She was beautiful. That’s what she thought. It didn’t matter what people said to her, or rather what they didn’t say.
She wasn’t stupid. She never was.
She saw the looks. Heard the whispers. Felt the glares.
It didn’t matter what they thought. Not anymore at least.
Makeup didn’t work anymore, but everyone could see them anyway.
Everyone else thought they were marks of a freak.
Outcast. Murderer. Animal.
She wasn’t lucky like some of the others.
Hers were too obvious to be hidden.
On display for the world to see.
Sometimes they felt like marks of shame.
Other times they felt more like ones of victory.
She didn’t win, but she survived.
But was surviving worth it to end up like this?
She was a Gryffindor.
A survivor of the Battle of Hogwarts.
None of it seemed to matter anymore though.
All they saw was what they wanted to.
She was always the desirable one. The one all the boys wanted. She knew it wasn’t because of her personality or her intelligence, but she didn’t care. She still got what she wanted, and so did they.
Wasn’t that all that mattered?
She heard the whispers then too. They were different at that time though.
Slut. Whore. Bitch.
At least she could shrug off those whispers. She knew that the people saying those things wouldn’t ever dare to say them to her face. She couldn’t even delude herself with that idea anymore.
It wasn’t even supposed to be like this anymore! They had won. There was no question of whether or not they did.
Everything was supposed to change.
But then nothing did.
Everyone soon went back to the same roles that they fit before the war. Even the ones that were thought to be able to make a difference, change things, didn’t do anything. Everything stayed the same.
Nothing had really shifted enough for real change anyway. Sure, the leaders of the movement were dead or imprisoned, but many of the followers weren’t. The well-known ones were ostracized, but there were many more that kept their heads down and snuck back into society before anyone noticed.
Most of the same people who held power before the last years of the war still did. The minister had changed, but the position didn’t really hold much power. The positions that mattered, those of the Wizengamot, hadn’t. Most of the people who had power in the governing body were the same ones that did before.
Even though proposals were made time and again, nothing was passed. The actual opinions of most people hadn’t really changed, just the way that they expressed these opinions. Thus, the only war-time laws that were repealed were those against muggleborns. Even then, only the most extreme and obvious were even revoked; the rest were just glanced over and ignored, as they didn’t effect any of the members anyway.
All this meant was that it was even easier for her to be looked down on, not that it was hard in the first place.
One thing that she was proud of was that she never gave up. She saw that quite frequently, others deciding that they just couldn’t stand the hatred anymore. Most chose to end it, but some just stopped trying to control the instincts and urges. That was why everyone feared them so much. Most of them weren’t like the feral ones, but how could people see that after watching family members be torn apart.
If she gave up, she would be dead one way or the other. By her own hand or hunted down like the animal they thought she was.
She wasn’t really an animal. She used to not think so at least. She wasn’t really sure anymore.
All she knew is that it was getting harder to get the potion. It had already been hard to find, but since they seemed to be liked less with each passing day, it was becoming next to impossible to acquire.
There were other options of course, but they weren’t as safe, and were harder to do. She never was the best student, but she had done it enough times for others who were worse at it than her that it started become natural. Apparently there was one good thing that came out of being a freak of nature.
The worst part of it had to be that no one would touch her anymore. Not in any way, and especially not in the way that she wanted.
She had been so used to people always being near her, usually touching in some way. It was a consequence of living in close quarters with other people.
Of course there was also the other way that she was used to being touched, but that was even less likely to happen now. People seemed to think that they could get it simply by touching her, let alone by doing that with her.
After so long of being wanted, being hated was almost too much.
She didn’t have anyone to turn to. Not anymore.
Most of her friends hadn’t made it out, and the ones that had didn’t want to be reminded of the past by looking at her.
Her family wouldn’t speak to her.
She wished that she could do some of the things that she used to do though.
Wizard shops wouldn’t let her in, that much was obvious, but muggle shops weren’t even an option anymore.
She couldn’t deal with the stares that followed her as she walked through them. Her marks were very obvious, and while she tried to carry them with pride, she knew that she failed most of the time.
It wasn’t like most of the things that she used to buy were much good to her anyway. Makeup didn’t work to cover anything up. Perfume was now just annoying. Anything exposing skin showed more scars.
It was hard to go from being desired to being pitied.
Though after all of this time, the things that hurt her the most were the words. Words weren’t really supposed to hurt, they were supposed to be brushed off, ignored. It didn’t seem to matter though. The words never stopped, and the most common one really didn’t. She heard it so much that she started believing it herself.