Title: Wind
Author: ragdollangel
Category: Angst
Disclaimer: They aren't mine (tho' I wish they were). All hail JKR.
Feedback: I would really appreciate it if you had the time =)
Summary: As he sat up that night, he realized that it was always about her.
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He stared out of the window across the room, watching the night wind whip its way through the trees. They said if you listened closely, you could hear secrets-whispered fortunes that tantalizingly teased you just before they melted away into the darkness.
But all he heard was her name.
He stood up silently, and walked over to the window. He closed his eyes as the wind swirled around him, bringing in a kaleidoscope of visions. They passed through his mind-disjointed, haphazard-with no seeming purpose other than to mock him.
Always her face.
He hated himself for letting her mean that much to him. That wasn't what he had been taught.
Feelings were only for the weak-that was what his father had once said. One had to eliminate anything that could make you lose focus. There was no room for failure. These were guidelines that that held him in good stead for all those years.
All those years before her.
He took a deep breath. The air smelt of nightfall. Bitter and smoky. Outside, in the abandoned garden, something fluttered, as if snagged by a piece of briar. As the moonlight caught it, he saw that it was a scrap of flannel. Red.
He winced involuntarily. It always came back to her.
Her smile, her tears, her love, her hate. always her. There were things he wished he could have said to her. Things that sometimes frightened him.
The candle flickered-its flame darting from left to right-away from the wind, it's greedy fingers stretching and curving around the lonely speck of light. In the distance he heard the hoot of an owl. Eerie, and strangely familiar. There had been so many nights like this. Nights when the boy he had never wanted to be, and the man he had become, sat and regarded each other with mutual hatred.
Suddenly his life felt empty. Nothing but shadows on the wall-dark and intangible. She had been his light. The tiny flame he had let in, all those years ago. The flame that he had snuffed out, bit by bit, with cold words and silence.
The candle flickered again, and then silently gave up. A thin spiral of smoke rose, and instantly vanished as another gust of wind ripped its way mercilessly through it. The wind tugged at his hair, speaking of days gone by, choices made, and festering regrets.
He stepped back. Some things were better left forgotten.
He shut the window and walked back to the bed. But the memories refused to go away. He thought of the time he had told her that he didn't need her anymore. That she meant nothing to him. He remembered the perverse pleasure he had felt-as if by destroying her, he was somehow set free.
Her face had been indecipherable. Silent. Stony.
Sometimes he wondered if she had really cared for him. If the only reason she allowed herself to be with him, was because she was afraid of letting go. Afraid of the unknown.
He thought of the day she left. She had quietly told him that she wanted more than he could ever give her. She had stood there for a minute, as if daring him to stop her. Hoping perhaps, that this might change things.
He had just watched her go.
He could still hear the wind screaming out to him, hammering against the pane.
He had seen her picture occasionally in the papers after that. Smiling alongside Potter. He told himself that she was happier. That maybe this was what she needed. But he had noticed the faint circles under her eyes. She had tried to hide them, and Potter probably never noticed. But he could always tell. He knew her. Inside out.
His lips tightened imperceptibly. He didn't care. He couldn't care.
He frowned slightly, thinking about that again. He had known she was right. She always was. What they had could never last. They had never made any promises, and there was no reason for them to be together. Maybe he ought to leave as well. Go away as far as he could. Maybe then she would cease to exist for him. Maybe then he wouldn't feel that unexplainable ache whenever he thought of her with someone else.
After all, she was no one special. Just another plaything, easily discarded. He would leave, and all those thoughts of her would dissolve into oblivion.
Just as all thoughts of him had faded from her mind.
It would be so easy to leave all this behind.
He faltered for a minute, and looked out of the window again. The wind was dying down slowly, achingly-as though reluctant to leave. Dry leaves lay scattered in its aftermath, the only evidence of its fading presence.
But it still called out to him, faintly.
He turned and looked at her, asleep beside him, her red gold hair dark in the moonlight.
He half-smiled bitterly.
They both knew they would keep coming back.
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fin