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Why He Hates Muggles	By : OddDoll Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female Views: 2848 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Why He Hates Muggles

Chapter 2

By Odd Doll
June 7, 1976
Sometimes I don�t think I am real. I couldn�t be real. If
I were real they wouldn�t treat me this way. The only thing that
makes me know I still am alive is when I bleed. If I�m bleeding,
I have to be a real person, right?
I�m just a big balloon filled with all these thoughts. I hate
them. They remind me of the gulls we saw once when we all went out
to the ocean. There was this man fishing from the pier and he caught
one that was too small. Instead of throwing it back, he threw it
up in the air for the seagulls. One caught it but it slipped out
of his beak and another caught it and flew up in the air with the others
flying around in circles. They kept taking it and biting it and dropping
it, and it would fall and then another would catch it and rise up in the
air with it. Finally, one got it and landed on the pier and the gulls
all swooped down on it and pecked at it and at each other. The cawing
and screeching was awful. I remember I put my hands over my ears
but it was still loud. There was no getting away from that sound,
until there was nothing left of that little fish.
I feel like a little fish.
I met a boy today. I was so sure he was a witch. Or I guess
they call them wizards. When I told him I was a witch, he just said,
�You�re joking.� I guess the things I thought I saw were about as
real as I am.
She thought of Severus, and smiled. She was so lonely during the
daytime, when her family went off to do the Christian work that was no
longer permitted to her. Maybe tomorrow, she would have time to visit
him again. Severus had stared at her, but he also had the good manners
to look embarrassed when she caught him at it. That was more than
she could hope for from most boys. It was really kind of sweet, the
way he seemed so desperate to keep her talking. He was not attractive,
that was certain, tall and skinny, with lank, greasy hair and a beak of
a nose. And his conversation and manners had an awkwardness that
she guessed came from lack of use. Those were sometimes the best
kinds of boys, in her opinion. They were so happy to spend time with
her that they would let her just be herself and talk, without the coy mating
dance that most boys wanted her to participate in. She was so tired
of the burden of sex.
Her hands shook. Her whole body shook as she wrestled with the
complex maze her thoughts must travel. From secrecy to shame, lust
and desire for the things that hurt her, loneliness and ostracism from
her own family, and the contrary wish to be rid of them all.
Lord Jesus, please stop me tonight. I want it so much. I
know I�m not supposed to. It�s a sin, but it makes me feel so much
better.
Charity put down her diary and dove under the bed. Her hand slipped
into a tear in the gauze wrap under the box spring and felt around for
the small, hard object she hid there. She drew out a penknife.
She was not allowed to have it. Her father searched her room and
belongings at least once a week, but he never found it. He never
looked deep under the bed because it never occurred to him that while he
was too large, Charity could slip her slim body all the way under to the
far corner where the bed nestled against the wall.
It was ironic that they expected her to cook five days a week in a kitchen
loaded with knives.
She sat on the edge of her bed. Her hand shook again, not from
hesitation, but from the strength of her need. She slid back the
sleeve of her gown, revealing a crisscross pattern of thin scars.
She found a bare spot and slid the blade across it. Blood welled
up, but not enough. The cut was too shallow. She cut again,
deeper, and with the pain came a rivulet of blood that rolled down her
arm and onto her gown. She watched it for a while and then blotted
it with a tissue. Her whole body relaxed. She didn�t know why,
but it made her feel better. Her life was complicated. This
was simple. She cut. She bled. She felt peace.
Maybe some day she would have the nerve to cut her face.
Not forgetting to first hide her diary and knife, she curled up in a
fetal position and drifted off to sleep.
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Why He Hates Muggles