Gryffindor in Narnia

ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ɪɴᴛᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ

𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝟙𝟙

~ the true intentions ~

⋘ ──── 𝔫𝔞𝔱𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔞 ──── ⋙

As the days flew by, I found myself being more disconnected to my fellow Gryffindors. I found myself laying in the hands of a crooked mastermind. Due to the undying urge to be with my lover, I found myself spending every meal, every break, and every weekend with him. With the man who used my body when he was bored instead of the people who have been taking care off me since I was 11.

After classes, I would be with Tom. Sitting near the black lake as he forces me to study. To figure out how to make the Nymphs of this world come out of hiding. To figure out what it took for them to leave their shells and join his forces. He claims that with the help of the Nymphs, he would have a stronger force along with his army to rid the world of its filth.

That's what he needed me for. He would rant over and over about his plans to take over the wizarding world, to rid it of it's pests and filth. He found out about them. I have no idea how, but he did. He wants to use them. Use me, to bend their will and go against our enemies. 

I found myself nodding along to every word he spoke, agreeing with every insult he spat, following his every order. I spent days, reading books. Understanding more and more about the Nymphs. I spent nights, crying myself to sleep, creating and opening wounds along the skin of this shell I was forced to call my body, sitting by the railing of the Astronomy tower, dangling my legs over the few hundred feet of nothingness between me and the floor below as I numbed my mind with every drag I took.

With each passing day I failed to have results, I found myself being beaten in new ways. After the first week of school, he started getting more violent with me. It started out with basic slapping. Then punching, then kicks, then strokes. He's chained me up and starved me, making use of me at least once every few weeks.

If this were any other occasion, if this was anybody else in the entire universe, people might actually find it funny; kinky; pleasurable. But this was not fun. It did not give me any pleasure to be tortured over things I had no control over. It did not make me laugh when I had to pull myself from the castle dungeons to the Gryffindor dormitories so that I could make a weak attempt at treating my wounds.

I found myself not even caring that he was using me. That he wanted to use my subjects on a sick vendetta over something as childish as his father being a muggle and leaving his mother to die. I found myself not caring that one day, plenty of innocents would be caught between the crossfires of Tom Marvolo Riddle and his pureblood way of thinking.

I found out the truth of third year. The real reason for all the chaos with the Chamber of Secrets, the real reason behind Myrtle's death. It was Tom who released the Basilisk, and he managed to blame it on Hagrid and his pet Acromantula.

But something inside me made me not give two galleons. Something inside me told me to just be happy for him, to support him through his troubled times and be there for him through his fight for pureblood supremacy. That made me sick to the core.

It was redundant to say that I was repulsed with myself. That I was sick at the mere reflection of me. My skin lost all its natural tan glow. My under eyes sunken enough from the lack of sleep. My ribs were starting to show under all my robes but were covered by the millions of cuts, bruises and slashes that littered repetitively all over my body.

Lately, I found myself asking for a respite. Like Miraz during his battle with Peter. A respite against all this pain and burden. The pain of being used and the heavy burden on my shoulders from not being able to tell a single soul about the rising of possibly one of the wickedest wizards in all of history.