word, but it didn't matter to her son. His eyes were no longer hopeless and sad, but shock and hope was in the mixture. He heard Frank's mother let gasp but her eyes couldn't leave her son. The boy who was here for her ever since that-that woman did this to her and to her family. She had it back, but not the years when she should have been there for her son. Nothing else mattered more to her than her son.
She heard her mother in-law quickly depart from their room to fetch a Healer, but she didn't want to look up. It was nearly a dream to her to have it all back, that the screaming had, stopped, and for what it seemed like ages, she was herself again.
"M-Mum," he whispered trying to contemplate if he should cry with joy or think this was a trick.
She smiled and smoothed his hair over again and pulled him in against her. The hug was dear to him, she could tell, for his shoulders didn't want to jump out of his skin, but they relaxed, as if he was waiting his whole life for his mother to hug him. His hands clutched the sides of her nightgown, and hid his face in her arms. His shoulders started to shake again, but not with the wanting fear, but from the sniffles and tears and touched his mother's arms with absolute grace.
"Darling, it's alright, mummy is here," she whispered and stroked her son's head. She lifted her face towards the ceiling feeling as if in a dream. The only sounds she heard were the sobs of her beloved son, and the yelling of her mother in-law in the hallway.
"Somebody, get me a Healer and quick! Yes you, I said a Healer! For Alice Longbottom, my gracious you people are half-wits! She's talking you clod! Not mumbling, not humming, talk-ing! She said my grandson's name, oh heavens!" she bellowed waving her red hand bag around. Alice smiled at hearing her mother in-laws cursing and frustration, and thanked God she could understand it all. It was a joy unimaginable, but was it here to stay? In reassurance to herself, she realized that her madness did its duty and left, in hopes it did of course. Yet, she looked at her husband, and wondered if he would escape it all, if he could block the screaming. It took her after all fifteen years to do so, but how long would it take for Frank?
She heard the rushing of footsteps against the pavement and looked down at her still weeping son who was clinging to her nightgown as if it was his lifesaver. She continued to smooth his hair as the Healers came rushing in. They stared at her hands over their mouths, eyes wide, as if they witnessed a miracle. Well, after all, it was one. She had escaped her madness and came back to the world to where she belonged. Her son in her arms, her head only full of memories, thoughts, and feelings-yes she was back in her own world.
One of the healers approached her, not knowing what to say to a woman who was no longer driven by the screams of her own torture, but it came out anyway.
"Do-do you know who you are?" she said.
Alice sighed and continued to comfort her son.
"Yes."
The Healer cleared her throat again, but Alice knew what was coming.
"My name is Alice Longbottom; and this is my son-Neville," she answered softly. Neville lifted his head up to stare at his mother, the dim room not showing the tear streaks that comfortably soaked his cheeks. She smiled and wiped his cheeks with her palm before he buried his face in her arms again. She looked around the room to see half the Healers too shocked to say anything, some her crying silent tears witnessing a reunion between mother and son, while some were amazed so much their own legs couldn't support them but had to sit in a chair or on the floor. Frank's mother was in the corner of the room, her hand clasped against her mouth, eyes open yet crying, and her handbag unnoticeably lying on the floor.
Yes, miracle as it was; her own son saved her from the screaming.
Author: whoooooooooo, wow that took me forever. I've been going bonkers wanting to write something, also trying to keep my mind off of something else *more exactly a story I left back at my house that I really wanted to get typed down.* I'm suffering from unimaginable anger right now, particularly about certain characters not appearing in the 3rd Harry Potter movie which I will not say who it is, because I'm waaayy to mad to even mention it. So I'm wallowing in my own anger, depression about Sirius *yes I'm still depressed about that*, and thinking if I should write a complaint to JK Rowling if she has any idea what that bloody director is doing to the 3rd Movie. I swear it's horrible. I don't own Pot-head *sorry Harry Potter* or my own brain, cuz'-c'mon I don't even know what I'm doing sometimes. I'm thinking of making this a chapter story, but that depends on what you guys say soooo.yeah.. Please Review!!
Mikia
Chapter One: His Eyes
Her shoulders shuddered, her feet shuffled against the tiled floor, and her mind itched to be ripped open. All she could hear was screaming, screaming that vibrated against her skull wanting to be heard, screaming that keep her from remembering, a scream that kept her awake at nights, and it was this head splitting scream that was making her mad. Her eyes would lazily gaze from side to side, trying to see if anyone would even show signs of hearing the screaming, but they wouldn't, they never did, all they would do was watch her.
Some of those who were there were quite young and would scribble down on their parchment, glancing over their enlarged glasses a few times, before they would scratch down a few more things. Then there were those who watched because they had to. They were no longer a bother to her, quite kind actually; helping her walk when the shrieking got to loud for her to concentrate, they brought her food, and talked, but that part didn't matter, she could barely pay attention when all she could hear was screaming.
