An icy, horrible feeling sweeps through you in a shiver. It crawls up your spine and you don't know if you are having a nightmare or if you’ve been swept back in time to relive the worst moments of your life.

 

Scenes and echoes from the past pound your senses and you question whether or not you will ever see happier times again.

 

"YOU'LL DO SOMETHING IF I HAVE TO BEAT IT OUT OF YOU MYSELF!”

 

"He's five years old, Lucius."

 

As he turns, with his hand still raised, he speaks in a very low, very dangerous voice; “I will not have a filthy little Squib for a son.”

 

With that, he lets his fist fall hard across her cheek. She stumbles back silently and turns her face trying to cover the swelling red mark he’d left.

 

"DON'T HURT MUM!" Your high voice shouts, and you immediately wished that you hadn’t.

 

"You dare take a tone with me? YOU DARE TO RAISE YOUR VOICE TO ME, YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE FOOL?"

 

You shrink into the corner again. Your father lifts you by the collar, pinning you high against the wall. You can feel him shake you hard, bumping your head, and then his eyes burning into yours.

 

"You're going to be worthless. Absolutely meaningless. A disgrace."

 

Hot tears prick at your eyes and fear replaces every ounce of your courage.

 

Hafta get down. Hafta get down. Hafta get down, you think over and over to yourself.

 

The voices grow softer. The cold ebbs away, but the memories stay, hovering like a dark cloud, and you feel unsettled.

 

Any warmth that has managed to return fades away, and you find yourself standing at the end of a long line of students, surrounded by sheets of ice-cold rain, and you know the frozen feeling that sweeps over you has nothing to do with the weather.

 

"CRUCIO!"

 

Your father screams, a long, white-hot scream.

 

"NOW, LONGBOTTOM, WHAT DO YOU KNOW?" a young voice screams impatiently.

 

"I-am--not going--to be--V-Voldemort's p--puppet."

 

The same voice, now growing hoarse, spoke again with venomous insistence. “I know that you know where he is, Longbottom. Now, you’ll tell me, or…”

 

“CRUCIO!” shouted a woman’s voice. It wasn’t your mum. It had sounded much lower and… crueler.

 

There are more screams. More pain.

 

You hear, but don't understand them. Your parents are suffering, but you can't understand why. You begin to wail —you can almost feel the pain yourself. Then it stops, but nothing is any better.

 

You hear screaming again. Your mother is screaming. And crying. Her screams are growing weaker and weaker ... and sicker. You can hear her fading.

 

"Crucio."

 

More screams of that pain--the most horrible pain imaginable. From your cradle, you cry for help.

 

The only word you've learned is "Daddy."

 

And finally you get inside. Your thoughts are haunting you with every step. You can still hear every sound.

 

Again, the misery of the rain brings a horrible, miserable cold. The same feelings that break your sweet and trusting nature return. You shake uncontrollably recalling the most terrible moment of your life.

 

"It was me all along—now what am I going to do? I'm going to be expelled  . . . I can't remember… It’s so cold."

 

A boy’s voice filled the air. It was filled with a twisted amusement, "Don't worry. Just let it all out."

 

"I've got to get out. I have to tell… I have to tell Ron… Let me go, Tom!"

 

You’re exhausted, terrified and sobbing. You feel so weak and so terrible that you can hardly sit up anymore. Your vision is blurring, and a figure standing over you is appearing more and more clearly.

 

"TOM, LET ME OUT! YOU HAVE TO LET ME GO!” You shriek with what strength you can draw. “I need to…I… help— I need to tell…I-- I’ll die down here…" but the last of your strength fades, and you sink to the ground.

 

All that is left are the twisting images of him in your mind, as the world grows darker.

 

You can barely see the silver form through the pouring rain—but, shimmering, it drives away the hooded forms, and you wait for the warmth to return.