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Thread: Topic 5 ~ Missing you

  1. #21
    Gonz
    Guest
    Name: Gonz
    House: Hufflepuff
    Title: Molly's Grief
    Warnings: Mentions Character Deaths
    Word count: 424

    Ron, Bill, Arthur, Fred, George, Percy, Harry…

    Molly kept seeing them in her mind, dead, always dead. She lived in constant dread that this war would force her to watch her family die. The Boggart had only made physical what she had been seeing in her head all the time.

    Gideon. Fabian.


    She had told herself that she had gotten over their deaths. She had convinced herself that she had moved on. But that was a lie; her brothers’ deaths were as close to her heart as ever.

    “Don’t worry about us, sis. We’ll protect you.”

    “Go along and have fun with your husband, but not too much fun.”


    Molly had listened to them; she had stayed out of the war and enjoyed life. She had let her brothers and many others make the sacrifice so she could enjoy her marriage and her son. But this time she would not stay on the sidelines, she would fight. Molly would fight because she owed it to her brothers, but also because she had so much more to lose.

    Arthur, Bill, and Charlie were all in the Order, the twins would join as soon as they could, Ron was always with Harry, and Harry was in more danger than the rest of them.

    Molly would give her life for any of them in an instant, but she feared this war would not demand her to give up her own life. She feared that it would demand the lives of her husband and children, just like the last one had demanded the lives of her brothers.

    Gideon. Fabian.

    Molly spoke those names in her mind as if they were prayers. Her brothers’ names were a prayer spoken in hope that they would never be forgotten, that they would know just how much she missed and loved them, and that no more of her family would have to join them.

    But those were foolish hopes. Her family was too big and too involved to make it through this war unscratched, and now Molly needed her brothers more than ever. She needed them to tell her that everything was going to be all right, and to watch over her as only big brothers could. She needed her brothers to bring back the illusion that her family would never be harmed by war.

    The death of that illusion was the hardest thing to bear.

    So as Molly sat on a lonely bed in Grimmauld Place she grieved for her brothers and she grieved for what she knew was to come.
    kehribar: Ten points to the 'Puffs.

  2. #22
    Fourth Year Gryffindor
    Arguing With The Sorting Hat

    Join Date
    Aug 2007
    Location
    Under the eyes of my dear mum
    Posts
    123
    Name: Xombie
    House: Gryffindor!
    Title: Always With Me
    Warnings: None
    Word count: 422


    The early morning dew cooled her legs and soothed her as she walked barefoot through the grass. The birds chirped softly in the distance, their sweet melody failing to arrest her attention as she continued her solitary stroll through the foggy veil that hung heavily in the air. The wind had decided to rest that morning, and her surrounding provided her an odd means of comfort in its loneliness.

    She let her legs carry her through the grounds, the husky smell of the morning lingering around her. Her eyes carried a faraway expression in them as they moved around slowly, unable to register the beauty around. The fog began to clear a little, with the rays of the sun forming beautiful patterns across the waters of the lake. She absently moved towards it, not noticing the change in her direction. The water cooled her feet as she dipped them into it. Her lips curled into a beautiful smile when she remembered her last visit to the spot.

    Those had been such beautiful days; she thought and let her hand lightly graze the surface of the lake. She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath, reveling in the memories of the past. His touch still lingered in her hands, and she remembered the way he would hold them gently and pass them through the waters. She felt him with her again, moving along with her in every step.

    She smiled at the sweet recollections. There wasn’t one memory that she could look back and cry on. Everything about him had brought her happiness and indefinite joy, her face lighting up at the very mention of his name.

    Their last parting had also ended in a blissful kiss. “I will come back the winner,” he had said, and she had smiled through happy tears. “For my angel. I will win you The Triwizard Cup.”

    Her eyes momentarily glistened with tears, but she shook them away. I must be strong. Cedric never wished me to be unhappy. However hard the task might prove to be, she, Cho Chang was willing to accept life as it came, and willing to live it to the fullest. Cho smiled again as she got up and walked back to the castle.

