** This is IT, guys and girls. Would You Rather Freeze to Death – Revealed. I must warn you that you might be disappointed.
Urg. Ok, sorry, I know I've been ages, but I'm kinda busy with school and stuff, plus all these RPGs I innocently joined. What idiot told me about those? Now I have no time for anything else. It'll probably be another week before this chapter's finished but I thought I'd start now. If you've forgotten what the story's about, and don't want to read the whole thing again, start re-reading from Chapter 29, the summary chapter.
News:
PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE check out my new story: From Age to Age the Same. It's a HP futuristic and I love it, it's my total brainchild. Everybody worship Silas the strong!
Citcat299: Riiiiiiight. Are you gonna tell them about us??
I was just getting to that. Ok, I've also made a joint account with my pal citcat299. You can find us at fanfiction.net/~Laterosecitcat299, and we've just posted our first humorous story: If Ron was King… We spent ages writing it, so some actual readers would be appreciated…
Something I neglected to mention last chapter: Kitani Petitedra has done some fantastic fan art for this fic; you can catch it on my bio. It's all of Harry's animals so far – plus some others I haven't used yet! Do also let her know your appreciation. Kit, you're a star!
Urg, how sad am I, I have my own newsletter. Er… never mind; Ok, on with the chapter, cos I know you're dying to know the end of that annoying sentence… **
Dear Journal,
I've been thinking about something recently – I know it's weird but then so is my life right now. Would you rather freeze to death, burn to death or starve to death, get beaten to death, or die of disease? I mean, normally you could pick a quick, probably painless Avada Kedavra, but what if you didn't have that choice?
Most people can hope that they'll die of old age, but me? It's definitely going to be one of that lot. My uncle's doing his best to see just how far I can survive under each of them – well, except Avada Kedavra, but I've already survived that one so we can check that off and put it aside for future use, by a wizard at the very least.
Of course, there are plenty of other ways to go, but most of those are, well, accidents. Like falling off a cliff or a high building, or a car crash, like how I thought my parents died until I was eleven. How pathetic is that? Mind, my life probably would have been a lot simpler if they HAD died in a car crash. A lot nicer if they hadn't died at all.
Anyway, all the aforementioned ones, apart from accidents, are probably the slowest and the most painful, like disease. Could you image what would happen if I got sick and died? All those people who want to kill me would be severely cheated.
I saw three Avada Kedavras last night. There was a man, a woman and another old man, I think it was the woman's father. Even the old man was very strong, all the way until the end. The woman tried to escape out of a window but she wasn't fast enough – Voldemort can see through walls or something. I woke up before I could see her fall.
It's not fair, you know. Since I'm the one that always has to fight him, I might as well have super senses too – or at least some way of blocking the Cruciatus. God, that hurts. Day before yesterday there were three, strong, fully grown men and they well all FIGHTING it! God, can't they just leave it alone – you can't fight the Cruciatus curse! It hurts so much more when people try and stop it – at least with the old people and children it's over really quickly.
God, I'm selfish. Did you hear me back then? All I care about is myself, it's no wonder half the world wants to kill me. If Rita Skeeter knew I was talking like this all the trees in the world would have to be cut down to meet with paper demands.
So anyway, back to the death theory. Today was freezing day, with a few other things mixed in for good measure. I woke up shivering – which is normal but this time it was from cold, not nausea. When I blew out I could see my breath on the air, all misty like when the outside air is cold and crisp. Except I was inside and in bed. The fact that Dudley nicked my duvet earlier didn't help either, but I don't think it would have been much use anyway. I got dressed really quickly, and my clothes felt like they'd been kept in ice. I mean, I know that I live in England but this was too much! It was only after I finished dressing that I realised it was one o'clock in the morning, so the temperature was perfectly reasonable – or at least it would have been if I had chosen for some obscene reason to camp outside. By looking at my room you might not realise it – but the Dursleys do actually have money. A lot of it. We have central heating.
