Defying Gravity

VIII: Circe

So late! We're sooooo sorry! Everything about life is just kicking us in the ass right now. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: We do not, and never will own the rights to any familiar characters or original Harry Potter world ideas. They belong respectively to the original author, J.K. Rowling

30 October 2013

Highlands of Scotland

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

"How have you been sleeping?" Headmistress McGonagall asked, sipping from a tea cup.

Eris lounged purring in my lap as I stroked her fur methodically. My weekly meetings with the headmistress had become somewhat of a therapy session. She became my mentor, guiding me through things I didn't entirely understand, helping me figure out my memories morphing into nightmares. In the past month we'd been discussing the voice in my head and my sleeping habits. They seemed to be a major point of interest for the elderly witch.

A sigh escaped my lips before I could help it, "Like I always do. Some nights I sleep soundly, and others I'm plagued by screaming and shapeless shadows darker than the darkness that surrounds me. It always leaves me feeling cold, and sad."

"I've been pondering your dreams," McGonagall set down her tea cup to lean forward. "Do you know the origins of your birth place?"

The large room shrunk in on me. "Azkaban," I muttered. "I was only there until they cut the cord. Grandmother let it slip to a prominent family, and they spread rumors about how I was born without a soul. Sometimes she would tell me that I was lucky to be alive, and that something rotten must live inside of me for my life to have been so."

"And this voice, when did it first appear to you?"

I froze at the memory, my fingers digging a little too harshly into Eris' fur. As if sensing my emotions, she purred louder instead of hissing. "I was young, five I think. I was playing with Liera and Caesar on the terrace when it just appeared. 'Push her off.' it said when Liera was playing too close to the edge. 'Do it. Push her off.' I almost did, but Caesar caught on and dragged me kicking and screaming to my room."

"Hm," the headmistress muttered, "and has it plagued you recently?"

I had to think about it. While I associated the disembodied voice as a physical voice within my head, I also associated it with the dark thoughts and feelings that invaded my mind. The last time that happened was when-

"Lennox," I blurted. "When Lennox and Wynn fought on the pitch, and later when I confronted him in the infirmary. I felt disgustingly satisfied at all the pain and chaos. When Lennox insulted me, I was overwhelmed with the idea of killing him, but later when Wynn and I were talking in the corridor, they all seemed to disappear."

The smile that lit up the old woman's face was unexpected, "I believe I have the answer to your problem."

Skepticism rose within me, "You do?"

"Ms. Rosier, you're entire life the people closest to you have treated you as if you were something to be feared, made of darkness itself. That kind of mental abuse leads to brainwashing of the most dangerous kind. I've seen it happen to many of those who turned to the dark arts in the past. Parents who desire their children to fall into the same trap they fell into willingly. Tell me, what, or rather who, does the voice sound like."

I hadn't thought about it before, but when I did the realization knocked the breath out of me, "I-it sounds like my grandmother."

"And that's because it is," she nodded. "These lies that have been ingrained into you since the day you were born have manifested and taken on a form that could be heard, and what better way to do that then to turn to the one place we all trust unconditionally. The mind. It is indeed a dark time when we can't trust in our own thoughts."