    I might begin a new life, Cedric, but you will always rest in my heart- in a place no one else shall have access to. I loved you so. But now you will never know. She blew a gentle kiss through the air into the rising sun, the faint whispers of his voice circling the beautiful figure as she stepped into a new life.
    kehribar: Three points to the Gryffs.
    ~ manu ~

    *currently on a looong hiatus*



    manu & maria : the Twin Toaster Duo
    manu & nicole : the Faraway Twin Duo

  3. #23
    pokethedevil
    Guest
    Name: pokethedevil
    House: Gryffindor!
    Title: Moving On
    Warnings: None
    Word count: 495


    The sun was setting on Hogwarts Castle and grounds.
    The deserted corridors were submerged in an eerie orange light. The Great Hall was empty, the classrooms silent, the Library abandoned. All was as it usually is during the summer break. But something was amiss...

    Minerva McGonagall was alone in the Head’s office….Or her office, as it rightly was now…She stood staring out the window at the scene she knew so well. She wiped her eyes on a maroon handkerchief as her eyes roved the grounds and she spotted a long, white marble tomb seated under the shade of a towering birch tree.
    She sighed and her tightly pursed lips quivered. Her brown eyes watered as she observed the final resting place of Hogwart’s late Headmaster.

    Here she was now; in the office that was previously his, carrying the mantle which he so unceremoniously cast on her shoulders. She stood up a little straighter, her eyes wandering from his tomb to the mountains beyond the lake, behind which the sun’s last rays were stretching to their limits, slowly retreating.

    She spotted a forlorn figure trudging towards the lonely cabin near edge of the Forbidden Forest. Minerva smiled as she observed Hagrid. Not far away was another figure clad in clothes so dirty she could tell who it was from such a distance. Pomona was busy, as usual with her various greenhouse activities. Somewhere below, she heard a wide range of clanking and banging, doubtless, Peeves was up to no good, as always. And surely enough, she heard Filch bellowing curses at the poltergeist at the top of his voice moments later.

    Smiling ruefully, she walked around to her desk, fingering the tinkling silver ornaments as she went and sat in that throne like chair.

    The shadow that had prevailed over the Wizarding World after Dumbledore’s death still lingered there. The days went on in an endless, spinning cycle. Each brought with it the same hopeless news, the same feelings of dread.

    The same shade of uncertainty prevailed everywhere Minerva went but at Hogwarts. Here, she found home, and it was here that she had her family, her friends, and her refuge.
    But for how long? Would it be for days, months, maybe years? She had had the luxury of the castle’s protection, of Dumbledore’s protection since she was a little girl of eleven, but no protection is immortal. She knew that…
    Minerva stood again now. She knew what she had to do. She pressed her palms to the desk, feeling the wood. Here, she felt at the heart of the castle, as if she were imbibed in it, heart, soul and body alike. She felt its heart, beating in rhythm with her own; felt it draw breath as she drew her’s, and in that moment, she knew they were one and alike.

    All her life Hogwarts had been her home, her protection. Now, it was her turn to protect, guard and defend.
    And she was ready.
    kehribar: Three more points to Gryffindor.

  4. #24
    Fifth Year Gryffindor
    I See Dead People... In Mirrors

    Join Date
    Aug 2006
    Posts
    235
    Name: kehribar
    House: Gryffindor
    Title: Don't Come Back
    Warnings: None
    Word count: 459

    Don't come back.

    She throws the yellow plastic ball to the other side of the room, and watches it hit the wall and bounce off of the floor.

    ~ * ~

    "You must see it," he had said, eyes shining with excitement. "It's just like we always dreamed: a small, messy attic. The roof is just high enough for the easels –" he’d laughed, "We'll have to use a bit of magic to raise the roof beam, but it's perfect. It even has a wonderful view of the mountains from between the buildings. Dad is going to help us with the starter expenses. So…what do you think?"

    She had thought it was too good to be true.
    Too good.

    ~ * ~

    She instinctively catches the ball before it crashes into her face. Her fingers stiffen around it, and with renewed fury, she throws it again, more fiercely.

    Don't come back. Don't.

    ~ * ~

    “Come here and sign it,” he said, gesturing towards the newly finished oil painting they had painted together. Iris walked over the easel as a sudden breeze of fear whiffed past her chest and made her fingers tremble. “Here,” Rupert added, “Next to my signature, and it will be complete.”

    With a strange knot of dread in her fluttering heart, Iris leaned in and scribbled her name. Rupert cast her a tender smile as she straightened and stood by his side, their eyes fixed on the painting, waiting, waiting for their magic to show up.

    Nothing had happened. The sun he had painted remained dull and plastic under the paint, and her raindrops never reached the grass.


    ~ * ~

    The ball rolls on the floor and ends up beside her feet.

    She should have known. She should have known by then that they weren’t right together. She should have seen.

