why why
why
are there
boxes
here
why
why
why why
why
why is the sky
walls
no sky
but why red
but
no no
no
no green
blue no
NO
BLUE
no no
no
green and blue NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
no colours the rainbow colours no
green are
the walls the
walls are help
the walls
colours no help
someone painted the walls
the colour is bright
too bright
eyes hurt
not red not orange not yellow not green
no not green blue no
light bright
blue no
it is
TURQUOISE
the walls are turquoise
they were red
the walls were RED
someone did this
who why how
help
no
turquoise walls and boxes everywhere
light is so bright so so bright
it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts
and
it's gone the bright colours are gone there is a
there's a table
a chair wood hard
a spoon
it moves it comes closer closer
closer
and
and it's gone and the boxes and the walls are back
and it hurts
and the walls are gone and there is
a face
and
I don't like the way you're looking at me, old man.
Get away from the window, old man!
NO
NOOOO
let go of me!
HELP He's got a knife!
and the turquoise is back
and it still hurts
but the man is gone
and I am safe.
and the table is back
and the chair
and the spoon
and then the old man is back
behind the window
chapped lips
lank hair
sullen look
chalk pale
he is thin and hollow and he's gone. He disappears
and there are
tiles
many
tiles
and the man is gone
but still it doesn't feel right
and the turquoise isn't there. Everything is white.
Something is
very very very very wrong
Water. It's cold.
It isn't white. It isn't turquoise. It is colourless. It is nothing. It is everything. It is translucent and shapeless, a never-ending stream
and it's gone.
And the turquoise is back. The walls are back. The prison is back
but it's not the prison. It is a sofa and there is a man sitting there.
Not the old man with the knife. A different man.
The man says, sit down. I sit down. The man says nothing. Nothing happens. Nothing changes. The turquoise doesn't hurt here.
And then
the man gets up from the sofa
and he's gone and the sofa's gone
and the turquoise is gone.
There are tiles again, but not white ones and the dangerous man is nowhere to be seen – oh, it is the floor that has tiles. There are cabinets. A sink. A stove and a little creature working pots and pans and and and and
RRRRRRRINGGG.
The doorbell rings.
And the creature leaves and there is food on the stove.
And she returns and there is food on the stove.
And Winky talks and there is food on the stove but Winky talks and talks and whines e n d l e s s l y moaning about Mistress and her taking care of Master Barty and how she tries to do good.
There is food on the stove and there is a woman and the woman says something and Winky says something and the woman speaks again.
Bartemius
Bartemius Crouch Junior
and she says Bartemius
She says Bartemius Crouch Junior
and she leaves and and
And
Father is in trouble
Because I am Master Barty and Winky talks to me and
Father is the man and he
the woman says something and he
He takes out his wand and he
he
Obliviate!
And the woman's eyes glass over and she is trapped.
My eyes don't but I am trapped. I
My hands clench into fists. My feet will not lift. My fingers are cold.
can't escape Father's prison.
It is worse than the Dementors.
My upper chest hurts. I can't get enough air
that must be why
I choke.
Mother won't – can't – take my place this time.
And Winky says something but it is unclear.
And Winky says another thing. It is still unclear.
And Winky says another thing. And another. And
another. And I still cannot hear, until I can.
I is helping you, Master Barty, she says.
I is looking after you!
And she is. She does. But the turquoise is back and I am lost. And there is blood. I can taste blood.
Oh. I bit my lip.
My hands are at my face. There is blood on my fingers.
I bit my lip.
Winky says she takes care of me
but Winky is nowhere in sight.
Liar.
I wipe my hands clean of the blood.
My breathing still feels heavy.
I need to lie down but my body holds me back. That is not my doing. I need to lie down, body. Lie down.
LIE DOWN.
I can't. My toes hurt. The carpet burns. The toes keep digging deeper. It burns. It burns.
Something else burnt once.
I unclench my fists; I do not remember clenching them. I am on my feet; I do not remember getting up. I am at the window; I do not remember walking.
I am cold. I am weak. I do not doubt.