As soon as I stepped out of my room the warmth was like being chucked into a bath of boiling water. I had to duck back inside briefly to be able to breath before inching myself outwards. My first thoughts were: damn. I'm going to get chilblains. The second thought was: What the hell???
I found out afterwards, of course. Uncle turned off the heat in my room to save on heating bills, like he does in the cellar and in the kitchen in summer. "It's not like we've got anything to keep warm in there," he said when he was telling Aunt Petunia about it. I 'happened' to be cleaning the hall at the time so I heard him from the lounge. I'm sure he meant for me to hear that remark.
He had the biggest grin on his face when he told me to do the dishes after breakfast. I was still a little chilly from the after effects of sleeping in sub-zero temperatures practically all night and the boiling water didn't half scorch. I actually swore – which is a big mistake in this house, no matter how quiet you think your voice is. Aunt Petunia slapped me across my freezing-cold face and said to watch my lip, which started to swell up. I was much to worried about having my whole body doused in boiling water at that point to complete the age old pun by lowering my eyes to try and see my mouth. So I didn't. Aunt Petunia looked quite disappointed.
By lunchtime it was still freezing, even out in the garden, and it's been warm all week. I wouldn't have been surprised if there was frost out, but there wasn't – just a lot of wet dew that completely soaked my trousers and invaded my shoes so I can't even wear those now without squelching. I nearly got them taken away from me too – and they're the only pair of shoes I've got that's not in my trunk, locked in my old cupboard. When we first arrived I seriously thought for a minute that they were going to lock me in the cupboard, but they're probably still too afraid of Sirius to do that.
Weirdly enough, they're not worried that I'm not writing to Sirius. Is it even possible that they've forgotten about him?? I highly doubt it somehow – I wouldn't have been able to get to the World Cup last year if it weren't for him.
So anyway, I was in the garden. And it rained. Again. So if it wasn't bad enough that I had wet shoes and trousers, everything else got wet as well. The only good thing about this was that Mrs. Figg stayed inside and didn't come out to ask personal questions. I got three whole rows of pansy bulbs planted, and oh, lucky me – there's fourteen rows left. They have to go all the way around the garden, Uncle Vernon said, the border's looking a bit bare. He even looked at me like it was my fault. Unfortunately he can't sack the gardener. Then he'd actually have to pay one. Or, heaven forbid do the work himself.
Sorry, just had a quick fit of laughter, trying to imagine Uncle Vernon bent over in the flowerbeds planting pansies in the rain. Oh my aching sides! I hope nobody heard me – it's midnight and I still can't sleep because of this damned cold – and I'm wearing every single one of Dudley's hand-me-downs, including underwear and socks. Never thought they'd come in useful…
Anyway – the cold. When I came in from the garden something awful happened. Uncle Vernon yelled at me to get changed and go back down into the living room. So I did – what else could I do? I knew it was a mistake as soon as I walked in the door and he locked it behind me. There was a belt in his hand.
He's never hit me. Well, not for ages. Not since I was at least seven – at that was for something I actually did – can't remember anymore. That was when his company was failing, he used to get drunk a lot and take it out on me. But he didn't usually leave scars. God, my back hurts. I'd forgotten how it lasts, and you can feel the blood running down your skin but you can't reach it.
In a way it's even worse than Cruciatus because with the curse it stops hurting a while after. It still aches and everything, but really it's just the memory that makes you think you're still burning all over. Your throat is hoarse from screaming and you feel like you've been ripped apart, but that's all that's really wrong with you.
I've been hurting for over twelve hours and it still stings. When you add this to the fact that my body temperature had been about twenty degrees for the entire day… well, you get the idea. Ever slapped yourself when you're almost numb with cold. It hurts, doesn't it? I wish I had been numb, then for a while at least it wouldn't really be as painful.
