This is a rather dark little piece told by a much neglected character.
How I hate these hands caressing my body. Thin long slightly sticky fingers running down my spine making every hair stand on end. How he forces me down on his lap, all my fibres straining against his grasp. Clawlike greedy fingers stroking my head, playing with my ears, hoarse voice whispering endearments that sound bitterly cynical to me: "My sweet, my pet, oh what would I do without you?"
My mind keeps wandering back to happier times. How did it all start?
I was eighteen when I saw him for the first time in the "Three Broomsticks". I disliked him the moment I set eyes on him. I look at him now, and he has not changed much in all these years: Thin, almost skinny, slightly stooping, shuffling walk, thinning hair that always looks greasy, stubbly cheeks and shabby clothes. He has always had that air of someone who feels cheated in life, who has to look out sharply for whatever he wants to have. And he has always been sure that everything that went wrong was anybody's fault but his own, so this, in his opinion, gives him the right to pursue his own aims absolutely recklessly.
He claimed that he had fallen in love with me. He even believed it himself, at least in the sense that he gave the word "love". For him, "love" means possession, for him, "love" is an absolutely onesided affair. I believe he'd really like it best if he could transform any object of his "love" - and indeed, "object" is the best word for it, - into a puppet that he could move on its strings at will.
I felt nothing but revulsion whenever we met. And he started to go after me, when I left my jog at the inn, he was waiting for me, took my arm, and walked with me to my parents' house. He ignored my disgust at his touch, perhaps he didn't even notice; I was the object of his "love", and objects don't have any feelings, do they? I started to fear the time of going home, the time when he would silently appear in a dark doorway to walk by my side. But I never had the courage to tell him to leave me alone. After all, he didn't DO anything to me, so I couldn't even get myself to tell anybody else about how I felt. And then, of course, I had always been taught to be kind to those who didn't "have it as good" as I, especially if they didn't come up to certain standards like looks or intellectual qualities; and he certainly didn't meet these standards by a long margin.
I even may have felt something like pity for him then.
Then I fell in love with Felix, and for some time I was blissfully happy. Oh for those spring days, - how long ago? I have lost count of the years, it's a long time .
HE found out.
One day, - oh how well I remember! - we were walking down Hogsmeade Main Street holding hands, HE was suddenly barring our way, his wand raised threateningly.
"You are mine!" he whispered at me. "You must come with me. I won't wait any longer."
Felix, - how strong and brave he was! - took a step in his direction. HE pointed his wand at him.
"Stand back, you can't get what belongs to me!" HE said in the same barely audible voice.
I had recovered from my shock; I believed HE was distracted with Felix for the moment, so I reached inside my robes for my wand .
I was not fast enough. HE must have noticed my movement from the corner of his eyes. We both pointed our wands at each other at the same time, and called out our spells. They met in mid-air and rebounded. A blinding flash, then everything went dark.
When I woke up again, I found myself in my present form; I can't tell anybody what happened, nobody can understand me. But I have got some revenge, even if it was just a coincidence. HE is lost his magical powers when our spells hit each other. He is a Squib now, and whenever he is trying desperately to regain some of his powers, I can feel something like satisfaction flickering inside me.
Everybody around here fears and hates him, and they fear and hate me too, they have no idea who I really am. I have no idea what happened to Felix, I only have his image to cherish in my mind, when, like now, I have to endure his grotesque caresses.
"My sweet, my pet, oh what would I do without you, Mrs. Norris?"