'Hi again. Oliver volunteered to give me a massage last week, to help me
sleep, you understand. Anyway, he noticed my scars. I keep denying that
there is anything to them, but I doubt he believes me.' Percy was
untypically chewing on his quill. 'Especially since he found my box and
the bloody towel, looking under the bed for some Quidditch magazine. He
confronted me about it, but I still didn't give a satisfactory answer.
Luckily I don't need to keep a blade or no doubt he'd have put two and two
together by now. Not that I'm sure he hasn't yet, mind you.
'I just hope he doesn't say anythig to anyone else. Imagine if the others found out what I do. If the professors found out! If my *parents* found out...' He shuddered involuntarily. But the thought kept popping into his mind that there *was* a way he could be sure to keep his secret to himself forever... or at least until it was all over and nothing else mattered. 'I know I shouldn't' think like this, but I bet if I was gone, nobody would care that I was a prefect. No one would care if I got perfect grades. Nobody would care about any of that, and if they do, well, that's just another reason for me to end it.'
He sputtered. The end of the quill had come off in his mouth. He spat it out. 'This is what it's come to, isn't it? Choking to death on a quill. Should I do myself in before I die in some stupid way and never get my message out? It would disappoint Mum and Dad so much... See, there I go again. Can't I ever think about what I feel first, not what Mum and Dad or anybody else feels? I can't let myself live for other people. And yet, I'm not really sure how else to live... Not really sure how to live at all. Imagine the looks on everyone's faces when they see my marks. It's bad enough imagining them, I don't know how I could possibly live with that... It's all just not worth it anymore. I hope this diary is a good enough suicide note, as it's a better one than anything else I could hope to write. I think this shall be my last entry, so I feel I should still use my usual signature, if only for the irony: Love, Percy'
He tucked his book away in a magically concealed extra drawer in his desk, and was about to lock it before thinking better of it and leaving it out on his desk, easily accessible. He'd really gone downhill since that breakup with Penelope. And Oliver discovering his scars and implements was even more nerve-wracking. Still, the thing he was most worried about at the moment was the grade report that was going to be sent to his parents in three days. It... let's just say it would not be satisfactory. He didn't think he could face them, and what's more, he definitely didn't want to. It was better this way. He had decided, and when Percy Weasley had decided something, well when any Weasley had, he would stand firm till the bitter end. Literally, in this case...
He smiled to himself, with the delicious notion that it would be his last.
'I just hope he doesn't say anythig to anyone else. Imagine if the others found out what I do. If the professors found out! If my *parents* found out...' He shuddered involuntarily. But the thought kept popping into his mind that there *was* a way he could be sure to keep his secret to himself forever... or at least until it was all over and nothing else mattered. 'I know I shouldn't' think like this, but I bet if I was gone, nobody would care that I was a prefect. No one would care if I got perfect grades. Nobody would care about any of that, and if they do, well, that's just another reason for me to end it.'
He sputtered. The end of the quill had come off in his mouth. He spat it out. 'This is what it's come to, isn't it? Choking to death on a quill. Should I do myself in before I die in some stupid way and never get my message out? It would disappoint Mum and Dad so much... See, there I go again. Can't I ever think about what I feel first, not what Mum and Dad or anybody else feels? I can't let myself live for other people. And yet, I'm not really sure how else to live... Not really sure how to live at all. Imagine the looks on everyone's faces when they see my marks. It's bad enough imagining them, I don't know how I could possibly live with that... It's all just not worth it anymore. I hope this diary is a good enough suicide note, as it's a better one than anything else I could hope to write. I think this shall be my last entry, so I feel I should still use my usual signature, if only for the irony: Love, Percy'
He tucked his book away in a magically concealed extra drawer in his desk, and was about to lock it before thinking better of it and leaving it out on his desk, easily accessible. He'd really gone downhill since that breakup with Penelope. And Oliver discovering his scars and implements was even more nerve-wracking. Still, the thing he was most worried about at the moment was the grade report that was going to be sent to his parents in three days. It... let's just say it would not be satisfactory. He didn't think he could face them, and what's more, he definitely didn't want to. It was better this way. He had decided, and when Percy Weasley had decided something, well when any Weasley had, he would stand firm till the bitter end. Literally, in this case...
He smiled to himself, with the delicious notion that it would be his last.
