January 1, 1981
Happy New Years! It should be a time for great beginnings, a time of happiness, and a time to start anew. It shouldn't be a time to have great remorse over the past couple of months, it shouldn't be a time for tears, and it shouldn't be a time to lose something very dear to you. Foul, that is all I can do to describe what has happened to me. Why me? Haven't I suffered enough torture these past months? I've felt the days pass by, each sunrise burning a new hole in my heart, each sunset filling the hole with despair. Thoughts of freedom, hope, and angels have long since fled my mind. The darkness is said to drive someone to the brink of insanity and back.
But why me? I had promised myself that I'd wait for marriage, I'd do it right. It was supposed to be Andrew, not some vile creature who dares calls themselves human. Malfoy was his name. He was a year or two above me in the Slytherin house. It was forced; I'm not pure anymore. A flower shed it's petals last night, another star in the sky died, and the sun finally set over my hopes. The blood was too much though and I feel weak. My legs won't move and bruises are coming to appear all over my body. Why me? I never did anything to deserve this. Why me?
January 3, 1981
He keeps coming back for more. I'm not a dirty woman - I'm clean, not dirty. Him and his friends, those dirty people. Their venom snaking through my body, causing pain to spring up everywhere. How long till I'm with unwanted child? How long before they kill me? How long before my time leaves and they get bored? It isn't long enough, that much I know. Life means nothing anymore, not since they destroyed me, not since they broke me down.
Oh what would sweet Andrew think of me now? Dirty and diseased, a tramp for those disgusting Death Eaters. I look in their eyes and I see nothing, nothing at all, not even a soul or a hint of remorse for what they are destroying. Each night I fall asleep, body bleeding, heart full of pain, and battered to pieces, and all I can think is that my worst fear will be to wake up in the morning. Each morning I wake up, screaming inside and cursing my beloved God for sending me through this torture. I was a good girl, I never disobeyed his or anyone else's laws. I was a sinner yes, but never worse then anyone else. Why me?
What once was pale delicate skin on my legs has turned black and blue, shades of yellow, and rough with scabs and bruises. I've fallen from my spot on top; I've fallen apart at the seams. Life no longer seems to be worth living. Life isn't anything at all. Tears don't fall and thoughts of my family have stopped coming to my mind. All I can think about is the pain, the suffering, my sins, and what tomorrow will bring.
January 6, 1981
Let me die God, just let me die and ascend to the heavens. Please take my soul away from this place and let me die. It's my time, come take me. It's my time, come kill me. Let me die. Let me live in another place. Please just take me away from them, their hands, their prying eyes, and their venomous touches. Just let me die!
January 10, 1981
Wake up, take a shower, work for their side, eat, and stay up all night listening to the neighboring screams of the innocence that is tortured. That is the day now. Never is my name called to be sent to camp, never am I doing something out of this order. James still delivers my meals and I still see him as an angel. A cursed angel. He won't let me die; he is the worst of all tortures. I know he has the power to kill me, and no matter how much I beg of him to end the pain, he won't. He says I have hope, he says I have a chance. But then again, what does he know? He isn't the one in the cage, he isn't the one being violated and raped day after day. He isn't the one being persecuted for their blood.
What would he know? Damn the angel, the gift I should love, damn the one who saves me. I just want to die.
January 11, 1981
The screams are getting so loud. Winter is here and the snow blows in through the cell window, covering my stone box with flurry and numbing my insides. People are dropping dead so quickly, freezing as the sun goes down, starving, and catching so many diseases. The rats scurry about, stealing out food and bringing us presents in the form of death. You hear the cries as people are bitten by those furry demons, the sickness spreading into their system and corrupting the mind and body. It's getting cold, the darkness is almost completely won over this place, and the walls are closing in. I'm cold.
January 15, 1981
Is it my time yet?
January 20, 1981
I've had a significant break-through on the truth potion they have me working on. If brewed correctly, it is the most powerful one out there. Nothing can be hidden, nothing can be kept a secret, one-drop and your heart's desires, pains, and secrets are spilling out of your mouth. It's so potent that only one drop in any liquid will last for hours upon hours, the perfect tool for an interrogation. I'm not sure what they will call it yet, but all I know is that for this creation I deserve to die. I provided them with a weapon in order to save my own life. What could be a greater sin?
I helped kill people, and my conscious wants to cry out in shame. They made me though; they made me help them under the threat of death. I know I want to die, but taking that step seems so scary. The pain is too much, but am I really ready to give up my life? It's something precious I understand, but it's something that is suffering right now. I'm scared to die, I'm afraid of what will happen if I die. What comes next? It's the unexplainable, and maybe I shouldn't be scared, maybe I should.
James is right, I won't be scared to die when it is my time, and it isn't my time yet. My time will come, soon I hope, but until then I have to keep on suffering, I have to keep on breathing and living in this pain and hell.
January 26, 1981
They called it Veritaserum, my potion. Oh how I wish I'd spent more time on it, making more ways for it go faulty, but no. The Ravenclaw child in me had to come out and prove to those bloody Death Eaters that a muggle-born can come up with something great. I did come up with an outstanding discovery, though they do not credit it to me. My discovery will kill innocents, it will torture the side of good, and it will bring down all chances of winning this fight. My discovery ruined my dreams of being free.
Why? Why did I feel the need to prove myself? They're using it already and raids have been made on aurors and their families. The Prewetts died last night, because Voldemort captured their Secret Keeper and used my potion on him. I killed the family; it was I who killed them not Voldemort.
January 30, 1981
God help me, the Bones are dead. An entire family line almost completely obliterated because of my potion. I want to speak up and tell them that it has faults, but what would I do? I made it foolproof. My only hope is that some how, the recipe gets to the side of good and they can use it against Voldemort. No, I'm not afraid to write or speak his name. He has no meaning to me, besides the fact that he is a sad man, who is in desperate need of help. Never in my years will I be able to comprehend the way he does this, how he lives with himself.
More people are dying here. The girl in the cell next to me froze to death last night. She was two years younger then me and I had to stay up and listen to her last breaths, her last tears, her last cries, and her last prayers. This is hell, a place I dreamed of never being, and a place I want to spread wings and fly away from. God help us all, help the innocents, help us survive.