Something Like the Truth
Book One: How to Disappear Completely
Chapter Eight: It's My Party and I Can Die if I Want to
AN: Hope you all had a Merry Christmas and happy holidays! I just couldn't seem to stop my fingers from typing this one so it inevitable came out to be ten pages long. Hope you all find the time to read it and enjoy! Thank you all for the support and for your reviews! Please continue with them. They secretly make my day. (but shhh. Don't tell anyone.)
Waiting. It's amazing how much of our lives we spend simply waiting. I could literally feel the minutes creep by, antagonizing me. They spring upon you, frighten you and then in a blink of an eye they disappear, just a crocked little reflection of themselves. They run back down their rabbit hole, beckoning you to follow with replacement after replacement.
Tick tock hinted the clock. Tick tock.
Then the minutes slowly crumple together forming some conceptual figure of some forgotten memory that still has the audacity to haunt the confinements of your mind. They retaliate, forming in masses called hours. They attack again, but this time they linger. They loiter upon every hesitation you once had, filling your mind with the creeping suspicion of doubt. Layering it thin upon the corners of your mind to where it spreads to the center, rendering it all you can think about.
Tick tock.
They weave themselves around the curves of your body, molding to your very skin, in and out through a rhythmic motion almost harmonious to the soul's amusement. Thinking nothing of it, you allow the song to continue, mesmerized by its rhythm. It takes the shape of an old familiar song, some bitter sweet memory from your childhood that you concealed some time ago, yet something you allowed yourself to never forget. You willfully let them wrap around an arm, maybe even a leg, leaving small reminders of the world that's ticking by.
Tick tock they whisper faintly to the night.
They soon build upon themselves, weaving in and out. Their only thoughts are in and out, in and out. Continuing under the impression that they're harmless, you let them. And why not? There are so many others like them. All waiting. Waiting just like you.
Tick tock the clock taunts.
It's all you hear because it's the only thing you can hear. They whisper it in your ears at night, a bed time story you won't soon forget. Whispers slowly transform into shouts that scream at every moment of every day, each one screaming just to be heard.
Tick tock they yell all at once with the force to break apart the soul and cripple the heart. Tick Tock!
It relentlessly builds upon the confinements of your mind, weighing it down to where you sink. You feel as if you're suffocating. Perhaps even worse. Drowning, maybe. As if the air is there but you lack the will to hold your head up long enough to reach it. Kicking and screaming, they all prove futile. You prepare for an end, an end you knew was coming.
Tick tock!
And then it's over.
The clock sets back as if nothing happened, a figment of your imagination, yet it still taunts you with the ticking of its hands. In a rush of emotions you find them gone, disappeared back down their warped venture of a rabbit hole. But they will be back. They always come back. I can see them flash by, deriding me with their whispers of tick tock. It was only a matter of time; time I can't stand waiting anymore.
I thought I could avoid them and for that I am nothing more than the naïve twelve year old that I tried so hard to escape from.
Here I am again, slowly drowning. Regardless, this time it's different. They show no sign of releasing, no flicker of hesitation. And there's no one here to through me a life preserver.
I will drown alone.
I will die alone.
When Harry told me of the voice I knew I should have said something, offer something reassuring regardless of its size. But nothing would come. It was something unexpected that took my breath away. Perhaps even stole it.
It was a piece of straw, the piece of straw that could break the camel's back, thus forcing the world to recess in hesitation, leaving in all inhaled breath as I decide my path in this world. Possibilities were endless, something that never made it easy.
I should have never come here. I realized that the moment the car crashed. Out of all the things I regret doing; this may be top on the list, bolded and underlined.
I know what I have to do; I knew it all along. I have to wait for the light of this dark, drearily tunnel. Yet, the problem presents itself again.
I despise waiting.
October is coming. I can smell the promise among the crisp autumn sent the wind brings along with it. I can feel the change that rustles the leaves and turns them the color of earth. Something will happen. Something has to happen. This place is bound for a change.
Harry, feeling a swarm of confusion all too familiar, has been aloof these past couple of weeks. His lack of attention shows through the pitiful state of his grades. Personally I can not find the will to blame him. It seems natural not to expect a three foot roll of parchment on tiliwamps from someone who just heard whispers of kill from an unprecedented voice. Apparently professor Snape fails to see the harm in it. His view seems to be shared by Hermione as well, always hounding Harry about his lack of academic support.
