Fan Fiction (Novel)

Chapter 37

Blog FF

Joanna wondered when she was going to die. At that moment, death was such a welcoming thought.

“You’ll be alright,” the voice said again. Then she felt someone touching her face gently.

Tom, Joanna thought.

“Joanna.” His voice was not so faint anymore.

As though death was giving in to her wishes, her eye’s briefly cleared up and she saw Tom hovering over her. A relieve swept across her once aching heart, and the only pain she now had to bear was the one in her body.

Joanna tried to keep her eyes on him when she saw a tear roll down his cheek. Trying to utter a word, Joanna knew that if she failed, it would be the end.

When she could not managed to even mutter, she felt her world slowly slipping away.

“Joanna! Please stay with me!” Tom shouted.

I can’t, Joanna thought.

“Joanna! No, please! Please don’t go!” Tom’s voice slowly dissolved into a whisper.

Soon, there was no more air to breathe in, and no more pain to bear. It happened so smoothly, Joanna did not even realize it.

“Joanna! No!” Tom tried to prop her up but she slipped from his grip.

It did not struck him before, but now it did. Staring at the red glistening blood all over his hands and cloak, Tom realized that he made the biggest mistake in his life.

Joanna was the only one who made him human. She gave him the ability to feel, if not for others at least for her.  He never knew he could feel, and the wretched sting in his chest made him wish he could turn back time. Why was he so blinded by power and revenge when he could have the one thing he never had all his life, love?

The bed she was lying on was soaked with blood that the smell started to make him dizzy. Tom slowly backed away from her body, trying not to fall over the furniture in the motel room. His hands where shaking and no matter how hard he tried, they wouldn’t stop. Just like the tears that fell from his eyes.

Clenching his fist, Tom shuffled to a table and slammed his hands on it. He let out an angry yell before he started trashing everything in the room, until he collapsed by the side of the bed.

He could not look at her, for if he did, all he saw was regret. She was the only one who accepted him without fear or hate. She actually loved him, and he actually loved her. He hated himself for not telling her that. He hated himself for not choosing her. He hated himself… for being weak.

Dumbledore killed her, he thought, wiping his wet cheeks dry.

Finally being able to compose himself, Tom stood up and called for Nagini. At the sight of Joanna, Nagini became upset and started to hiss. Tom wished the snake did not have to make things worse, and he was tempted to kill it when it started asking questions. But then he realized that Nagini was all he had left.

“Don’t worry about it Nagini. We’ll have our revenge,” Tom said as the snake slithered right next to him.

“No more games. No more distractions. No more weakness,” Tom added. He closed his eyes briefly, as though bringing himself back to his ‘real’ self, and when he opened his eyes, flames started to grow from thin air. They rose up the walls and slithered onto the bed like a fiery snake devouring its prey; curling and twisting all over the room as the walls blackened and the furniture were torched.

“Everyone who ever crosses me will suffer. Especially that old man. He thinks he knows it all but he has seen nothing yet.”

By the time half the room was engulfed, the flames slowly drew back, as though it had enough.

Finally turning to face what was left of the room, Tom found Nagini wrapped around a skull that now sat on the bed.

Tom watched briefly before he looked up at the gloomy afternoon sky, through the hole in the ceiling. He often wondered how he could find peace is something so plain. A blink later, he found himself looking at the very same sky, just darker and on a different day. There were no stars, and it was a perfect canvas for his dark mark.

A spell shot out into the night sky shortly after, and when it exploded, a skull appeared with a smoke imagery of Nagini, slithering around it and through its mouth.

“That’s for you,” Tom whispered. “And so will everything else.”

Tom knew that was not what Joanna would have wanted, but he told himself that he had no choice. She was now a mere memory and her memory would not be the cause of his downfall, but the reason for his success.

“It’s time the war ends. Tonight will be the night,” Tom said, looking at what was left of Hogwarts; the place he once called home.

“What do we do now, my lord?” Bellatrix Lestrange asked cheerfully, like a child eager to take on every carnival ride available.

“We wait,” Tom replied shortly. He didn’t like the woman, no matter how hard she tried to please him. She was just not Joanna. If only she could take a hint without him having to kill her.

“Do you think he will come?” Bellatrix hurried to his side.

“He will.”

Tom knew the boy well enough, and if there was something they both understood, it was sacrifice.

Fan Fiction (Shorts)

Case Study #65

Students of the newly developed Magic & Psychiatric department in St. Mungo’s sat in a small lecture theater. They were studying the techniques of dealing and treating mentally deranged patients through the collaboration of muggle science and magic. Today, they were shown a unique case; case study number 65.

