I used to be young. I used to be innocent.
I had a sister. I remember she was older than me. But for some reason, she had to wear some sort of collar on her neck. She had bluish grey eyes that always smiled at me, but for some reason, they made me want to cry. I was young then, and I didn't know anything about life. I remember that my mother was never there for me. I barely ever saw her, but she would come collect me and dress me up for a party. I was told not to speak.
I never saw my sister at those parties.
'I don't have a name.' She whispered it to me as though it was a sin, and I felt so sad for her, because she looked like a dying flower, falling slowly to the ground. I whispered to her, that I have a name, but no one calls me by it. I saw my sister cry for the first time, and we slept in the same bed together.
I did not know, but my father did not like me playing or even seeing my sister. She was sometimes locked behind a door with a small window. She never showed her face those times, so I just leaned against the door, listening to her sing. Once, my father caught me listening to her sing.
I never saw my sister again.
My memories of her faded away like a tiny dandelion seed, carried away on the wind, but she left a small trail of sadness in me. But I grew up, and the trail became worn and finally it nearly vanished.
I went to school, and I made some friends. My first friend was a guy named Darren. I talked to him, about stupid things, and we joked together when no one was around. He was a nameless, faceless guy, and I don't even remember which house he was in.
Once, he took me to the astronomy tower, and he showed me his hidden stash of goods.
'Here,' he said, tossed me a packet of cigarettes.
'What is it?' I asked, staring at it curiously.
'It's what the 7th years do. It's really cool,' he said, and lit up his own cigarette. I mimicked him, and he also got out some cans and bottles. At first, it was strange, inhaling smoke that stifled my breath, but soon, I was overcome with a sense of peace. I liked the soothing drinks best. Darren promised he'd get me more during the holidays.
Darren killed himself during the holidays. But he was nameless, faceless, so no one noticed him gone.
I felt pain when my father hit me. He was disappointed that I had lost yet another match to Potter. He was angry. Very angry. I was frightened, because he was larger and stronger than me. He did many things to me, and I screamed so much that I coughed up blood. I became edgy when the holidays came, and even more edgy when I realized I was out on my cigarettes. I now had no way of obtaining them.
Pansy and I dated for some time, and by that time, I was old enough to get my own drugs for myself. Pansy didn't say anything about it. She admitted that if I acted so normal when I was taking them, she was scared of how I would act if I didn't. One night, we got drunk, and woke up the next morning naked, in bed together. Pansy broke up with me.
I met Riland, a Ravenclaw. He was older than me, and he was educated well. Not just in his studies, but in his morals too. He begged me to stop when he found out, and I yelled at him and broke up. He came to me, crying, and telling me that he didn't want to lose me. He was nice, and he was gentle. He claimed he loved me, and he asked me to get engaged with him. It was the first time that anyone had ever showed affection for me, and I adored him for it.
Father found out, and Riland disappeared when I had returned to school after summer break. I had nightmares.
I screamed as the feeling of thousands of knives carving my skin away started. I screamed until I became hoarse, and until it changed into burning, searing, blindingly white-hot pain. I could scream no more, and thought of ending everything. I felt myself suffocating, and my limbs bending unnaturally. My eyes were burned out and my hair was ripped away. There was no fragment of skin left untouched, and my bones were mutilated beyond recognition.
I opened my eyes as Voldemort said the countercurse for the Cruciatus curse. I had to vow not to disappoint him again.
I met a girl, who claimed she was from the same school as I was. Her name was Jenny, and she said she was a Hufflepuff. She wasn't like Pansy, nor like Riland. She was high too, and we had some fun together. Despite the fact that she was a stoner, she was one of the few people in this world that I wished would be with me until I died.
Jenny died of lung cancer.
I had to kill people, and I had to torture them. I asked them questions and interrogated them, locking them up in tiny cells to rot after I was done with them. I think my mother was murdered by the opposing force, but it was hard to tell. Too many people died for me to keep track of.
I was caught, and the opposing force put me in Azkaban, but the dementors were not there. It was eerily quiet there, and there was no familiar sound of screaming or insane laughter.
Someone named Jason was in the cell across from me. We started talking, and I spilled my soul out to him. He told me all his secrets. I told him everything I knew, and thought. He shared his desires with me. I felt a strange feeling towards him, and I felt that if I ever got out of jail, I could live just fine without the drugs if he was there. We got along very well, and talked all day, because there was nothing else to do. Then one day, some guards came in and dragged him out. He reached his hand out to me, and I reached for his too. But we were too far away, and there was an enormous gap between us, that seemed to be expanding by the moment. He went crying, and I kept reaching out for him even after he was all gone. I tasted something wet, and realized I was crying.