Feeling isolated and a deep sense of regret, I too have become unknowingly aloof. I spend the majority of my time with my fellow Ravenclaws, only sacrificing a slim portion of it to visit Harry and the trio. We laugh and joke like we should, still avoiding the secrets that have been shared. We remain friends but neither can ignore the wall that I have just built between us. I have been hear for him, just not the way he needs, not the way a true friend would. The topic of the voice is not one that we throw into conversation anymore. I have tried to apologize for my mistake but Harry forgives me before I even have the will to open my mouth. He repeats words of understanding and realization. He has fallen under the impression that believing is seeing, or in this case hearing. He does not blame me; he only wishes I too could hear the whispers that haunt his night.
I wish I could tell him. I wish I could tell them all.
Saturday morning found me sitting in the stands, casting off wishes for a heavier jacket in this October wind. Surrounded by fellow Ravenclaws, we looked on in horror as our fellow brethrens were massacred, each one slaughtered brutally by the hands of our enemy, the Slytherins. They were in the lead with a hundred and forty points while we were only able to score a measly fifteen.
Mack, rendered into a slack jaw and wide oppressing eyes by the atrocity of the game, sat with her head resting upon her knees. Cradling her forehead with the palm of her hand, she groaned audibly at the numerous fumbles made by our team. The matter only worsened as we all turned in a perpetual state of shocked horror to be brutally informed by Stephen's blatant report of the ample number of deaths committed by Quidditch players each year. Honestly, it was enough to force oneself to bewitch their own ears off followed by Stephen's mouth.
We fled back to our corridors, our demeanor deprived of all ecstasy even further by the royal jeers of the Slytherins that scorned us all. How I wished for a hallway with no law abiding teachers present. One flick of the wand was all that was needed. I had to ruefully remind myself of my stature. The lack of points upon Ravenclaw's mantel only added towards its diminishing reminder as the thought presented itself upon the confinements of my mind. The looks upon their faces would doubtfully be less then pleased to hear of my acts vaporizing even more or their hard earned toil. It was for the love of my brethrens that I bestowed my wand to my pocket, a place easily accessible incase my mind were to suddenly change. When I saw the self-righteous rim that coiled upon Malfoy's conceited smirk, I feared it would.
As we sat upon our leather pleated couches in wait for our team, we conversed about the upcoming Halloween celebration. Treats unimaginable by the average muggle borns' imagination were sure to grace our appearance and more importantly our hunger. All were excited, including myself. Su talked of satin and lace stricken costumes as Kevin explored the realm of sugary wonders that awaited us tomorrow. Their tone all blared the shared common interest of idle impatience, similar towards a kid who could simply not stand to wait for the fair morning of Christmas day.
Their tales of wonder were all new to me and as such I found myself deliberately hanging upon every word, refusing to miss a breath. It all sounded wonderful and I too could not wait for such an event to commence.
"I heard they have pumpkins as big as a troll," exclaimed one of the first years towards a group of his eager listening friends. They all gasped upon its size, wondering if such an exaggeration could ever be true.
"Oh, they're bigger then that," Kevin informed with a tone of audacity and just a splash of mischief. "Such a shame no one's been able to measure them properly though."
The same lanky boy who proposed the new and heavily invested, for we all awaited what Kevin had to say upon the matter, topic of pumpkins stepped forth to ask, "Why's that?" His eyes stayed transfixed upon our chatterbox of a friend, wondering what tricks an older student may place upon their ignorance.
"Well, you can't stand too close to them because of the spell Hagrid placed on them." His tongue took its time to form the words properly and as such each rang out in a state of clinched clarity. "Pity they had to figure that out the hard way." He mused, allowing the meaning of each word to toil effortlessly upon the children's minds, each one sharply dragging their feat as to make more of an ill wanted commotion.
"What happened?" A timid girl clad in thick rimmed glassed asked with a gulp held high within her throat, practically scared to swallow it for fear it would hinder the tale's effect.
Kevin continued to form the basis of his horror story by informing them all of a misfortunate event of a young boy who decided to rest upon one of the pumpkins. Apparently he was never heard from again and his screams still haunt the castle grounds. "No one knows exactly what happened to the boy," Kevin spoke solemnly, yet the ghost of a twisted smirk remained, "but no one could deny the immense size of the pumpkin after his disappearance. They swore on their lives it grew."