Well, enough with the self-pity, that's enough to depress anyone. God, I hope no one ever figures out how to read this. But I have to write something, if only so that when I'm older I can look back and laugh. Wait, what am I talking about? Get older? Who's getting older? Not me. Well – some other Parselmouth in the distant future. Maybe when I get to Hogwarts I'll hide this in the Chamber of Secrets and it won't get found for centuries.
Hello future. I hope the world is a better place.
Dear Diary,
It's been three days, and I've now been at the Dursley's for a week and a half. It's worse than any other year. You know wht I said about dying? My Uncles' gone to the other extreme with this theories of how to get me seriously hurt.
Hey, there's a thought. Maybe he has a list. How sick and perverted. A Harry-torture checklist. Ha.
No, I won't go so far as to call it torture. Torture is what villains do – intelligent, evil people like Voldemort and Malfoy. Crucio is torture. Imperious is torture. My Uncle is a flabby idiot who likes to drink and take his frustration out on people weaker than him – i.e. everyone except sumo-wrestlers and fully grown wizards.
God, when I'm seventeen they'd better watch out. Two more years – one and a half more summers. I can't wait.
Anyway, today was burning day, and I'm not talking about Phoenixes either. Don't worry, I didn't get shoved in into a fire or anything, though it came close.
The temperature in my room isn't such a problem anymore because the weather's taken a turn for the better and as long as I wear plenty of clothes at night I'm ok. I did have to spend most of the day repainting the shed though – in the now boiling midday sun. As I may have mentioned before – I know where I live, but this is ridiculous.
It's the second time I've painted the stupid shed this summer too, and now I've got a ton of splinters that I can't get out because they're coated in brown paint and besides, I haven't got any tweezers. You'd think I could wash it off but apparently that's wasting water. That's what I am. A waste of life, a waste of space. A death magnet.
Last night – god, I don't even want to think about last night, but my mind can't help itself, most of the time. There was a woman and a man – no kids thankfully. Voldemort called the man 'Mr. Pordell'. He fought. He fought hard – but he died because they always die in the end.
The woman was very small, and she looked ill. She didn't fight. At least she died quickly – I think Goyle killed her, and neither of those goons is very good at drawn out curses. I really don't understand where they find the mental capacity to perform Avada Kedavra.
Voldemort didn't seem too happy about it. He kept muttering on about lines. Don't ask me what that's about, because your guess is as good as mine.
Anyway – after I finished the shed – which took hours and resulted in a frying pan whack to the head that I was too slow to dodge due to the fact that I don't think I've eaten for five days, I did the ironing. Which hurt. A lot. Aunt Petunia deliberately knocked it so that it practically burned the skin off my fingers. I stuck it in cold water fast as I could – and got walloped for it by uncle Vernon later. Waste of water again. I don't know.
At least it was my left hand, so at least I can write. I made a makeshift bandage out of an old T-shirt but the marks are fading already. I thought burns lasted for longer, but maybe it isn't such a bad burn. It hurt, anyway.
I've got a headache, and if it's natural then I'm the Minister for Magic. My scar is throbbing like hell from constant Death Eater activity. Why can't he just give it up?? He probably knows how much it hurts me so he burns their marks for fun. Vicious bastard.
I lost my History of Magic book to the fire today too. Dudley must've snuck into my room and found it on the desk. Stupid stupid stupid! I always hide them - why did I have to forget today of all days?? Anyway, Uncle Vernon grabbed me and made me watch while he threw it on the fire – this was right before I got the belting for the iron and water incident.
Oh God, someone get me out of here before I suffocate.
Dear Diary,
Froze again today. Bloody weather. Hardly my fault, but I suppose if you twisted pretty much anything it would lead down to me – whoops, self accusation. Got to stop that – apparently it's bad for your physiological health.
Hermione called yesterday! Can you believe that? On the telephone – I had to speak in a kind of garbled code but I think she got the message. She's smart, she'll figure it out. I didn't want them to think that I wasn't writing because I didn't want to – I had to let them know there were bars on the doors and the window catch has been broken off and it doesn't open. Pig came just after she called but couldn't get through, poor thing.
