There are bullet holes in you;
they are cracking your skin and
exposing the lava that has been
burning you inside out. And no
matter how much you try to fix
yourself, you can’t force yourself
to heal. Maybe, you think, that this
is your destruction.
She mostly heard it in the late hours of the night.
Sometimes, it would w h i s p e r across the
cobblestones and whirl around her the way the
wind did high on her broom. It left her frozen, feet
unable to move from their place – it digging its way
into her mind with control she had to remind herself
time and time again that she’d broken. But it wasn’t it
– it was him.
He called out to her, screaming her name loud enough to
pull her from deep slumbers and invading her dreams
when she wouldn’t wake. She saw him across streets only
for him to disappear behind buses and she could feel his icy
touch on the nape of her neck, only to turn around and find that
she was alone.
Years later and he still had a hold on her, or at least
the impression he’d had on her still had its effects.
She had been vulnerable, allowed herself to let her
guard down and had almost ended up dead – even
worse, her own stupidity had put others in harm’s
way by her own hand.
Sometimes, if the night was still enough, she could still feel the
young girl she had been slipping away into the darkness, Voldemort’s
grasp coiling around her chipping away at her soul bit by bit until
nothing remained. Until she was just as twisted and dark and damaged
as he had become.
"Seeing as you don't know anyone but me
who's been possessed by You-Know-Who,
and I can tell you how it feels."
Harry remained quite still as the impact
of these words hit him. Then he wheeled
around.
"I forgot," he said.
"Lucky you,"
People had a habit of forgetting, and it was a welcomed
relief when they did – when the forgot all the awful things
she’s done, though she’d been told time and again those
things were out of her control. She was supposed to be
stronger than that. She hadn’t grown up battling Percy and
deflecting George and Fred to be torn apart by something
no longer affecting her – but it was affecting her, and she
feared it always would. That Voldemort would always be a
part of her. Her past, present, and future.
That was not a future she had always seen for herself, and she and she
alone would decide who she would become. She would be strong.
She had no other choice.
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