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Year One

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Professor Crawford suggested I start a journal.

Not a diary, specifically a journal. As if that makes it feel less silly.

"Write down your feelings," he said. "When you get overwhelmed, it will help you sort out which ones are really yours.”

What am I feeling?




Check, check and check; those are all officially Will Graham’s, no outside influence necessary. Then again, I am alone in the dormitory right now. There is a quiet, constant buzz of Other, but for now they are distant and easy to ignore.

Crawford is very interested in my “gift.” It can’t exactly be called legilimency, not when it comes naturally and constantly, others’ emotions and memories forcing their way into you, them invading your mind rather than the other way around. A cup to be filled. But I’m sure that he, an ex Ministry man sees a certain potential in that. I wonder if he’d feel the same if he had ever been walking to class, minding his own business, when suddenly he finds he really really wants to kiss someone. The ghost of lips against yours, and you freeze, like an idiot, because your mind is torn between two places and one of them is very distracting, and then somebody shoves you, and people laugh, and they whisper, they always whisper. Like you don’t hear them say it. Like you don’t feel the curiosity and pity and disgust sloshing heavy around you all the time.


Professor Crawford thinks I need to sort out my feelings. Having seen the inside of quite a few minds, I think I’m the only one who doesn’t.