    ~ * ~

    "Here," he had said, catching her hand and putting into her palm a yellow ball. To her questioning eyes, he had answered, "This is the sun. You never learned to love her, so I'm giving this to you. I hope you learn to appreciate her someday."

    Iris had beamed and nodded, like a little girl who was being confided a secret. Her fingers had curled around the ball as she'd watched him turn and leave, her heart fluttering so much that she hadn't even recognised the odd glimpses in his ever-bright eyes.

    She would never see him again.


    ~ * ~

    Once more, she takes the ball, and with tears of fury in her eyes, throws it away. It crashes the windowpane with a piercing shatter, and falls into the rainy day.

    And Iris watches, with a resolute smile, as the little sun dissolves into nothingness under the rain.
    The Run of the Mill

    The phenomenal banner is by MissBean

  5. #25
    Fifth Year Gryffindor
    I See Dead People... In Mirrors
    butter_beer_drinker's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jan 2007
    Posts
    234
    I wrote this a long time ago and just realized that it fit in with this subject. I was inspired to write this one night when one of kids was sick and they cuddled up to me in bed.

    Name: butter_beer_drinker
    House: Gryffindor
    Title: Tomorrow
    Warnings: None
    Word count: 454


    Her warm little body lies snuggled up to me. Her soft brown hair tickles my chin as she sleeps. I stare at her cherubic face in the moonlight. Hidden under the thin skin covered with tiny little veins are emerald green eyes, her father’s eyes. I try to control the sob that threatens to come out, I don’t want to wake her.

    Sleep, sleep comes so easy to children that have not known loss. How could you mourn the loss of someone that you never knew? I envy her and her ability to sleep peacefully, unaware of my pain. Her warm breath cools the tears that are streaming down my face.

    Today is the day, the anniversary of her daddy’s death. It has been two years and eight months since I watched him crumple to the ground after killing Voldemort. He never knew that as I raced across the field to him that a tiny life was growing beneath my heart. He would never know that a month later her tiny heart would call out to me to be strong. He would not be there when I discovered the last gift he had given me, his legacy, his daughter. He was not there when my mother birthed the tiny dark haired baby that stood out amongst all the red heads in our house.

    I rise quietly from the bed and move to the window overlooking the city. I stare out at the lights illuminating all the Muggles below. Paris, it is always bustling. He was going to bring me here for our Honeymoon, instead I have arrived at the Muggle hotel with his daughter.

    I could not be in my own world, surrounded by my entire family and friends today, not today. I slide off the bed and sink to the floor, no longer able to stop the wrenching sobs. I hug my legs close to my chest and lay on the floor in the fetal position. Everyone keeps telling me to move on. How can I move on with a reminder of him with me everyday, everywhere I go, depending on me? I am not strong anymore, my strength has been buried with my soul mate.

    I feel tiny little hands touch my hair. I open my eyes to see chubby little feet inches from my face. Suddenly she leans down and I am looking at her, upside down, with long dark hair hanging over her head. I sit up, this is where my strength will come from. This gift that Harry has given me, my angel, my savior. I look into her eyes and tell her the same lie that I say every night,” Tomorrow Lilly, mommy will start getting better tomorrow.”
    kehribar: Ten points to Gryffindor for a great drabble!
    ~Kristy


  6. #26
    Stubbornly_appeared
    Guest

    Goodbye.

    Name: Stubbornly_appeared
    House: Gryffindor!
    Title: Mourning for Brothers
    Warnings: Character Death
    Word count: 298

    Sobs wracked Remus' body as he clutched the table with one hand and the newpaper with another. Birds chirped outside, mocking him. No, no, this can't be true, he thought. But it was. Tears obscured his vision, but he could still barely make out the headline.

    'James and Lily Potter killed in their home; Sirius Black murders Peter Pettirgrew.'

    'Why?' he whispered. Anger took hold of him. He crumpled up the Dail Prophet and threw it across the room, where it burst into flames in the burning hearth.

    'WHY?!' Remus screamed, slamming his fist on the table. His hand pounded the table one, two, three more times. 'Why, why, why?'

    Again, he dissolved into tears. Slumping against the table, he shut his eyes tight and pleaded that it was just a lie. That it was a nightmare, that anything had happened besides this. But when he looked up at the fireplace, the paper was still burning there, fire slowly overcoming the photo of a destroyed home.