Then there was her most favorite watcher of all time. He was barely there, but for some reason she felt a strong attachment to this person. His face was round, a dark youth of hair on his head, and very tender hands. The kind of hands that would accept things with gratitude, hands that worked for the benefactor of others; it was the kind of hands that were frail, but could do wonders. She always took delight to see his hands move, usually clutching his pants or twiddling his thumbs, but she loved it when he would take her presents. It was how they would clutch them tenderly, shaking as if he might lose it, but holding it as if it was precious.
Then there were his eyes, the kindest eyes she had ever seen. Eyes that were so familiar, but so distant to her it felt, well-wrong. She had seen these eyes before, but everything was so loud for her to remember. They always looked like they were going to cry for some reason, so full of hopelessness but a love for someone. She didn't know who, but it was a delight to think the love in his eyes was for her. Nobody else stared at her like that, not so full of love and kindness, even those his shoulders would shake from fear, or to hold back tears.
She wanted to know where this boy came from. His appearance was so familiar, but everything was so far from her and so LOUD! She wanted to know this boy; she wanted to know why he looked at her with such tenderness, and love. She wanted to know! Why couldn't she find it? Why couldn't she remember this boy, she knew it was in her memory, BUT IT WAS SO LOUD!
Then there was the woman always with the boy; the one with the funny looking thing on her hat but constantly with the boy. The woman was most kind to her and the man who shared the room with her, always having the kindest voice, even though she didn't look it. The boy would barely speak, saying words she couldn't concentrate to pay attention to, but his words were so-so-sad. Maybe he understood her; maybe he could stop the screaming.
Yet, it wasn't only the screaming she wanted to stop, it was another thing that barely scratched her head. It was almost the same noise nails on a chalkboard make, forks scraping against a glass plate, but it wasn't the same, it was, a cackling, some sort of-laughter. It came to her when the screaming would quiet on a rare basis. It would screech some sort of word, and it would mix itself amongst the screaming, cackling, chuckling, laughing. She could barely hear it, but she knew it was there. It always made the screaming to become louder, and louder, and louder-
Oh how she tried to block out the sound. Pressing her bed pillows against her ears, distracting herself by humming, or just chewing on candies hoping something might make it stop. Not to mention it was a full blown tragedy for her when nothing would work. Sometimes she would scream in pure annoyance, getting headaches, being sleep-deprived, or just trying to outdo whatever was taking place in her own mind. She wanted it all to stop, she wanted it to be quiet, and she wanted everything to be okay, she wanted-
Her eyes popped open wide when it got louder. Was it actually quiet while she slept? Could she actually think of what she wanted? Well, she couldn't anymore, for everything in her head itched, like a horrible rash, wanting to be itched, wanting to be noticed, just wanting her attention. Her eyes shifted around the room, eyelids trying to block the light of the lamp, even though it was so dim. The woman with the kind face was back, and so was the boy.
It was getting louder.
The woman said something, but she couldn't concentrate on the words. She twitched her eyes around the room trying so hard to keep the screaming quiet. It was another failed attempt, and so began the humming. She shifted to get up, still humming, and put another candy in her mouth, still humming. The humming wasn't working; it was getting louder, louder than ever. She could hear the screeching, the laughter, but nothing wasn't working. Her eyes closed shut, trying so hard to squeeze out everything. Her hands clasped over her ears. It just wouldn't stop.
A hand touched her shoulders and she opened her eyes to see the woman looking at her. She dropped her hands and stared back, seeing almost the same kind eyes the boy had, but not the same. She looked over at the boy, who was looking at the ground, sad without a trace of hope, and she tilted her head in confusion. Why wasn't the boy looking at her, where was his eyes, the ones that showed such affection for her.
She scooted down her bed a bit and placed her hands on the boys face so he was looking at her. His eyes were still so sad, but she saw the love in them. She felt him shiver, before placing both his hands on hers. Oh how it was delightful for her to have his hands on hers, but they weren't shaking. The fear seemed to have passed and the screaming was going quieter. All she could do was to stare at this boy, wanting to keep his gaze, wanting to know what affection he had for her, and why.
It was an impulse, she had never done it to anybody else, but it seemed so natural for her to do it. She carefully took one of her hands and smoothed his hair back, as if she had done it a million times. His hair, so wonderfully brown, and rich of youth, not aged of stress, like hers.
And all they did was to stare at each other.
Something was itching in her mind again, stronger than ever. His eyes seemed to have enlightened something, something stronger for her to concentrate on, and something louder than the screaming. Then, it all stopped.
The screeching laughter had stopped, and the screaming was no where to be heard. Like a dam bursting out in a stampede of water, everything came rushing in.
Images of people, places, and objects swayed themselves in place. She remembered a pain inside of her, and a feeling of relief. Then she saw a man's face, happy in pure joy. She felt something being put in her arms, like a precious gem. She remembered craning her neck to look down at the bundle, and saw-and saw-
His eyes.
This boy-this boy was HER boy! How she remembered the flutter in her stomach to see her son in her arms. It was the same pair of kind eyes that stared at her when he entered this world and it was the same that was staring at her right now.
Yes, this boy, he's my boy.
