Mattheo Riddle [o.s]

tethered

Amelia Potter

It is always quiet out here.

And lately, I have been chasing quiet. Silence. To have it ease my very loud mind.

I am most at peace with myself when there's silence. I don't distract myself with loudness—but with quietness.

The night sky is full of dark clouds tonight. I can't see the stars, even being in a high place such as the Astronomy Tower.

I spent two hours deciding whether to come here or not. The idea of getting caught after hours terrifies me.

Ever since I was little girl, I've always been an over thinker. I'm not a fiery spirit with no hesitation. I go over the same thought, over the same speculation, over the same idea and every little thing that catches my attention in the slightest. It's the type of over thinking that leads to me having self-doubt. To question everything about me and what I do.

But still, I secretly crave electricity. Adrenaline. I fantasise about it.

I imagine myself not having to think twice. Saying 'yes' to everything. Not caring. Not bothering. Being brave. To love having a spotlight on me when doing something I love.

But I never do. I never say yes. Not really.

I watch life happen whilst I'm standing behind glass—like I've been placed outside of it and I can't make my way in. I see the careless laughter, the chaos, the reckless magic of it all, and I feel it echo in my bones, like some ancient spell trying to wake me up from the inside. But I stay still. And I wonder if I'm actually like this—or is it just fate for me to end up like this. Like it's my destiny, because of who I am.

It's strange, growing up in someone's shadow when you were born right beside them.

People look at my brother, Harry, and they see the living legend, the prophecy, the boy who survived. People look at me and...well. They don't. Not really.

And I've grown to learn how to be okay with it. To be the forgotten twin, in a way. The quieter one. The background character to a story that is simply too big to have us both staring in it.

It's only when I sometimes wonder who would've I been if we weren't always measured side by side—that's when it hurts. In this strange way that's small and constant and invisible before I bury it away again.

Would I still be this cautious? Would I still be this endlessly tangled version of a girl who thinks and dreams more than she ever speaks and acts upon her fantasies?