Author Note: Just a wee bit of a warning. This will include suicide so if your iffy about that kind of thing and want a bit of humour then step away now. Enjoy.

Dissolution

It started out small. That niggling little voice that would croon lullabies of how I wasn't good enough. That I was stupid and pathetic and there was no point in even trying in life because I would get no where. And then the voice wasn't just inside my head.

I would hear it all day long., whispered behind my back. Most weren't even that kind and their words would be punctuated by hexes or some shoving. They would break my ink bottle all over my bag and score the parchment with quills rendering it useless. The worst time was when they attacked me with a binding charm and then torched my trunk containing everything hat held any value to me. Irreplaceable pictures and books given to me by my Grandpa. My clothes, a very valuable wizard chest set, a childhood toy - my stuffed frog Lennie. Everything was gone and they laughed.

Explaining that one to my parents was surprisingly easy. I told them it was a faulty spell. They didn't even question why I didn't put the fire out using agumenti. .I constantly owled them asking for new books, quills, shoes. My parents although very easy going were exasperated by my constant letters asking for new things to replace the damaged ones.

Not that they knew why they needed replacing, they just thought I was just hopelessly clumsy. I think Mum might have known but it was hard to tell as she was often in a world of her own where Crumple Horned Snoracks and Nargles existed and she could dance with faeries every day and night.

In my early years of Hogwarts it wasn't so bad because I had someone to deflect some of the burden, my twin brother. I thought we would always be a team.

But then popularity encroached upon our happy bubble. It started in fifth year when he finally made the quidditch team as a beater and then suddenly he had his own fan girl club who followed him everywhere and I was left on my own.

When I look back I realise that he had started pulling away as early as second year. He wouldn't read the Quibbler in public and he'd hiss at me to take off my charm necklace made out of seashells and grass. He'd elbow me in the side if I started talking about the fantastical creatures our parents had brought us up to believe in.

My beliefs are what made me a target and yet I couldn't bring myself to give them up especially after my own twin abandoned me for some jarhead, quidditch jocks who can't string a coherent sentence together between them. If I didn't have the knowledge of these weird and - I acknowledge - non-existent creatures then I would be no one. I'd just be another faceless name in the school records. I didn't want to be forgotten. And after all those years of bullying at the hands of my peers it was my own family that drove me to this.

The last straw came today. It's a tradition in our family that on your birthday Dad would make a breakfast of your choice as a birthday treat. I had woken up expecting the smell of strawberry pancakes to be pervading my nostrils. I got out of bed and pulled my brother's present out from the wardrobe. Despite adopting a more manly persona he had still kept his love of crystal figurines , the last reminder of the brother I knew and loved.

The figurine was beautiful if I do say so myself. It was two emperor penguins perfectly proportioned and so delicate I was afraid to touch them. They were neatly wrapped beneath a layer of cardboard, bubble wrap and paper.

I went down the stairs and into the kitchen to find… nothing. No breakfast, no mum humming whilst reading the paper or dad pretending he's a master chef and sticking pancakes to the ceiling and certainly no brother. The only thing in the kitchen was my twin's presents with the paper already torn from the packaging.

That's when I snapped. Something just bubbled over and all the years of bullying and the ignorance and rejection had come to this. The voice was right. It's one thing to be rejected by your peers it's quite another for your family - the very people who are meant to love you no matter what. Even they can't stand to be around me any longer. So I ran.

I ran to our tree. It's the tree where we spent our childhood swinging from it's branches. There was a battered tyre swing hanging from one of it's sturdy branches. The swing was mostly unused but it still brought back precious memories. A time when I was still innocent and had yet to learn of the world's cruelty. When my brother could actually look me in the eye.

So now I'm swinging from the tyre. My legs have gone numb from sitting for so long and the sky has turned orange in preparation for sunset.

I was wishing with all my heart that I had a friend to pour out all my woes to. I never made any new friends after my brother abandoned me. Nobody wanted to associate with the freak of the school. Nobody cares about stupid, weak old me.

I've contemplated suicide before. There have been times when it's gotten so bad, I'd eye up the astronomy tower wondering how long it would take for my bones to shatter on the ground or when I'd have a knife in my hand new and sharp. It was always so tempting. This time though there's no going back.

I left them a note to say I'd gone round to Harry's just in case they came back early. Other than that all I have left behind is my diary.

