Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
I hope you like my new story. I wanted to create a more poetic approach to my writing. This is the story based on the songs by ÒThree Days GraceÓ, however, if it seems fitting, I might add more songs to the soundtrack.
Notice this chapter isnÕt very long. Sorry, but it is the prologue after all.
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Prologue~Home--ThisDamnedAngel
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An ardent wind blew the leaves that littered the streets, twirling, into the dark abyss of night. The trees shook fiercely at the force of the invisible element, and their branches creaked eerily as the swell of the wind died down. The street was now quiet; the silence was odd, unnatural. Misplaced.
The vivid eyes of a girl peered through an open window. They burned bright like cigarettes. The flecks of red and gold were slowly fading, until the bright eyes turned black. Bitter contempt now lingered in the irises. Her once happy, intelligent smile became a Mona Lisa smile; half amused, half angry. She slammed her fist into the wall and spun around.
She looked with open, searching eyes at her dark and dank surroundings. The room was lifeless and empty, cold. It had lost the sparkle it had once owned. She laughed bitterly at the black bed and she fell to wash away the pain. She buried her head in the black pillow, slamming her fist against the bed.
She seemed to have a lot of pent up anger nowadays.
Her eyes were now completely dark, angry. Mean. She looked a little wild. Her hair was a tangled mess, the curls matted. She sat up again, feeling a single tear in the corner of her eye drop and die on her swollen lip. She stood.
The floor was cold to step on, but the pain inside kept her immune to the petty hardships natural to her world. She was out of this world. She was an alien. She tiptoed to her bathroom and flicked on the lights. She kept her head down so she wouldnÕt chance a glance at the mirror. She knew she probably looked like shit, but she didnÕt want her suspicions to be confirmed. Truth was, she was lost, alone, confused.
The world around her was changing, and she could feel that ripple through her, make her vibrate with wonder. Her parents had abandoned her long ago, thinking she was too much to handle. SheÕd always lied about her parentÕs wellbeing to her friends, and when they asked why she hadnÕt received any gifts from them at Christmas time, or on her birthday, she would always whimper, and turn away as if to say she didnÕt want to talk about it. She made it look like it was because she was poor, and poor she was. But it wasnÕt her poverty that was the cause of her bitterness, it was the infliction of pain upon herself that made her the way she was.
SheÕd been cutting herself for a while now. Always little cuts, nothing life threatening. She wondered sometimes what it would be like to take a blade and actually do some real damage. She always began to cry whenever she had thoughts like that, so she tried to think about it as little as possible.
She turned the knob on the bathtub and waited for the hot water to fill the tub. She poured therapeutic bath salts into the scolding water, letting the aroma fill the room. The peppery lemony scent calmed her senses and made her feel happier than usual.
Break me, she thought.
She walked back into her room, letting the blackness bathe her once again. She walked over to her dresser, pulling out a pair of black sweatpants and a black tank top. Noticing a pattern here? She then peeled off her clothes, her pale body contrasting dramatically to the cold darkness of the room. She shivered slightly and grinned.
Need me, she cooed.
She walked into the bathroom once again, and went to the drawers under her sink. She pulled one open fiercely and drew out a razor. She fiddled with until she managed to remove the blade from its original place. She smiled again and turned to sink into the warm water.
As she soaked in, the water lapped around her, as if it was drinking her in, licking her sides, tickling her skin. She sighed loudly, and pulled the blade from under the water, a tiny line of blood trailing behind it. She set it down on the closed lid of the toilet beside the tub. She submerged completely, and about thirty seconds later, came back up again, breathing deeply.
Breathe me, she whispered.
She stood in the tub, the water dripping down her body slowly. As the water trickled on her cut, she winced slightly. Stepping gingerly out of the tub, she grabbed her robe and made her way back to her room.
// Home, home. . . This house is not a home, home. . .//
As he walked alone along the icy path, the cold wind nipping at his skin, the rain beating down upon him, he came across a tree, frightfully trying not to be blown over. He was fascinated by the immense ferocity of the wind, and how strong the tree was to be fighting back against such a fervent force. The leaves of the tree were flying off in all directions, some even hit him as they passed in the whirling mist.
