Three years. Three years I've sat in darkness and tried to forget the play of sunlight on oily hair, to push from my mind all memories of the sharp, razor-like grin that would slash so quickly across your face. And the tears. The tears that always pooled in your eyes without falling. The tears that helped the water in your sink wash your face each morning. The tears that embittered your every cup of luncheon tea. The tears that soaked your pillow each night as you slept.
The tears that I placed in your eyes.
They showed me you see. Each morning one of Them would come to my cell, armed only with a wand to ensure my complacence and a Mirror of Seeing to break my heart. They would force me to gaze into the small glass that They had made especially for that cruel purpose, its delicate ornamentation in direct contrast to their dark amusements. They laughed at my pain until I learned not to show it. To keep it bottled up inside and free from Their gloating observations.
Are you surprised that it hurt me? But then again, why shouldn't you be. After all, it was only once we were separated that I could admit how I felt. Only afterwards did I realise that I truly felt that which I could not say, however earnestly you begged me to speak, to reciprocate. It is the eternal irony of mankind I suppose that makes us always realise these things once it is too late, once the myriad opportunities have passed beyond recall though never beyond desire. That would be too much to hope for; if I cannot escape my imprisonment at least the pain would be lessened if I could escape my memories. If I could be released from love.
It is a harsher punishment to be kept from you than any other They could devise and They know it. In that decision I suppose lies the silver lining Dumbledore always used to urge us to search for; I am not tortured you see, not physically at least. They leave that to me, knowing it to be far more effective to leave me to my recollections and revelations, alone in the darkness, starving myself in punishment for never knowing the truth back when I could have done something about it.
You know, even in here, in the darkness of hell on earth, I can imagine your face now, that sad little smirk, as you realise that here is your final proof that even I, despite my pride, couldn't truly know it all.