This is my third and final entry for Lady's Writing School Inspiration category. My inspiration for this was the quote:

Nothing ever goes away. - Barry Commoner

and the prompts:

Puppet Master

Angels fall down

Glass Moon

Disclaimer: I do not, never have and (probably) never will own Harry Potter.

I could still remember the time before the voices moved in; before the puppet master with his strings and smiles and soft persuasions started whispering in my ear. I could still remember it so clearly, each memory like a shard of mirror through which I could see the past. But in the jagged mirrors, the world looked different; backwards. Or maybe it was now that the world looked backwards. I could still hear their voices in my head, the sounds echoing, dancing around with the strings and whispers and the lights always swirling and glittering. I could hear them shouting at me 'Do it again, freak. Show us your magic. Make the flowers change their colors. Make them dance. What's the matter? Are you scared? Are you frightened? Poor little freak. Where's your magic now?' Then there were the fists, hard as rocks. The pleasure when they swore at the pain that seared through their hands when they made contact with my tiny body. But still they kicked and punched, my screams mingling with their laughter.

I don't know when they stopped, but after a while there were soft hands stroking my hair, a damp cloth on my forehead. The pain was softer now. Mummy was looking down at me with worried eyes. I smiled up at her. I reached out to smooth the lines on her brow. She started to cry. Abe ran into the room and hugged me, laughing and cursing the boys. Albus stood in the doorway looking worried. Daddy wasn't there. He was never there again. I could only see him backwards through my mirror memories now.

A couple days later I was sitting in my room, a book full of pictures of magical creatures on my lap when a big bee flew in through the window. It buzzed loudly, annoyingly. It wouldn't leave me alone, flitting in and out of my vision, circling around my head. A tingling sensation spread up through my tummy, through my chest, and into my arms. It was the same sensation I had felt when I made the flowers dance. I thought of the boys with their hard fists and angry laughter. Fear welled up inside me and I pushed against the tingles coursing through my veins, forcing them back, locking them up somewhere safe, somewhere out of reach. The room went dark, I heard a soft whispering, like the swish of the ocean on a calm day. Then I heard the mirror crack. When I could see again, everything looked different. Sometimes I thought it looked clearer, sometimes I thought it looked fuzzier. All my old memories from before stood out sharp in their mirror shards. The ragged edges hurt as they scraped against my mind. I cried out in surprise. People were running, first Albus came in, but then Abe pushed past him. Mummy was last. She scooped me up in her arms, whispering that it was all okay. I remember watching Albus and Abe over her shoulder. The lights dancing in mind swirled around them, playing with their hair, tickling their arms, painting them with swirls of pinks and greens and blues and golds. The colors emphasized the fuzzy edges, as if my brothers were only half there, but their faces stood out clear as day. They were my angels, I decided. My sweet, clever angels that played with me and made me laugh and talked to me in soothing voices when the Puppet Master's strings tightened and his voice grew loud in my ears.

Time always acted strange, playing games with me until I could no longer tell the difference between night and day. In the dark my colors would swirl around brightly until the world shone as light as midday. When it was bright, they would dance around above me until I was left standing in darkness. The moon was different in my new world. It was made of glass, hanging high up in the sky on a thin thread. My fragile glass moon that hung above me night and day, waiting to fall at the slightest breath of air. One time I asked Albus to untie it and bring it down to me. He knelt down beside me, stroking my hair and told me there was no moon, only the sun shining high in the sky. He must have been looking at the world on the other side of the mirror, because I could see my glass moon, shining brightly in the darkness.

For a while I thought that I was safe from the tingles and the power that had burned through my veins. They were locked up tight behind the door in my mind; a closed door that had no key. Sometimes the door would rattle a little, as if someone were trying to open it, but it always remained firmly closed. One day, when I woke up, the whispers were louder than they had ever been, beating against my ears with little-boy fists that felt like rocks. Somewhere someone screamed. I was afraid. Was it one of my angels? Were they hurt? Now who would play with me? Was it mummy? I wanted to run to them and I wanted to hide but I couldn't see. The mirror shards were spinning wildly, blocking out my room, blocking out the light. The door was bulging on its hinges, the flames roaring to be let out. The screaming grew louder, but now there were voices, soothing voices, calming voices. I wanted to go to them. I wanted to find them but I couldn't see and they were so very far away. Suddenly the door burst open and flames burned through my veins, lighting up the world around me in a blinding gold. That was the first time I heard him, the first time I saw his strings. The Puppet Master's voice burst free with them. He whispered to me. He told me to use the fire, to burn those who had hurt me. He whispered of power. I could win. I could be free. His words were snakes crawling over the strings, reaching out towards me. The fire was streaming out of me, burning the room, burning the trees, burning the world. It was reaching up to the golden sun, pulling it down. Then there was a face in the sun: it was Abe. He was whispering, tears filling his eyes. I tried to listen but couldn't hear him. I had to save him or the sun would burn him up. With all my might I pushed against the door, using the entire weight of my body to close it. After a few minutes it slammed shut, the lock clicking into place.

