Slytherin Pride

Thinking in The Room of Requirment.

I screamed and kicked a box of random scraps of the daily profit across the room. I bunch an old cabinet and then chunked a candle stick so far it in the opposite wall. My breathing was rapid and I was sweating. I hated what I was doing. I kicked a book. I loved her. I flung an oiled painting to the side. "I still do love her." I whispered as I fell on the floor and let a strangled cry escape me. It's been a month. Since she's even talked to me. I need her. I want her, I need to kiss her. Sex would be nice too, I love her. I hit the floorboards with my fist, sending up dust and debris. The side of my hand was now covered in splinters and stinging. The musty smell was so over powering I slightly gagged. The room of requirement stretched out in a mass of stuff to hit and destroy. My whole body trembled as I stood up and picked up the scraps of paper she wrote to me. "I miss you..." My chest felt so compacted and it ached so much I could barely sigh, or huff a breath. My eyes sting from lack of sleep and the many tears I hadn't bothered to wipe away. Was this what she felt like when I was out?! No, I felt worse. She was starving because she thought I was dead, I am just going through the motions with no purpose because everything was taken from me, and the worse part is. No one took it from me. Not potter, not Ron,
Not hermione, no it was me. "I did this!" I screeched, as I hurled a old fashioned mirror at a mouse in a corner. It scuttled away and out of site. "The fucking rodents are happier than me." The air in my chest continued to get tighter. One day, probably soon, it will pop, explode, be gone, then I would be empty. Minus well me a Dementor from all the emotions I'd feel. I heard laughter outside the door, and my instincts kicked in. I lodged an old textbook at it. I laughed bitterly at them. "They don't even understand. They don't even begin to see what real pain is like. I don't even think I have, and that's what makes it so scary. I sunk back down into the floor, making the floor boards creak. I Ruffles my messy hair with my dusty hands and and stretched my arm. With a loud smack, and a sharp pang in the back of my hand , my hand hit a dusty cover of a book. I was about to throw it too, but the title caught me off guard. It was handwritten, in messy, large, and uneven handwriting as if a 5 year old decided to write a book. I pulled it gently towards me. The cover was faded, probably blue at one time. I flipped open the cover page and saw a dedication, in "fancy" little kid writing. It read, 'deer mum and dad' I laughed at the miss spelled words. I wrote that word the same way when I was little. The page was yellow, with a stain in the corner that looked like spilt coffee. I flipped page. It was a very colorful drawing. The drawing was of a family of a mother and a father, the father wearing glasses, with a newborn baby in their arms surrounded by scribbles that were meant to be blankets in my eyes. I smiled and chuckled softly as I traced my fingers lightly over the scribbles that made up the Christmas tree. The mother and father seemed to be wearing blobs with snowflakes drawn on them. Christmas sweaters. The fire was alive with five different colored scribbles. The wooden logs were actually a shape, and I found my self grinning with pride at the child who had improved in his or hers abilities. I flipped through more pages, his birthday, it was His first spell, and a trip to the hospital because of a broken arm, his mother was too afraid to heel it, according to 'my mum begged the doctor to sav my lif' I found myself laughing, even though a certain part of me was screaming at me stop. This child seemed to forget to put the 'Es' on the back of words, as I saw in three different comments. He grew and his parents became smaller and smaller compared to him, but something seemed wrong. They looked "tired" with red squiggles in their eyes, the young boy became sad. He eventually drew one picture when he was in tears holding his mother. I got to the second to last page. It read 'I seemed to hav forgot to add a important part." I looked under the sentence and saw him crying in a dark corner, with black sketched all around him. An evil looking woman with a circle of scribbles for hair was holding a wand and laughing 'mwhaaaaaa' as his parents laid on the ground with little lines around their bodies, so it looks as though they're shaking. It unsettled me. This was during voldemorts first ruling, the dark ages. I flipped to the last page and read the last sentence in the book. 'I miss you mum and dad, I wish you would get better. Hope this will cheer you up.' Under the name was a scribbled but neat name. 'Neville Longbottom'. I choked on nothing and closed the book as firmly as I could muster with my shaking hands. That "evil" woman was bellatrix. It was the night his parents were tortured. But...bow could he remember that?! He was a year and a half old. I was visibly shaking and my breaths rattled. I felt like I've invaded something never to be opened. Something beyond personal, his parents should've died. And I mean that in the nicest possible way. I placed the book back and stumbled towards the door, in sudden need for air.

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