She blinked back, her eyes pondering along with her thoughts. Then it occurred to her, she could think! She could concentrate! It all stopped, everything was clear, but-what happened?
She remembered Bellatrix Lestrange, she remembered what she did to her and Frank, but how the screaming left, how her madness had stopped, didn't matter anymore. All she knew was that this boy-her boy-had saved her.
She released his face and clasped her hand over her mouth. Had she escaped her madness? Was it all over? Her head craned from side to side, gazing around the room-a hospital room. So, she was mad, but the important thing was that she was. She took her hand away from her mouth and looked up at the other woman. It was Frank's mother.
She took in a breath and opened her mouth to say something, but she stopped, and looked back at her son, who was watching her every move. She gently placed her hands on his shoulders, which he inevitably nearly jumped at, and pursed her lips to hold back the tears. Her son, how could she have ever forgotten?
She bowed her head, and then lifted it seeing the gaze of her son at her with concern, and the ever present sadness.
"N-N-Neville," she said. Oh gracious how it has been so long since she last talked. It felt more like a croak to her than a word, but it didn't matter to her son. His eyes were no longer hopeless and sad, but shock and hope was in the mixture. He heard Frank's mother let gasp but her eyes couldn't leave her son. The boy who was here for her ever since that-that woman did this to her and to her family. She had it back, but not the years when she should have been there for her son. Nothing else mattered more to her than her son.
She heard her mother in-law quickly depart from their room to fetch a Healer, but she didn't want to look up. It was nearly a dream to her to have it all back, that the screaming had, stopped, and for what it seemed like ages, she was herself again.
"M-Mum," he whispered trying to contemplate if he should cry with joy or think this was a trick.
She smiled and smoothed his hair over again and pulled him in against her. The hug was dear to him, she could tell, for his shoulders didn't want to jump out of his skin, but they relaxed, as if he was waiting his whole life for his mother to hug him. His hands clutched the sides of her nightgown, and hid his face in her arms. His shoulders started to shake again, but not with the wanting fear, but from the sniffles and tears and touched his mother's arms with absolute grace.
"Darling, it's alright, mummy is here," she whispered and stroked her son's head. She lifted her face towards the ceiling feeling as if in a dream. The only sounds she heard were the sobs of her beloved son, and the yelling of her mother in-law in the hallway.
"Somebody, get me a Healer and quick! Yes you, I said a Healer! For Alice Longbottom, my gracious you people are half-wits! She's talking you clod! Not mumbling, not humming, talk-ing! She said my grandson's name, oh heavens!" she bellowed waving her red hand bag around. Alice smiled at hearing her mother in-laws cursing and frustration, and thanked God she could understand it all. It was a joy unimaginable, but was it here to stay? In reassurance to herself, she realized that her madness did its duty and left, in hopes it did of course. Yet, she looked at her husband, and wondered if he would escape it all, if he could block the screaming. It took her after all fifteen years to do so, but how long would it take for Frank?
She heard the rushing of footsteps against the pavement and looked down at her still weeping son who was clinging to her nightgown as if it was his lifesaver. She continued to smooth his hair as the Healers came rushing in. They stared at her hands over their mouths, eyes wide, as if they witnessed a miracle. Well, after all, it was one. She had escaped her madness and came back to the world to where she belonged. Her son in her arms, her head only full of memories, thoughts, and feelings-yes she was back in her own world.
One of the healers approached her, not knowing what to say to a woman who was no longer driven by the screams of her own torture, but it came out anyway.
"Do-do you know who you are?" she said.
Alice sighed and continued to comfort her son.
"Yes."
The Healer cleared her throat again, but Alice knew what was coming.
"My name is Alice Longbottom; and this is my son-Neville," she answered softly. Neville lifted his head up to stare at his mother, the dim room not showing the tear streaks that comfortably soaked his cheeks. She smiled and wiped his cheeks with her palm before he buried his face in her arms again. She looked around the room to see half the Healers too shocked to say anything, some her crying silent tears witnessing a reunion between mother and son, while some were amazed so much their own legs couldn't support them but had to sit in a chair or on the floor. Frank's mother was in the corner of the room, her hand clasped against her mouth, eyes open yet crying, and her handbag unnoticeably lying on the floor.
Yes, miracle as it was; her own son saved her from the screaming.
Author: whoooooooooo, wow that took me forever. I've been going bonkers wanting to write something, also trying to keep my mind off of something else *more exactly a story I left back at my house that I really wanted to get typed down.* I'm suffering from unimaginable anger right now, particularly about certain characters not appearing in the 3rd Harry Potter movie which I will not say who it is, because I'm waaayy to mad to even mention it. So I'm wallowing in my own anger, depression about Sirius *yes I'm still depressed about that*, and thinking if I should write a complaint to JK Rowling if she has any idea what that bloody director is doing to the 3rd Movie. I swear it's horrible. I don't own Pot-head *sorry Harry Potter* or my own brain, cuz'-c'mon I don't even know what I'm doing sometimes. I'm thinking of making this a chapter story, but that depends on what you guys say soooo.yeah.. Please Review!!