The Abuser

The Importance of Reading Newspapers

You've been sobbing so hard you can barely breath. You've been stitching your heart on the outside of your sleeve. You've been wrung out and then doused with grief in the ocean of time this moment will be brief.

-Harder Before It Gets Easier by David Wax Museum

.......

A newspaper. A damn newspaper!? I settle on the couch and rub my cheek where Draco touched it. My stomach feels like it's home to a whole horde of Cornish Pixies; banging and fighting inside of me to escape. What did Draco mean? I have parents. The best two in the world. I HAVE parents. I quickly scan the first page of the paper....nothing of importance catches my eye. Glancing at the date, I realize that this paper is due for publication till tomorrow. How did Draco get ahold of this? I wonder.

My fingers brush my earrings. Clusters of pearls, carved into the likeness of roses. Pearls and roses are the birthstone and flower of June. Both my father and I were June babies, and so he gave these to me last summer as a reminder of our love. I never take them off! Then my fingers travel down to my left wrist. I run them along a graceful silver bracelet, carved in the image of an olive branch, twisting around my slender, white wrist. Mother gave this to me when I was little. It had been hers, and her mother's before her, for generations. I have parents. It's utterly pathetic that Malfoy thinks that he can get under my skin simply by insulting my family, or insinuating... what was he insinuating?

I turn to the second page, feeling a bit more confident, and quickly look it over. I let out a strangled noise as my eyes adjust to the words in front of me. The article is titled in large font, "Mr. and Mrs. DeLuce Killed in Raid". This is a mistake. This must be about some other family... not mine! I have parents... they sent me a letter just yesterday... But no, there is a picture of them, smiling and waving up at me. Those two faces that I could never forget; never misplace. How? A searing pain begins to claw its way through my chest, forming a lump in my throat as I gasp for air. This can't be. Not my parents! They love me too much...they would never leave me. Ever! I make a horrible, rasping noise as I read. The article says that they were murdered during a raid on the Ministry of Magic. "The responsible party is undetermined." It claims. A wave of sudden, furious, bitterness spreads through me like poison as I stare at the dark ink on the white parchment. I hate the newspaper. I hate the Ministry of Magic for letting this happen. Above all, I hate the "responsible party". Undetermined? Ha! The Ministry will never determine who it is, because they don't care. They will go to great lengths to cover the raid up; make it seem like it never happened and that my parents never even existed. My body shakes like a leaf as I gasp for air. There is such a pain in my chest and head that I feel like blacking out, but that merciful relief never comes. I double over, tears splashing into the picture of my mum and dad as I force myself to continue reading.

The article says that they left behind a charming daughter, age 11. Hazel DeLuce. Me... The sentence is underlined in ink. So is the next sentence, which reads: "As the only child or relative, Miss DeLuce is now the sole heir and proprietor to a vast fortune, and sprawling estates." Someone underlined this... but what does it matter? My parents are- my parents are dead.

Then it really sinks in. I'm an orphan. Oh, God. I'm an orphan. They're dead...dead. Dead! I'm an orphan. I'm alone. My parents are dead. I contort, rolling off of the couch onto the floor. I let out a strangled scream of pain and despair, clawing at the pearl earrings; reminders of my father. They drop to the ground, rolling across the flagstone and leaving me with bleeding earlobes. I rake my nails viciously over my wrist and bracelet, simultaneously loving and hating the burning pain caused by my flesh tearing. Of course, I can't break the silver band, but the very act of trying to rid my being of it seems to empower my fury and grief. I arch my back, the golden flame of the crackling fire illuminating my pain in the darkness. Unearthly screams of gut-wrenching loss rip from my mouth, punctuated with wild groans and sobs. No one comes... no one knows or even cares about my loss. For who among the Slytherins would bother to descend to the almost abandoned Common Room in the dead of night to comfort a sobbing child?