Twisted Deviant

I pull a towel out of the wardrobe and make my way into the lavatory. I’ve charmed the mirror above the sink not to talk, so the reflection of me just mouths silent words as I reach into the bath and twist on the hot-water faucet. I slowly strip the constricting faculty robes from my body – there are times when I wish I could wear the simpler Muggle attire, but that’s the price I pay for working here. The coolness of the room brushes against my skin, causing my flesh to break out in goose bumps. It’s never warm in this part of the castle, no matter how many fireplaces are lit. I rub my hands up and down my arms as I wait for the steam to warm the room. Just before I step into the streaming water, I reach over and slightly turn the cold-water faucet. I may adore hot showers, but I have no desire to boil myself to death. I can feel the knot at the back of my neck start to loosen as I step into the now comfortable hot stream of water. I drop my head forward, resting my forehead a

I am wicked you say some sort of craven child seeking the wildness of passion in harrowing moonlight nights tempted by some sinister force claimed by wild that calls untamed beasts into the dark but wickedness has it place in the whispered moments before the dawn the tickling of a breath just at the base of a jaw my wildness pleases you when it is directed towards you my teeth have known your flesh and I am tempted by more than you know I am wicked in ways you could not fathom craving things that would kill someone lesser I seek all I want all and I will not relent until I have bits and pieces of your soul for I am the wild song singing in the hot torrents of your breath like adrenaline rushing through your blood I call to the instinct inside is it wickedness to want you in these moments of clarity that come to want you when the heat is boiling deep in my blood and all my thoughts are of you naked before me so that I can dine on the lushness of your form I am all that wicked could clai

I should’ve known better. Never, ever take anything from one of the Weasley twins; it was a creed I developed during my first year at Hogwarts, and it has always served me well. Fred and George are notorious for their interesting ingredient combinations, and for causing a stir – usually by transforming, in some manner, the person stupid enough to ingest one of their concoctions. Normally, I’m not that stupid. I avoid anything those rotters give me like the plague – as Moody always coaches, constant vigilance , and with those two, it’s not only a mantra, it’s a way of life. Bastards. You might ask how I could’ve failed to protect myself, after all these years. All I can say is there were mitigating circumstances. Harry, Ron, and I have a long-standing tradition of meeting at the Leaky Cauldron once a month and getting utterly pissed. Okay, normally Harry and Ron get utterly pissed, and I make sure they don’t Splinch themselves on the way home, but it isn’t as if I’m a teetotaler –

I am afraid of these shadows thoughts that should not be scared of who I am as opposed to who I should be wishing for something I aught not to wanting the impossible wanting what I am not even sure is real or even available Too long I have walked alone with my demons and they hold me back still yet in my dreams I long for what I once believed in do I reach for the stars or hide behind clever innuendos a smile as my shield my demons know my weaknesses well and I stumble over the hope perhaps if I can be found behind the façade seen for who I am not what others wish me to be accepting everything warts and all but I am cynical by nature or is it that nature has made me cynical I can lie to myself and pretend it doesn’t matter for really it should not matter still there is a small kernel of hope or perhaps it is only my jaded interest which whispers to try or at least see this until the end if I can be brave nonetheless I am afraid of me of life perhaps I am afraid of happiness though I ca