I woke up to the smell of new books and a handwritten note on my bedside. In the darkness, I didn't really get a chance to survey my new chambers, but God, was it bland. The plain white walls were so uneventful—something I should have expected from a family like the Malfoys. I was just happy I wasn't sharing a room with someone. For some weird reason, my mind couldn't fathom such an unbearable situation.
The mattress was made from moonfleece, a plant that only grows in, you guessed it—the moonlight. The bedframe was from the bark of an evernight tree. Symbolic to dark families.
Arguably, the best part of the whole thing was the pillows. Everfluff pillows made from the feathers of the moonplume geese—an exotic species close to endangerment. If my memories serve me right, it was a nationally protected endangered magical species. I wondered why Lucius would do all this for the children. Was it because of our magical talent? It had to be that, I mused quietly to myself.
The note read: Get to the training ground at no later than dawn's break.—Assistant Head Maid, Lady Silvermaid.
Odd name, I thought, as I freshened up in the mirror, only to reveal myself. I had never seen how I looked. I was a short boy with brown hair and caramel skin so clear it put the sun to shame. This was quite new to me. The enchanted toothbrush was quite harsh on my teeth, I thought out loud, as I put on the utter disgrace to fashion that was known as my clothes.
Something felt… wrong. I couldn't see it, couldn't touch it—it was instinctual, an existential unease that made the air feel heavier. Without thinking, words slipped from my mouth:
"Revela secreta tua vetera et vera sub facie quae ad male interpretandum destinatur, ostende mihi veritatem tuam bonam et innegabilem, donec verbum fabulam tuam meminerit, non stultam eorum mortem."
I didn't understand them literally, but the intent was clear. Reveal your secrets, old and true, beneath the facade set to misconstrue. Show me your truth, good and undeniable, until the word remembers your tale instead of their foolish demise.
And then… Alderam began.
Alderam was a shy boy. He only had two friends: Tyler and Kymie, a lesbian couple who didn't bother hiding themselves.
At school, Alderam was a vibrant boy, always raising his hands instead of waiting for the right moment. But even then, the other students were scared of his intelligence. They started violent acts—and it didn't stop at the punches and kicks . It was also the constant daily rude reminders: not to act in a way that seemed gay, the slurs he was called, and the subtle whispers from classmates judging him.
He sat with his two friends at lunch, writing in his diary, when James passed by him. He saw his eyes linger a second too long before he walked past, not without pulling Alderam's chair aside—he landed on his behind in front of the whole cafeteria. He couldn't even tell the teachers, as they always liked to believe James wouldn't do that .
He glanced again at the diary with curiosity. His eyes debated whether he should steal it or not. Alderam's gut dropped. But he couldn't let the other boys see it, lest they discover something about him.
Then, thank God, Mr. William's voice roared "James Buckingham! What are you doing?"
James replied, "No, just helping Alderam up from his chair after he fell."
Mr. William looked at Alderam with a questioning look. Alderam nodded, holding back from screaming in pain from James pinching him. After that, he kept the book close to him in his inner jacket pocket.
At the end of the day, Alderam realized the diary was gone. Panic twisted in his chest. He searched everywhere, but it was nowhere to be found. He was already in a foul mood.
Then Tracy spotted him. She walked slowly toward him, a cruel smile on her face. "Why do you walk like that? Why does your hand move like that? OMG Eww… Are you gay?"
Alderam was annoyed but couldn't say anything without risking social ostracization. I just want to survive this day, he thought, heart racing.
He walked into school the next day, scared and on edge. However, nobody seemed to be spreading rumors about him, so he wondered—maybe the person who found out was kind.
Then the bombshell dropped in his 3rd period. A girl handed him his book. If it had been a nice girl, he wouldn't have minded, since all the girls in the class adored him. But it was her—Tracy—the meanest bitch in the year. A girl who took pride in ruining his life and seemed to have a personal vendetta against him.
He didn't know what to do. She was going to out him in front of everyone, he knew it. He could feel the snickers coming from her table.
He rose his hand and asked his teacher a question: "May I drink water?" he said hesitantly.
His teacher gave him a whimsical look, as if saying, You should have drunk it during lunch. But to his delight, she said "You can go."
As he exited the classroom, he screamed, "I have a crush on Sebastian!"
He ran like he never had before—faster than ever. He seemed seamless in his movements, fluid. His body contorting like a gymnast, he turned sharper than a knife as he finally got to the stairwell.
Do I go to the library? Do I hide? What if they are against me? What if they tell everyone? Panic bubbled in his chest. His heart was hammering in his ears. Every glance from classmates, every snicker he remembered, every whisper of "gay" felt like it was echoing down the halls after him.
He remembered James pulling his chair out, landing him on his backside in front of the cafeteria. The humiliation. The sting of the pinches, the laughter that no one stopped. Why does nobody ever help me? Why do I have to suffer like this?
He thought of Tracy, her cruel smile, the way she seemed to take joy in ruining his life. If only she didn't exist… maybe I could survive this. Maybe I could be normal, accepted… loved.
He remembered writing in his diary, the one place that had been safe, only for it to be stolen. The invasion, the betrayal, the fear that everyone knew his secret. He had wanted privacy, and it had been ripped away. Why am I never allowed to just exist?
His father's words echoed in his head: "Don't be a disgrace to your family. You are a heir to black excellence. Don't fail us." But all he had wanted was a little love. A little acceptance. Even from Sebastian. Why am I the only one suffering? Why does being myself cost so much?
Tears burned his eyes, but he couldn't stop running. The stairwell loomed ahead. The open window at the top, the grass twenty meters below, seemed both terrifying and freeing. If I jump… it will end. No more whispers, no more judgment, no more fear. Maybe then… maybe then I can finally rest.
His hands gripped the railing. The cold metal bit into his palms, grounding him for a moment. But the weight of the day, the years of ridicule, the fear of rejection, all crashed down on him. I don't want to live like this anymore. Nobody cares. Maybe this is the only way. I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…
He took one last breath, the world spinning around him, heart racing faster than he had ever felt. And then—he jumped.
He lay there in a pool of his own crimson red blood. His head twisted at an obtuse angle, his bones fractured. Maybe if not for her, if not for Tracy, I would have lived.
He saw Sebastian run after him, smiling as he saw him. Then he heard the words-cruel and shrewd "Good riddance. I didn't know how to act like if you were in love with me." His heart shattered even further.
To add insult to injury, he was the one who started flirting with me! I shouted inside my mind, as Sebastian said "I just wanted the gay-looking boy to fall in love with me ,lol."
As it faded into black, he reminisced about his life—how horrendous it was, how it could have been better if his parents weren't homophobic, if his classmates were accepting. Every humiliation, every whisper, every cruel act played in his mind one final time.
As his heart stopped beating, he was dead at the ripe age of 13—Alderam Hope.