The term has started. I am glad to be returning to Hogwarts. It has been my home for the last 6 years. Where love, friendship and memories were made. Though the castle is still as magnificent as it was before, in my eyes, it seemed to have lost its charm and magic after the battle. Everywhere I gaze, memories would re surface. The whomping willow. The hallways. Our common room.
The atmosphere is almost as sickening as the memories.
Headmistress McGonagall was never the same after the battle. Though she's still uptight and strict as ever, her eyes lost the warmth it held before. Professor Flitwick is not as lively as before. And Professor Snape.
He was found still alive in the shierking shack when Harry remembered the memories. After the battle, he was proven to be innocent after his trials and was re instated to teach potions, because Prof. Slughorn decided he would return to his retirement and there are no potions master as good as him in Britain.
Potions were never my forte, until this school year started. The teachers seemed to be very keen on giving me special treatment and pitying glances. It is as if I will break if they were too harsh to me.
His class seemed to be the only normalcy left in my life. He's still as strict as ever. Dropping snide remarks here and there. As if we're still 1st years.
But there are times when being normal is out of my grasp and memories would come flooding to me. I was almost driven mad with the pain and regrets, until I found a way to vent it out and distract myself.
When I'm sure that the whole common room is already asleep, I would slip out of my bed and go to the bathrooms to cut. I would cut in my thighs, stomach, but the worst cuts are in my arms. The pain distracts me from the crippling emotional pain.
I was never caught before. I made sure to wear long sleeves at all times. I never rolled it up, even at potions. Even when it's blazing hot. Prof. Snape never objected. He knew about what happened to Malfoy manor when I was tortured my that evil bitch, Bellatrix LeStrange. The scar of the word "Mudblood" is a constant reminder of my weakness and inability to fight for myself, and I despised myself for it.
He never objected, because we both have the marks of our weakest points in our life, hidden in our sleeves.
I was almost caught when I my partner in transfiguration, Neville absent-mindedly pointed the transfigured dagger to me while talking to Seamus and ripped my sleeves. Thank god I'm fast enough to cast reparo before the scars were seen.
But tonight, my luck has seemed to have ran out as I heard footsteps coming inside the lavatory.