Bottled Bleach, Bottled Pain Private Solo

Date: 1st September 2026

The sickly scent of ammonia painted the bathroom walls with its sharp suffocation, the kind of pungency that could coat the throat in bile if surrendered. Yet, Matthew Campbell had become accustomed to barely breathing this last year, and whenever he did the air tasted of poison anyways so why should he care what venom his lungs inhaled. That is why he relinquished himself to the toxin, relished in its aroma as it burned away the history from each strand of his chestnut hair.

The milky chalk of paste had plastered his hair thick and heavy, the foils barely glinting in the shallow light of the train bathroom. But soon it would be time, soon the mixture would burn away what he was and his metamorphosis would be complete. Matthew had hardened himself to the realities of his situation, he had felt every vicious cut of the thousands that had hurt him and although it was far from over, he could no longer be consumed in its entirety. All attempts to save his father had fallen futile and while he knew it was his fault, his fathers wishes prohibited him from taking steps further into the darkness. The shadow that followed him wherever he went.

Transformation was the release he needed in order to escape his path, escape himself. The thought that if he could just bask himself in sunlight, let each fibre and follicle bathe in its golden touch then perhaps the darkness would seep out of him in nothing more than a whisper. Then maybe, he could even become that light, and hold it for more than a passing moment. Many would call it the childish notions of a broken psyche, and perhaps it was, but poetry lived in the boys soul and these acts of self empowerment were all he had left.

Unwrapping each foil only exposed him further to the potent aroma, a chemical storm that had bled away the dark curls into a blank canvas ready to be painted anew. Of course with a mere wave of his wand he could have achieved such an affect with magic, but he was born of two worlds and from his experience it had been proven neither was perfect. As the burn began to prickle at his scalp from the bleach he knew it was time to wash it away, and the pain along with it. Refreshing was the water that poured from the small sink as a picture of watercolour began to stream down around his head. Burnt oranges soon faded into the golden shimmer of blonde and when he finally faced his reflection he was greeted by the light he so desperately sought. A new face greeted him. A new chance.

It wasn't perfect by any means, the sandy whisps of curls were in places still crisp with more yellowish tones, sickly matching the smell. Still this was the very harmony he had come to know, the balance between his life of the need to marry the muggle world with the magical. Drawing his cherry wood wand he traced the line of the infections and transformed them with the gentle mutters of "Crinus Muto" until the whole head was unified under its new honeyed glow. Tears pricked at his eyes, not from the sharpness of the fumes but of the symbolic power of the act. This year he would be someone new, and while the burdens of his past lay heavy on his chest, he would find a way to overcome them.

This past year his fathers challenges became his own, but now it was time to face the darkness that followed him, to combat the shadow that stalked him. Matthew was a fourth year now, and it was time to start acting like it. Letting the door fall open for the first time in hours, Matthew was greeted by a wash of warmth as the gloom of the bathroom lighting broke away into a blaze of sunlight. Hastily removing the hand made out of order sign he had fashioned he continued down the train letting the suns rays settle in his new look. If passersby noticed him they likely did not recognise him, perhaps for his hair, more likely for his lack of presence this last year. Still he found an empty carriage where he could watch the cities fade away into the countryside he so adored. Waiting patiently to return to the place he resented and adored, that would hurt and heal him, but for once he awaited not with anxiety but with hope.