I finally met my soulmate, and he was taken away from me before I could even hold his hand.
I was let out of the cell, and was put on a trial. I did not remember enough important things, and they fed me vial after vial of memory reviving potions. I threw up a lot, and the authorities got fed up with me. They tortured me, believing if I was tortured enough, I would miraculously remember things. They did many things to me, and I soon became the play toy of the Aurors.
I was glad I was not a woman, or else I would have had to give birth to babies that I didn't know the fathers of.
But then again, if I was a woman, I would have lived a different life, perhaps.
Someone reached out to me, and pulled me out of the dark hold I was trapped in. I gratefully wrapped myself around that person and let him lead me out into the light.
The person turned out to be Granger.
She nursed me back to life, and she took me under her wing. She believed in many things that I did not, and I respect her. She is a very honorable person. She was very pleasant to be with, and we shared many feelings together. She taught me affection again, and how not to flinch when someone leaned close. She taught me to laugh and she taught me to speak my thoughts.
Then she married Ronald Weasley.
I ran away from her, and I hid in some place I did not know. I entered houses I did not know, and asked strangers to let me sleep. Some were kind hearted, and let me rest for a night. Others rejected me. I was lost, and alone. I felt stupid, and pathetic. I felt cowardly. But most of all, shame.
It ate away at me, like a colony of ants devouring a gigantic cookie. I walked on until I could go no further, and dragged my body along the street, hoping anyone would come for me. Then I sank into blessed darkness.
I woke up in a small bed, with creaky springs and a yellowing ceiling. There was a stain splattered on the wall across from me that looked like the color of rust. Blood.
'You're awake,' someone comments, and I look to my right.
'Who are you?" I ask, not really caring.
'Percy,' he answers, and I look at him for a long while. I think I know this person. I've seen him before somewhere. It frustrates me that he looks so vaguely familiar, with his red hair and glasses. . . but nothing comes to mind, so I let it rest.
We live with each other. Or rather, I live in his house. He doesn't kick me out, but he doesn't really welcome me either. He had wrinkles between his brows, that shouldn't be there already. But they're there, and I wonder what he's been through. I walk around the streets at night, searching for some sort of clue to what I should do. But every night, I walk back to his house, weary and empty.
It would be so much easier if someone told me what I was looking for.
I had a sister. I remember she was older than me. But for some reason, she had to wear some sort of collar on her neck. She had bluish grey eyes that always smiled at me, but for some reason, they made me want to cry. I was young then, and I didn't know anything about life. I remember that my mother was never there for me. I barely ever saw her, but she would come collect me and dress me up for a party. I was told not to speak.
I never saw my sister at those parties.
'I don't have a name.' She whispered it to me as though it was a sin, and I felt so sad for her, because she looked like a dying flower, falling slowly to the ground. I whispered to her, that I have a name, but no one calls me by it. I saw my sister cry for the first time, and we slept in the same bed together.
I did not know, but my father did not like me playing or even seeing my sister. She was sometimes locked behind a door with a small window. She never showed her face those times, so I just leaned against the door, listening to her sing. Once, my father caught me listening to her sing.
I never saw my sister again.
My memories of her faded away like a tiny dandelion seed, carried away on the wind, but she left a small trail of sadness in me. But I grew up, and the trail became worn and finally it nearly vanished.
I went to school, and I made some friends. My first friend was a guy named Darren. I talked to him, about stupid things, and we joked together when no one was around. He was a nameless, faceless guy, and I don't even remember which house he was in.
Once, he took me to the astronomy tower, and he showed me his hidden stash of goods.
'Here,' he said, tossed me a packet of cigarettes.
'What is it?' I asked, staring at it curiously.
'It's what the 7th years do. It's really cool,' he said, and lit up his own cigarette. I mimicked him, and he also got out some cans and bottles. At first, it was strange, inhaling smoke that stifled my breath, but soon, I was overcome with a sense of peace. I liked the soothing drinks best. Darren promised he'd get me more during the holidays.
Darren killed himself during the holidays. But he was nameless, faceless, so no one noticed him gone.
I felt pain when my father hit me. He was disappointed that I had lost yet another match to Potter. He was angry. Very angry. I was frightened, because he was larger and stronger than me. He did many things to me, and I screamed so much that I coughed up blood. I became edgy when the holidays came, and even more edgy when I realized I was out on my cigarettes. I now had no way of obtaining them.
Pansy and I dated for some time, and by that time, I was old enough to get my own drugs for myself. Pansy didn't say anything about it. She admitted that if I acted so normal when I was taking them, she was scared of how I would act if I didn't. One night, we got drunk, and woke up the next morning naked, in bed together. Pansy broke up with me.
