Tears of a Basilisk

Journal entry-???????


I would put a date, but what's the bloody point. Hard to tell, all days are blurring together. Why am I starting this journal, when I supposedly have so many confidants that see me as a true-blue happy-go-lucky friend and would never hesitate to let me pour my heart out? Gee, could it be because everyone, from my very birth, has used me as simply a means to an end, and the friends are disgusting examples of humanity. Ah yessss, that's a realization I came to a while ago, when I lay dying from basilisk venom. Wizards, muggles, they're the same bloody species, one just has a specific genetic mutation. If they were so bloody different, then there wouldn't be any interbreeding, would there now? They're all humans, the single most self-destructive species on the planet, and they have equal chances of being horrible wastes of life.


I speak as if I am not part of the huddled pathetic masses, which is for the most part true. My sometimes fans/lynch mob did get one thing right, I am not like them. If I am to look deep within my heart, I am not inclined to show mercy to any of those dirty humans. Yet even now I strive to protect a good number of them from a threat that no one save myself is aware of. I do this not for those wastes of space, but for the school, and the innocents it was built for. Lunacy, this may sound like, but dear Hogwarts, my Hogwarts, has been corrupted and turned away from its original purpose; to provide a safe place for children with magic potential to learn and grow into responsible adults without fear of harassment from the fearful mobs. Instead, it is traded and treated like a status symbol and sometimes fortress, children are no longer safe to walk its halls, and as I know from first hand experience most of the staff has no interest in the welfare of the students beyond academics, otherwise my situation would have been discovered almost instantly. Not only did they ignore the very obvious signs of abuse, but did not even blink when I emerged from the Chamber as a completely different individual.


Despite that, my disgust and hatred was cemented when a complete and total lie about my heritage was told to me by one claiming that he truly cared about my welfare, eye contact and everything. That, my dear stained pages, was the breaking point. If I had a chance, I would have made a fine professional actor. Since that day, I have been working on this problem, and soon it will all be resolved. Just in time, my strength is failing slightly each day. I just need to hold on a bit longer, and then finally I can rest.


He would have been much more than a fine professional actor, he would have been one of the best. We were all fooled by the Boy-Who-Lived act, and never suspected that his dear friends or family would ever do more than scold him. One of the most galling aspects of these events was that I, a trained spy for whom survival depended on keen observations and perceptions, was blind to his plight. My hatred for events long passed blinded me, so that even if some part of me had picked up on his true nature or situation I would have immediately dismissed my observations. What things would have been like, I often wonder, if someone had stepped in at the crucial time. If he had one person he could have turned to, trusted, then maybe his last years would not have been as they were.

His journal, left to me in his will with various other items that I will cover later in this narrative, often reads like the most fantastic novel, one that would be a fantasy bestseller in the muggle realm, yet at the same time it plagues my existence. I have seen many atrocities in my life, many of which would send weaker-minded people straight to St. Mungo's, but my hands tremble as I turn the page, trying to fight the occasional wave of nausea. I digress, perhaps I should begin this tale at the most logical place, which would be Harry's second year in Hogwarts, by all memory an extraordinary, tragic year but none suspected the scope of our transgressions.

-S.S.