Chapter 7
"Gonna Die For Your Government
Die For Your Country that's Shit."
- Anti- Flag
I wonder what the Muggle world thinks of the Wizarding world attacks.
I think that they actually use all those 'Terrorist' attack things to cover it up. After all it is more plausible that the 'MUSLIMS' could in fact get a hold of a giant to start smashing things around it.
I mean not only am I talking about the 'MUSLIMS' that happen to be Muggle and also knowledge about the Wizarding is hardly in existence. My father once mentioned to me that in the Arab world no one was to be a witch or wizard because it would take away from his or her god 'Allah'. So nearly every child that proved to be magical in the Arab world would be executed.
Oppression at the extreme.
Though from what the stupid house elf we once had told me that my parents weren't much different killing their own babies before and after me because the potions they used showed the children to be Squibs.
Of course I kicked that stupid house elf into the wall.
But now that I'm faced with the truth I don't like it.
Perhaps its because I now have to admit that I'm one of those people. One of the people that others can't help but hate.
Not that I mind it.
It's just that I can't find anything that I could justify myself with.
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The nights are cold and my body is wracking in pain. Sometimes I can watch my breath come out as clouds of smoke. I remember my grandfather used to smoke.
Sometimes I can forget where I am and imagine myself somewhere else that isn't here.
But that's rare for some reason.
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I'm sitting on the other side of the desolated park from where a boy is still curled up foetal from being kicked in the stomach and beaten until there is blood on each side of his face.
The boy had a headdress common to the Sikh religion worshippers. Other religions and ethic background people wear them too but that isn't really any matter in this.
What I seen; witnessing such unorthodox attacking is repulsive.
To hear what the gang of kids that attacked him were nearly yelling if not screaming. The kids had hoodies and jeans that were ripped in a supposedly stylish way. Though I could differ but that would mean that I would have to face the fact that I myself am wearing filthy Muggle clothes rather than the robes and odd pair of sneaked in trousers.
I'm not going to do that.
However the boy was walking when I watched him being surrounded. The books he was carrying ending up to the side on the dying grass. The boys that weren't very much taller then him towering over him. The outnumbered boy was perhaps afraid because to go from obviously studying to have to defend oneself from predators that are the same age as you and by the looks of the neighbourhood are of the same citizen class… it must be hard to handle.
If it were I, the fact that I was much better (meaning much much richer) than them would have me puff up my chest and coldly regard. Even if the outcome were not at all favourable the fact that thugs that were lower than me beat me would still allow me to lift my chin.
But as I said this boy is the same as these who surround him except whom he worships may be different.
No it's no longer the colour of the skin that matters in either the Wizarding or Muggle world but whom you are in awe of. Where your faith and loyalty is.
The Muggle world is not so different than mine in the regard.
The first shove was not too bad that the boy in the headdress couldn't catch his footing.
It was the third that made him fall adding the punch to the side of his head.
As he was fallen I couldn't see anything really because the group of boys swarmed around him.
It was when they left that I seen the result.
Bloody boy in a foetal position.
It's been nearly fifteen minutes since the boys left.
Finally as the boy gingerly gets up to fix his askew headdress I leave.
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A/N: I don't really know anything about London so the field is just a made up thing. Also in North America kids in hoodies and jeans are the sterotypical 'bad kids' for some reason.