My legs are shaking as I climb a few branches above the now untied tyre swing. The branches score my exposed legs and arms with raised, pink scratches.

I tug at the rope testing it's strength. The rope is secure. I slip it round my neck, the course material scraping the delicate skin.

I take a deep breath bracing myself. A few hot tears leak out and trail down my cheeks.

I jump.

'Shush we don't want him to hear us yet.'

'You're making more noise by shushing.'

'Kitty cat coming through here people.'

The Scamander family bustled in the front door of their bungalow. They were all tired but happy from their day of shopping. They had finally found a kitten with white and ginger fur in an animal shelter over in a muggle town.

The cat was perfect in every way except for her tail which curled like a pug's and her comically large paws. Lorcan had seemed distant lately and Rolf and Luna hoped this special present would cheer him up. Luna felt a little guilty leaving without telling her son but she wanted the pet to remain a surprise and to do that they needed to get the present on the day of her son's birthday. She had then been held up by Ron and Hermione who they had lunch with.

'He's going to be so excited. He always wanted a cat.' Luna's normally pale face was flushed with giddiness. Her excitement was contagious and even Lysander was grinning wildly for once willing to make his twin happy. Rolf carefully carried the cardboard box into the living room. A tiny ginger head peaked out of the open flaps. The kitten let a small meow revealing it's fleshy pink tongue.

'Let's just hope the gnomes won't bother the cat,' Rolf commented, 'or that the Fairies won't steal the cat and eat it.' Lysander scowled at his fathers last remark but his grin fell back into place when the kitten let out a soft purr.

Luna went into the kitchen and came out frowning with a piece of notepaper clasped between her slim fingers.

'Lorcan's gone to Harry's.' Luna said walking through the living room door. Luna passed the note to her husband, who quickly scanned it.

'Well then we better get him. Coming dear?' Rolf said holding out his arm to Luna.

Luna and Rolf disappeared with a crack leaving Lysander alone with the cat. Lysander reached inside the box and let his fingers trace whorls on the cat's neck. The cat leaned into his hand, her whole body shaking with the force of her purrs. Lysander smiled at the cat and let his gaze drift to the back window which had a full view of the silver birch tree he had played on as a child. A frown formed when he noticed the tyre swing wasn't there.

He stood and made sure the living room door was closed so the cat wouldn't escape. He walked through the kitchen and out the back door. Lysander breathed in the fresh country air, letting it fill his lungs to the brim and then he let it go in one big exhale. He felt his legs stretch as the incline grew steeper and then peaked where the tree grew.

He came to the foot of the tree and saw the tyre lying in the ground. He picked it up and puzzled looked upwards for the rope that held the tyre. He wished he hadn't.

'Lysander, do you know where…' Luna trailed off as she saw her baby boy curled up on the ground hugging the kitten.

Luna knelt down beside him. 'Honey what's wrong? Is it Nargles?'

Lysander flinched at the close contact and let out a pained whimper. He squeezed his eyes shut. He opened his eyes again and Luna almost gasped. Lysander's' eyes were his best feature. They were a light, blue but they were bright and had a vibrancy that lighter eyes usually lacked. Those eyes were now bloodshot and brimming with unshed tears. Lysander sucked in a sharp breath and whispered, 'Tree.'

Luna frowned in confusion but then she realised what he had meant. She let go of her son and jogged to the tree in a hurry to find the cause of her son's pain. She slowed to a walk when the tree came into sight and came to a stop by the tree. Luna didn't see anything that could have harmed Lysander. She was completely puzzled. She was about to go back when she spotted the tyre lying on the ground. Just like Lysander she looked up and almost missed what hung from the tree.

Luna began to scream.

'Merlin it's freezing in here.' The first man rubbed his hands together to create warmth. It was so cold in the room you could see the man's breath and his finger tips had turned blue. The man was young, no more than twenty years old. He had a prominent nose, floppy brown hair and a condescending demeanour.

The second man scoffed at his apprentice.

'Yeah well it's a morgue what do you expect. So who have we got today?' he asked. The second man was older around 40 years and he was stick thin but toned. He had oddly rounded features and his eyes were like shards of ice, hardened by twenty years of working in this profession.

The apprentice picked up the clipboard and answered his boss' question.

'Um apparently we have a suicide victim, 17 years old. Only just turned seventeen the other day.'

The second man sucked his teeth.

'Poor bastard. Does John Doe have a name?' he asked.

'Lorcan Lysander.'