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Leaning my head against the wall, I stare up, from where I’m sitting on my mattress, at the deadly night in ambush behind the frozen glass. I can ignore it when focused on remembering… just what Merlin College requires in the exam combining Wizarding History and Defence Against Dark Creatures.
I never shared the common view at Hogwarts about the goblin rebellions as the most boring topic. When I engaged the ghost professor in a debate, at least a fellow Marauder or two woke up to listen. And we came to realise that history could show or hide how equally inhumane some acts of humans have been, or how they can be even more cruel than crimes committed by those who are still denied equal rights. If I was the first of us to pay attention, it was not only because I was a conscientious student, just as I am still, but also because of what else I am. And thanks to those half-goblins and other creatures I used to know at home, I had brought with me some rebellious ideas to introduce to James and Peter and…
No. I force myself to look back at the book held against my bent knees. I need to remember not only all the alternative theories, but also the names of the historians who have supported them. All inane arguments and fake facts, the official truth about the murderous nature of everyone not fully human. Perfect answers in this exam will be one more merit in my qualifications and… I can still hope for a chance to work as a journalist, on free-lancer basis, perhaps.
Again no. Why do I fool myself into cherishing hope? I can’t afford such a luxury. Then again, maybe that’s all I can afford.
I can’t… Concentrate. The darkness is pouring over me as if there were not even that bare glass, and more frigid air keeps seeping through the cracks in the window frame.
But I must finish reading this book tonight, as it’s due at the library tomorrow. In the light of my wand I skim the text, trying to convince myself that I know it all well enough. Having turned another page, I fold my arms again and bury my hands in my armpits, and shake my whole body to generate some warmth.
Now my eyes are closing every now and then and staying closed longer and longer. Perhaps one of my hopes is not in vain, after all. I think I’ll be able to fall asleep, if I lie down now and try to recall what I just read.
There’s one of my small blessings right here. Going to bed is easy. No need to – no way I could want to – take off any of my clothes. Just to wrap the blanket more carefully around myself so that it covers me from socks to ears.
When I’ve laid my head down, I feel dizzy. Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to focus on the historians’ names. But my mind wanders from Professor Binns’s classroom to the Great Hall.
“You must eat more on these days. Don’t laugh, Wormy! It is possible to eat even more than he normally… Prongs, you, too! You know that… ” His hand reaches out for the sausages and deposits five on my plate.
No. You know, nowadays I consider becoming a vegetarian. No, of course you don’t know… All right, I’ll have the bangers, but don’t turn that caring gaze at me. I mustn’t look.
You know, I’m learning not to dream of food. Honestly. I don’t dream of any food I wish I could afford to buy. Only of the food I’ve had before. It’s as if I still had it. But I don’t have you watching over me. No, your voice is gone now. Your fingers are gone, too – those long slender fingers. There’s only the food that’s appeared on my plate, and I’ll be eating all night.
This is how I’ll wake up and wonder why I’m still so hungry that it hurts. But I won’t dream of finding a way to make some money. I’ll try to remember to offer to clean the stairwell, so I’ll get some Knuts for bread, perhaps an apple, too. But I don’t really care. I’ll do it only so as not to faint in the exam.
I continue to enjoy the best meals I ever had. At Hogwarts and after. Remember that restaurant where I once again evaded the question? What did I want to eat? I lied, saying I wasn’t hungry. And you ordered for me this incredible pizza, with shrimps and tuna fish, and with a thick layer of cheese, and oregano. I can still smell it. But you are not there.
In this way I try to keep the hunger at bay, and I keep you away, too. When I focus on the food, I can forget you were there, can’t I? If there is hope, is it this: I’ll forget you used to take care of me?
Still, you’ve pressed your trembling lips right where the cold draft touches my temple. Where you’ve been locked away, there can be no happy memory in your head. You keep coming back to me. But you don’t know. You are the one without hope.