It was an ill devised children's story that was painstakingly false as it was immature yet several of the first years shook tremendously from the abundant mystery of the story.
Sue gracefully reached over to abruptly halt his share of story time with a far from gentle slap upon the arm. "Stop tormenting the first years." Her tone was one of exasperation that became heavily embellished by the roll of her tawny eyes tinged in their golden rim.
"Yeah, we need them to carry our books." The brusque voice of Roger Davis detonated through out the corridor, filling in every corner with its eloquence. It seemed so odd for it to be laced in such a state of mirth considering their tumble earlier upon the day. The light ring of laughter followed from those who were older than the fleeting glances the first years presented towards one another.
The teen who stood before them was traveling along the fine edge of age, dangling from the end of boyhood but so desperately close to that edge of man. His hands were weathered beaten to that fine point of scarlet tinted flesh that seemed to match his terse accent, both worn down from time. His eyes were the means by which he lives by, the very life within itself. They were the envy of all paradoxes for they seemed so strange with their light of life upon the captain of our fallen Quidditch team. His form was rigid yet his eyes whispered forms of sincerity, fool heartedness, and of course laughter.
The rest of our fallen housemates appeared behind him. One by one they edged closer towards their leader, each obscured in mud and the vague aura of defeat. Their stumbles and oddly places shuffles were weighed down by their self inflected disappointment as they approached their friends to hear there much needed commiseration. A heavy sigh rested upon all of our lips at that moment until it was passed with time; thus forcing it to be bound to the pages of history.
The night, filled with its stories of far off wonders and horrors of all hallows eve, passed by rather quickly to suddenly find itself transformed into the flooded light of morning's grace.
"Such a lovely day to die," Came the tantalizing soprano tone of Mandy's voice that seemed heightened by the occasions that were destined to take place, as if it were solely made for today. Naturally it left us contemplating our acumen of concern for the girl in its raging form of valor, yet we merely shrugged off its vulgar presence as if nothing more than the undertone of the wind. She remained, for as long as the acrimonious autumn air that trailed behind this morning's influx would allow it, perched by her window gazing longingly out its stained glass towards this world of masked frights. Her eyes were dazzled cerulean by the wonders of the day, bestowing upon them a certain round flair that seemed to overpower the rest of her timorous features.
We left her towards her admiration for we fell victim towards our morning routine that happened to share heightened preferences of food, thus righteously allowing oneself to gorge upon its worldly allure. The food, embellished by its platters of silver and gold, basked in a certain radiance of morning's first glow that allowed its first bite to waver heavenly upon the tongue. It filled our senses, allowing us to fall captive towards its enchantment, thus rendering it the only thing within our sight and sense of smell.
The day unraveled in the same pattern that followed the velocity of a sickened snail, allowing most time to be spent conversing and otherwise eating.
It was enough for me to proclaim my love for this holiday and its country's way of celebration. "If I knew that all of Britain spent its time merely eating then I would have come here a lot sooner." There agreements were made, allowing the revelation of their imbedded fascination of my home to be presented. Story time commenced once again, much to the demise of my devoted plan towards relaxation.
Conversely, it was rather abruptly halted when the sinister jeers of the Slytherins could be first made out across the Hall. It started of as nothing more than the uneducated musts of snickers and wisps of laughter here and there but later it fluctuated into name calling and braked on the verge of spell casting over time. Soon we found ourselves caught in the middle of a wagering war and I was sure to bring about their peril regardless of their acknowledgment or not.
That evening left myself outside Filch's bureau with the air of prudence hanging heavily from the marble crusted ceilings. I could feel my lips recoil even more into their thinly stretched line; their dominance marked my agitation's soon awaited arrival. One day Professor Snape will no longer be a worry of mine and when that day comes, the Slytherin Empire shall fall. Of course I will be more than delighted to see to it that it has a rather rigid one, the likes of which they will never be able to rebuild.
The bellowing noise of shouts filled the tiny cupboard space of Filch's "office" allowing it to seep through the cracks and otherwise interrupting my spite by replacing it with sheer curiosity. By the uproar forming inside it was not hard to deduce that Filch was either lecturing Peeves or the Wesley twins. Much to my amusement, for I can not stand the widely rambunctious ghost who pelted me with ink bottles upon my first day, Fred and George waltzed through the door in a rhythmic fashion that spoke highly of their accomplished transgression. They held their heads high, daring the clouds to rain upon their parade. Their light hearted smiles accompanied them as they twirled theatrically through the corridor.
