Disclaimer: I do not own the Longbottom's, nor anything related to Harry Potter.
+*+*+*+*+ I sit here, alone, pushing my fork around my plate; pushing the food into shapes, and occasionally I lift my head up as a couple waltzes by, too distracted by each other and the music to consider even looking at me.
Even if they didn't have the music or one and other to distract themselves, its unlikely for them to glance in my direction.
I don't mind, not really. Sometimes it gets to me, being this alone, but most the time I like being by myself.
The only thing I hate about it is I think too intently. My thoughts wonder to my parents, and then, my mind just quits. I just drift off to nowhere.
See, everyone thinks I'm just forgetful.
If only I were.
I wish I could forget. I truly do. But its just not possible.
I may be distant, in my own way, but certainly not forgetful.
When someone tells me something, I just nod, I can usually tell if they want me to say yes by the tone of their voice.
That's how I ended up with a date last year.
And that's how I ended up here, sitting at the Gryffendor table, watching couples twirl around and make themselves look like idiots by dressing up in ridiculous costumes at the Halloween Dance.
Of course, Snape, some male Slytherins, and I are the only ones who didn't bother to dress up.
Everyone things I merely 'forgot' to.
I only remember certain things, things that I want to remember, or, things that my mind wants to remember, a Halloween Dance isn't one of those few things I want to remember.
I discovered that my mind and myself are two entirely different things.
My mind controls me, while I'm just a bystander, watching over it.
Actually, I'm not even sure if I'm that. I don't know what I am, really. Its nearly like… like I'm not me. I'm just…here.
When I'm around people, I want to say one thing, but I say another, it comes out all wrong, thus, making me look like an idiot.
I don't mind that it controls me… I hate being around people most the time, I get too apprehensive, and my mind, if that's what it is, just takes over.
*
For years I wished and waited for the Dark Lord's defeat for ruining my parents, but now, I simply don't care anymore.
Years full of lies to myself, years full of excuses and wishes, and finally, I realized, that nothing will ever last, no matter how great it is. Love will never last, hate will never last, lust will never last, nothing truly will, so what's the point in fooling myself?
I shouldn't hate the Dark Lord for all he's done—enough people hate him already. Why hate him and become a target?
I shouldn't fall in love with a silly girl—they'll just die anyways..
I shouldn't long for true friendships—no one is true.
I shouldn't sympathize peoples deaths—at least they got one breath of life.
I discovered that all these feelings, they aren't a need, they're a selfish want. Nothing more.
I honestly wouldn't care if the world burst into flames, ending everyone's lives. Because all things come to an end, like some peoples' sanity, for example.
There's a breaking point for everyone.
They can only go on so long, then just go insane.
If people never died, then they'd go insane with no escape.
If people were internal, then what good would it do? They'd live, complete all they wanted to complete, then realize that it was all a waste of time, and go to the brink of insanity.
Its all very simple.
That's exactly why I stopped wishing for The Dark Lord's death, and began to hope for his wish for immortality to come true.
I wish for him to go insane, just as my parents did in his wrath, and I want him to live it forever and ever. Now don't you think that's a true punishment?
It used to tear me apart seeing my parents, but now it disgusts me.
Why are they still alive? Someone should kill them, and let them out of their anguish.
I remember when I was four—the first time I remember going to St. Mungo's to visit them. It was rather terrifying.
*
"Oh look Frank, its that dear little girl again. Such a sweet girl." My mother smiled down at me, and I could see the glint of mental illness in her eyes.
"Girl? I never heard of any girl coming to visit us!" My father said, walking towards me and my grandmother.
"Now Frank, sit down," Gran said, "This is your son, Neville, do you remember him?"
"Eva, you had a child of ours without my knowing so?" Father asked, bewildered.
She shook her head and whispered to father, "I think this lady here is crazy, I do."
Gran smiled slightly, nervous by the sudden silence.
"Go on, Neville, go give mummy and daddy a hug." Gran insisted.
I walked towards my mother and clung onto her, and she shrieked suddenly.
"Attack! Attack! This demons attacking me!"
My father began to scream too, and tried to pull her away from me.
"Get away, fiend! Take me, leave the woman out of this! It's a fight between you and I!"
I backed away to my Gran, terrified by them.
My mother was curled up in a ball in the corner, rocking back and forth, crying and cowering.
I could hear her whispering something to herself repeatedly, and my father was standing above her, guarding her, with a chair in his hands, using it as if it were a wand.
"Back, woman!" he commanded, looking at his mother. "You and your devilish imp leave our house!"
"Oh dear, this didn't go as planned…" Gran muttered to herself worriedly as she picked the crying me up.
Four people in white robes came and calmed them down as we left the hospital.
*
Years of me wishing my life away pasted by, and now here I sit, thinking of how relieved I'd be if they'd just die.
I can't stand seeing them like this, I can't stand trying to talk with them, I can't stand them!
I silently and bitterly curled my lip at the last meeting I had with my parents.
It was that day when I just decided to give up. To just stop wishing, to stop all this pathetic hope from creeping into me.
Because I know, they will never be sane, and they will never know me.
They will never care, just like the people surrounding me.
And as I'm dragged out of my seat by a fourth-year girl, I drift into a world of my own thoughts, forever ensnared in my mind.