He continued watching the tree for a time. He heard it sigh and groan, moan and grumble, until, with one last heaving breath, it gave up realizing that the wind was far too physically powerful and that he was no match for such a force. He sighed, seeing the poor tree collapse onto the ground with a deafening thud. He jumped slightly, even knowing what was coming because it reminded him of his relationship with his father. No matter how hard he tried, his father would always win. Oh, he gave a good fight, but his father always won. The arguments would last for hours, and his mother would cry alone in her bed for fear that she might get killed if she tried to interfere.
He felt his body become immune to the cold, bracing wind and numb to the freezing sheets of rain cutting like knives across his pale skin. He narrowed his eyes and carried on, carefully stepping over the tree. He stopped, and with one glance back at himself, the poor lifeless soul on the freezing ground, he begun to walk down the path, pulling his cloak tightly around him.
As he walked along, he felt a small smile slowly creep onto his face, making his sallow features look alive as they had when he was a boy. He was now a young man, but thin. He was very gaunt, looking quite like a skeleton. His father would argue with him about that too. He said he was a disgrace to the family, looking like he hadnÕt been fed anything. He almost looked lifeless, empty. He was most certainly alone. He always had been, and he thought he always would be.
He now remembered his cruel father telling him he wouldnÕt be at home when he arrived. This made his smile grow to an even larger extent. The wind still licked his sides, making his hair unruly. The blond strands stuck out at odd angles, some left framing his face. HeÕd grown his hair out a bit. He was glad, though, that he looked nothing like his father. He was always told he was to look like him, and now that he was grown, heÕd turned out completely different. The thought pleases him to an immense degree. He was through with being compared to such vermin. He hated being part of his family, feeling it was a disgrace in itself. HeÕd always been told who to be, who to like. . . HeÕd always been dictated as such, and now, heÕd become a rebel. He could feel the mutiny surging through his veins. He would conquer his father. He would change his image. He would become his own person. He now wouldnÕt need his last name to make himself important; he would become important on his own terms.
// IÕm coming home just to be alone//
She stepped out of her window, treasuring the cold weather. The rain splashed onto her outstretched tongue. She put true meaning to the phrase only happy when it rains. She truly was. The rain reflected how she felt. It washed away her numerous sins. It cleansed her. It made her forget the horrors of her life for a moment, so she could be at peace with life, feeling the content, warm feelings as if she was glowing for a faint moment.
She pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a liter. She tried in vain to light one, but every time the orange flame would erupt from the liter, it would slowly flicker, and die out. She managed a few times to get the flame to stay, but by then the cigarette was very soggy. She threw the box and liter on the ground in front of her house, enraged. She screeched. She was easily aggravated.
She stood, stumbling slightly, fumbling with the buttons on her coat. The night air pierced her skin as the coat came off and exposed her naked skin. The fine hair on her body began to prickle, and stand on end as goose bumps erupted all over. She shivered and let out a tired breath, signaling sheÕd had enough. She looked around her block, seeing no one in sight, frankly glad. She desired no perverts Òogling her goodiesÓ as one might say.
Little did she know, someone was watching. . .
// You always disappear, Even when you're here//
He put his key in the lock, feeling the stillness of the air slightly different than the ferocious wind that blew only seconds before. It was almost as if fate wanted him to hear something being thrown into the darkness. It was a very faint swoosh, a tiny ugh, and then, finally, a disturbance, like a rustle in the bushes. He turned.
There, upon the roof of a house on the other side of the road, just down the block, stood an angel. Her tousled hair framed her angelic pale face perfectly, and he could even see her eyes burning from where he stood. Her oddly wild look intrigued him and he turned himself fully around, and he leaned against a beam that helped his house stand. He was on the porch, surveying this strange girl whom heÕd never seen there, standing on the roof, in the freezing cold. Not only was he intrigued, no, he was enraptured.
Oh my! Now whatÕs she doing? Her fingers nimbly fiddled with the buttons on her coat. SheÕll freeze. Subconsciously, he wrapped his own coat tighter, and pulled his scarf up higher. Then, he noticed something strange.
She had nothing on underneath.
He almost covered his eyes. It was invasion of privacy. But then, why would she be removing her top in the middle of a public street in the middle of winter? She must have known someone would walk by, unexpectedly seeing her naked, wild form on the rooftop. It did strike him as a bit suspicious. And then he realized something completely awful, unexpected. . . and just plain coincidental in the most exact form. Ah, the irony!
Draco Malfoy saw her, but did not want to believe the girl he was eyeing was none other than Hermione Granger.