You would think it’s something marvellous, being able to change your appearance at will. But let me tell you, it’s not. Yes, being a Metamorphmagus has its advantages. But it also brings a lot of trouble with it, especially when you’re still a child. You’re unable to control the changing of appearances, much like you’re unable to control magic when you’re little. You might now think it’s only a couple of years until you learn to control it, but as a child, it seems to take ages until you get a full grasp of your “special talents”.
And even as an adult, it’s not always easy. It takes a certain amount of willpower, ability and calm “ something not everyone possesses…
‘Lucy, run!’
I hear the shout and hurry to get away. They are coming closer, step by step. The darkness that forebodes them is usually enough as a warning, but when they come in the middle of the night, it is harder to react “ because you lack the one thing crucial for an escape:
Time.
I look back to see how close behind us they are, the shout from Simon still ringing in my ears. My instincts tell me to run and hide, to flee the death that seems to be upon us. But my curiosity is stronger. I know I shouldn’t turn around but instead keep my eyes forward. I should watch my steps. But even that knowledge won’t help me now as the inevitable happens: I stumble and fall onto my stomach, hard. Behind me, I hear laughter, victorious, coming closer quickly. And again I lack enough time to escape.
Looking up, I discern Simon in the distance, his face incredulous. His expression is torn between his instincts to run and hide and the wish to help me up. The former would guarantee at least one survivor, the latter both our deaths.
Tears roll down my cheeks, but there is only one thing I can do now.
‘Run, Simon, run and save yourself.’
‘Lucy,’ I see him mouth, fright creeping into his features, ‘I can’t go without you!’
I smile, trying to put as much reassurance into it as I can muster. ‘I’ll meet with you in a bit. I’ll catch up with you. Now go! I’ll be fine.’
He doesn’t believe me, but he does as I told. He throws me a hand kiss and a mouthed “I love you!”, and then he is gone.
‘I love you, too,’ I whisper, dread finally settling itself onto me. It’s a heavy blanket to wear, something I wish I would never have had to experience. But who said life was going according to your wishes? I certainly did not wish to die like this, but I know it’s going to happen, wished or not.
They are cowards. They hide behind masks and kill in secret. They operate underground, and only show themselves when absolutely necessary. I wonder why. When they are so convinced about the rightness of their beliefs, why don’t they come out and make it known to the world in its entirety?
But even though, I still have one last change to survive this horrendous night. I close my eyes and try to concentrate, but the heavy steps on the pavement behind me and my own panicking heartbeat hinder me in gathering the power to change my appearance to fool them. They know how I look like “ in reality. But with my powers as a Metamorphmagus I still have a chance.
If only I were be able to change. But no matter what I try, it doesn’t work. No matter how often I gather the energy for a change, it escapes shortly before it reaches the point where a change is possible.
Suddenly, a boot on my head that lets my chin hit the hard pavement, announces the end of the little time I thought I had. ‘Look who’s here?’ the man “ their leader “ asks with a sneer. ‘Lucy Herberg. Well, if that isn’t a lucky catch for tonight.’
The men that surround us laugh threateningly, the tone of it sounding hollow in my ears. It reminds me of a sound I heard years ago, while still in Muggle school…
An incredulous screech runs through the building. Doors fly open and heads poke out and around corners to see what is happening. In the middle of the hallway, a little girl of not yet seven years stands, her eyes closed. That alone is not unusual, as are the nine years old boys that surround the girl. Even their mocking laughter and words are not unusual for a primary school and among children.
Though, what is unusual is the girl’s “ my “ hair changing colour, length and fashion in a quick succession.
The boys had been drawing the circle they form around me tighter and tighter, but now they bolt backwards, stumbling over their own feet in the haste to get away. They have reasons to. Who has ever heard of a six year old girl being able to change her appearance? For now I begin to not only change my hair but face as well. Various noses, eyebrows and lips appear and vanish again, only to be replaced by another set of these. I try to stop it, but the power of Metamorphing is still too strong for me.
‘Lucy!’ a woman then shouts. It results in all heads turning into her direction. ‘What… what in God’s name are you doing?’ Her tone signals her anger with me. She is shocked and also afraid, but I am only a small child whereas she is a tall-grown, strong adult. I would have no chance if she was to turn physically violent, and she knows this. It is what gives her the confidence to act like she does despite her being freaked out by my changing hair and features.
I’m sorry,’ I sob. ‘I didn’t mean to.’
‘So stop it then!’ she orders in the tone that allows no contradiction. ‘Whatever it is you’re doing.’
‘I try, I really do, but I can’t,’ I say, whisper more only.
But she didn’t listen. It didn’t matter. I was a freak, and freaks were not welcome. Freaks were handled best with violence and suppression. Is it therefore surprising that everything that followed this incident was a nightmare for me, the worst I ever had in my entire twenty years only short life?
However, the physical punishment I could bear. I could live with being beaten. What made it so hard was my parents’ reaction “ ignorance.
‘Stop crying, Lucy,’ mother says. ‘It’s not going to change things!’
‘Simply stop causing such freaking incidents. Everything will then be fine,’ father adds.
I suppose that’s true, but it didn’t help back then. I was only a scared six year old child after all. And no one noticed that behind the mask of the freak Lucy Herberg was a deeply shocked little girl only, a child that desperately longed for answers. I didn’t know what was happening with me. Was God punishing me? Why? I had always done my chords, had always diligently gone to church and visited the mass. Why did it happen to me? And more importantly: What happened with me?
But years should go by before I found the help “ and answers “ I needed. It took Herrn Tubernus to explain my strangeness.
‘Changing your appearance at will “ and sometimes unconsciously “ is nothing strange, Lucy.’ He smiles encouragingly. ‘It’s something special. You’re a Metamorphmagus.’
‘A what?’
‘A Metamorphmagus,’ he repeats, slowly and clearly. ‘They are rare. Be proud, and learn to control your ability. You’ll see that in due time, you’ll be some truly magnificent young lady.’
He helped me learn to control it. He helped me face the world with my powers. All in due time. People would always look at me as the weirdo, however, but I at least knew that I wasn’t alone with it. Herr Tubernus stood behind me, and the knowledge gave me the power I needed to be confident about being a Metamorphmagus.
‘Without confidence in your abilities, you won’t be able to use it when you most urgently need it.’
He has always been right, he would always be right “ even when I would be long gone. That’s why I wish he was here with me now. I wish I wouldn’t be alone that very moment. Simon has always been with me, close to me. He is understanding, kind, gentle, loving, caring “ and, most importantly, supporting. He isn’t a Metamorphmagus, but he knows what I went and still go through. Every day of my life. He was always there for me when I needed him. Though, now that I would need him more than I have ever needed him before, he is far away, saving his own life. It is the right thing though. He mustn’t die like I am about to. And yet, it would give me some comfort if I knew he was here with me.
‘You know, bad things are always dealt with, and always in due time. I told you years ago already that I would revenge the shock you inflicted on me.’
I meet his gaze, his cold blue eyes. And it’s the last I would ever see.
I don’t note the green that erupts from the tip of his wand. I don’t note the pain when the green light hits me in the chest. I don’t note the hardness of the pavement anymore when I fall backwards. All I note is the haunting blue of Gellert’s eyes, my primary school’s classmate.
A blue as clear as the most beautiful summer sky.