I think I've got a few broken ribs – or at least yesterday I had. They don't hurt as much today, for some reason. All we've got left in here is a packet of out of date owl treats, and they're running out fast. At least Hedwig isn't completely starving.
Last night was absolutely horrible. I still feel sick.
There was a little boy, a baby and his mother. I was too late to see the father, but my guess is he's gone as well. The mother was definitely a witch – she recognised Voldemort as soon as he walked into the room. She tried to hide the boy in the cupboard, but I think that on top of everything else, Voldemort has an insane sense of smell. He got killed, just like the mother and the baby. He screamed the whole time.
Ok – have to stop thinking… trying but not sure if it'll work. Anyway, this morning I had to paint the stupid shed again. I've got a black eye and Mrs. Figg noticed – she was fiddling with her apple trees on the other side of the back fence. Oh yeah I forgot one. This morning I got pushed down the stairs by Dudley and then pummelled by Uncle Vernon and nearly strangled because he said I was taking too long on the stairs. He'd find it difficult to walk too if he'd got a fractured leg bone. I'm not sure when that happened – it must have been yesterday sometime because it was sore when I woke up. It's really difficult to walk on and when I was painting the shed I had to lean on my good one and it went numb. When I tried to take a break I nearly got whacked with a frying pan. Again. Mrs. Figg asked some tricky questions – need to think up better excuses. Also need sleep but doesn't appear to be an option.
Dear Diary,
I can't believe myself. I just can't believe it. Sirius and Professor Lupin came over today – just like I dreamed they would – and I didn't go with them. I can't believe I didn't go with them. I wanted to – I really, really did – but what about all the people who'd get in trouble then? Dumbledore doesn't want anyone else getting hurt - that's why I'm at the Dursleys. That's why I told myself I wasn't going with them.
Was that right? I don't know anymore. I don't know anything. I just want everything to be easy again – not that it was ever easy. Maybe it was easy when I was a baby and with my parents. I wish I could remember that, except for the end bit. All I've got is that motorbike dream that I haven't had since before I came to Hogwarts. I really liked that dream, I wish it hadn't stopped.
I don't need a day for starvation, it's a constant fixture. I'm managing though. I'm nicking apples from Mrs. Figg's garden – and I'm promising myself I'll pay her back one day, if I even survive this insanity. Got belted again today for being late with the strawberries (yes, they're out of season, ask Dudley if you really want to know). It was because I was talking to Sirius and Lupin but I'm not going to tell my Uncle that. His firm's going a bit unstable; I think that's why he's so angry and drunk all the time. Sirius told me to take the Knight Bus if anything happens. Ha. Can you imagine me, on the Knight Bus in this state? Don't think so somehow.
Dear Diary
Three weeks since Hermione's call. Looking back on what I wrote at the beginning, I've reached the final stage – getting beaten to death. I look like a train-wreck. More like a mace-wreck. I keep the cupboard door closed so that I can't see myself in the mirror anymore. My back's the worst – I'm glad I can't see it properly. I have to lie on my side at night or it hurts more.
They don't feed me anymore until I'm actually sick. It makes whatever they give me taste absolutely disgusting, but I don't care because it's food.
I think I'm giving up. Why didn't I go with Sirius? Stupid stupid stupid! Dudley's been making threats – I'm making a conscious effort not to be left alone with him – not that Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia would try to stop him if he tried anyway. Only, I think he prefers to bully in private.
Must go – my Aunt wants me to pick up the groceries… dunno if my shoulders can take anymore weight other than my head right now - but, my loss I guess…
**Sorry it's short, but I didn't want to deprive you of an update for much longer. I know it's literally been about a month. We've got a long weekend coming up so I'll try and write then. In the meantime, please read From Age to Age the Same, and don't forget to review!
Laterose**