"Abby!" They greeted still within their unremitting cadence. "It's nice to see you've turned to the dark side our dear friend."
Their banters pushed a form of frilled laughter from my once pursed lips allowing me to form the proper question, "What have you two done now?" in a repartee suitable towards my own wit.
"Since we are the scholars of this beloved school," George embarked on his explanation with the air of stiffened mockery that was often fond towards his character as Fred continued to drone the tune of their waltz," Fred here wondered what scientific endeavors were to occur if one were to place a Filibuster Firework inside the belly of a salamander."
"It's a question I'm sure we've all asked ourselves once in our lives." Fred eased with a humble smile.
"Naturally," I concluded, rather amused by the twin's tale of delinquency.
"The end turned out not to be kind towards our little friend." George spoke solemnly as he and his brother simultaneously rested a hand upon their inconsolable heart, wishing the salamander a final resting place of peace and free from all things fire.
"Yes but he did manage to feel like a dragon in his final hours of spiting fire." Fred momentarily paused, allowing him and his brother to gather their condolences before their ocher eyes fell charily over me, flickering between qualm and sanction. "Regardless, the question is what has brought you here towards our little hallway of misdemeanor and negligence?" George waved a hand upon the hallway theatrically at its mention.
"It was nothing really; I just got into a small brawl with Draco and the rest of the blubbering Slytherins." I explained, wavering upon my decision of expressing my relentless hot headedness.
"Did you beat him up good?" They both asked, hope blazing blindly within their eyes as it playfully pulled the corner of their lips up, leaving them all with a new reason to smile. A revelation of some variety must have apprehended my eyes for I failed to predict their lustrous admiration, yet I was gracious for it regardless of my assumptions.
"Of course." I smiled brightly upon them, transfixed within the story of our little war, "As if I would allow any other such thing to happen to a Slytherin."
"Brilliant!" Their satisfaction was laced thickly upon their intonation, allowing it to be a few octaves lower than generally presented.
"Yet, that's actually not why I'm here," I confessed mildly, wishing to not lose the twins' interest. "Professor Snape was not there to witness our little quarrel of magic for one reason or another." I'm sure it had nothing to do with me locking the Great Hall's doors or anything. Honestly, if the man doesn't know how to open a door then it's not entirely my fault. "However he did manage to catch the last bit and sentenced me here because of what I said to Draco." I'm sure the twins are well aware with my love to have the final word and suspected it would have caused me trouble someday.
"What did you tell him?" They asked in a frenzied rush of pure eagerness that forced their accent to verge on the path of indecipherable.
"That he should go build a tree house in the Whomping Willow." I added with a shrug as if it were the most common expression offered in times of opposing viewpoints. Their deep throated laughter proved otherwise.
My punishment was indeed what I had expected it to be; my suspension of the Halloween feast. Fred and George informed me of the golden trio's whereabouts and offered to bring back any sweets they could manage to fill their pockets with. With much admiration, I agreed.
Enticed by the flicker of blue flame, I vigilantly followed a corridor lined with black tinted candles that lay hopefully in the general direction that Fred and George prompted towards. With each step the air that surrounded my bare arms chilled, causing the exposed flesh to raise and condense. My breath appeared before my very eyes in swirls of blue and translucent silvers. The passageway was barren except for the thinly lined flames of candles that illuminated its bleak walls whose only provided décor were the deep embedded cracks that ran rigid upon them from age. The light filled the crevices with ease, appearing to be the sinister smiles of the castle. It all brought about a feeling of fruitless desolation that lingered upon the bones and chilled the once effervescent marrow within them.
The sound of nails rapping across a blackboard did little to improve the already horrid atmosphere. Similar towards the moaning of a storm, they shock the halls with their frequency that made the living cringe. I would have preferred to be back in detention, scrubbing caldrons clean with a toothbrush, then to be present here and have to endure what the dead enjoyed as music. Much to my bitterly ardent surprise, there were those who were found dancing towards its atrocity, as if one could form a rhythmic tune from the sound of a thousand chainsaws all shattering the night's silence at once.
Spotting Harry and the others timidly pressed into a corner, I zealously greeted them. I was beginning to feel as if I would never spot them through the murky dejection that inundated the dungeons. It lay thick upon the walls, masking all from sight. The lurid flesh of our still living bodies contrasted greatly with the translucent outlines of the ghosts that were only seen when the cobalt tinted light permitted it.