    Remus held his head in his hands and rocked back and forth slowly in his chair. They had been best friends, all of them. Their friendship was of a depth that couldn't be understood unless it was felt. He mourned as if for his brothers, even Sirius. He was as good as dead to him.

    He thought vaguely that it was weak of him to be sitting here sobbing. They had all died for a reason, died fighting, and here he was moping. Remus didn't care: they were dead, and that was what mattered.

    So Remus Lupin sobbed over the death of his friends; he tried to cry away the pain. But in the end, though, there was no one there to comfort him.
    kehribar: Another three points to the Gryffs.

    -Stubby

  7. #27
    Laurskii
    Guest
    Title: And So It Remained...
    Words: 460 something, I think.
    Warnings: Character Death

    He'd never cried in front of anyone before, not since he was little. It was a mark of compassion in a woman, but among men, among real men, crying was a sign of weakness. So instead, he'd learned to curl a fist, to clench his teeth, to look away. He had never cried, and so it remained for fifteen years.

    They say that all good things must come to an end, and so too, did their friendship. He stood before her grave, a man marked by the grief he held in his shoulders, in a clenched jaw, in a strong fist. The masses shunned him, fearing what they knew he must be, despising him for standing there with them, ignoring him while they cried tears he would not. They cried, and they talked, but they felt nothing of true grief as they went home to their families, changed from their black robes, and rejoiced the downfall of the tyrant. But he remained there, before her grave, all night long, and felt the pain of it. And he grieved, yes, but he did not cry. Real men did not cry. Severus Snape did not cry.

    And so fifteen more years went by, and so he grieved, his eyes cast down, his jawline strong, his palm marked with half-moon scars from a curled fist. He stood at her grave often, almost always alone, and he always wore black, for he always mourned. It wasn't often he could forget it, and even less so now that he saw her son so often. He hadn't cried...not in thirty years, and so he went on, and so he grieved.

    Some time later, in a small dingy room, in a small dingy cottage, he came to hear of another death. And so he stood, and curled his fist, and made his way to pay his respects.

    He came to the fresh gravestone slowly, for once unsure of his own footsteps. He was alone, but he could feel a million eyes of judgement on him. He could feel her eyes on him. And so, he leant foward, and, brandishing his wand, conjured flowers for the Potter boy's grave. And then something happened, something that hadn't happened to him in quite some time.

    Severus Snape dropped his wand.

    He looked at his open palm a moment, as if seeing it for the first time. And, palm still open, he looked at the grave before him. And before he knew what was happening, Severus Snape was on his knees, his head in his open hand and tears streaming from his eyes. Real men might not cry, but for once in his adult life, Severus Snape did, for the boy he'd lost, for the woman he'd lost, for the friend he'd lost.

    And so time passed, and so, too, did the grief, and the closed fist of a man who would not grieve.
    kehribar: *sobs* Ten points to Sytherin!

    (: Laurena

  8. #28
    Sixth Year Slytherin
    De-gnoming the Garden

    Join Date
    Feb 2007
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    somewhere close.....real close
    Posts
    460
    Name: mrsmcclnt
    House:Slytherin
    Title: In Remembrance
    Word Count: 469
    Warning: DH Spoiler….


    He watched in disbelief as he took in his surroundings.

    When he was younger, he would’ve given his right arm to be able to read minds. Yet as he sat in the chair, starring at the mournful faces, he realized that the ability isn’t what he thought it would be.

    Percy kept a stern expression on his face. He had noticed that Percy stayed in that mood ever since his death. Percy looked older and unkempt, letting a beard grow.

    “It’s my fault.” Percy would say over again. “We were together in the hall. I should have protected him; shielded him or something!!”

    “How can you blame yourself? We were trying to protect each other! Don’t beat yourself up, man.” He tried to reach for him but felt a disturbance in air.

    “Why do I still feel you?” he whispered.

    “I’m still with you,” Fred yelled to him. George’s face turned around but saw nothing. “We’ll always be together, George.” He gazed into his mirror image, desperate for recognition.

    “You can’t be gone. You can’t be, cause why am I here if you’re not? That doesn’t make sense. We go everywhere together. So how can I be here if you’re not?” George shook his head irritably as he tried to rationalize this.

    “You can’t follow me this time, mate.” Fred tried to move closer to him but a loud shout drew his attention.

    The despondent cry came from the front audience. A crazed woman threw herself on top of the casket, lashing at everyone who tried to stop her. “NO, NO!! THAT’S MY SON! MY SON! DON’T TAKE HIM! TAKE ME! TAKE ME INSTEAD!”