Right in front of the class was a pensieve. It was no ordinary one as it had mirrors around the wide glass bowl. Smoke was also puffing excessively from the liquid within, and a thick cloud had gathered a feet above the bowl. In the cloud itself was a memory, playing out an interview.

“Does it make you feel good to watch people suffer?” The interviewer’s voice echoed throughout the small lecture theater.

“Great pleasure,” the subject replied.

“And do you think what you did was right?”

The subject merely laughed in reply.

“So, you think it was right?” the interviewer asked again.

“My right and wrong is defined by you isn’t it? You are here to call me crazy, to justify my actions, to… help me?”

“Yes, I want to help you.”

“I don’t need your help doctor. I’m not your patient, so you don’t have to test your patience on my sanity.”

Slowly, the dark room started to fade away within the cloud, and that was all with the short memory.

“At the age of six, the subject had already showed intense sadistic, brutal and violent tendencies. Subject was also highly intelligent and could learn quickly. Interestingly, subjects personality is claimed to be hereditary. Both aunt and cousin were also short tempered and easily distracted,” read Dr. Batred, the senior lecturer of the first badge of students.

“For today’s class, I would like you to go back and write a one thousand word discussion on whether you believe the subject had been born or nurtured with such traits. If you have no questions, class is dismissed.”

Once Dr. Batred had turned his back against his students, he expected to hear them leaving, but instead, one of the asked, “Sir, I’m afraid you have not given us enough information to write on, if you do not mind showing us the other memory bottle you have with you?”

Dr. Batred took a quick glance at the two bottles of memory sitting on his desk. He had earlier planned on showing both of them, but thought of saving one for the next class.

“I was actually planning on showing this one in our next class,” Dr. Batred picked the bottle up as he spoke. A label pasted onto the bottle read, ‘1st Interview’.

“Sir, as much as you would like to chase us off, we would like to know more,” another student added in.

Chuckling to himself, Dr. Batred felt rather happy at his students’ response. Such keenness should be credited.

“Very well. If you are all so very keen.” Dr. Batred headed to the pensieve and retrieved the earlier memory before pouring in the new.

As he did so, he briefly mentioned, “This was an interview conducted by a family friend of the subject. The subject’s parents were rather worried of their child’s state and decided to call for help. It wasn’t easy getting this memory, but thankfully for us, I knew the interviewer. He thought this memory would come in useful one day, so he decided to sent it to me with an invitation to his funeral.”

The class chuckled along with uncertainty of the premise of the statement. Thankfully, the awkwardness of the supposed joke dissolved when the memories in the bottle rose into the cloud above the pensieve.

“Hello,” the interviewer greeted the child.

They were seated in a cozy living room. The fireplace was burning brightly, casting flickers of light on their faces.

“Hello sir,” the child replied politely.

“How are you today?”

“Rather fine, thank you.”

“I would like to ask you a few questions. I hope that it is alright with you?”

“Does it have to do with me hurting my sister?”

“There is a question or two on that.”

“If you must know, I don’t like my sister. Father and mother pays too much attention to her, and she’s rather stupid if you ask me.”

“Is that why you have tried to suffocate her?”

“Yes,” the child answered expressionlessly.

“Why do you do that?”

“I want her to die.”

“Do you want your youngest sister to die too?”

“Cissy? No. I like Cissy.” An expression crossed the little girls face as though the interviewer was asking a ridiculous question.

There was a short pause as the interviewer tried to decipher her expression. But not being able to conclude anything, he continued.

“How old is Andromeda, Bella?”

“What a stupid name,” Bella replied as she stared right into the interviewers eyes.

“She’s four am I right?”

“She’s four. And Cissy is two.”

“Do you know why your mother locks your bedroom door at night?”

“Because she’s afraid I might kill Andromeda in her sleep.” Bella paused before she continued, “They think I might kill Cissy too, but I love Cissy.”

“I see. Is that why you left dead baby birds on Cissy’s crib?”

“They are presents. So Cissy know’s I love her.”

“And did you kill those baby birds?”

“Yes. I squeezed them with my hands,” Bella answered proudly.

“Why did-“

“Don’t you think it’s more meaningful when a gift takes effort, rather than just going to a store and buying one?” Bella interrupted immediately.

“Do you think Cissy would know the difference?”

Bellatrix shrugged in reply. As the interviewer looked to her parents the memory slowly disappeared in the cloud.

“Now, a one thousand word discussion wouldn’t be a problem, would it? Nature versus nurture; get on with it!” Dr. Batred ended that evening class, wondering to himself if he actually thought Bellatrix Lestrange was crazy or just a highly intelligent person with a lack of remorse.