Cry, a harry potter fanfic

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, not me.

I can't stand it.

Crying, crying, always the crying.

Please stop crying! I beg you, please, with all my heart, don't cry. I don't want you to cry, do you hear me?

You cried that night too. You couldn't stop. I rocked you, I sang to you, I tried everything, but you persisted to cry.

You knew, didn't you?

You were so small, so young…but somehow you knew. You knew that it would be the last time you would ever feel the safety and warmth of my arms. So you cried, knowing full well I would never be able to leave you to wail in your crib, alone and broken-heated.

You knew that time would come soon enough.

You cried when you heard your father's shouts. You knew that the end would be coming quickly, that your childhood peace was about to die with us. So you cried. Big fat tears rolled down your cheeks. You plucked at my sleeves, begging comfort, begging…to run? To flee? To try, perhaps in vain, to escape the demon that trailed us?

How could you have known? How could you have known what we grown adults could not realize?

I didn't want to leave you. I didn't want to leave you to alone. But there was a choice to be made, dearest.

I could have lived.

I could have continued on for days, weeks, months, years, decades, safe and sound, unharmed, unscathed. People would pity me. "There she goes, a widow, and her little boy gone too." I could have moved on, remarried, had more babies, lived a full life.

But what would happen when I would lie awake at night, hearing your forlorn and frightened cries in my mind and my heart, echoing and echoing and never leaving me alone? How could I live with myself when I lived for years with the knowledge that I allowed my own child to be killed?

I would rather die myself. So I did.

I know that you cried. I know that your childhood was drained of all love and affection. My sister was never the kind sort, and that husband of hers was worse. I didn't mean to leave you with them, darling; I didn't want to leave you with them. If I could have had my way you would have never known them. You would know your godfather. You would know your father. You would know me.

Dearest, I never meant for you to cry alone. I meant for you to come to me with your tears- your childhood hurts, your broken heart, your shattered dreams. I wanted you to curl up in my arms like the child that you are and bury your face against my shoulder and let me take your burdens away.

Oh, how I wish I could take your burdens away. Such small, thin, young shoulders like yours were never meant to carry something so heavy. You're a child. You're my child. You belong with me. You belong to me. No one else can touch you.

I cried. I cried for a child. I cried when my belly was left barren and empty, and I cried when the tiny lives inside of me were snuffed out by my weaknesses. I cried for you, darling. I cried when I learned you were growing inside of me, I cried when you entered my world, I cried when your tiny fist gripped my finger for the first time.

We cried together. You cried with indignation at being forced into a large cold world, and I cried because I no longer had to go through this large cold world with empty arms. I swore to protect you. I swore to die for you, like every parent does. But I never thought that one day, I would have to decide if I would make good on my promise.

I could have let him take you. I could have let his cold red eyes light with an unholy smile as he approached your crib. I could have let him say the two words and watch your tiny body tumble, silent and still.

BUT I COULDN'T.

You are mine! You are my child! I could not let him come near you. And it is still true today.

I am dead, darling. There is no going back on that one. But love transcends the grave. As long as my love for you exists, I will never let him touch you. Every time you shed a tear, I will shed one. We are together, you and I, bound by something stronger than any magic that can be mustered.

Fathers love their children, of course, but they love the child they hold in their arms. But a mother, a mother holds their child within her, protecting them from the harsh world with its dangers and deaths and tears. I held you below my heart for nine long months, precious, and in my heart you are home.

You cry, darling.

I can see it.

I can taste it.

My heart breaks with yours.

It hurts. It stings. But it heals.

And every time a teardrop falls from your beautiful eyes, I want you to remember something, something very important.

Another pair of green eyes is crying too.

Author's Notes:

Mm, tearfest.

Honestly, the idea for this story came from Anderson's Little Mermaid. At the end of the story, the little mermaid becomes a spirit of the air, traveling around the world to watch over children. When she sees a good child, she smiles, and a year is taken from her time of wandering. When she sees a bad child, she cries, and each tear adds a day. I took that and tweaked it into this drabble.