Title- Watch Him Go
Author's Note- I got this idea after reading Butterfly by darkmosmordreheart. I hope I haven't done so too obviously.
Warnings- Not much, just a lot of angst. This is my first T rated story, I think. :)
Disclaimer- Yes, in the past couple days I have managed to turn myself into a middle aged, blonde British woman. Just kidding- as per the norm, I own nothing but my imagination and my laptop.
FOR WINDSEEKER2305
cuz she needs something to make it all better
I leaned back against the tree with a sigh. The War was over, and I could finally, finally relax.
No teachers hunting me down, no classmates tattling to their master or parents, no Death Eaters- nothing. Just me, and a tree, and the sky, and the lake.
I settled my back more fully against the rough bark, perversely enjoying the way the hard edges of it dug into my skin. For so long, all I had felt was the ever increasing pressure of war that such a mundane feeling was one I had not experienced, or remembered experiencing, for years.
My eyelids drift shut, and I doze lightly- I'm waiting for someone. My hearing is keen, as are the rest of my senses, so when I open my eyes because the sun has been blocked out, I am surprised to see it is a person, and not a cloud.
The sun creates an aura of gold, a bright embrace. But even then, I know who it is- there are other ways to identify someone other than sight. Scent was one of them, and I inhale the sandalwood wafting in gentle waves off of my visitor. The one scent that had anchored me through the Final Battle and beyond.
I heard a sigh drift past his lips, and I wonder at it. It is a sound of regret, lamentation, and a curious acceptance. It's as though he knows what he's done, or is doing, is wrong, but willingly follows.
I tilt my head to the side, peering up at him inquisitively. He doesn't move, and after a few minutes, I pat the ground next to me. I hear a soft snort as he settles down beside me.
We look over the lake together, watching as the early summer sun sets, leaving blood red rays and gold dancing across the turquoise of the water.
"I have to go," he says finally, and I let my head turn to him.
"Why?" My voice was harsh with disuse- I had not said much since the night I had laid to rest the horror that had overshadowed my life.
"Father wants me with him to oversee our affairs- the Ministry is doing it's best to take our holdings from us."
My eyes narrow as my blood begins to sing. After all the fair haired, fallen angel sitting next to me had done, they still persecuted him!
He sensed my anger and placed a comforting hand on my arm. "Those fools think they can talk us into handing our moneys and properties over to them. They are greatly mistaken."
The cool confidence in his voice was the only thing that kept me from paying a rather personal visit to the new Minister. The man was supposed to prosecute Death Eaters, not members of The Order of The Phoenix.
But my tempter is rising to go, and my hand flies to his, and holds tight.
"You will come back?" I ask, voice tight with fear and grief. So many had left me over the years that I hated to see anyone I loved leave. I could not bear it if my love was among their number.
"You will not leave me?" I hate that my voice cracks, but his answer is all I care for.
My angelic savior kneels down and tenderly cups my face with his hands. Leaning in close, his breathe caresses my cheek as he whispers, "Don't fret- I could not stand to be parted from you for long."
He leans in closer, and his lips brush mine as he continues to reassure me. "I will return, never fear. Nothing in this world or the next could keep me from you for long."
I close my eyes as a tear slips out, and the tip of one of his slender fingers catches it, gently wiping the last traces of it off my skin.
We stay that way for a minute or a millennia- time was not our concern.
At last, too soon, he dropped his hands and rose to his feet, as graceful as I could never be. I watched his smooth gait as he walked away, focused on the subtle signs of confidence, of control in his gait. And I could not help the flood that cascaded from my eyes as I watch him go.
Author's Note 2-
Also, that evil Plot Bunny called the First Person Narrative had a nice, tight grip on my ankle as I wrote this- I had hoped that getting this out of my system would convince the nice bunny to go away, but alas, I am not convinced. Your reviews would make a great difference in my next oneshot. Hint, hint.
Ta
ManhattanWitch