Torn Soul

PROLOGUE:

Grasping the cold steel handle of the jagged blade she inhaled deeply. "It...could all be over. It could all....be over." She took a deep breath. That dagger looked so friendly right about now. It seemed to grin at her, daring her, taunting her, saying, "you know you can't go through with this. You know you can't go though with this."

But inside her head another voice spoke, calm cool and collected it said, "Ending your life won't making anything better and you know it! So suck it up, get some pride and put that damn family heirloom in the china closet where it belongs!" Both voices belonged to her and her alone.

She sat on the ground and leaned her head in her hands and robbed her sore temples. "Will both of you just shut up!?!" she screamed into the brisk November air. "Just! Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!"

She began to beat her throbbing skull with her fists. She cried out in pain and anger and beat harder and harder. 'Stop it! Just go away and leave me alone! Just leave me alone!" She burst out into a sob and let her self fall to the cold grass.

She beat it, kicked it. Screamed in frustration. But the voices wouldn't stop. She shook with tears and physical exhaustion and slowly by slowly fell asleep on the cold hard ground.

Very early the next morning, the grass tinted white with the usual November frost she awoke, shaking and shivering, her cheeks red and her lips blue. She stood up slowly adjusting to the gray light of early morning. She stood there in the middle of the moor shaking and shivering, starring off into space waiting. Soon, soon they would start. The voices. It was usually a diverting entertainment, something to keep her mind off the pain of her past and the abuse of her foster family. But slowly by slowly they would begin to bicker. They would just start by jesting provoking each other to fight back. Then one would begin it. They would reach into her conscious and try to control her. Make her do things that wouldn't please the other.

It was a constant battle. One of those two voices planned to kick out the other. They fought over her, her body. They both wanted to possess her. Or so she thought. Perhaps she was just crazy. That wouldn't surprise anyone. Her foster parents certainly thought she was.

She would stand out in the middle of the field, in the middle of a thunderstorm and stare at the sky. Agatha watched the girl, ever so carefully making sure that she didn't get hurt or fall ill.

In the six years she had live with the Robinson family Agatha had always wondered about her. She never took ill, not so much as a stuffy nose. She never had any cuts or scraps either, even though she spent almost every free second climbing any rock or tree she met and then purposefully jumping off. Not even a scratch no matter how far the tumble. The girl was distant to, always writing some dark depressing sonnet out in the field or sitting in the house humming a mournful tune.

She had once thrown her diary into the fireplace during a fit of rage. The fire was small, just so Agatha could stay warm as she knitted. Gregory was out at the pub, as usual. After throwing the journal into the flames the girl stormed out the house and down the well-trodden path to the fishing pond. Agatha not even knowing why quickly extinguished the flames and retrieved the small book.

It was seared around the edges and the binding had fallen apart but not much else was damaged. As she opened the book one of the pages fell out and onto the cold wood floor. She picked it up and without much inclination began to read. Her eyes widened as she read.

Friend or Foe I have not either,

It's just me, myself and I

Hidden away where no one can find us

It's just me myself and I

Distant we is from the rest of the world

Me myself and I

For who needs friends when three's a crowd?

It's just me myself and I

Woe is mine and me and myself

Woe is theirs as well

But whom dare you tell when you are mad?

When two suggest you not?

Who dare believe you in the darkest of realms?

Me myself and I

In a trio of me, and a crowd of us

I doth fade from the rest of the world

For who needs friends when three's a crowd?

Me, myself, and I.

"Yes the girl is mad." Agatha thought looking fretfully out the window. "Now where in the name of good graces is she?"

TORN SOUL, CHAPTER ONE:

If Serveus Snape knew anything, it was this, as much as he respected, even loved his old crazy employer he, HATED his job. Potions...erg. They shouldn't even teach them until a collage level. How? How was he supposed to explain to a bunch of eleven year olds that to make a proper potion you have to have a proper emotion behind it. So technically, if some little nitwit was in fight with their best friend, and was working on a cheering draught, the ingrdiants would take on some of the characteristics of the brewer. Meaning that the cheering draught would be ruined because it would not be able to cheer. But in some cases the effects could be deadly. But trying to teach a bunch of pubescent teenagers how to properly bottle glory and stopper death wasn't nearly as bad as his new task at hand.

Doumbledore blast that man, was forcing him to make a friend. Not a grudging colleague, not a person he admired for some endearing quality, not some one he respected, but an actual friend. Some one you meet up with for social events for. Oh yes he could see himself now, Serveus Snape cold hearted basterd and Hogwarts professor extraordinaire fire calling some middle aged chap with a beard and a baseball cap and saying, "hey there Dominic! Why don't you stop on over we'll get a couple of beers and apparte to the late show of Merlin on ice then pick up a couple of hot twenty five year old girls for a one night stand?" He'd leave that job to Lupin, thank you very much.

He liked being alone, solaritary. He was in a school with nearly seven hundred students not to mention about twenty other adults. The time he could get to himself was precious indeed. Headaches were frequent unpleasantries. Now he had to make a friend. Not to mention the little task of retrieving some crazy teenager from her foster home and bringing her to hogwarts. Oh yay! What fun. He couldn't wait to meet the over emotional slipt personality hormonal freak.

He poured himself a large scotch and began to grade the sixth year's essays on THE EFFECTS METHANE GAS HAS ON HEALING POTIONS. He groaned. Of course the only person that would know the answer would be that damn Granger girl but she'd have to go five pages over the requirement on how methane gas first came on the planet, the history of how it was discovered to mix with the healing potions, and then every possible possibility of the future turn s that could be taken to stop methane gas from reaching healing potions. Of course. So like perfect, strait as an arrow, smart as a professor, virginal as Mary mother of god, god damned granger.

He poured himself another. "Fuck it." He thought savagely bringing his lips to the bottle. "God damn depression and loneliness! All I need is a younger woman to shag! Maybe then I'd be happy! Fucking depression."

The next morning he woke up to a stiff neck, his face pressed against Longbottom's surprisingly efficient essay. His head ached, this time not due to the first years. He looked at the clock. It read, "Serveus if you want to get any meals in today get you lazy ass out of bed. And you are an HOUR late for the pickup of crazy girl!"

He bolted upright then grabbed his head in his hands, "Holy fuck!' exclaimed out loud to no one in particular.

Riley Owens looked around her bedroom, silently. She had spent so many nights here in this little sage green room. Some were happy most were sad, very sad. She looked one last time at the mirror that had been salvaged from the rubble of her old home and tried to smile. She pulled her blonde red hair into a tight ponytail, and brushed a piece of lint off her new robes. "Well bye." She said at long last.

Then it started again. "Well, now Miss Riley. Off to a new school no are we? Running, running, running always running. You'll want to go into Slytherin dear."

The light calm angelic like voice spoke up, "who in heavens name except vile trash like you would want to be in Slytherin. Any other house is fine deary just don't be a Slytherin, evil nasty lot, all of them."

It was so loud...why where they so loud?

"Why! Why! We are not! How dare you insult my house you filthy half breed?"

"You're as much as a half breed as me Slytherin git!"

"You talk about being in Slytherin like it's a bad thing!"

"Of course it is! Why, I was a Ravenclaw myself!"

Please... stop. Please... oh lord make it stop... please... make it all end.

"Ravenclaw! Bunch of no fun study aholics!'

"You unworthy Slytherin scum! How dare you insult me in such a way!"

So... loud... please stop... noise... yelling... stop please...

All of the sudden she heard a very large pop and whirled around.

It was time to leave.