The screaming stopped, the snakes disappeared. They had been locked up behind the door with their master. But I could still hear his whispers, soft as a feather, calling out to me through the wood of the door. Abe stood before me, my colors dancing around him, his white wings tucked neatly behind his back. He smiled at me through his tears and I smiled back and everything was okay. But I now lived in fear. It was no longer a fear of the fire that would burn through the sky, bathing the sun in the gold. It was a fear of the Puppet Master, tugging on his strings from behind the door. It was a fear of the way he whispered in my ear, sometimes sweet, sometimes angry.

I never knew what made the door open. Sometimes the lock just wouldn't be strong enough and it would fly open, releasing the fire, releasing the Puppet Master and his snakes. Every time this happened it was harder and harder to closer. One day it happened and when I finally managed to close the door there was no one there; no one standing over me, smoothing back my hair. My angels were hiding somewhere dark; somewhere I couldn't see them. Then Abe ran in. He looked scared. He started to cry. I didn't want him to be scared. He hugged me tight, whispering words I couldn't understand. They kept me in my room for a long time. I heard feet, and voices. They weren't mummy's voice. They weren't the voices of my angels. I took to counting the stars that floated around the sun, dancing in circles. Sometimes they would come into my room and dance with me, too.

Finally I was let out. Abe was there and held me tight in his arms. Albus was there and he looked at me with something that might have been fear. Mummy wasn't there. She joined daddy in the mirror shards that swirled around my head.

Abe spent more and time with me. Sometimes we would play with my dolls or run around the house, playing hide and go seek. Sometimes, when the banging on the door grew very strong, he would unfurl his wings and we would fly over the ocean. I would reach up and try to grab the moon, but the string would sway ever so slightly so that I could never quite reach it. Sometimes Albus would come but he never played with me anymore. The colors drooped off of him like runny paint. He was standing before a huge chasm, spreading wider and wider before his feet. It scared me and I think it scared him, too but he didn't step away. I wanted to shout out to him that angels fall down too but my voice wouldn't work.

One day I heard shouting. They were men's voices; angry voices. I ran out of my room and down the stairs. Mummy didn't like it when I went outside without her or one of my angels, but there was fighting. When I pushed open the door I saw fireworks flashing before my eyes. My angels were shooting off the fireworks and so was another man, he looked mean and scary. I looked up and saw that my moon was hanging low in the sky, trying to make room for a red sun. It was hanging too low and the fireworks were too hot, shooting too high. They were shooting at my angels; they were shooting at my glass moon. I shouted out for them to stop. I screamed as loud as I could. No one listened; no one heard. I had no time. I needed to help. I ran to the door and flung it open. The flames burned through me hotter than they ever had before. There was the screaming, but now it wasn't just a scream of pain; there were also screams of anger, of worry, of fear. The world burned gold, like a giant tapestry. But it was cut right down the middle with a streak of red.

The gold flashed out of existence. I was seeing through the mirror, whole once again. I saw Albus, the chasm gone from before his feet, and Abe, no longer with any wings across his back. Everything was quiet. There were no more whispers, no more strings, no more colors. I smiled as the world faded to black.

~:~

I'm sitting in a garden. The bench is cool against my back, the sun warm on my face. Around me are flowers of every color, every shape. They are beautiful.

Absentminded I wave my hand and a streak of colors follow it, dancing above the flowers like light shining on the water. There is a crunch of gravel behind me.

"It's been a long time, hasn't it Albus?" I say, turning to look at my brother. He is older; so much older. He sits down beside me and I run my fingers through his long, silver hair.

"Yes, it has." There is sadness in his eyes. He takes my hand in his and I am reminded once again how young I was. How young I am. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his blue eyes staring into mine; old looking into young. Reaching into each other and finding the people we once were; the people we once knew.

"It wasn't your fault."

"But it is," he said, smiling wryly. "If only I had not been blinded by my ambition I could have saved you; I could have taken care of you."

"You can not save everyone, Albus. All of us do stupid things when we are young, all we can do is learn from them and move on." I smiled. "Besides, I am happy here. I can see again. I am free from the whispers and the strings."

"I would have found a way to make it better. I would have found a way to make it go away."

"Nothing ever goes away. Even now they are still a part of me," I say, looking out at the colors now waltzing above the flowers."

We are silent for a long time, watching the garden, listening to wind and the bees buzzing merrily.

"What are you doing here?" He finally asks.

"I'm waiting," I say with a smile.

"What for?"

"You."

"Why?" He sounds nervous, resigned.

"To tell you that I forgive you." I lean over and kiss him on the cheek before standing up. The crunch of my steps on the gravel as I walk away slowly fade until all that can be heard is the wind whistling through the trees. In the last moment before I walk through the final gate I look behind me. Albus is still sitting on the bench, a smile on his face and a single tear running down his cheek.