Disclaimer: No I don't own Harry Potter etc. J K Rowling does. Elianne is my own character though. And the poetry is definitely mine, and only mine.
Author's Note: this is the sequel to one of my other Harry Potter fanfics, 'fathers daughter', you are HIGHLY advised to read that before this, otherwise the following wont make one bit of sense.
Prologue
"No More Fear"
~
What did I do?
What did I do
She cries out to me
No girl
You didn't do it
You didn't do anything
Especially not
Ending the world as you knew it
That was just life
No, you didn't cause your pain
You don't deserve it
Why
She continues to cry
Why does it happen
Why to me?
What did I do
Nothing
I reply
Simply nothing any more than any one other than you
Didn't do wrong
It's just the way
The way?
She questions
What kind of way is that
The path to despair
The trail to hopelessness
And bitter tears
To scrambling hands
Feverous words
Attached to that hate
The way
Why?
I'll make my own way
If only it would let me
~~
##Elianne##
The hot water slid over her body, cascading down like a chilled waterfall. She cherished the brief comfort of its heat, yet in the foreboding atmosphere she knew that she would have to get out soon, stepping in the harsh coldness of the air.
She looked around the dark bathroom, she'd chosen not to turn on the light. The walls frozen in the dull light, the moisture sweating off them. Outside the frosted window, light barely seeped through indicating the oncoming storm clouds. She almost smiled at the storm, for its deathly anger mirrored her emotions. She took herself from upon the place she sought, moving out to the rest of reality. As she dried herself with the towel she heard the thunder accompanying the lightning. It flashed an indignant streak across the sky and silhouetted her form in black on the beige backdrop of the paint. Elianne grinned inwardly at the cruelty of the weather, its suffering something for everyone, not put maliciously on one.
And so she walked back through to her bedroom, to sit on the window ledge breathing in the electrified oxygen and absorb the energy which she craved.
~
I keep forgetting
Not meaning to
Not really wanting to
But the picture fades never the less
Growing further away by the day
As the date I shall forever remember unwillingly
Where did she go
To that place
The one I'm yet to know
Where did she go
We don't know
For sure
Was not tied to her
Left in our world
Just the promise
We'll see her eventually
In the memorial to everybody
Yes
I will meet her again
But between then and now
Is the indeterminable wait
That breaks me to pieces
Wrecking me completely
Who will I be
When I end up
With her again
Will she know me
Except through recognised pain
The heartbreak
She'd never wish on anyone
There I go another time
Thinking of her
Wanting to see her clearly
But the mind falters
And the body fails
Desperate to know the truth
In the oceans of doubts
That linger on here
With me
Without her
~
##Harry##
It was in the distance of the house that he heard the wracking sobs of his daughter. He hastened away from the sound himself. He couldn't bear such torture. No amount of comforting fatherly hugs or treats could manage to get a single smile out of the girl, not for nearly four months.
He paused at the thought. It had been that long?
All she'd done in that time was retreat to her room. As far as he knew she did nothing but stare out at the rain every other day. It had been a typical British summer, bright on a Monday and monsoon showers the next day.
If he'd had to say, he thought perhaps the rain was the only thing that made her feel better these days.
For himself, he didn't have any feeling inside for the weeks since. On his desk letters had piled up. Mostly from the Weasley's. One was addressed from Bill who he'd not spoken to for ages, bar the Christmas mini-feast. A large amount of the others were from either Ginny or Molly. Both had tried enticing him out to socialise with suggested and approved of female friends. It might have seemed insensitive for them to do such a thing, Ron certainly thought it was, but Harry knew why. He wasn't getting any younger and Hermione wasn't getting any less dead either…
And more so was the fact Elianne now had no mother to speak of. Before she'd had Hermione, then for a brief five minutes she'd had both with Eliza too and now she had neither.
But letters were the proof of the fact Eliza still existed. He knew no sane reason why she'd attempted to contact him.
He hadn't felt compelled to open a single one. She deserved no compassion or leeway in this because she was largely responsible for everything in his and Elianne's life, for the hell that it was for them this year.
He couldn't care less what extreme feat or sacrifice she'd made to get the post out of the prison island, an unruled place where survival was prime and no one was anyone's friend. He quite liked that her conscience playing up now caused her suffering because she'd been the multiple perpetrator of pain over her years, she got only what her behaviour demanded.
Still his thoughts woke up back to Hermione.
She'd done a good job looking after Elianne, so good he feared he wasn't living up to it. He'd never had a responsibility like this before, it scared him.
That was another thing that kept his mind busy, worrying over Elianne, how she was doing, what she needed.
Then physically he had everything to do. Magic made it easier on his aching and aging muscles. Luckily all the years at the Dursleys' had come in handy because he knew perfectly how to cook and clean and keep a house spick and span.
After that he would sit down, devoid mostly of ideas. The only thing his brain liked much to pose to him was the ever-continuing concept that she was gone. Hermione gone. In a tragic sense it was ironic. She had waited for him for a decade and then she died, as he was made alive finally. And he missed her. But he denied exactly how. It would hurt too much to admit. So he held onto the belief he missed her as a friend, as a guardian for his daughter. And as nothing more. Obliterating that helped just a minute amount to stave off the waves of tears that would surely crash down if he broke.
That was why he stayed impassive at all times. He said it was because he did not want Elianne to see, to be reminded to refresh her own tears. Truly it was that he didn't think he could stop if he ever started.
Ron had been good to him in that sense; he'd gone out with him to the pub a few times. He'd not cry in front of Ron, there was a certain incentive to not embarrass himself. Ron would never say it mattered but Harry never the less did not like the prospect of making a fool of himself. Instead he liked to maintain a manly façade for the sake of his sanity.
Presently he decided the best thing to do was to make a checklist of what Elianne would need next week, as she started her second year at Hogwarts.
That way he successfully skirted his feelings and simultaneously managed to block out the usual miserable noise coming from along the corridor, as his poor daughter cried herself to sleep once more.
The only sign of his distress was the movement of his eyes darting across the sheet of paper, as trying to avoid the welling up that would happen if they continued in one area too long.
That and the disturbance of the silence as a small splatter of liquefied saltiness dropped down onto the parchment seconds later.
~
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