Teardrops, Raindrops
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
A/N: This is for the Extra Difficult Song Fic Challenge by Gamma and the song was Teardrops On My Guitar by Taylor Swift. Somehow I have managed to do this…. This is a companion piece with my story "The Photograph" and while it can be read alone the end will probably make sense if you read that story too.
"Teardrops and raindrops are almost the same thing. Both are drops of sorrow, crashing down to the ground and both can happen at any moment revealing emotions or invoking them. Only one falls from the heavens and another falls from eyes rimmed in red."
Tears seem to never stop as they fall on a wooden guitar, left abandoned in a ransacked attic. A Snatcher with smudged eyeliner and smoky gray eyes takes a moment lingering on the windowsill. He stares outside and watches raindrops pelt the ground creating surprisingly calming music.
Well it's music to his ears anyway. He sits long legs dangling to the floor and his thick mane of dark lush brown hair falls down his back, brushing the walls. A red streak, crimson like blood, in the midst of his hair stands out against the earthy tones of the room and the dirt and grime on himself.
The rain, pouring down, was creating a mood that reflected his thoughts. He was thinking of the life he had before he had signed on as the Dark Lord's personal Snatchers and how it had been simple and actually fun to do. Now though as he heard the screams Greyback tortured out of the owners of the house he began to wonder when all of this came down hill into a pursuit of cat and mouse with deadly consequences and fireworks of blood, screams, and salty, bitter tears.
Scabior wondered if anything was beyond the Dark Lord and he wondered just how much would it take before the Dark Lord decided he was dispensable. He didn't want to die. No matter how much he put on fake smiles and an air of cockiness he was scared of the future. He almost prayed that he wouldn't find the boy simply because he wanted to have a purpose. Would someone really keep a Snatcher and his crew on hand if there was nothing or no one to Snatch?
He knew the answers and he knew his time was ticking down as the moments before the final fight between the Potter boy and the Dark Lord started. He felt teardrops fall on the guitar in his small lap. He almost heard them crash like thunder on the wood. He was scared. He was never superstitious but last night he found himself wishing on a "wishing star", one of those shooting stars that appeared once in a lifetime.
He needed to be needed and he needed security. He needed not to hear those screams. He needed to erase the pleading faces and yells as Fenrir killed them as savage as a beast. He needed his life again. However, he loved the money.
Greed as wide and far as the Nile river, a place he had gone to when he was young, and he didn't know if he could escape the claws of this sin. He knows she is beautiful, that dear money and his puppeteer, his greed, are the only things that keep him standing.
How scary was it to rely on the sin you want gone to keep hope in your veins? Scabior laughed, the sound sounded hollow and full of defeat and that scared him more than anything could. He remembered his youth were his laugh was his and he was never beaten. Now, everyday he seemed beaten. If not by Greyback and his urges when the full moon came or his sorrow at the way his life was turning out it was the fact that he didn't sleep at night.
A few months later he talks to Snape and the Carrows at Hogwarts about his job, catching the boy, and a few other errands the Dark Lord wants him to do. When he leaves the rooms of Snape one day he walks past the Slytherin common room and he feels weird as if he almost accepted his fate because since the beginning in that dungeon he promised he would do anything for his pureblood beliefs. Finally, after all these years he was being put to the test.
He walked keeping that fake smile on his face trying to remember the good times in his youth like when he played guitar and all the Slytherin girls swooned. He could have had a life as a rock star and that thought makes him smile and his eyes grow misty as he faces that Whomping Willow because he knows he probably would have named the band he could have created after it.
Later that night he lays in his bed and puts the bag of money from his newest payment down on the nightstand in his complementary room in the Malfoy Manor and lays staring at ceiling until he puts the bag under his pillow and he closes his eyes praying for a few well needed moments of sleep, a relief from the lies he has to live again and again.
Before he goes to sleep though he thinks about a young boy with mousy brown hair named Lysander Dashkov and he thinks about the words he said as he told him their blood was important and should not be spilt on the dirty common ground.
He wonders if the boy is damned like him too and he hopes the boy has a chance to break free. Tonight he isn't going to sleep well but he knows it won't be like the other nights as he thinks about a boy with a camera and a dream, the boy he grazed his pink lips against his hand. That Hogwarts boy, oh so young.
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