Disclaimer: Going through a Harry Potter phase…
A/N: So I've been suffering from major writer's block lately, surprisingly, however, this story just sorta came out. It's a brief little oneshot, but it turned out alright. I couldn't think of a title so I just stole one from a This Day and Age song. Personally, I think it rather fits, but that could just be me.
All We Thought We Could
I'm gonna write you a letter
I'm gonna write you a book
I wanna see your reaction
I wanna see how it looks
-Amsterdam by Guster
I sit upon lonely rooftops and watch people in the rain. They do not see me, they do not even know I'm here. I sit here everyday and wait for someone particular to stray beneath me.
It is a cold misty day in the middle of August. The birds do not sing, they have no reason to. I walk down the stairs of the apartment complex, the lift long since broken. I walk out into the fog, my black coat buttoned up to the chin on the left.
Without a thought I wander down to the river and stand out on the bridge, staring into the depths. Many years have passed since the days when people on the streets would turn their heads to look at me. In all essence I am now a ghost.
The dream I had the night before was troubling me, mostly because I had believed dreams of that nature had stopped years ago. All I could recall about it now were flashes of brilliant light, but I knew all too well what it had been about. It tore at the part of me deep down that I had never been able to isolate from my new life. I brushed my damp black hair from my eyes, straighten my glasses and moved on.
Misty shapes move about in the mist, never failing to remind me of things they shouldn't. Memories. That's all I have left; memories. A car backfires and my hand jumps to my pocket in an instinctive movement that I did not know I still possessed. Tears swim into my eyes and I turn and hurry home, no longer able to bear it. If it had not been for the dream perhaps…
When I return to the apartment complex, I do not go directly to my room. Instead, I climb the small rickety fire escape. The building is a small one and the roof is not so high. I can see the people pass quite clearly down below. I wait patiently. It begins to rain.
They pass below me eventually as they do most days. They are quite happy together, it is clear. She brushes her fiery hair out of her face as she walks hand in hand with her husband. I want desperately to contact her, to write a letter, a note, anything, but of course it cannot be. I do not know why I sit here everyday and watch them, but if I do not I fear I will go mad. Perhaps I am already mad.
They disappear into the gloom and, sodden, I trod back down the fire escape and into the building. I pause briefly on the stair and allow myself a small recollection of the day the curse rebounded and wiped out all my magic. Victory, but at a price. Some days I do not know which I miss more, the magic, or her.