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Aw, please review. Pretty please?? Even if you don't like it!!… well, I'd rather you did… but you know what I mean!!
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magic drifted through the air
touching everybody there
you came into my life so small
altering everything changed
I looked into my crystal ball
the future wasn't clear at all
and yesterday was hard enough
at the top of this precipice
magic settled on the floor
and there she lived for ever more
turning minutes into hours and days
stumbling tumbling on
nothing can be the same as it was
I know
I know
Everything Changed – AQUALUNG
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Cold. A deep, numbing cold is all I notice at first. My head is pounding and I can feel my body shaking. I raise my head a little. A sharp moan of pain escapes my lips. Pain. I can remember pain, a leering face and a coarse voice. Hands. Hot, sweaty hands. I shudder. I can feel his hands on me, even now, even as I lie here in this dark, cold room. He left me here. All alone. Cold. Numb. Hurt. Alone. It must be late; I can't hear anything. No one's moving about the castle. He just left me. Alone. I raise my hand to wipe away tears that refuse to fall, my face is swollen, my nose and mouth bloody. I realise that my eye is swollen shut. What did he do to me? Beat me black and blue. I cry out again as I try to move, my stomach hurts. Laughing. He was laughing at me, laughing as he kicked, as he punched, as he pinned me to the floor, as he tore my robes away. I shudder again with the cold and gather the tattered robes around me. I'm sitting now, leaning uncomfortably against the wall, watching as the moonlight flitters in patterns across the cold stone floor. He's hurt me. Hurt me like my brother never dared. I raise a hand to my head, shaking, and dizzy. My hair is matted with something sticky, blood? I gaze at my hand, barely seeing, in the moonlight the blood appears as silver, glittering, sparkling, and beautiful. Why did he do this to me? Follow me in the darkness? Lock me into this room, this empty classroom? Why? Why did he kiss me? Pin my hands to my sides as I tried to beat him off? Cast a silencing charm on the room when I tried to scream for help? Not on me, on the room. He wanted to hear me scream. Why? Why did he chase me around the room when I wrenched myself from his grasp, laugh as he watched my frightened face? Why did he grab my by the back of my robes and throw me against the wall? I hit my head. The blood is matting my hair. I was dazed, felt sick. I couldn't push him away, couldn't stop him. He was too strong for me. I can feel his hot breath on me as he laughed, his terrible, hot, stinking breath. It was a game to him, funny, amusing. What was it to me? Terror. Numbing fear. I couldn't stop him. Couldn't hold him off. He ripped my robes as he pulled them off me, tore my shirt from my body. My fingers fold into the shredded fabric of my skirt as I remember. Remember his sweaty hands climbing ever higher, his hot breath on my neck as he whispers to me. What did he say? I don't remember - I was numb. Too scared to scream, too powerless to move. I remember he was slapping my face as he pounded into me. I didn't feel it, him at all. Nothing. No one. Alone. Now I can feel it, him. My thighs are sore. I don't know where my knickers are, he threw them across the room, laughing, always laughing. It was a game; I was a game, a bit of fun. A sharp pain in my abdomen reminds me what he did, what he's done to me. Stolen a part of me I can never get back. And then when he was finished, shuddering, clutching at me as he was covered in sweat and calling my name, pulling my hair. When he was finished, he kicked me. Expecting some reaction, wanting to hear me scream. Instead I had curled up on the floor, my clothes discarded, my face swollen. When he realised I wasn't really there, I was numb, traumatised, he kicked me, kicked and punched me. Then the final indignity, as he pulled up his trousers, rearranged his robes; he stepped over me, left me lying there, and spat on me. Spat and swore. He called me a whore. Then he left, left me lying in the cold and the dark, alone, bruised, and sore. Alone.
