Falling Down to Come Back Up
NB: I don't own them. JK Rowling does. No money being made here, mate.
1 - Abandonment.
He is alone.
He curls his body into a tight ball. Even with his ears covered he can hear the screams. His eyes are closed, yet he can see the carnage. He can taste salty tears. He smells blood. His mind's eye replays the scene over and over again, like a faulty muggle video recorder. He cannot shut it out. He rocks back and forth, willing himself to rid his senses of everything, pleading with his body to let him alone, let him sleep, let him forget. But the body is cruel. It heeds not its master. Relentlessly, insistently, it showcases its macabre revue.
He is alone.
He has no-one.
Dumbledore was right.
"You do care. You care so much you feel as though you will
bleed to death with the pain of it."
A cry escapes his wind-chapped lips. A desperate, heart-rending howl. A cry that is laden with grief that has been stored away inside; a grotesque parody of a squirrel storing its food for the winter months. His entire being is consumed with grief. His body shakes, his eyes roll, his thoughts are enveloped in a smothering, choking blanket of despair.
Bleed to death.
Dumbledore was right.
*
She wakes up sharply. She rubs her eyes, looks blearily at her watch. She pauses, then looks away, her chest hitching
involuntarily. For what is time when one has stared pure evil in the face?
She looks around, noting the surroundings without deriving pleasure from them. Libraries used to fill her with glee -
the worn books, almost exhaling knowledge from between their dusty covers. The pots of quills, begging to be dipped in
shiny ink, pleading to impart theories, and diagrams, desperate to become part of the writing process. Was it only a
week ago she felt this way? Funny. It feels like an age. The library has changed. It is a hiding-place. A sanctuary to
which she can escape from the horrific reality of events past. A place she can sleep awhile, forcing her mind to become
blank as a fresh sheet of parchment.
A place she can make creditable attempts to focus on matters other than him.
It is an effort she would do well to abandon.
She loves him.
It has always been him.
A tear rolls from her almond-shaped eye as his visage burns into her brain once more. She wishes she could reach him, comfort him, protect him from the demons he is compelled to face. She wishes with all her heart that he would let her love him.
But he is alone.