Private Entry

Jul 23, 2006 13:46


These pages might be useful for something other than random communication.

I am lost. There has got to be something truly wrong with me, that a part of me secretly relished Bellatrix's antics and Greyback's murdering rampage just so I could feel useful again!

Am I a bloody Gryffindor to need life-threatening danger and obnoxious heroics to feel my life has a purpose?

It appears I have no other option than to attempt some very extensive soul-searching.

It is with the greatest surprise that I find myself seemingly still in possession of a soul, or at least the tattered remains of what ought to have been one. I was never so foolish as to attempt the creation of Horcruxes, though perhaps I might have done had I known of their existence in the darkest phase of my youth. Nonetheless, it cannot be denied that I have committed the act which would make construction of such a device possible.

I do not recognise my own life. I had such grand ambitions. I was going to be the most renowned Potions Master in all of the United Kingdom. The most powerful wizard in all of Europe. Loved and feared in equal measures by all who saw me!

Gods! Such a fool I was!

My aspirations died a slow and tortuous death at the hands of my first Master. My second, more benevolent Master attempted to restore it, somewhat, but Albus was no less manipulative and controlling in his way than the Dark Lord. I knew, when he made the final, most horrible request of me, that my life was over. I could not survive that act, regardless of who won the war, and be a free man.

Wrong again. Here I am. Alive. Free. As prosperous as I have ever been in my life. For what purpose?

I've been too busy trying to exist to consider how utterly pathetic my life has become. Normal things were NEVER a consideration. Survival - not getting my sorry arse discovered and killed - has been my sole focus for twenty years. That was my existence. Lies. Secrecy. Deceit.

Now, it seems I see normality all about me - even in the midst of lingering fear and chaos - and my subconscious seems to yearn for the impossible. I must assume it is my subconscious, because I do not knowingly desire that which I have always known I can never have. Yet if my mind is permitted to wander for even a moment, it dwells intently upon nonsensical, trivial matters.

Just when I think it is not possible to be more disgusted with myself....

Sex. Or lack thereof. It has never been an issue.

Once, when I was very young and naive and believed I had come to Albus in time, and that all would be saved and the Dark Lord defeated in a matter of months because Albus was all-powerful and could surely repair even the most tragic of errors.... Then, I had ephemeral dreams - finding a real relationship, perhaps even marriage, something MY OWN, someone to always choose 'my side' over any other, no matter what. Some blissful end to painful loneliness.

HA!!

The last female I snogged was at a party at the Malfoy's in the summer between my sixth and seventh years - and I still believe she initiated the kiss on a bloody dare from Lucius! Or worse - he may have even paid her to kiss me. The memory is humiliating to say the least.

I used to go months - years - without thinking of such trivialities. A quick wank in the shower when biological urges insisted on being met was more than sufficient for my 'needs'.

Now... NOW!

How absolutely pitiful that normal, simple things like an excess of physical contact from almost anyone leaves me out of sorts and restless!

Holding June Connors in my arms for an innocent broom-flight... no one should be allowed to possess such a radiant smile! How long would it take for Lupin to skin me alive if he knew the memory of her warm body held so intimately against mine led to a clandestine wank? Bloody hell - what of the time she KISSED me! Never mind it was a chaste peck on the cheek as she might have given any old codger for being kind to her....

How much sooner would Lupin rip out my throat if he knew the disturbance of seeing him shirtless and sleep-mussed in his bed achieved the same result? That rubbing the cool healing salve into the warm flesh of his shoulder left vivid imaginings of what the rest of his skin would feel like?

What about Wagtail's completely accidental falling into me at the amusement park, his almost delicate hands clutching at my clothes to prevent himself from falling, that my lascivious imagination turned into a parody of passion?

Or the French friend of Fleur Weasley, Charlotte Aurelius, who deigned to be polite to me at Molly Weasley's breakfast, all blond hair and creamy skin and shy smiles?

Am I so fucking sick that the slightest bit of positive attention sends my long-forgotten libido into overdrive? Clearly, there is something incredibly pitiable in being so desperate for the ghost of a resemblance to physical attraction that my drives seem to make no distinction whatsoever between male or female!!

I have seriously considered going to Muggle London to purchase the requisite services likely to get this ridiculous development out of my system, so to speak. It is doubtful that I will ever do it.

Coward!

Pride, though it lingers in bare tatters of its former incarnation, leaves me little option. If I am to be intimate with someone, I want them to want me, for me - not because I have paid or coerced the act.

I need to increase my focus on my research. Obviously, I have too much time on my hands if I am dwelling on ridiculous fantasies like some randy teenager!

A social interlude with Bellatrix ought to accomplish the same result - whenever Narcissa manages to deign to reply to my request for a meeting. An afternoon spent in fear for my life ought to kill off any trivial ideas quickly enough!
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