* * *
I don't know what time it is anymore, what day it is, how long I've been here. Even raising my head a little from my slumped position makes me gag; makes my head whirl and my stomach contract. I know there's nothing to bring up, but it doesn't stop me retching. It hurts, hurts my stomach, my throat, my head. I can't stand. I did try. But I fell back down. I can't raise my voice above a whisper, can't reach the closed door. I don't know where my wand is; it's not in the tattered remains of my robes. I need help, someone, anyone. Have they not noticed I'm gone? Have they not noticed I'm not there? No. I'm invisible to them. Are they not even looking for me? But why would they look for me here? In this deserted classroom? In this deserted corridor? No one ever comes up here. Why would they look for me here? I try and curl up again, dragging the remains of my robe around me. I'm so cold, so numb, and I can feel my body shaking, shivering. Why? Why did he do this to me? Leave me here? Like this?
Voices. I can hear voices, arguing. Voices, moving along the corridor outside. I shift my position and can see light moving under the door. A torch. There are people out there. I can hear raised voices. Voices, shouting.
"Why would she be here? All these doors are locked! No one ever comes up here?" a male voice, loud. She? Are they looking for me? I try and shout, try and raise my voice. I can barely move my lips, dry, sore. I can't form the words, though I'm shouting them in my head.
"Dumbledore said to check every room. Locked or otherwise. Every room!"
A jangling of keys. Scuffling feet.
"But we've checked all nine hundred and eighty-seven rooms in this wing!"
A pause, silence, the keys stop jangling and the footsteps begin to recede.
No, don't leave me. Don't leave me; come back. Please come back.
"No," the second voice started, it was coming back. Coming closer. "If we've checked all the other rooms, we may as well check this one!"
Thank you. Thank you. I whisper to myself, closing my eyes in silent prayer. I can hear the keys rattle in the lock - so not only did he leave me here, he locked me in. Bastard. Why? Why? Why did he do this? I close my eyes as the door creaks open, against the light from the torch, against the eyes of these two people.
"Oh Merlin!" I hear one of them whisper. The other rushes into the room, drops the torch as he runs over to me, it rolls under a desk, goes out. I open my eyes again in the familiar darkness.
"Is she okay?" I hear the voice from the doorway. "Is she… alive?"
"Yes. Quickly, go and get Dumbledore, I'll bring her."
I look up, trying to see my saviour in the darkness. I can't turn my head easily, pain shoots down my back and I screw my eyes up tightly again, murmuring in pain.
"You'll be all right," he whispers to me as I feel the warm weight of heavy fabric being draped over me, a cloak, his cloak. "I'm going to lift you now, Miss Bell. You'll be okay."
But I won't be. I know I won't be. Nothing can be the same as it was. I can hear the fear in his voice; feel the tremble in his arms as he reaches out to me. I moan in pain again as soft hands clutch under my knees, my back. Suddenly he's lifting me, he's strong. Even with my eyes closed I can feel the room moving, feel my body shaking, feel myself go limp as my mind whirls and the world tumbles. I can hear his voice as if from a long distance. But I can't see. Even though I open my eyes, I can't see. There is only blackness, a dark, sinking blackness. Then quiet, warmth and quiet and I know no more.
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No. No. No. Blackness. Bright flashing lights. A laugh, a terrible, harsh laugh. A leering face. Pain. The taste of blood. Hands, pressing me to the floor, pushing my legs apart. Touching me, hurting me. Laughing. No. No. Please. Please, no. He won't stop. I can't make him. Too strong. He's kicking me, kicking me… blackness engulfs me and I'm falling, falling…
"NO!" I scream, eyes snapping open. "No!" I shout again as I sit up quickly in the bed, drawing the covers up around me. Fearfully I take in the room around me, white, linen sheets, an open window, sunlight streaming in. The hospital wing, again. What's happened? Him. He happened. Oh Merlin. Oh God. What he did to me… I stop, sobbing, my face in my hands, shaking, trembling. I don't want to remember, I don't want to know. I can almost feel him touching me, hands prying mine away from my face, forcing me to look up, to look at him. Only it isn't him, it isn't his face, isn't his hands. Madam Pomfrey.
