The sun rose far away to the East; it always did. She didn't know why she thought this day would be any different, but she always hoped. Every morning, before the sun peeked over the horizon, she would settle in her position to wait and watch and wonder. Sometimes that's all the heart allows you to do: wonder. And she thought every day, 'Maybe today's the day he'll come back to me.'
She closed her eyes and pictured him. She could remember him like it was yesterday, and in her mind's eye, it was yesterday. It was today. It was tomorrow. It was everyday she had had to live without him for ten years.
She had seen him there, lying in a heap of lifelessness; somehow the fire red of his hair seemed less bright. She hadn't believed it; flat out refused, but within moments she knew it was true. Harry sat quietly next to her simply as a presence. He was just as cold, just as detached as her. She had let her tears splash onto his cold skin and kissed his colorless lips. She referred to it as her first and last kiss, always regretting being unable to be honest to him when he was alive to hear it.
It took Harry a month to be able to retell the story, the story she had so badly wanted to hear, but once she had heard it, she knew she didn't really want to know. Her beloved red-head had followed Harry, in a brash show of loyalty or stupidity, he stood next to his best friend and fought to the death- his death. He was always too bloody stubborn that way. She knew Harry felt terribly guilty and it only slightly bothered her that she did nothing to change that. Truth was, although she wanted to, although she tried not to, somehow she blamed him. Maybe if he had been more forceful about going on alone, maybe...
But he hadn't, and she constantly told herself that she should stop harping on it. The only problem was that when she did, the guilt turned to the only other tangible form she could find: herself. In these times, she would lay her head back and yell to the heavens. Steam erupted from her mouth and carried her words upwards.
'What did I do wrong? How can I fix this...?'
Never once did it occur to her that it was nobody's fault except the enemy. It was that bastard who first went after one of her best friends and ended up taking the other. Her blood boiled within her when she thought her love had died for nothing, for Riddle was still out there somewhere. She had vowed to herself that as long as she was alive, Riddle would never come back to full force, but she knew in the end, it couldn't be her to do anything when the time came. It had to be Harry. It just had to be. It killed her to know that. Last time he hadn't done any good, so how could he the next time? Her confidence had wavered.
She wanted, needed, to be able to sit in the spot and wait all day, but she knew she couldn't. She never could. She had to at least have a semblance of normal life. So every day after the sun had risen and the shadows faded she would go out and greet the day. She would smile at Harry and he would smile back with the same haunted look. She would force herself to eat the smallest amount of food she could possibly get away with. She would laugh at bad jokes. She would go on a first date, but never a second because the guy would be too blond, too short, too smart, or too considerate- too un-Ron. Then she would go home and sigh, knowing she'd have to do it all over again the next day, but always resolved never to think about it at the time. She ate by herself, bathed, and lay in her empty bed. When she was younger, she cried for him, but it seemed that over the years, her well of tears petered out. Instead she opted for a heavy breathing as if a weight had been placed upon her chest.
She closed her eyes and pictured him. She could remember him like it was yesterday, but it wasn't yesterday. It wasn't the day before yesterday. It was so many yesterdays ago she had lost count.
The sun set far away to the West; it always did. She didn't know why she thought this day would be different, but she always hoped. Every evening, before the sun slid below the horizon, she would settle in her position to wait and watch and wonder. Sometimes that's all the heart allows you to do: wonder. And she thought every night, 'Maybe tomorrow will be the day he'll come back to me.'
A/N: I wrote this in about ten minutes (so it's probably really rough around the edges) and I did it while listening to "Long Gone Day" and "River of Deceit" by Mad Season, both good songs, but rather depressing, so I blame that for the mood of this fic. So, what do you think? Criticism will be very much appreciated.
She closed her eyes and pictured him. She could remember him like it was yesterday, and in her mind's eye, it was yesterday. It was today. It was tomorrow. It was everyday she had had to live without him for ten years.
She had seen him there, lying in a heap of lifelessness; somehow the fire red of his hair seemed less bright. She hadn't believed it; flat out refused, but within moments she knew it was true. Harry sat quietly next to her simply as a presence. He was just as cold, just as detached as her. She had let her tears splash onto his cold skin and kissed his colorless lips. She referred to it as her first and last kiss, always regretting being unable to be honest to him when he was alive to hear it.
It took Harry a month to be able to retell the story, the story she had so badly wanted to hear, but once she had heard it, she knew she didn't really want to know. Her beloved red-head had followed Harry, in a brash show of loyalty or stupidity, he stood next to his best friend and fought to the death- his death. He was always too bloody stubborn that way. She knew Harry felt terribly guilty and it only slightly bothered her that she did nothing to change that. Truth was, although she wanted to, although she tried not to, somehow she blamed him. Maybe if he had been more forceful about going on alone, maybe...
But he hadn't, and she constantly told herself that she should stop harping on it. The only problem was that when she did, the guilt turned to the only other tangible form she could find: herself. In these times, she would lay her head back and yell to the heavens. Steam erupted from her mouth and carried her words upwards.
'What did I do wrong? How can I fix this...?'
Never once did it occur to her that it was nobody's fault except the enemy. It was that bastard who first went after one of her best friends and ended up taking the other. Her blood boiled within her when she thought her love had died for nothing, for Riddle was still out there somewhere. She had vowed to herself that as long as she was alive, Riddle would never come back to full force, but she knew in the end, it couldn't be her to do anything when the time came. It had to be Harry. It just had to be. It killed her to know that. Last time he hadn't done any good, so how could he the next time? Her confidence had wavered.
She wanted, needed, to be able to sit in the spot and wait all day, but she knew she couldn't. She never could. She had to at least have a semblance of normal life. So every day after the sun had risen and the shadows faded she would go out and greet the day. She would smile at Harry and he would smile back with the same haunted look. She would force herself to eat the smallest amount of food she could possibly get away with. She would laugh at bad jokes. She would go on a first date, but never a second because the guy would be too blond, too short, too smart, or too considerate- too un-Ron. Then she would go home and sigh, knowing she'd have to do it all over again the next day, but always resolved never to think about it at the time. She ate by herself, bathed, and lay in her empty bed. When she was younger, she cried for him, but it seemed that over the years, her well of tears petered out. Instead she opted for a heavy breathing as if a weight had been placed upon her chest.
She closed her eyes and pictured him. She could remember him like it was yesterday, but it wasn't yesterday. It wasn't the day before yesterday. It was so many yesterdays ago she had lost count.
The sun set far away to the West; it always did. She didn't know why she thought this day would be different, but she always hoped. Every evening, before the sun slid below the horizon, she would settle in her position to wait and watch and wonder. Sometimes that's all the heart allows you to do: wonder. And she thought every night, 'Maybe tomorrow will be the day he'll come back to me.'
A/N: I wrote this in about ten minutes (so it's probably really rough around the edges) and I did it while listening to "Long Gone Day" and "River of Deceit" by Mad Season, both good songs, but rather depressing, so I blame that for the mood of this fic. So, what do you think? Criticism will be very much appreciated.