wild side| ron weasley

Symphony of Destruction

All songs mentioned within the fanfic that seemed to be have written by the characters are not owned by me. All recognition goes to the artists/bands.

The great hall looked elegant, decorated richly for the beginning of term. The golden plates and goblets were laid out specifically, gleaming brightly from the hundreds of candles flaming over the tables, held in suspensions. Rain still seemed to throw itself with such force at the stain-glass windows perked so highly in the large hall, the reflections of wind and corroding elements had never made Hogwarts seemed so comforting than now. But it was filled with a sweet hum of chatter, soft laughter and kind smiles that really gave too much hope for the younger years, but cliques hadn't quite been so promising formed, and homework was about to take a toll on friendships.

She envied it, the excitement of the first day of Hogwarts, how happy she had been to pack her bags, going through her wardrobes on what to pick, matching all her clothes as if it mattered. The naivety of being somewhere new, with the absolute promise of stability was something that she was clinging too, and it all seemed to fall apart when her name was called, and it wasn't like she ever understood her history, or the weight of her name, and she knew that it wasn't good when a low murmur fell around her as she stepped up to the sorting hat. People judged her before she had the opportunity to create an impression, but Mandy had noticed the Aerosmith tape on her bedside table, and she would forever be grateful for that, someone to overlook it all.

And she did owe Mandy a lot, because she wasn't the first to give her a chance, to offer up a childish friendship that had developed into so much more, but she had given her Terry, and even Anthony. But the nervous blonde hadn't accepted the reality that they shared a friend up until the end of their first year, and Antheia never asked about it, never figured it out, but she knew that it wasn't good, and by how most people looked at her, she couldn't ignore that there was a personal vendetta. Because her mother was bad, so horrid, and cruel...Bellatrix Lestrange, no explanation needed, no words could be used to describe the monstrosity that she was, everyone knew, and a lot of the students at the school had lost family to her own. But it was her father, her own dad who seemed to be erased from the Hogwarts history. She remembered in first year, curious about the Lestrange name, and only ending up finding the word Black on the records.

She didn't know much about him, and he seemed even more like a taboo than her own mother, and she knew that she could blame a lot on them, but she didn't know what person she would be if she held all liability on people that she had never met. And it was humiliating, having people tell her about her family, the sadness and surprise that took over her face, whether she should believe them- hearing that her parents were murderess, that they were in Azkaban, she didn't know what to think about it. People would always know more about her family than she ever would, how they had hidden the truth in embarrassment, and she had lived a malnourished life utterly unaware of who her parents where, to a point where she felt morally unaware if she should hate them, or force herself to reach out and learn more.

The battle of keeping herself in line, to keep her head down, or go out to search the truth of people who wanted her enough to keep her. Maybe it was the search for love, maybe it was some stupid plea to be accepted by people who were cruel enough to understand the longing she had to be accepted. And she wouldn't admit it, she couldn't, because even though they shared everything with one another, it was a desperate ache in her chest that she would take to the grave. People knowing that she wanted to know her parents was something that she couldn't confess, she was already hated, but she wouldn't know how to cope with the burden of truth across a land of people who were just waiting for her to fall into the family trade.

She looked at Anthony infront of her, how he grabbed his bronze gauntlet, sheltering it's view from underneath the wooden table, and how subtly he wasn't when he pulled out a silver flask from the inside of his robe pocket. And even through there was a light and humorous chatter that filled the great hall, it didn't conceal the thick pour of the sloshing liquid. He wore a smile on his lips, a contrast to the gentle scowl that Mandy was sending him from her seat next to her, as Terry tried stifling a laugh that luckily hadn't caught attention. The smell was sickening, and though she probably couldn't smell it, there was a lingering scent in the back of her mind, one that she couldn't quite get rid off. The idea of alcohol, in theory, was nice, was good, was fun, everything that anything should be. And maybe if her foster dad wasn't so tainting, maybe if actions hadn't been corrupted before she understood the fun of it, she wouldn't find herself so restricted. But even then, she had seen Mandy go through the rings of too much, it just didn't seem pleasant, anything which didn't stem from control, didn't seem worth it.