I gain strength as I pray your name, Master. The knowledge of your return keeps me going. I am weak but I shall search for you when I have the ability to. And I shall find you. Mark my words, in a few days – a week at most – we shall be unstoppable!
I am cold. I am weak. I do not doubt.
Winky speaks of freedom.
She says something that makes her laugh. I am deaf. She does not notice.
She talks and talks and talks and Father is here too. He listens to Winky. He laughs. He shakes his head.
Winky talks some more and Father's face grows serious. Something Winky says makes him nervous. Angry. It blurs my thoughts but I am strong.
I poke through.
I listen.
Obedience.
Good son.
Rewards.
Hobbies.
Fun and games and
and Quidditch
World Cup fresh air it'll be good
and Winky says: Mistress is wanting him to
and
and
and Father says: Yes
I am strong but weak. I am deaf. More of the conversation is lost.
Windy dances; Father does not. Winky is happy; Father is not. Am I happy? I am empty. I do not dance. Winky looks at me. My name falls from her mouth. I push. I push. I need to understand but
it's gone.
And I am alone until I am not alone, and the old man is back on the other side of the window. The window is a mirror and the old man is me. The old man's hands are my hands and the old man's knife is the one I hold. I do not attack; I shave.
I look beaten.
Defeated.
Weak.
I am none of that!
And I'm gone. Something covers my face and I'm gone. It covers my body and I'm gone. I'm gone and I'm back in the sea of turquoise.
I'm gone until I'm back, but I'm not back because I'm gone. I am not here, in neither mind nor body. I float above myself in nothingness.
I can see.
The sun drives away the turquoise of the walls.
The sky absorbs the colour and darkens it.
The walls are no more.
A cold breeze rustles the leaves on the trees. There are no trees. There are people. Young, old – there are hundreds. Thousands.
The Quidditch World Cup. I am at the Quidditch World Cup of 1994. I am sitting in the Top Box. I am – I see – I do – I –
WAND
My eyesight has never been better, but the lights blind me. My ears have never picked up more sounds, but it deafens me. I am overwhelmed. The bubble of feigned bliss the curse brought until now has popped and my emotions and feelings come flying at me like curses in the dark, yet I can think. I can breathe. I can live. I can do all that I have dreamt of doing now for thirteen long years. Thirteen years since I last saw you, since you were last seen – but I can find you, master. I will find you. I shall find you, and you shall rise again and I shall be there with you until the end!
I am almost on my feet, but I am not alone. Winky is to my side, though she is terrified. She has her face covered. She is frightened of heights. Father isn't here. I turn in my seat. No, he really isn't here. Of course he isn't here; he neither cares for Quidditch nor his son. Thirteen years and not a thing has changed! I look back ahead. I am alone with Winky. He has left me alone with a terrified elf.
I close my eyes. I need to focus. I need the world to BE SILENT. I need the world to be dark, to leave me alone, to be gone. But even with closed eyes I can see the wand poking from the seat in front of me. It is unguarded. It is unprotected. It tempts me – I must have it. This is my chance to have a wand, and to have a wand is to have power. To have power is to be free. This is the clearest my mind has been in years and I cannot – I must not let this opportunity pass me by.
I waste no more time. I open my eyes and lunge forwards, brushing aside the cloak to reveal my battered arm. My fingers enclose the hard wood and I retreat – the invisibility cloak engulfs me and step one of my new plan has succeeded marvelously.
I caress the wand. It doesn't reject me. It isn't as happy to see me as I am to see it, but it doesn't reject me. It needn't worry, I'll return it to its master soon, as I return to mine. But I am sure we will make a great team until then. We have work to do if step two is to succeed – killing Father will take more consideration than stealing a wand, to begin with me not knowing where the man could possibly be.
So I wait. I wait until Winky, the ever-so-terrified, delightfully oblivious house elf implores me to follow her. She leads me to a tent I do not remember setting up and shows me the small space I am to call my own for the night. The bedding is turquoise, as so many things of Father's making. It is his favourite colour and he has forced it onto me for as long as I can remember – his painting over my red walls at home is one of his many attempts to change my heart, I presume. Ha! He is a fool, master, and old age has not done him well.
I shall bury the colour along with my father's body.
