I Was Younger Then

The Prince's Tale: Yearning

 October 1975

Well Eileen, I have returned, not that you have ever taken much notice of my presence, always being preoccupied with the whims of that oaf. I do wonder how much effort goes into suppressing all intelligent thought so as to make his company bearable. But I suppose it is a necessity due to the inferiority complex he suffers from. Such fragility is pathetic, but not my problem, and it needn't be yours if you simply admitted to yourself it was a mistake and that family you threw away for this misery was right. It seems though, his pig-headed stupidity is catching and you have resigned yourself to withering away there, not that I'm entirely convinced some part of you hadn't vacated that shell a long time ago. But I digress.

I have made little headway discovering what it is Black and Potter are up to. As I expected, their concealment had nothing to do with any skill, being as mediocre as it is. I knew they must have acquired help from elsewhere and I have discovered from where: a secret room on the 7th floor. The entrance appears after three turns before the wall, though some sort of incantation or process must be involved, because after watching Black and Potter, I attempted it myself to no avail. I assume it to be one of the old secrets of Hogwarts, in which case I am certain to find mention of it in the library if I persist long enough.

And once I have, everyone will see beloved Potter for what he is. He is only adored because he has money and parents in the ministry, so naturally he could do no wrong. Never mind that he is lazy, arrogant and self-serving, and yet, even Lily will not see it even while nagging about Mulciber and Avery. Of course, because we are Slytherin's our intentions and deeds are somehow more egregious than Black and Potter's, who regularly attack others in the halls; but how we, Slytherins, commit ourselves to the study of particular arts in our spare time is the problem? I am not sold. Had I been sorted into Gryffindor she would no doubt treat me differently, and while I should resent her for that fact, I find myself motivated to expose the double-standard, to make her see the error in such value-based judgements.

I was given nothing, if not less, and despite every effort of my father to squash all magic and aptitude from me, I have risen regardless; not because others gave it to me but through sheer force of will. For all of her perfections, Lily remains woefully ignorant of this fact because of the same shallowness all Gryffindors suffer from. They care not to look but to be given. Only caring about what is spelled out or easily observed, ignoring all that simmers beneath such obvious veneers. Black and Potter wear the right colors and have the right faces, but they are deceivers through and through. But not I, I have always valued the truth above all things, even when it is uncomely and unwelcome by others. I have committed myself to rejecting useless flatteries of the tongue because they seek only to distort that which is true.

I cannot blame Lily for this weakness of mind, though. She makes an effort, unlike most. Through these many years of friendship she has accepted life is not as her comfort would have her believe; even looked upon the wretched beings that gave me life and has still remained by my side. She has always been an anomaly to me, but not the type I seek to explain, as though if I were to, she would change somehow and no longer be mine. I need no explanations, only the surety that contagious presence of hers brings.

Unlike Potter, I have seen and learned to appreciate these quieter qualities that she often suppresses, except around me. That ambition inside her to do more, be anything but ordinary; the unbridled anger at being stumped by something, and the almost unhinged desire to conquer it so as not to be bested by it. These are what is most precious and yet she allows herself to believe they need to be quenched with silence and acquiescence.

Silence, how I loathe it. Those forced dinners where we sat in complete silence except for the scraping of silverware. Or those long, horrendous days before Hogwarts and Lily, when all questions received nothing but a remiss nod or grunt. And the toys, empty of their batteries, lest noise or anything disturb the beast in his den. I will never suffer such silence again, and instead yearn for the noise of life, of thought--self-assured, inquisitive and combative thought! It is there where any progress not found in a book can be made, and it is what I believe the allure of social and romantic interaction lies.

While I can do many things on my own, I cannot suffer the silence of it, and so I search for that fire you never had Eileen--the burning need within another to be whatever it is they set their mind to, regardless of what others think, having within themselves a a natural aversion to acquiesce to me or any limitations in their own thought. In sum, Eileen, someone your opposite, who opts for agency instead of placation. So keep your silent misery while I find the one willing to reduce me to ashes before ever acquiescing to silence.

Your Half-Blood Prince