    “Mother, please!” Fred ran to her side, desperately trying to hold her. But his ghostly arms came up empty.

    He fell to his knees next to Molly, both sobbing beside the casket that his physical body laid in. Fred looked to his father wondering why he had not come for his wife. But he could see that the man was not in better shape then she.

    Arthur was slumped in his chair, looking pale and very lean like he hadn’t eaten (or bathed) in days. Arthur did not look up to watch her hysterics nor did he watch the procession of his son’s body. It was as if a Dementor had control, cause all Arthur did was sit there…motionless…. showing no feeling at all.

    “What’s happening to this family?” Fred pleaded.

    “It’s gonna be alright.” The gentle voice came from Ron, who gathered his mother into his consoling embrace. “Fred wouldn’t want you like this. He’d want you to be strong.” He watched him take his father’s hand. “We will be strong together. Won’t we, father?”

    “Thank you, little brother,” Fred said, feeling overcome with peace as he watched his family gather around Ron for strength.
    kehribar: Five more points to Slytherin.
    M.R.S.

  9. #29
    Noel Weasley
    Guest
    Okay, I have two different versions of the same story.

    Title: Blood Brothers
    Rating: Third-Fifth Years
    Warning: Character Death

    "No, no," The word seemed to echo inside Sirius Black's head.

    "No, no," He whispered, landing his motorbike in the middle of the lawn of Godric's Hollow. Why could he see the house? What happened to the Fidelius Charm? But Sirius didn't want to know.
    Sirius turned off the engine and jumped off the bike. Lily was going to kill him later for parking in the middle of the yard and in the middle of the night, but he needed to make sure that her, James and Harry were okay. They had to be okay.

    "James!" Sirius cried out, running full speed at the small house. "Prongs!" Nothing.

    "Lily! Lily! Answer me!" Sirius yelled, but still no answer. Only silence. Unearthly silence.

    Sirius made it to the front door and didn't even bother knocking. He blast through the front door and looked wildly around.

    "Lily! James! Harry!" Sirius yelled, waiting for an answer, but only to be greeted by his echo.

    He two steps forward and stepped on something. Sirius looked down, and his face paled visibly. He stepped on James' glasses.

    "P-Prongs, you l-lost your glasses," Sirius stuttered.

    Sirius looked around the living room one last time, and noticed something by the kitchen entrance way. A hand.

    "J-James?" Sirius said, tears in his eyes.

    He walked towards the kitchen, taking slow, tentative steps. James must have fell and Lily's asleep. That has to be it. Or James is being a bloody prick and... and...

    Sirius walked into the kitchen, and he cried out in anguish. There, on the plastic tiled floor, laid James Potter.

    "James!" Sirius yelled, dropping to his knees. "James, please, you have to wake up! Please Prongs, wake up! Don't be de- don't be d- James, please, don't be dead!"

    Sirius shook his friends body mercilessly, but to no use. James' head just wobbled, his hazel eyes never opening.

    "James, please, we're br-brothers," Sirius sobbed. "Bl-blood brothers. Re-re-remember that summer? We s-s-swore we'll stick, side by side, never going to l-leave. Why did you br-break it, Prongs? Please, just wake up."

    Sirius cried into the body of his best fri- no- into the empty shell of his lost brother, his sanity slowly draining away, only to be replaced by madness.

    Title: You Swore
    Rating: Third-Fifth
    Waring: Some language, Character Death

    There was a small crowd of Muggles when Sirius Black drove by on his motorbike.

    "There's a house! A bloody house just appeared!" a man said to a couple of women. Sirius felt his face pale.

    "Excuse me," Sirius said to the man. "Did you just say a 'house' just appeared?"

    The man looked at Sirius wearily. "Yes, I reckon I did."

    "Where?"

    "Over there! It's the house with a bloody hole in it!" the man exclaimed, as if it were obvious.

    "****," Sirius muttered under his breath, and jumped off his motorbike, not bothering to turn off the engine.

    Sirius shoved various people out of the way and jumped over the gate. There were no people in the yard, they were just observing the wreckage from afar.

    Tears stung Sirius' eyes. He was hoping and praying that this, this was only an accident. There was no Dark Mark, that had to mean something!

    "Lily! James!" Sirius called, running through the garden.

    Sirius burst through the front door, screaming, "LILY! JAMES!" But there was no answer.

    Sirius took not but two steps when he heard a soft crack. Sirius looked down and laughed nervously.

