Walking In Your Shoes

    She sat, sobbing, on the cold hard unyielding floor. Her body shook and trembled, she was so angry at herself and so numb; she needed to feel again, she needed to feel alive. Taking the scissors, out of the pocket of her robes, she rolled back her sleeves and began to carve. It had started, at first, just as scratches but she realised, as they began to fade into nothingness, that it wasn’t enough and so she had begun to cut deeper. Now she was at the point where she drew blood each time, repeating words and names people had called her ranging from her youngest years at school to recent days out in the muggle world. But one word always stuck out in her mind.

    Freak.

    That word; she pretended that it didn’t hurt her, that whatever they said to her didn’t matter to her and they believed her. Her friends believed her facade of nonchalance, believed that the eccentric Auror didn’t care what they said to her but she did. Her own self confidence and self image was in tatters, she had started to believe what they called her. She believed that what they called her was true, she believed that she was an abhorrence and was unworthy to grace this land.

    Freak.

    So she carved, not to take away the pain but to induce it, so she felt alive, so she wouldn’t feel so numb anymore. Her pale hands carved each letter into her skin, splatters of crimson regret tainting white pristine tiles. She took her time now her cuts were deeper, she no longer needed that quick fix but the slow burning fix that would satiate her at least for a few days.

    F.

    Her hands carved the letter carefully and neatly. She could see the look of disgust on her aunt’s face, the exact sneer, the way her aunt’s nose would wrinkle as if she had stepped into something unpleasant. She could feel the change happening, the numbness spreading over her face as she changed, she could feel her aunt’s cold features settling in. She didn’t have to look in a mirror to understand what had happened or to see who she looked like. She knew the pain of the changings, she knew the difference of her face and someone else’s.

    R.

    This time her hand was not as steady, her hand wavered slightly as her face changed yet again. Masculine features, kinder features, his keen eyesight and smell; her ex-lover. He had been close to her, too close, he suspected what she was doing and had been getting closer to the real her and she couldn’t let that happen. She had left him before that five letter word could grace his lips like it did so many others.

    E.

    Her hand carved this letter more easily, all straight lines just like the person she was changing into. Her Head of House from school; he was like her in a sense, always hiding behind a fake persona. She felt dirty whenever she became him, like she hadn’t bathed for days, she felt tainted right through to her very soul. Her next change was already coming, her heart was racing and her control was becoming erratic.

    A.

    This letter, formed misshapenly, changed her into her boss. His denial of change in the world, his hatred for her open frank nature and more importantly his hatred for her ability to change. A dirty half-breed with this gift; it disgusted him and made his skin crawl. His under-secretary always had a prominent voice in her head, she had a wider list of taunts and cruelty saved up just for her. Just being like him made her skin crawl and made her feel disgusted with herself.

    K.

    Somebody who could sympathise with her, who knew what it felt like to be taunted and jeered at. Hair all over the place, his mother’s eyes, his fathers looks; he was so full of floating hope and yet so full of anger. Angry at the world, angry at his friends, angry at his mentor and personal Yoda, angry at his godfather, angry at his parents, angry at his nemesis and most importantly; angry at himself. She could identify with him, he was like her in a way but he never changed, he was stable.

    Freak.

    “Tonks?”

    Snapping quickly back into her normal features, she pulled down her sleeves, hid the scissors and wiped her eyes. Sticking her head out of the ladies' lavatory, Nymphadora Tonks smiled brightly at the man waiting for her.

    “Yeah Arthur?”

    “Are you coming, it’s just Molly’s throwing a party back at H.Q. and I don’t want to be late.”

    “Yeah be right there peach pie.”

    Arthur smiled as Nymphadora let the door close and walked over to the charmed mirror where the ever changing girl with the mismatched eyes stared back at her. Reapplying her make up to her face, Nymphadora ignored the mirror image, the true image of herself. Stopping the bleeding with a simple spell, she reapplied her lipstick and wrote on the shiny mirror before she left.

    FREAK.

    Tonks smiled and walked out of the toilets. It was good to be alive.