Work Text:
How does one say, I was manipulated, used and discarded. Like a lowly criminal discards the ashes of their wickedness. I’m not even worth the bloodied rag they used to wipe their knife with. No, no, I’m what remains after the rag has been set on fire.
I’m not even an afterthought. Turns out I wasn’t discarded after all. Just forgotten. Left to the four winds: directionless.
I think I held magic before. If my bluebell flames did not set your irises alight… well, they brightened mine. They brightened mine.
I called forth magical reserves fueled by an ancient practice. Written on pages and spread by firelight. I called forth the minds of those that came before me. I used my cerulean flames for Seeing and Knowing. My pretty blue flames. They were ornamental but they were just as purposeful.
And now I am ash. It dusts my skin and sinks into my pores. It burrows into my lungs. It settles on my tongue—something dull and mute. I am mute. It claws at my eyes. My wide open eyes.
How does one say, my eyes are now open and the world is expanding. The world is so expansive. An immense panorama—but it’s awash with grey.
If there is magic coursing within me, I have no desire to tap into it. To those eyes that I once brightened, I apologize.
I think time will use those winds to scatter these ashes as it pleases.
Until then, I can only wonder…
Is this ruination or purification?
But wait, wait, wait.
Do not give them so much credit.
To Dumbledore, I say:
God, you think you know everything. You’re a stale biscuit that didn’t digest quite right. You’re an old fart. Your inability to see beyond your ways has left you as nothing more than a composition of sulfuric gasses. And you’ve left such a putrid stench behind—an unwafted fermentation of gut juice. Well, I’m opening a window!
Now, fuck off.
To Umbridge, I say:
Bah! You hide behind saccharine lilts and sanctimonious bullshit. Why hide? Let the cunt rein free. Yes, cunt. You’re a cunt. Massive grade A cunt. You must not tell lies, Umbridge. Where did that lead you, hmm? All alone in a cold dark forest. Where you can’t tell apart shadows from quivering branches. Quick, is that an enemy or is that a tree? I dare say, you may never know.
To Moody, I say:
Fight your own battles. I’ve got my eyes on you. Yes, eyes. I have two of them. Two very real eyes. I wouldn’t rely on your supposedly all-seeing eye if I were you—you’ll always miss me. Constant vigilance!
To Snape, I say:
You sour-faced wanna be goth. You hide behind love but the real drive behind your endeavors is bitterness. You sprinkle it in your tea each morning, the tea that you have to make for yourself because no one gives a fig how you take your bevvys. You say spy, I say coward. Why do you have such a repulsion for bravery?
To Voldemort, I say:
Tom Riddle, the Dark Lord, he-who-must-not-be-named. So many names. How you craved attention. You wanted to be on display yet you hid in plain sight. You wanted to inspire awe yet all that sprang forth was laughter. I constantly laugh at you. Immortality is what you wanted, isn’t that right? Wanted and failed to get. Would have gotten away with it too if it wasn’t for those pesky kids…
To the bravest boy I know, I say:
I’ll put your picture in a locket and you can put my knickers in your pocket (sorry!). Okay, now that I have your attention:
A wand lowered does not mark a coward. Courage is not measured in the lift.
You don’t owe the world a thing as you mend your wounds. A mended bone, is a strengthened bone, is a giving bone.
I am covered in ash but maybe you can wash it away.
Sometimes love is enough.