Lilith The First

My ears whistle. I can barely hear my classmates’ voices, I feel like I had my head under water. No, not again. Not now. This is the first alarm ring. It’s the first signal and it says "Here we are, Ron, we are coming." The murmur is continuously more burdensome, and I already feel that constant and fierce pulsing at the temples, an incessant and obsessive thump-thump-thump. ``It resounds in my heart, amplified in the middle of my chest.``And added to my friends’ ones, I can hear so many, too many other voices of unknown people.

If I tried really hard and kept trying endlessly, I could build a charade so perfect, something plasmed upon him, to his image and appearance, something so perfectly plausible that he'll think he's happy. He would believe it. Mine wouldn’t be such a complicated job, as he wants to believe in happiness. ``Who wouldn’t?

The wind now takes the hood off and shakes the cloak of a figure. A figure with silver-blond hair and a sword hanging on his hip. A figure with a reddish scar on his jaw. War is cruel, but you're born in the Night of the Nadir. You're hunted for war crimes, but this won't be the night you'll be arrested.

It’s weird how people tend to search for the good in what hurts them, in what harms them. They idealize the pain until they convince themselves that it’s right. That they deserve it. Stupid but true. I had fallen in this trap too, years ago.``She had been hurt for long in the past, and in a moment in which she was very vulnerable. The person who hurt her had done it in the deepest way, slowly becoming her friend, gaining her trust and then using her without scruples. ``She still isn’t over it, and I sincerely doubt she will ever be able to leave it all behind. A possessed person brings with her more scars than someone tormented with the Cruciatus. Those scars are simply less perceptible.

To sum up, to let this world enjoy once again rainbows, butterflies and peanut butter I have to kill him or to be killed. This is what Dumbledore told me. But how? How can I?

The first time you showed interest in me was in our fifth year. You still weren't the person who captured me, but interesting, more intriguing of what I liked to admit. I knew you were a Malfoy; you came from an ancient pure-blooded family and everybody who could look beyond prejudices could see it. It was in your way of walking, with your head held up high, not showing-off, but simply proud of who you were.

Malfoy's rules are not laws in the world. But they are my laws and I follow them. In this situation I can't do anything else. In this situation I don't want to do anything else. I've got a reason.

What is this light that hurts my eyes? Is it the end, finally? No, obviously, no. It’s the day, the sun is risen, and another agony begins. Wake up, my sinner, wake up and smile.

And it’s like this that I’ll remember you. Always. A woman, now as small as a girl, who prays the sky for something that, even if it came, you couldn’t recognise. Your conscience has already convicted you. Without appeal. Murderer.