The Dark Witch

P.O.V. Becky Sinclair

I don’t think I’ve ever really hated anything before. I mean there were times in the past where I thought I hated something, but I was wrong. I know now that what I was feeling was only dislike. How did I come to this conclusion? Because I finally found something, or rather someone, I really hate. I thought to myself as I slowly pushed myself up from the floor. I have never hated anything before Voldemort.

I leaned back onto my knees, sweeping my hair out of my eyes with my left hand. I have never been so angry in my life, not even when I was in the asylum. No one had ever pushed me around, no one had ever made me feel fear, except him. This had to stop. My eyes locked upon the long white stick laying on the ground next to me, it was so familiar, but yet I had never seen it before, how strange…

I reached for it, it was like it was a magnet and I was metal. As my hand slowly closed around it a shiver went up my spine. What was going on here? An image of Sirius popped into my mind suddenly. My stick, it was like him in a way, I knew them both somehow. In a way I couldn't explain.

“Becky, what are you doing on the ground?” I heard Mrs. Lankins ask from behind me. I quickly swiveled around on my knees to face her, still clutching my stick in my hand. Mrs. Lankins was dressed rather eccentrically today, as in more than usual. She was wearing a long purple skirt, a matching fluffy top, an open black robe, and a large purple hat with a large violet feather. She must have an important meeting or something.

The lines in her wrinkly face deepened as she frowned, “Becky I asked you…are you holding a wand?” A curious expression appeared on Mrs. Lankins face as she tilted her head and stepped towards me.

I looked down at the white stick in my hand, it seemed to shimmer in response, probably a trick of the light. Was it really a wand? Was I really what Mrs. Lankins had been trying to convince me for the past few days? Was I a witch?

In a flash the stick was ripped from my hand. Startling me, I felt as if an appendage had just been taken away.

“It is. It is a wand.” Murmured Mrs. Lankins to herself, holding the wand up close to her face and examining it closely, “Becky, how did you get this?”

I felt all the air leave my lungs as she fixed me with a hard stare. Whatever would I tell her? If I told her the truth, would she just take me back to the asylum? Or would she maybe, just maybe, accept me?

I took a deep breath to steady myself and then the words began to slowly tumble out.