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Shattered by Miss Lily Potter
Chapter 1 : Shattered
 
Rating: MatureChapter Reviews: 4


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Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Enjoy!


Shattered

I should have died.

I could have killed him. I could have killed Albus Dumbledore, the guy who made it possible for me to learn everything, everything, because I was too goddamn stupid to realize that I was under the Imperius Curse.

I should have died.

I take a sip of the liquid—it’s stopped burning now, but the memories haven’t stopped coming. I wince at the liquid going down my scratchy throat, but there’s no stopping now—not now.

I could have killed him.

I should have died. I would have died, gladly, if it meant I wouldn’t have to live with this guilt, this overwhelming, all-encompassing… feeling.

Rage. That’s a feeling.

But it’s not enough.

Hopelessness.

Worthlessness.

That’s closer.

I should have known. I saw her—I saw the person, I could have stopped it but she was too strong and then I was flying, and I could feel myself flying but it was like I was caught on a ride, I couldn’t move or scream or do anything. I saw Harry, I saw them all, but it was like I was watching the movie from behind the scenes; I couldn’t alter anything, couldn’t get to them to let them know I was all right, it was okay because this had to just be a stunt double.

I wish it were a stunt double.

I should have died.

I finish off the bottle, and smash it against the wall.

Dully, I see the stain it’s sure to leave, but I shrug it off. Someone’ll clean it up, someone who cares and isn’t an almost murderer.

No, that’s not even right. Even when I was under the fucking Imperius, I wasn’t strong enough to do it.

I’m a failure as a person, and as a killer.

I’m a failure.

I grab another bottle from Angelina’s stash, idly wondering how long it’ll take before it goes missing.

And I remember.

My hair whips around my face. My eyes are closed, and my mouth opens in an endless scream; but it is somehow peaceful, up here. I know it shouldn’t be; I know it’s horrible. I know what I could do, and what I cannot; but for a moment, I have peace.

And then I am slammed back down to the ground, and the soundless scream echoes over the roofs in a voiceless plea for help, somebody, anybody to come closer, save me--


I swallow another long sip, my lips dragging across the neck of the bottle. Merlin, what the hell is this stuff? It’s the best I’ve ever had, no doubt about it, but I’m not even closed to smashed; I can still think coherently, can still function and act and remember and regret.

And I do remember, and Merlin, I do regret.

I close my eyes, and I feel it hit me. The alcohol rushes through my system, and I smile softly. This is what it’s like to be shattered, I think.

I’m a shattered person, in a shattered world. I could have shattered another life… But I didn’t. And for that, and that alone, I deserve another bottle.

Oh, what the hell. I’m going all out.

Why not another five?


“Katie. Katie. Dammit.”

Someone’s shaking me, but I barely register it.

“Somebody get McGonagall!” the voice yells, and I roll around groggily. “Now!”

It takes me a moment to place it, but when I do, I feel sick, sicker than I ever have before. “Angelina?”

My head is stuffed with cotton, but even I can’t feel bad at the grin that makes its way onto her face. “You’re up! Oh, thank the Gods, you’re alive.”

I hug her, still feeling completely smashed. “What—I’m sorry.” I’ve just remembered. “I drank your alcohol.”

She laughs, and there are tears on her face. “What? It—it doesn’t matter, I’ve replaced it.”

“Already?”

She stares at me. “Katie, you’ve been here for months.”

At these words, I look around me. I’m in St. Mungo’s.

“I’m sorry,” I say again, but I’m not talking about the alcohol. I think she realizes, because she just gives me a hug.

McGonagall comes in them, all business. “Katie. How are you doing?”

I shrug. “Been better, but could be worse.”

She nods, lips pursed. “I know you’re still recovering, but I have to ask you—do you know who Imperiused you?” She bites her lip. “I feel so awful, I know it wasn’t your fault. We just want to catch whosever fault it is.” She smiles. “I mean, it’s their fault you’re here, isn’t it?”

I shake my head, but she thinks it’s at her first question.

It’s my own bloody fault.

“Are you sure? Can you remember anything?” She’s pushing, but it’s understandable; I’m surprised she’s being so calm.

But I can barely remember anything. It’s as though my brain is a web, and I’m struggling to find specific knots and loops. I can’t think straight. Why did I drink so much?

“Wait…” Memories are coming back, but all I can remember are the damn bottles. I know it was a man—or was it a woman?—cursing me, and flying… “No. I’m… I’m sorry.” I’m panicking now, breathing quickly, and I can feel the guilt coming back in waves. Is this how it’s going to be?

If it is, I deserve no less.

I sigh, and I wrack my brain. I remember… “I remember a person, and a bathroom. But after that… I can’t remember anything. I’m so sorry.” And I am.

I should remember, I should be able to help. A stronger person, I know, would be able to remember everything.

But I am not a strong person; I’m Katie Bell, and they chose me because I was weak, and I’m only proving their point.

I am weak. I’m spineless and horrible and I deserve to be here, because I’m crazy and this is where crazy people end up.

I hate myself.

I deserve to die.

I should have died.


--
A/N: Well, there it is. My first foray into the mind of Katie Bell, ha. (: What'd you think? I'd adore hearing your thoughts. (:




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