Thank you for reviewing... I just read my own story and to my opinion I'm not a very strong writer... but thank you for being kind.

Also I would like to say that this chapter is a little distorted. However for those of you who actually like this story, there will be two more chapters.

Chapter Ten


They Don't Know


Once again the world seems to fall off axis and drop into a deep sea of eternal acid. And I feel as though I'm tumbling over the edge.

Sex on the train? Around people?

The thought haunts me.

Love?

No I could never love. No matter what risks towards my dignity that idiot ferret puts me through. Though maybe if one day I decide that teenage angst is trivial I could laugh at that scenario.

But I can't not when it is done and I'm sticky and trying desperately to get my clothes on and feel somewhat comfortable. Whilst he is there smirking smugly and completely and utterly in the nude.

I hate him right now.

More than anything in the world or out of it, I hate him for being such an ass...

"What's the matter Ronald?"

Stupid catalytic moron.

Just to wipe off the smirk I say something that I know I will regret later.

"Just wondering whether you like being on top or bottom? Probably bottom you seemed to get a kick out of being dominated by your adversary."

Yes, I know not the best comeback or insult in the world. But I'm not the best when pressure is put on me.

I hate him right now. He's the reason for my downfall and the reason why I feel that darkness that consumes most people. Somehow I know right now that there is no way that I'll be able to pull out of this.

Even as his face contorts in that irritating self- satisfaction smirk that I've grown accustomed to seeing.

I would love to see him fall. That is all I am able to wish for right now.

Besides my own demise.

I know that I'm sick… mentally if anything else. And if I am correct so does he.

I stare at his face once more. Stare into that cold hearted ferret's face and allow the loathing that I have grown accustomed to take over on my features.

"I hate you." The acid that spills down my lips is true and more accurate than anything I've yet to utter…

His smile is what infuriates me. And all the hate I feel at myself comes out in full…

I'm on him without any instigation that he is going fight me.

His blood is on my fist smeared all over my hands… but I can't seem to bring myself to care. I can't feel anything but the blinding fury that seeps over my entire body. I don't register that he's still naked and that his flesh is becoming rapidly damp with his own blood. I don't think as he stops struggling… the only thing that goes through my mind is how to rid myself of this deadened feeling and gather life back into me.

Neither curse, nor any Azkaban could ever undo what I've done.

But I don't stop. The crimson stains that appear don't affect me. Because all I see is hatred, lust and the

Freedom.

I don't stop.

Won't stop.


His body was covered in blood and he had been dead by the time people walked into the puddle of blood that managed to seep under the crack of the cabin door.

I was still on top of him beating his mangled flesh more and more.

I can still see the crimson flow from the face that I allowed myself to touch me. I can still feel the once animated limbs flail against my arms…

I can still feel his last breath of life as I beat him. My anger once again taking ahold of me making me into this monster that I've never known.

This monster that was making me kill my deceitful lover.

This monster that is myself and my own Despair.

But I couldn't.

I wouldn't.


I have no idea where I am… and in some way I hope to forget who I am. I really don't want to remember what I did. What I've done. The beating. The satisfaction that I finally got what I deserved after the years and months of torture.

I have no idea where I am.

I have no idea where he is.

Whether or not I truly snapped or whether or not I've done what had to be done.

A woman has come.

Her face is barely recognizable. The red hair that seems as bright as flames blinds me… and yet I want to cry because of the tears in her eyes. Because she seems so tired and worn as though life has placed to big of a burden on her shoulders. Lines on her once seemingly plump face….

But it is the sadness in her blue eyes that scares me.

"Ron…" So soft and cautious.

I have no idea where I am.

I can see the crystal tears fall out of those eyes that seem so familiar.

I open my mouth to say something. Anything. But nothing comes out.

As though my mouth has no idea how to form the words.

I don't know what is going on…. All I know is that I feel this great foreboding in the air that I breathe.

"It's OK. Everything's going to be fine." The tone is heightened by her non- belief… I want to believe her though.

The woman is crying again. But I don't want to hold her. I don't want to make the tears stop… because she doesn't know what I feel, she doesn't share my pain. She is not my equal and deserves neither my condolence nor pity. She doesn't know how I am.

Neither do you.

Back again I see.

Well I am your mind.

Funny, I keep thinking, or rather hoping that was something I lost.

I don't know what time it is. Or how many days I've spent looking and not really seeing the ceiling.

All I really know is that something is wrong. Something that makes it impossible to sleep. To eat.

To breathe.


The room I'm in is small. There is no one else in the ward. There are no vials of potions that are suppose to heal the ill… so I suppose that's a good enough sign that I am not ill.

Physically.

There is a man who comes everyday to talk to me. Sometimes I listen to what he has to say. Other times I just stare at the ceiling and let his words wash over me. I don't really understand what's going on besides the fact that I've been here for over two weeks. That I've done something that cracked me and made me do something really bad.

All there is to know is that I have people who send me 'Get Well' cards and I have no idea what their names are.

The man has a funny mustache and an accent that I have no idea from where. He tells me constantly that I'll remember most of my memories but my mind will block out the more traumatic and the ones that remind me of that experience. He also tells me that I shouldn't expect to heal quickly, it is rare.

The nurse that comes sometimes tells me that I'll be fine and that if I'm good I'll be able to see my family again, and wouldn't that just make me feel better.

I highly doubt it.

They don't think I don't know what's going on. They don't know that the reason I screamed when looking in the mirror was because I saw flames. Red.

Blood.

Flames engulfing a face. Flames that stood on end with a dangerous glare. Flames that could erupt and destroy everything.

No they don't know.