Tainted Attitude

Complete Opposites

This is it Dustine. This is the year I have no problems; no bad marks, no drama, and hopefully no surprise visits by He Who Must Not Be Named even though he is apparently dead. Although, if we did, Harry Potter would probably handle it with the help of his buds. This is my fifth year - I've already passed the midway point, so I just have to push through a full three more. After all that's happened, what could go wrong?

At least, that's what I thought before the events over the holidays transpired. When my mother came home after a serious trial at the Ministry, she was ranting and raving about how uneducated and "pompous" the boy on trial was for the entire night. She didn't tell me many details - stubbornly abiding by the confidentiality regulations created by the Ministry - but had no trouble lecturing me about never using my magic underage. 

As if that would be possible with her, an employee of the Ministry, as my mother. If my dad were still here, he would probably be less strict about it and at least help me practice my wand movements and incantations, rather than punishing me every time I pull my wand out or am seen muttering a spell. Each day I wish he were with us. Nothing is the same without him - not even for my mum. She tries to look like she doesn't care anymore and has moved on, but nothing can hide the anger she bottles up at the mention of his killer: the Dark Lord.

It was almost written on her face that she had heard the name again the night of the trial. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyebrows furrowed, and her eyes drooped. But in the right light, you could see the fire in them that would burn down a city if she tried.

Sometimes I felt sorry for my mum - I have no idea what it's like to lose a partner, someone you loved dearly and never wanted to leave. I've seen what it does, how it can change a person. The hidden light that used to be in her eyes is gone. Any shred of kindness she used to harbour has left her, and now it seems the only things that can get through to her are her career, Cornelius Fudge, and He Who Must Not Be Named. 

She even adopted her own tools specifically designed to teach obedience to all witches and wizards of any age. So far, she has only one that works on children and teenagers who are still learning what is expected of them at school... and at home. 

The device is a magic quill with no ink that, when used, burns and cuts what you have written into your hand. After a day or two it goes away, leaving only a light scar that is barely visible unless held close to your eyes. Whilst it is a cruel practice, it certainly does help to teach children what not to do: I have not had to undergo the punishment for at least a couple weeks. The last was when I was practising a new wand movement Professor Flitwick had shown us. Mum walked in on me. 

In a quick fumble around for words, I said, 'Hey, Mum. I'm just getting my Hogwarts stuff ready early and thought that I should pack my wand as well seeing as I don't need it.' I felt my cheeks warm slightly and my heart beat a little faster, awaiting her response. 

She looked at my face, then at my hand, and back again. Uncrossing her arms, she replied, 'Alright. I'm making some tea, do you want any?' I would have said no thanks, but when I looked into her eyes, they weren't asking. I followed her heel clicks on the tiled floor to the kitchen, tossing my wand onto my patterned bed covers and shut the wooden door behind me. I sat silently on the counter chair, watching her process and thanked her when she handed me my tea. 

I sipped once and upon tasting the familiar hidden ingredient, Mum questioned, 'Of course you probably know the taste of truth serum by now, my dear? Well, I want to know about what you were just doing with your wand. Were you telling me the truth?' Her grey eyes peered into mine, and reluctantly (and with no choice) I admitted to lying and said I was practising wand movements for school. At this, she took me by the arm and led my to her office where I was almost blinded for the thousandth time by the excess of pink and frills, and deafened by the meows of cats. I have already explained what the quill does, and I was forced to write, "I must not lie. I must remember my previous lessons." I have not lied to her since.