"Oh God!" I gasp, flinging myself at the poor woman and burying my face in her shoulder. She pauses for a moment, shocked, unnerved, and then she brings her arms around me tightening in a hug as I cling on for dear life. I need her to hold me up, to stop me falling.
"Miss Bell, Katie?" she asks after long minutes. "Calm down, you're safe here. You're safe." She pushes me away, looking at me, her face is white and drawn, her lips pursed. "You're very lucky Miss Bell, had Professor Snape not found you when he did, you might not still be with us. What happened?" she asks, concern flitting across her face as she pushes me back into the pillows and tucks the blankets around me.
"I…" I begin. How do I tell her? What do I say?
"You were attacked…" she finishes for me. I nod silently, looking down at my hands suddenly, entranced that they are nervously twisting the sheets.
"Who by?" she asks. I don't look up, don't meet her gaze.
"I… I don't know." I whisper. WHY? GOD WHY? I do know, I know exactly who. I'll never be able to forget his face, his laughing voice, his cold words and sweaty hands.
"By a student?" Pomfrey is asking, moving around the bed, straightening the covers.
"I… I don't know." I whisper again, not looking at her. WHAT AM I DOING!!? TELL HER! NO! I gasp slightly, amazed at myself, at my reaction. I'm ashamed, I don't want her to know, I don't want anyone to know. Who it was, what he did to me. How can I tell them without reliving it? Without feeling it again? Without feeling him again? No. NO! I can't tell her, anyone. Yesterday was hard enough. I know. I know. Nothing can be… nothing can be the same as it was.
"Dumbledore has cordoned off the school, no one is to enter, no one is to leave. He will find out you know…
It's as if she's reading my thoughts, hearing that little voice in my head.
"Wizards from the ministry are coming, this is very serious Kathleen."
I look up suddenly and she baulks visibly at the look I know must show on my face. Shock. Fear. Terror.
"No!" I whisper, mouth open, eyes round. "NO!"
"Miss Bell." Pomfrey whispers, moving closer to me, she tries to take my hand but I snatch it away. I don't want her to feel how I tremble. "Whoever did this to you… they… he needs to be caught…" she murmurs knowingly. I gasp quietly, shaking again. "Miss Bell," she continues. "You know what I'm saying, you've been beaten. Yes. And badly. But it isn't difficult to tell that he's hurt you… in… in other ways. Your clothes Miss Bell, your robes were… torn… you have… bruises… oh Miss Bell…" she falters, her voice breaking as she sobs slightly. "It's an evil crime, here and in the Muggle world, one that must not go unpunished. You must tell the Ministry wizards all you can. You must Miss Bell!"
The look on my face stops her I'm sure. I don't know how I feel. I don't want to tell, can't. Can't she see? I'll never get over it if everyone knows! I want to forget, pretend it didn't happen. Can't she see! I don't want to relive it, to see his smirking face look at me. I can't. I can't. I can't.
"No!" I shout again, unaware of what I'm doing as I push past her, push my way out of the room. A large figure steps in front of me, Hagrid. "NO!" I shout, pushing past him, running, great tearing pains rising in my chest. Hot, stinging tears streaming down my face. I can see faces as I rush past the office. Concerned. Dumbledore. Angry. Snape. And laughing. Him. OH GOD! NOT HIM! NOT MY BROTHER! He can't come here, he's supposed to stay in the Muggle world, I'm supposed to be safe here. Safe. Not if he's here. I'm not safe anywhere. NO! I can feel myself rooted to the spot, unable to move, hand hovering over the handle of the heavy door. I can't move. Terror. Dumbledore is moving towards me, his kind, gentle face, questioning. Snape, he almost looks fearful. Was it him who carried me? His gentle arms that lifted me up? God NO! He's moving towards me, those blue eyes so like my own, and that blonde hair we share. And yet, I hate him. My flesh and blood, and I hate him.
