Oh where to start in this tale? I suppose there are many places I could
start; before finding out about magic, starting Hogwarts, starting the War, during the War, after the War, finding out about my parents, my job, etcetera. I think I’ll begin with Hogwarts, my last year. As I said, the summer after the battle was brutal. On so many people, so many lives. They all seemed to go on; they found a way to escape. I couldn’t. I went to the Burrow before Hogwarts, as I always did. They asked about how my summer was, how my parents were, how they liked Australia. I said that my summer could be better, my parents were fine and I missed them. I didn’t lie, yet I didn’t tell the truth. Just blanket statements with the omitence of information. Not that they would want to know. They spoke about me too, behind my back. All of them. Talked about how they were worried
for meand things of that sort. I didn’t want them to worry, so I didn’t speak.
I was always so silent, I was afraid I would burden them more if I spoke. Harry was good to me though, I think he vaguely understood. He would sit down with me sometimes, just stay and join in with my quiet musings. No words, but his presence comforted me all the same. I think Harry heard my nightmares one night, he burst into the room and plopped down next to be. Never asking me about them, just being there for me. I couldn’t appreciate that more. Ron tried to goad me into conversation, he would get angry when I never responded and storm out. He constantly tried, bringing up books or random facts into conversations as if he expected me to butt-in and correct him. The old me probably would have. The few times I took part in idle chatter it was always with a blank expression, monosyllabic and just proving to everyone that my vocal chords did not implode, as George had suggested.
The Weasleys’ should have been mourning. It sounds evil to say they should have been sad. I suppose I don’t truly believe that, but I don’t think they should have been that happy either. Percy was back, it seemed he had taken Fred’s spot. Percy sat in Fred’s seat at the table, just at the end next to George and across from Molly. That angered me, one cannot simply replace another by filling the space- but the family had. How could they continue to laugh at jokes and not remember that it was Fred who would be adding on to it, or laughing the hardest? Even George seemed okay, with his second half gone and never to return.
Once, at dinner, I exploded; it was the most I had spoken that entire summer and it took them all by surprise. George was joking about how he wished there was another one of him so he could keep up with everything at the shop. I stood up and told him that he did, how could he forget? Was it so simple to erase someone that important from mind? I went on and on, speaking about everything that was bubbling in my mind, for what seemed to be hours. Finished with my tirade, I left them with mouths’ agape and retreated to the garden and stood under a tree. Harry and Ginny joined me, I expected comfort. Contrary to what I believed, Ginny slapped me. She then began her rant on how they didn’t forget, they just chose to move on and how dare I accuse them of not caring anymore. I was pathetic, she said, and just wanted to wallow in misery till the end of time. What did I do? I probably would have argued, challenged her, had I not changed so much. But I did change, so I just stood stationary, not speaking and took it all. Just some more words to add to the collection of torturing thoughts. She stormed off, leaving Harry and I beneath the tree. I remember Harry’s words to me that night. “They worry about you, the Weasleys. I’m worried too, but I know you need your space. I’m always here for you, okay? Just… whenever you’re ready to let it all out, find me.”
‘Find me.’ Oh Harry, I needed to find myself first. I decided to do just that, and to begin by leaving the Weasleys; they’d do just fine without me. Harry knew I was going to leave, he found me packing. He told me I could stay at Grimmuald Place, if I wanted. How could I? Too many memories. I couldn’t go back. Instead I checked into a cheap Muggle motel, third floor room 312. 12… Twelve scars on my right arm, twelve Death Eater trials I had to be present at, before they decided I was unfit to witness anyone, and twelve days of being tortured while captured by Death Eaters.
Twelve days… Those days still haunt my nightmares, daymares too. Many don’t remember me getting captured, it certainly wasn’t publicized and I liked it that way. But it happened and I can’t change that fact. Nearly a fortnight of the agony, after the final battle too. The Death Eaters were angry, you see, after their leader was destroyed. One grabbed me as I cheered for the victory, another helped him take my wand and the third apparated us out. They were all too busy celebrating to notice, expect Draco Malfoy. His eyes met my frantic ones and he began to run towards me, but Apparation is much too quick. Then began the worst of the War, and the War had ended. I was stuck in an old cellar, magic proof just as the one in the Malfoy Manor had been. I suspect there were many of those cellars, scattered in the homes of Death Eaters. They sure seemed familiar with torture.
‘No one’s coming, Mudblood, why would they come for you? The War is over. You may have won that battle, but you can’t change what we stood for. We’ll make sure they remember that there will always be Purebloods who aren’t afraid to show their superiority. Crucio!’
‘Nearly a week and your little friends have yet to try. Oh look at that! You’re not in the Prophet…again. I suppose they don’t have time for filth like you. Crucio!’
‘Did you hear? They’ve given Potter and Weasley an Order of Merlin. They haven’t mentioned your name of course. No one gives a rat’s arse about you. Crucio!’
They laughed every time they made a jeer. I still remember their cold chuckles as I broke further, succumbing to the torments, the pain. And to the fact that nobody did care. Where were they for twelve days? Receiving Order of Merlins. I never got one, the Ministry couldn’t be bothered. Day twelve of my suffering, a group of people, I can’t even remember them all, broke in and took in the Death Eaters. I was taken to St. Mungos. They healed what they could, tried to give me nourishment that I needed. However, nothing could be done about the scars, the memories. I’d have those forever they said. More reminders of how my friends left me in hell, celebrating their victory that I took part in making happen.