Delusions of Grandiose
ImmortalFlick
Disclaimer: Harry Potter isn't mine.
Thanks to: Peeves Gurl, RAiNbOwGrL22, kujagirl2, Beck (I'm being different), .:bunny:., Riffinton, c[R]ud[E]dly (why do people say that? I find it funny!), kinky kisser (good weird?)
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Chapter Two
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They think I don't know who they are. Who are they kidding? I know who they are. I see their faces at least once a week. Not that the weeks are very clear any more. Why am I still in here? I don't know. Why haven't I asked? Who would? These people are the epitomes of the 'white coats'. You try explaining things to them. It's hard. Again, why am I in here? Because they put me here.
Firstly, I'd like to say, it wasn't really my fault. For some of it, the bits I've come to accept, I am to blame. But not all. Definitely not all.
Secondly, I'd like to clear something up. I didn't take any part, whatsoever, in the raid that killed my best friends. I'd like to claim zero responsibility for that. I have been blaming myself for years, but in truth, there was nothing, I, nor anyone else, could do to stop it.
We didn't realize in the early years, we didn't realize that all it would take to rid the world of that mad bastard forever was simply good, old bloody death. And that was all it took, in the end. But we were scared, naive, and extremely idealistic. The wizarding world lived a life based on magic, what else was there?
I fought Voldemort all of my teenage life. It wasn't until I was seventeen that I was finally freed of his pressure on my life, but even after his death, his life had repercussions on mine. More power in death than in life, maybe. His influence was stronger than that of Dumbledore. Voldemort had more power in my life than anyone who actually protected me. It turned out Snape was one of my most valuable protectors, he never got any acknowledgement of that from me though, it wasn't until my years here that I even realized it.
It's not like I'll ever see him again to thank him, therefore there's no reason to dwell on niceties. There wasn't much that could've protected me in the end, though, no one to protect me then. It wasn't until I'd been gone for days that they even noticed I was missing. The Dursleys would've been gleefully celebrating my capture had they not been dead. Yes, dead. Voldemort can never go half way. Vernon was the first to die, and I have to say, as much as I hated him, I regret his death. Of course, the amount of damage he'd caused me throughout my life does not lead me to gullible thoughts of unexpressed love. I hated him, he hated me, that still hasn't changed.
I did not martyr myself for the cause and never intended to, even when others had contemplated that outcome many times over. I would not sacrifice myself for the world, not when they hated their child hero more than they loved him. After my capture, as I'd expected, there was no such things as an easy death. A victim is not a victim without feeling true pain. The Cruciatus hurts a lot more than imagined after taking a few potions, courtesy of Voldemort himself.
By that time Snape could not protect me. Just the year before he'd been discovered. I saw it in a vision. I saw the torture and heard the screams of my professor. Of course, the events did not occur, Dumbledore may be a firm leader and manipulator but he does not send friends to their deaths. It's no wonder he didn't consider me a friend.
Dumbledore insisted I stay with the Dursleys, even though I was of legal age in the Muggle world to get my own place. He said it was for protection. I had never felt more betrayed in my life than when the Death Eaters crashed through the front door. It was then I learned that there really was no one left to rely on. Sirius was dead. Professor Lupin had disappeared after fifth year. No one knew where he'd gone but he was certainly gone. I suppose it was too much for him. Sirius was the only one of his closest friends who wasn't dead or a traitor. There was no doubt Sirius' death had hit him harder than me even. I had only known Sirius for two years. It hurts me to say that. But nothing really hurts me anymore.
So they tortured me. At first I was thinking of escape. After a few more days I learned that it wasn't going to happen. Then I spent a few days thinking Dumbledore would save me. That didn't happen either. And time went on. I lost hope. Who wouldn't. Until... Malfoy. There was an unexpected outcome. The little prick decided he didn't want to follow his father. And it was three months after I was captured that I was handed a knife. Not that I knew what I was meant to do with a knife. I think Malfoy expected me to somehow slit the throat of one of the guards and escape. Fat chance. I took the knife straight to Voldemort. You know what happened next. The bastard didn't know what hit him.
How I ended up here? I actually have no idea. No idea whatsoever. But obviously life went on, I was out for a week I was told. When I woke up things moved quickly and they came to the conclusion I was crazy. If I had the opportunity, I would kill each and every one of the confused, sick bastards who came up with that.
I have had no visitors. I have never expected any visitors. Though I would love to know, why a muggle asylum? Maybe they thought they were being humane. Sometimes I wonder why I cared about them at all. Scratch that, I would like to know what the fuck I was thinking when I cared about them!
