Author's note: everybody knows Medea the sorceress as an evil woman who betrayed her own country, killed her brother and, after she was betrayed by her husband who abandoned her to marry a princess, killed said princess and her own sons. This is not the Medea I'm talking about. Christa Wolf speaks of her as a "dangerous person who knows a terrible secret and scapegoat": I a way, her book kinda inspired me to write this.
A soft, slow, rhythmic sound. Tic, tic, tic…These are the drops of water falling into the wash-basin. A dripping tap. Everything is darkness. I keep my eyes shut and wait, wait for another blow. I heard – did I really hear it? Or it was just an illusion? – their footsteps fading away in the corridor. Were they laughing? Maybe. I don't know. I don't hear other sounds. Just the rhythmical dripping of the water. And my own painful breath. I can't help but smiling a little. Even if it doesn't seem so, what happened was a good thing. It means they feel. They feel my hatred. They know it was their fault and I'll never stop reminding them. Do they think they can play the same game with me as they did with Draco? Maybe. But I'm not the child I was when I first came here anymore. After all that had happened, I'm stronger.
The blow I'm waiting for doesn't come. I open my eyes slowly. The bathroom is empty. No one. They went away. They have had enough. I don't who they were, I have no way to know it. I have a whole school of potential suspects. They hid their faces and removed everything that could make me go back to their original House. Did they follow me, waiting for the most favorable moment to attack me? It may be. Now they are in the Great Hall, filling their stomachs and exchanging secret glances full of satisfaction. They won't boast of it openly – too dangerous – but they don't need to. To their ego, the mere thought of doing what they have to is more than enough. Right in this moment, everyone, my attackers included, is dining in the Great Hall and nobody wonders where I am. Why should they? They'll be glad of my absence, so for at least one evening I won't be there, forcing them to remember their sin.
If Draco was alive…But Draco is dead and now I'm alone. It doesn't matter. It's time to do something. I can't sit here on this cold floor forever, hoping that sooner or later someone will find me. Nobody will look for me and I don't wait for anyone. I don't need a knight in his shining armor to save me. My right hand clutches the porcelain of the basin. My back leaves the wall and I manage to get on one knee by it. My left hand clings to the border. Now I'm on my knees. Doing these simple movements, my body gives me some signals quite clear. I feel my scratches bleeding, but it doesn't matter. Using my arms and legs, I get myself on my feet. My hands clutch the basin, every centimeter of my body hurts, maybe I'm going to faint but I hold on. I won't fall. As soon as the pain fades a little, freeing my limbs for its ties, I start walking. My first steps are goofy, unsure. I support myself on the basin, leaning my weight completely. I stumble.
I avoid looking in the mirror. Surely I'm not a pretty spectacle. My braid must be half undone, my hair falls on my shoulder and on my face, like snakes. The uniform is dirty with dust and blood, my blood, and it tore when one of them caught me when I tried to run, after trying to fight. My face must be an utter disaster. There's no more blood running down from the corner of my mouth, I think it's coagulated. And I don't wanna think about my right eye, where one of them hit me with his last punch that threw me against the wall. I guess there's not a centimeter of my body left where you can't find a bruise with all the kicks they gave me while I was down. I keep on walking. I'm out of the bathroom, in the corridor, leaning against the wall. I can't stay like this. It seems that this beating was enough to break me. I start balancing my weight on my feet. I walk away from the wall, now I'm just grazing it with my fingertips. Another step and I'm far from it. I walk on my own, in the middle of the corridor. Bones and muscles recriminate because of the strain I'm forcing them, but I don't listen to their laments.
I force myself to straighten my back. I raise my face, I walk with my head high. I wasn't named after one of the greatest queens of England for nothing. I have nothing to be ashamed of, not me. I hear voices, the roaring of the crowd. A little further, there's the corridor to the Great Hall. It's a fixed passage for every member of every House. Here they are, I can see them. That mass of black uniforms, like many ants. They fall silent as soon as I step into the light of this corridor from the darkness of the one I ran along before. They can't speak and, for a moment, we stay here, looking at each other, me and them. I see shock, surprise, fright upon their faces. I hope that upon mine there's written the most ferocious accusing look I've ever thrown in a whole year. On the first line, I've immediately seen the three Gryffindors, Potter, Weasley, Granger. Potter, Perfect Potter, the boy who will always be a hero for everyone but not for me, makes a step toward me to catch me. I guess he thinks I'm going to fall flat on my face in the dust, but I step back before he touches me. I look at his face, concentrating all the hate I feel for him and the others in my eyes, upon my face.
He steps back and a shiver runs through the crowd of students – everyone can see me perfectly. They're scared of me, just like Trojans were scared of Cassandra and the Corinthians of Medea. I guess they didn't think that looking at someone with so much hatred was possible. Neither did I, once. My eyes slide from Potter to the compact crowd in front of me. They're many, I know, they hide among themselves the four that beat me, I know. They could attack me, I know, but I know that I'll never be defeated. As much as they throw me on the ground, I'll always keep on rising. I'm stronger than them. This is the message I transmit them. They back away again. The crowd splits in two wings. I pass among them holding my head high, looking ahead, like a queen. Somebody is surely looking at me with respect, but I don't care of their respect. I walk along the corridor and I don't even stop in front of the stairs. I know which road I shall take. Instead of climbing the stairs to the Hospital Wing, I go down toward the dungeons, where there is the Common Room of us Slytherins. I'm not sure I can still say "us," but it doesn't matter. I think it's a good thing that I am a Slytherin because, if I was from another House and somebody had beat, me surely they would blame it on them. I still think they are the guiltiest for Draco's death and I don't feel like excluding the presence of one of them in the punitive expedition, but it's a good thing that I am in Slytherin. It's time to understand that the students from the other Houses are not angels as well.
I walk toward the dungeons. My body begs me to stop at least for a second, but I can't. If I stopped, I couldn't start again. I can't let them find me sitting here when they'll come. I told you: they are my Housemates, but also the guiltiest ones. Not that I think I'm an innocent, by the way. I am guilty as well, but my crime is different. Theirs is driving Draco to kill himself, mine not being able to stop him. I say the password and enter the empty Common Room. I'm not here to stay. I climb the stairs on the left, until I find a door without any sign. They have never used this room since last year. Maybe the boys are afraid to wake up one morning and find Draco at the end of the bed, looking at them, within his eyes the same accusing look you can find in mine. My hands shake as I reach for the handle. I enter the empty room, that to me will always be the Sixth year boys' dorm. No one's here: nor people, nor personal belongings. The five beds are lined against the wall but there are no trunks near them. I consider this place as my refuge…I always had, especially in the previous years. I came here looking for help and comfort. Now, I find help and comfort in my memories. The last strain and then I'll rest. The second bed on the left. The one – the only one – that was still used, until last year. My strength starts to leave me, but I can allow it. I cling to a bedpost not to fall on the ground. I try to stand still, to keep on thinking.
Professor Snape will be furious, I don't wanna be in the other student's shoes, especially Potter's. Obviously, they'll never find out who had done this, but it doesn't matter. Those four who beat me where there in that corridor and they saw me passing by. They lost. They can't defeat me and now they know it. I'm stronger than them, than all of them together. I can't hold back a smile. It's funny that I, who always scolded Draco for wanting to be strong at any cost, performed this little stunt this evening. The difference is that I don't act like I'm stronger: simply, I am. This is not vanity. I did become stronger. I won't end up like Draco. They won't break me. They hold no power on me. My name doesn't mean "winning girl" for nothing. I fall on the bed and every light goes out.