Hello from Hogwarts Part 1 & 2

The Waiting Game

Four months.

I've been here for four months.

Peering down at my raw hands marks a brutal reality I've been avoiding.

Will I make it out alive?

Each and every day has remained the same. Bellatrix gets her daily fill on her torturous slashing, I get cleaned up, and then I am left alone to lick my wounds.

My index finger lightly traces the ghost of a scar. Though I can't count the number of slashes I have received, this one was the first. It was the first deviation, the first mark of my never-ending suffering.

I can't lie. I really don't know how much longer I can take of this. My lips stay shut no matter how deep she pushes the blade in.

Sometimes I just wish I could have been Dumbledore. I wish to be in his very position at that ledge up in the astronomy tower, calmly asking for mercy, and receiving.

I wish I had a choice.

Though the scars showed clear all over my body, there were two rules she always abides by. She never touches my face and she is not allowed to disfigure the mark. But, I took the liberty to disobey that rule.

Ever since I saw Draco that one time two months ago, I've been scratching at the death eater mark. My nails draw blood as they slowly but surely yank away at the dark ink. I could barely feel it. I could barely feel the pain.

It alarmed me at first, but I think my body is so drained from the entire experience, everything is practically numb.

A month ago to this day, it was Luna's birthday. I would have told Draco that day to say Happy Birthday for me, but he betrayed me once before. I can't trust him anymore. I can't let him know the things I know. He told me he could come back for me, and yet it's as though he never existed.

I haven't heard his voice, I haven't smelled his cologne, I haven't seen his eyes, and yet the night when he betrayed me is so vivid in my mind. I keep replaying the events that occurred that night. I've obsessed over reliving every single breath I took that day.

You see the thing is, there is only one thing keeping me alive. And that one motivator is no other than revenge. At night as I sit in that chair with an unforgiving Bellatrix slicing away, I don't scream. I do not talk. I don't make a single sound.

I only think.

I think about what I am going to do to Voldemort when I see him again. What I'm going to tell him as I exact this consuming rage within me.

See Voldemort, you left me for dead once you jammed in that blade. Once you twisted the very thing that kept me together. Because you made that so. You made it so I only had stilts to balance myself over the mess that lingered below.

You voluntarily orchestrated everything behind my back. You manipulated me into hating my life, and for that, only retribution is left for you. The blessing of my kindness and loyalty is long over. Only scraps are left for the needy and mark my words, you better savor every last bit of it because once I am done with you, you'll be begging on your knees for mercy.

So go on, enjoy your feast now, but when you come to my table, all you will find are the droppings of rats, in which you will enrapture yourself upon.

As you did onto me, I will rotate the edge of the blade labeled with your name, deeper and more aggressively into that shriveled heart of yours. I will find only pleasure in the way your blood seeps down my hands. I will laugh at your cries in pain, and you will see the billowing determination in my eyes to rip away a life that never had meaning or purpose to me.

You'll only ever begin to envy the relentless force of my will once it drags you away from any and all signs of hope.

So as you do onto me, I will do onto you till I am satisfied.

Till I am done.

And as for all your minions, they will bow down to me. They will scramble at my feet for insufficient justifications for their actions. They will cry and beg that I even let them within any vicinity of me.

I slowly began to unclench my teeth as I unwrapped my hand. My fingertips lined with blood dripping from the core of my palm.

A slight breeze made its way through the area directing my focus toward the door.

Someone is coming.

I could hear the faint echo of the metal door unlocking with the twist of that interlocking key.

Is today the day? Is it the day Harry, Ron, and Hermione arrive at Malfoy Manor?

Then a recognizable face pops in through the cracked doorway.

Pansy?