Part III: Only to Be Imprisoned
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I let out a angry, deep and drawn out breath as I slam the frame onto the davenport, running two hands through my hair, pulling at the strands roughly as I do, before making a grab for the whiskey that, tauntingly, sits beside me. I looked at the bottle, noting that it had been full when I'd last really looked at it yesterday evening, but now it was merely a quarter, if even that, full. Regardless, though, I only shake my head at my disgracefulness before pouring a hearty filling of the "liquor of perpetual and ignorant blissfulness."
Still though, even when distracted, I can't seem to take my eyes off of the picture, never even batting a lash as I take a large sip of the surprisingly potent beverage. I sigh again, scowling as I slam my drink onto the picture, but the responding and resounding crunch of the glass breaking immediately makes me regret the temperamental action. I really liked that picture.
…Even if it was a bitch to look at… to be reminded of.
Cor, though, when had it all gone so wrong? I ask myself as I look at the frame and the picture, entirely in tatters, so much like us.
I suppose what really kiss me is that daunting realization that, in truth, no amount of magic will ever fix it, not truly. No, there'll always be that knowledge that it was once broken… that knowledge that the scars lay beneath, regardless of whatever façade is painted over it.
But God I wish we could just turn back the clock.
I remember a time when I was innocent, when I was actually optimistic, I miss that. When we were young I'd been so sure that my life would begin after that blasted war, that I'd have a chance to finally be free, calm, and at peace for once in my miserable existence. I suppose life doesn't like the sureties though… my entire life is living proof of that.
I'd been so positive that it'd end with Ginny, but… well I suppose it's better off not to speak ill of the dead. Regardless, the fates shocked me the most with Her, my Hermione. They delivered me everything I'd ever wished for without even being cognizant of the fact that it was what I wanted or that she was it. It all came as a shock when one day the fact that she was the one suddenly hit me-so much so that I actually fell out of my seat in my fit of shock and was left with a rather unpleasant and oddly shaped bruise on my arse.
Still, though, the fates were just teasing me with her, giving me a taste of perfection right before pulling her away from me forever by putting… doing this to me. They sent me to my hell, they made me who I am, they put me in this constant state of war with myself where I literally have to fight for dominance over my own blasted body every bloody day of the year for the rest of my life.
But the difference from then and now is that I had Her back then and I was able to hold onto the hope that maybe… maybe if I tried hard enough I'd find some salvation, it wouldn't all have to be over, my fight would just be prolonged a bit. And so, I scoured through all the texts I could find, more than I'd ever even knew existed, to find and answer, a cure, but nada.
Ultimately, I had to leave to protect her, I knew it wouldn't be easy to leave and never see her again, I knew that it'd be worse than any inferno Dante, Milton, or Sartra could ever paint, but I did it for her. I did it all for her.
But the "divine plan of how-to-piss-on-the-terrible-tale-that-is-Harry-Potter's-life-even-more" interfered yet again and all of my efforts turned to shite.
In truth, I… I don't know when and where it all went wrong, I can't pinpoint the exact moment in time and where I was standing when it all occurred, even though it was such a pivotal moment in my life. I just snapped one day, I remember that, despite all of my efforts He won out in the end and somewhere in the end He contorted everything, left was right and right was left, all of my pent up annoyance turned to aggression and… and manslaughter.
I was forced to do something that would always plague my mind, my dreams, my memories, and, worst of all, hurt the person that meant most to me in my life. Because of that one folly moment of weakness I had to sit there and watch from afar as Ron comforted Hermione as she wept in front of Molly and Ginny's graves, I had to sit by and hold back my jealousy as I realized I'd officially lost the right to play any role in her life. I had to sit by as I was forced to release my grip on her, let her go for once and for all.
But, the thing is, I can't handle that term, "once and for all." I can't be without her, I tried, but I love her, I need her… she makes the fight worth while, she makes me stronger; she makes me want to live.
I let out a scoff as I feel my eyes welling up with that tricky liquid that no bloke ever wants to attest to ever being forced to bow down to. Luckily, nothing comes of it but a misty vision and my ego is saved from the further embarrassment of tears. At least that much, I suppose.
I shake my head at my own sarcasm, listening to that beautiful huffy voice reprimand me, telling me "honestly, Harry, can't you ever be a bit more optimistic? Live a bit, love!" I can't help but smile when I hear that voice, it's nice to hear it every once in a while, even if it's only in my head.
I fell my body slowly begin to relax, the reminder of her immediately having a calming effect over me as I feel all tension escape me in a way that only occurs when I'm with her. I smile for the first time in ages, I think, as I move my glass and pick up the frame again. I shake it lightly, letting the glass fall before moving to analyze the image. I trace the outline of her face, scratched by the impact of the glass on it, but my imagination can fill in where the gashes cover that adorable and haughty mug that's mussing my hair so sweetly.
I pore over the still image, biting my thumb lightly, scrutinizing every detail with more care than I ever knew I was capable of, always having been a rather cut and dry bloke after all. But she changes the rules with everything, at least as far as I'm concerned. I touch that face, pretending that I can feel the texture of her skin instead of the glossy scars, and close my eyes as I imagine what she'd tell me if she was right by me now.
I don't know why but nothing comes… it'd never happened before, but here I am, met with nothing but silence…
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author's note: not too sure how well I pulled this one off, in all honesty, but feel free to share any opinions, critiques are always welcome as well.
Thank you for reading.
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