The mattress I sit on is springy. Being able to feel this at all is a delight and I do not care about how uncomfortable it is – every muscle in my body relaxes at the promise of rest. The after-effects of the Imperius Curse still linger on my psyche and in this worn-out state I cannot prevent exhaustion from setting in and preventing me from getting up again.
I do not know how much time I spend in this position. A couple of times I catch myself nearly dozing off, further distorting my sense of time. There is nothing to do in this room but to wait and to think, so I wait. I think. And I wait some more.
What's a few more hours on a lifetime of suffering?
Father arrives at the tent. I can hear him commanding Winky around. He neither checks up on me nor asks Winky anything about me. He hasn't changed a bit, but killing him will still have to wait – I am too tired still, and I will not get a second chance at this. Once Father realises what I am about to do, if he as much as suspects it, he will surely recast the curse. For one so driven to weed out the Dark Arts he is exceptionally competent in them. If it takes me another thirteen years to escape. . .
No, it is best to wait. A swift killing curse is all he needs – it is all I can permit myself. Is it tempting, to see him writhing on the floor, begging for mercy? Is it tempting to watch the light fade from his eyes, to be there with him as his mind breaks and his spirit cracks, to witness his growing insanity?
... Yes, I must admit, that is extremely tempting. But I cannot be sure of my success. I am out of practice. Father is not.
So I wait. I lie in bed, and I wait. I wait, and I listen to the sounds coming from the other side of the tent wall: the clatter of pots and pans and the singing of songs to celebrate Ireland's win –
Father disrupts the peace, yelling something at Winky. Something about Muggles, and helping out, and that he'll be back shortly. But my mind is torn between the multitude of sounds it has to process, and opts to ignore Father's calling in favour of the desolate cries coming from outside. Terror has struck the party and all their happy singing and dancing has melted into the delightful wailing – screaming – howling – whimpering like sad little animals pushed into a corner with no means of defence.
It's heartwarming. It's infectious. I can't hold back a smile.
These are Muggles!
I peek outside to see the fleeing people. Both young and old, both clueless and knowing – my disbelief is brief; they flee hooded figures I know all too well. They flee my once-loyal comrades, the ones who dared besmirch my master's name, who rebuked him when they should have sought him out, who pretend to have been under the very curse I fought so hard to break! They know not what they speak of when they claim that defence. They have no clue what it is like to be a captive, a prisoner, a slave to your own mind. They know NOTHING! They are treacherous wrenches who lose all self-control after a few beers to many. We'll see who comes out on top, oh yes – if I can have my way with them . . . they will beg for me to lift them in the air as they did the Muggle family.
I reach for my wand, blinded by fury. Two little hands pull on my arm – I bat them away. I need that wand, I don't need a house elf! But she binds me to her and drags me away. I need the wand. I need to give those bastards what they deserve, so I try to get away. I push against her pull but Winky is too powerful for me – I am still weakened. I cannot resist for long.
She says she is scared I will not make it to safety otherwise. Does she know I have full control, or is she frightened Father's commands would keep me in the tent?
Trees surround us on all sides when I finally manage to get out my wand. The forest is cold and does nothing to calm me. There is nothing that could, now, and Winky is foolish for trying. She is frightened of me, but needn't be. I have no reason to harm her. She has not shown disloyalty of the type those Death Eaters have, she has never done anything to cause the Dark Lord harm. But they have, and – MORSMORDRE! – they will pay, they must pay, they shall pay, master, I promise you they shall know what true loyalty is. They shall know what it means to obey.
The skull and snake brighten the woods like a sun as they rise, higher, higher, and higher until I am no longer cold. Until I am no longer lost. This is the closest I can be to you, master.
I collapse on the ground – I have failed! The cracks of Apparition fill the air. We have been discovered! I cast the wand aside – it has served its purpose. I still have an invisibility cloak. I hide beneath it. I am a coward.
I HAVE FAILED!
The red bolts fly by but I cannot move. Ministry workers, they're at the scene and I cannot escape. I cannot find you, master – not now! But you mustn't be mad, you mustn't think less of me, you mustn't –
The darkness swallows me and drags me back to the turquoise.
I have failed.