Hermione hastily informed me of their fleeting attempt at hiding; all the while her eyes were overtly scanning the area for Myrtle.
"She haunts a toilet?" I asked incredulously, unable to deduce why someone would ever want to take such a strong liking to one much less feel obligated in protecting it. Ron and Harry both seemed to agree with me for they both held the looks of blatant perplexity causing their brows to incline towards the center of their faces where they were met by the fold of bewilderment.
It was Hermione who spoke of reason and clarity as she listed off the reasons as to why you should not allow Myrtle into you social network. The first being her rather dreadful disposition that seems to transpire into your own over time.
"Food!" bellowed Ron, interrupting Hermione's list on a note of perpetual hunger. Not even the dead would stand in the way between Ron and his eternally ravenous stomach.
There, upon the opposite wall, laid a buffet table clad in black velvet whose silver bowled contents winked at us, impelling us to come further. We stopped short of its trance to take note of the peculiar smell.
"Sad day," I commented upon the table embellishing its rancid, molded food whose stench was enough to wake the dead. Oh look, it worked.
Ron's stomach was poignant to concur as it gave a lurch further upon the glance of large, rotten fish on handsome silver platters, cakes, burned charcoal-black, heaped on salvers, maggoty haggis, moldy cheese, and, in pride of place, an enormous grey cake in the shape of a tombstone, which held the name and date of death of Nearly-Headless Nick written on it in tar-like frosting.
If I had not witnessed with my own eyes one of their kind walking through the table with mouth a gap, I would have doubted my ability to comprehend such a thing.
Within the next moment, I was clinching my sides in seek of warmth. "Most unpleasant," I managed to utter resentfully upon Peeves theatrical arrival through me. He snickered upon my words and offered out a bowel of molded peanuts in attainment.
"Nibbles?" His offer was rejected by the green pigment that lined Ron's flesh. Hermione quickly declined as well, wishing the bowel to be placed immediately out of sight.
"I couldn't help but to overhear your distress with Myrtle," Peeves informed with sinister smile intake and eyes dancing ablaze. "Rather rude you where. Wouldn't want Myrtle to hear." It was upon that note that he took it upon his liberty to beckon the diminutive phantom from her corner of desolation and peril all the while Hermione protesting forcefully.
"You were making fun of me again. Weren't you?" Her voice droned to let out her shrill cries that seemed perpetually worse than this so called "music."
Hermione of course denied it all and tried desperately hard to pay a complement to the girl. It proved rather hard through her insufferable tears.
Revenge struck, I smiled towards Peeve who was enjoying himself all to well. "It's a good thing you didn't hear the things she said about you then." I quickly covered my mouth in a blatant attempt to mockingly hold that information within as well as my smile. Harry tried to look aghast upon my blathering actions yet it only inveigled me to smile further. Now trying to conceal a chuckle, I tried gravely to keep my expression as one of shock.
"Oh? And what did Hermione have to say?" His grey eyes swept over me stiffly, something that contrasted heavily against the vivid ginger of his jester hat. He looked strangely out of place with his crown tilted upon the axis of his head.
"Something about the Bloody Baron being a better proteigest than you." I pursued his trance towards the spirit clad in blood tainted armor and managed to suppress a quiver. Peeves already thin lips were stretched further upon the frailness of his mouth, plummeted to nothing more than slits. I could have looked upon his mind and saw the gears turning, pity I could not see what they were turning for.
"We shall see about that," he declared with a grand exist that shook the tapestries from the walls and caused the candles to bend and sway in his presence.
"Hmm, seems I've struck a nerve." I shrugged innocently, as if its occurrence could not have been prevented.
Five minutes was all it took, simply five minutes was enough. With a chilled cackle, Peeves had managed to set the Bloody Baron's clothes aflame in a way that was remarkable and yet deadly if it weren't for the slight hesitation that he was already dead. Regardless, it rallied the headless hunt into a competition to see who could attain the phantom first. I found them disdainfully annoying and was glade to witness their embark. By the relieved expression that folded itself thick upon the crevices of Nick's translucent skin, alleviating his extensive lines of fret, I dare presume that I was not the only one.
"You should've been in Gryffindor," Ron concluded, fighting the wave of nausea the rancid food presented.