I met Riland, a Ravenclaw. He was older than me, and he was educated well. Not just in his studies, but in his morals too. He begged me to stop when he found out, and I yelled at him and broke up. He came to me, crying, and telling me that he didn't want to lose me. He was nice, and he was gentle. He claimed he loved me, and he asked me to get engaged with him. It was the first time that anyone had ever showed affection for me, and I adored him for it.
Father found out, and Riland disappeared when I had returned to school after summer break. I had nightmares.
I screamed as the feeling of thousands of knives carving my skin away started. I screamed until I became hoarse, and until it changed into burning, searing, blindingly white-hot pain. I could scream no more, and thought of ending everything. I felt myself suffocating, and my limbs bending unnaturally. My eyes were burned out and my hair was ripped away. There was no fragment of skin left untouched, and my bones were mutilated beyond recognition.
I opened my eyes as Voldemort said the countercurse for the Cruciatus curse. I had to vow not to disappoint him again.
I met a girl, who claimed she was from the same school as I was. Her name was Jenny, and she said she was a Hufflepuff. She wasn't like Pansy, nor like Riland. She was high too, and we had some fun together. Despite the fact that she was a stoner, she was one of the few people in this world that I wished would be with me until I died.
Jenny died of lung cancer.
I had to kill people, and I had to torture them. I asked them questions and interrogated them, locking them up in tiny cells to rot after I was done with them. I think my mother was murdered by the opposing force, but it was hard to tell. Too many people died for me to keep track of.
I was caught, and the opposing force put me in Azkaban, but the dementors were not there. It was eerily quiet there, and there was no familiar sound of screaming or insane laughter.
Someone named Jason was in the cell across from me. We started talking, and I spilled my soul out to him. He told me all his secrets. I told him everything I knew, and thought. He shared his desires with me. I felt a strange feeling towards him, and I felt that if I ever got out of jail, I could live just fine without the drugs if he was there. We got along very well, and talked all day, because there was nothing else to do. Then one day, some guards came in and dragged him out. He reached his hand out to me, and I reached for his too. But we were too far away, and there was an enormous gap between us, that seemed to be expanding by the moment. He went crying, and I kept reaching out for him even after he was all gone. I tasted something wet, and realized I was crying.
I finally met my soulmate, and he was taken away from me before I could even hold his hand.
I was let out of the cell, and was put on a trial. I did not remember enough important things, and they fed me vial after vial of memory reviving potions. I threw up a lot, and the authorities got fed up with me. They tortured me, believing if I was tortured enough, I would miraculously remember things. They did many things to me, and I soon became the play toy of the Aurors.
I was glad I was not a woman, or else I would have had to give birth to babies that I didn't know the fathers of.
But then again, if I was a woman, I would have lived a different life, perhaps.
Someone reached out to me, and pulled me out of the dark hold I was trapped in. I gratefully wrapped myself around that person and let him lead me out into the light.
The person turned out to be Granger.
She nursed me back to life, and she took me under her wing. She believed in many things that I did not, and I respect her. She is a very honorable person. She was very pleasant to be with, and we shared many feelings together. She taught me affection again, and how not to flinch when someone leaned close. She taught me to laugh and she taught me to speak my thoughts.
Then she married Ronald Weasley.
I ran away from her, and I hid in some place I did not know. I entered houses I did not know, and asked strangers to let me sleep. Some were kind hearted, and let me rest for a night. Others rejected me. I was lost, and alone. I felt stupid, and pathetic. I felt cowardly. But most of all, shame.
It ate away at me, like a colony of ants devouring a gigantic cookie. I walked on until I could go no further, and dragged my body along the street, hoping anyone would come for me. Then I sank into blessed darkness.
I woke up in a small bed, with creaky springs and a yellowing ceiling. There was a stain splattered on the wall across from me that looked like the color of rust. Blood.
'You're awake,' someone comments, and I look to my right.
'Who are you?" I ask, not really caring.
'Percy,' he answers, and I look at him for a long while. I think I know this person. I've seen him before somewhere. It frustrates me that he looks so vaguely familiar, with his red hair and glasses. . . but nothing comes to mind, so I let it rest.
We live with each other. Or rather, I live in his house. He doesn't kick me out, but he doesn't really welcome me either. He had wrinkles between his brows, that shouldn't be there already. But they're there, and I wonder what he's been through. I walk around the streets at night, searching for some sort of clue to what I should do. But every night, I walk back to his house, weary and empty.
It would be so much easier if someone told me what I was looking for.