"COME TO GLOAT?" I can hear myself scream, body shaking, hands trembling. "COME TO LAUGH?" Dumbledore looks confused. But Snape sees. He looks from me to my brother and back again. I can almost hear the cogs whirring as he stares at me, his black eyes wide. He's remembering the bruise on my cheek, still there under the swelling and the dried blood. He's remembering every time I've come back to school after the holidays with bruises on my arms, barely able to conceal the terror on my face as I cringe away from everyone who tries to touch me. He knows. Suddenly he knows. I don't have to tell him. I don't have to tell anyone. Not anymore.
"Mr Bell?" Snape asks as he reaches out a hand to my brother. He's stepping towards me, anger in those blue eyes, anger and laughter, he thinks this is funny. All a big joke. A joke to him. Laughing eyes, a coarse voice. Sweaty hands. I shudder violently as the image comes back to me and I close my eyes tightly.
"Mr Bell?" Snape asks again, more forcefully, a hand reaching out to hold my brother back.
"No." James answers, swatting the hand away. "I want to see what he's done to her. Finally someone else has realised what a little whore she is…"
Snape pounces as James leers at me, pinning his arms to his sides, dragging him back into the office. For a moment, it's just Dumbledore and me. I watch as realisation crosses his old face. He looks at me, looks to the office where Snape is arguing with James, looks back at me, his mouth open. PITY.
I can't take any more. Can't deal with that. Not from Dumbledore. Not from anyone, not anymore. I've had enough. I run. Run as if Dementors are chasing me. Regardless of the students milling around the halls and my hospital nightdress. I run. Run until the muscles in my legs scream in pain and my chest feels like it will explode if I can't get a proper breath of air. I push aside students and teachers alike, hair flying behind me, bare feet smacking on the cold stone. Then I shove one last set of doors open and there's soft grass under my pounding feet. Soft grass under my feet and bright sun in my eyes. A cool wind in my hair. I can breathe. Great, gasping, sobbing breathes. And I can run, faster and faster until I think I'll pass out with the speed and the whirling thoughts as the world goes tumbling past. And then another door and another. And cold tiles under my feet. Silence as I stop, absorbed in staring at my hands as they shake. GOD. GOD. GOD. Why did they call him? Why did he come? Could this be any worse? I look up for the first time, breath coming in great, rushed gasps. The Quidditch locker rooms. I shake my head quickly. How did I get here? I don't know. Don't care. Blindly I make my way to the showers. Turn on all the taps, heat, turn the heat as high as it will go, the jets as powerful as they can be. I tear the thin nightdress from my body, sobbing, ripping at the material, desperate to remove it. Then I sink, sink to the floor as I feel myself falling. The jets sting my fragile skin, and I watch, entranced, as the water turns a bloody pink. Bruised and bloodied I curl into a ball on the floor, watching as my blood and my walls disappear into the drain. I sob. I cry. I bawl. Here where no one can see me, and no one can hear me, the walls come down. Finally. I cry, I really cry. I shake and shudder and I wail. I don't hold back, I let go and I scream and curse. And then… nothing. I can think no longer, there are no more tears. And I'm left shaking and shivering as the harsh jets pound my body and I stare at the pink water flowing away from me.
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Soft hands, soft hands and a soft voice. The water's gone. They've turned it off. I can't see, can't hear, can't speak. Nothing. No one. Soft hands wrapping soft cloth around me and lifting me, whispering gently. Floating. It feels like I'm floating. And when it stops I recognise the common room, the fire and the chair where Oliver and I slept. I sink into it, grateful for the warmth. Grateful for the comfort. I pull the cloak tighter around me and those soft hands place a blanket over me, a pillow under my head. Comfortable. Tired. Empty. I sleep.
Nothing can be the same as it was.
Yesterday as hard enough, at the top of this precipice…
You came into my life so small, altering, everything changed.