    He had stepped on James's glasses.

    "P-Prongs? I stepped on your glasses." he stuttered.

    Sirius looked around again, his best friends glasses in his hand. He took a few more steps, and dropped the glasses. Behind the couch was James.

    "James!" Sirius cried, and flung himself next to his friends side. "James, wake up mate! Wake up!"

    There were heavy footsteps outside. Was it Him? Voldemort? Sirius pulled out his wand, tears pouring from his eyes.

    "Sirius?" Hagrid's booming voice asked.

    No, it was Hagrid, not Voldemort. Sirius returned his attention to James. His eyes were still open, still open, but they were empty.

    "J-James," Sirius sobbed. "Wake up. Y-you pro-o-omised this wasn't going t-t-to happen-n. You s-s-swore you would-wouldn't die. You s-s-swore!"

    "Come on, Sirius. Let's go." Hagrid gently pulled Sirius from James' dead body.

    "No!" Sirius howled, weakly fighting Hagrid.

    "Sirius, lets go. He's dead. There ain't nothin' you can change. I'm sorry," Hagrid bowed his head. "James was a good fellow. Poor Harry."

    "Harry? Isn't Harry, should Harry be dead?" Sirius asked, pushing his hair out of his face.

    "Harry's here alive. See?" Hagrid lowered the unseen bundle. There, in Hagrid's arms, was Sirius' Godson.

    "Here, Hagrid. Give him to me. I'm his Godfather," Sirius sniffed, trying to gently take Harry from Hagrid's arms.

    "Sorry, Sirius. Can't. Dumbledore be wanting him."

    "Fine, take, then take my Bike. I won't be needing it anymore," Sirius turned to look at his dead friends body.

    "Erm, okay then. I'm sorry, Sirius. For Harry's own good." Hagrid said, and left.

    Sirius turned and keeled by his dead friend. "Don't you worry James. I'll kill that rat. I swear I'll kill that damn Rat."
    kehribar: Three points for each drabble.
    ~Lindsay

  10. #30
    BertieBottsBeans
    Guest
    Name: BertieBottsBeans
    House: Hufflepuff
    Title: Too Late
    Word Count: 476
    Warning: DH spoiler

    He was gone, only his big footprints and her terrible anguish marking that he had ever existed.

    The feeling filled her senses, occupied her brain, making her lungs seem to fill with ice, her body crumple, and her fingers turn white and numb. She curled up into a chair that night, her goose-bumpy skin covered in cold rain, her body wracked with convulsive sobs, a blanket--oh, cruel irony--a blanket from Ron's bunk her only comforter. It smelled of him, smelled of pine and wool and autumn, and the too-familiar scent made her eyes prickle and then flood, the tears pouring through her trembling fingers. She could not breath or think right, could not feel anything but the acute pain of her need--her need to see him lift the tent flap, wet but there; to see him come back to her; to hear his snores fill the night air with a soft buzzing, her lullaby; to see the sleepy-eye on his face when he woke up; to feel the satisfaction of making sure he washed up properly.

    But she could not do any of this, not now, perhaps not ever. Now she could only carry bravely on, hiding her pain inside, devoting herself to making sure that Harry, at least, survived the quest.

    And as for her? She, for all practical purposes, had already died, died on the inside, her heart shriveled and capable of nothing more than a pained, slow, reluctant beating.

    She would not, could not let those words be the last that ever passed between them, but she knew no way of rectifying his gross misapprehension that she had chosen Harry over him. She had chosen to keep her promise; she had never chosen a life without him! But he had left before she could explain; she knew what it looked like to him—like she didn’t care for Ron, like she didn't want him, and she hated herself for it.

    But it was cold comfort, that she hadn't wanted this. For it was real, and it could not be undone.

    Perhaps she--or horror of horrors, Ron!--would really die, not just emotionally, as she felt dead already, but physically, and die with this between them. With only this, awful hurt and horrible misunderstanding, as their bond.

    Surely they had had more than that!

    But no: on some subconscious level she had wanted more than that, wanted his big warm hands to hold her thin cold ones, had wanted him to comfort her when she cried, wanted to know how his kiss felt. But she had only wanted and had never lived. Not enough.

    So she cried harder, matching the rain that fell above for volume, muffling her gasps in the red fabric of his blanket, mourning for what they had never had, mourning for what might have been theirs.
    kehribar: Five points to Hufflepuff. Great description!

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