"Funny, I think my housemates were thinking the very same." I deliberated upon a dull moment only to conclude their lack of contentment with me. "They grow tired of me losing all their points."
Harry chuckled, the first vigorous rupture of laughter I've heard from him in a while. "Perhaps you shouldn't then. Hermione will likely kill us if we loose anymore." It was within that moment Hermione's eyes passed by us suspiciously.
"Do you think she knows it was me?" I asked abashed, wondering if she heard us all along. I'd rather not have a scolding by the likes of her if I could prevent it.
"Naw," the two supposed in unison.
"Well in that case, can we please go? I'm beginning to hear a rhythm in their chainsaws."
We succeeded in rescuing Hermione from the tear stained clutches of Myrtle and because of our triumph she decided to not pester us with question. Smart girl.
"Pudding might not still be over," came the barley audible grunts of one Ronald Wesley followed by the unendurable growls from the state of negligence his stomach was currently suffering through. The Great Hall was in sight, offering its worldly delights and its realm of mischief and magic upon the glamour of a thinly bound string that dangled curiously in front us. However, we never quite made it inside.
Harry stiffened, his eyes wide and alert, shoulders set equally back, head cocked to the side favoring his left ear towards the chamber's stoned wall. And then he turned his gaze towards mine, a flash of green amongst a sea of blue. "I can hear it again." His tone was one of bewilderment as well as deep seeded caution for what was to follow. Harry knew that somewhere within his adventures mind was a rational part and despite its rather minuscule size its screams of insubordination was the only thing floating between Harry's ears. That and of course the unprecedented voice. Perhaps it would be best to leave the voice alone until it can present a body to follow along side its actions?
Curiosity indubitably won.
His steps were rapid and light as if his feet were somehow transformed into air, merely gliding upon the surface of the stone floored corridor. Several times Hermione asked him to slow down and several times he failed to hear her, too entranced by the thrill of the hunt.
"What's going on Harry? What are you hearing again?" Hermione's and Ron's voice flooded out at once, tangling together within their curiosity.
"Can't you hear that?" Harry beckoned to the walls. "How can you not hear that?" Stopping upon the spur of the moment, his glance trailed up towards the heavens. "It's moving up." He paused only long enough to collect the hundreds of thoughts all bustling within his head. "How's it moving up?" He sounded winded, as if his newly found discovery took the breath from his very lungs. Fighting for the privilege to breath, he tore his gaze from the ceiling and rested them upon me.
I realize it was a rhetorical question, whom the likes of which needed no answer to remain content, but I was willing to provide one regardless of its sanction. "Follow it, Harry." My command rang clear through the miasma of uncertainty, alluring his curiosity even further, persuading it towards its edge.
"Follow it?" Hermione's cogent shrills called out towards us, beseeching our hastened insanity to become lucid even for the slightest of seconds. "We don't even know what it is!" It was too late, however. Harry was already bounding down the hall with me closely upon his heels. The others were welcome to come once their inquisitiveness took strong enough root.
"I think it's going to kill," Harry informed from ahead leaving Ron to echo from behind, finally coming to his senses and following us.
The fear and anxiety of the matter consumed us all, leaving us pale and slightly rigid from the experience. Our legs could move no faster and when Harry abruptly stopped, we nearly collided. Our last steps were ones in water, causing drops of rain to shower from the forceful pounding of our feet upon the rigid stone.
A question was forming upon my tongue but the seize of my shoulder by Hermione's hand interrupted its progress.
"Look!" She gasped between her sporadic breaths. She allowed her other hand to travel towards her capturer.
Ron forcefully clamped his hand upon my other shoulder in realization of the gravity of the matter.
Greatly towards my distaste, I was unable to suppress my flinch. "You know that hurts, right?" I cried in agitation, my shoulders surly baring bruises from their pressing fingertips. They mumbled their apologizes yet never removed their hands from the premises of my shoulders.
I could not find the will to blame them, however, for just before us lay the scarlet written letters that spelled annihilation for all muggle borns. It was draped upon the wall in foot-high words whose malice danced within the flickers of the torches' light.
THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.
AN: Thank you all for reading, to those who added this story into their alert, and to those who left reviews. I hope you all enjoyed this one and please feel free to leave any commentary. I'm open to any and all sugesstions as well critiques. And yes I know my spelling and grammer is horrible so there will be no need to mention that. And yes I'm terrible sorry about it even though I do use Word. Regardless, I hope you all liked it.