ImmortalFlick
Disclaimer: Harry Potter isn't mine.
Thanks to: Peeves Gurl, RAiNbOwGrL22, kujagirl2, Beck (I'm being different), .:bunny:., Riffinton, c[R]ud[E]dly (why do people say that? I find it funny!), kinky kisser (good weird?)
*
Chapter Two
*
They think I don't know who they are. Who are they kidding? I know who they are. I see their faces at least once a week. Not that the weeks are very clear any more. Why am I still in here? I don't know. Why haven't I asked? Who would? These people are the epitomes of the 'white coats'. You try explaining things to them. It's hard. Again, why am I in here? Because they put me here.
Firstly, I'd like to say, it wasn't really my fault. For some of it, the bits I've come to accept, I am to blame. But not all. Definitely not all.
Secondly, I'd like to clear something up. I didn't take any part, whatsoever, in the raid that killed my best friends. I'd like to claim zero responsibility for that. I have been blaming myself for years, but in truth, there was nothing, I, nor anyone else, could do to stop it.
We didn't realize in the early years, we didn't realize that all it would take to rid the world of that mad bastard forever was simply good, old bloody death. And that was all it took, in the end. But we were scared, naive, and extremely idealistic. The wizarding world lived a life based on magic, what else was there?
I fought Voldemort all of my teenage life. It wasn't until I was seventeen that I was finally freed of his pressure on my life, but even after his death, his life had repercussions on mine. More power in death than in life, maybe. His influence was stronger than that of Dumbledore. Voldemort had more power in my life than anyone who actually protected me. It turned out Snape was one of my most valuable protectors, he never got any acknowledgement of that from me though, it wasn't until my years here that I even realized it.
It's not like I'll ever see him again to thank him, therefore there's no reason to dwell on niceties. There wasn't much that could've protected me in the end, though, no one to protect me then. It wasn't until I'd been gone for days that they even noticed I was missing. The Dursleys would've been gleefully celebrating my capture had they not been dead. Yes, dead. Voldemort can never go half way. Vernon was the first to die, and I have to say, as much as I hated him, I regret his death. Of course, the amount of damage he'd caused me throughout my life does not lead me to gullible thoughts of unexpressed love. I hated him, he hated me, that still hasn't changed.
I did not martyr myself for the cause and never intended to, even when others had contemplated that outcome many times over. I would not sacrifice myself for the world, not when they hated their child hero more than they loved him. After my capture, as I'd expected, there was no such things as an easy death. A victim is not a victim without feeling true pain. The Cruciatus hurts a lot more than imagined after taking a few potions, courtesy of Voldemort himself.
By that time Snape could not protect me. Just the year before he'd been discovered. I saw it in a vision. I saw the torture and heard the screams of my professor. Of course, the events did not occur, Dumbledore may be a firm leader and manipulator but he does not send friends to their deaths. It's no wonder he didn't consider me a friend.
Dumbledore insisted I stay with the Dursleys, even though I was of legal age in the Muggle world to get my own place. He said it was for protection. I had never felt more betrayed in my life than when the Death Eaters crashed through the front door. It was then I learned that there really was no one left to rely on. Sirius was dead. Professor Lupin had disappeared after fifth year. No one knew where he'd gone but he was certainly gone. I suppose it was too much for him. Sirius was the only one of his closest friends who wasn't dead or a traitor. There was no doubt Sirius' death had hit him harder than me even. I had only known Sirius for two years. It hurts me to say that. But nothing really hurts me anymore.
So they tortured me. At first I was thinking of escape. After a few more days I learned that it wasn't going to happen. Then I spent a few days thinking Dumbledore would save me. That didn't happen either. And time went on. I lost hope. Who wouldn't. Until... Malfoy. There was an unexpected outcome. The little prick decided he didn't want to follow his father. And it was three months after I was captured that I was handed a knife. Not that I knew what I was meant to do with a knife. I think Malfoy expected me to somehow slit the throat of one of the guards and escape. Fat chance. I took the knife straight to Voldemort. You know what happened next. The bastard didn't know what hit him.
How I ended up here? I actually have no idea. No idea whatsoever. But obviously life went on, I was out for a week I was told. When I woke up things moved quickly and they came to the conclusion I was crazy. If I had the opportunity, I would kill each and every one of the confused, sick bastards who came up with that.
I have had no visitors. I have never expected any visitors. Though I would love to know, why a muggle asylum? Maybe they thought they were being humane. Sometimes I wonder why I cared about them at all. Scratch that, I would like to know what the fuck I was thinking when I cared about them!