Away now
I feel differently about some things today. I don't mean better, I mean different. Redecorating helps. I never did like that chair, really. I was never able to put my finger on why I hated that chair but yesterday I realised that I've grown too tall for it. It's a child's chair, really. When I first came to Hogwarts it was too big but at some point in the last year it became too small. It was only when I was trying to dutifully revise yesterday that I noticed how awkward I was in it. It's curious how some things fit you one day and you find you've outgrown them the next. But then some things grow with a person, like hair or fingernails, and they always fit no matter how the rest of the self changes.
Like my hatred of you, for example. It's always fit so well, like something I was born with, and as my body and self grew it grew too. When I was younger it was something petty and childish. And fun. Let's not forget lots and lots of fun. Nothing feels better than basking in the folly of others. But it kept me in a state of not-quite-comfortable, which I never understood because if anyone should be comfortable it is me. My Mother buys me whatever I want and she loves me, too. She sent me fox-hide quidditch gloves just last week.
I think I always expected to outgrow it one day, like that chair. I'd wake up and not really give a toss, maybe. But it's quite the opposite, really. It's grown with me, see. The hatred, I mean. Into something almost pure and blinding. Into something almost like truth. As long as I'm not quite comfortable, I'll never be comfortable. I can't just smash this up like the chair you know. I have to sit it in. All the time. I suppose in your own way you know what that's like.
Blaise was right, I think. Nothing is as far away as one minute ago. Particularly when it turns out you were about a minute too late.
I still need to interview you, Black. I suppose you'll try to be a prat and get out of it but I'm not sure that I care at this point. My first question is still why didn't you know that your friend Pettigrew was a traitor? but after the other night I think the answer to that question is obvious. Quite a pathetic wash-up, he seemed. Though I still think his animagus form ought to have piqued your concern. A rat of all things.
Like my hatred of you, for example. It's always fit so well, like something I was born with, and as my body and self grew it grew too. When I was younger it was something petty and childish. And fun. Let's not forget lots and lots of fun. Nothing feels better than basking in the folly of others. But it kept me in a state of not-quite-comfortable, which I never understood because if anyone should be comfortable it is me. My Mother buys me whatever I want and she loves me, too. She sent me fox-hide quidditch gloves just last week.
I think I always expected to outgrow it one day, like that chair. I'd wake up and not really give a toss, maybe. But it's quite the opposite, really. It's grown with me, see. The hatred, I mean. Into something almost pure and blinding. Into something almost like truth. As long as I'm not quite comfortable, I'll never be comfortable. I can't just smash this up like the chair you know. I have to sit it in. All the time. I suppose in your own way you know what that's like.
Blaise was right, I think. Nothing is as far away as one minute ago. Particularly when it turns out you were about a minute too late.
I still need to interview you, Black. I suppose you'll try to be a prat and get out of it but I'm not sure that I care at this point. My first question is still why didn't you know that your friend Pettigrew was a traitor? but after the other night I think the answer to that question is obvious. Quite a pathetic wash-up, he seemed. Though I still think his animagus form ought to have piqued your concern. A rat of all things.