Camp Potter II [Campfire Songs]
Battleships Competition [A10 - Depressed]
Our Promises
He had been her promise of acceptance.
She didn't want kindness, she didn't want gentle caring if they could not accept her 'strange' ways. She didn't want someone to be gentle with her physically if they hurt her more than anyone else mentally.
She was only weak emotionally. Physically she could handle anything, there were spells and potions that could heal any wound, but she could not heal mental and emotional wounds as easily as those. Those were long lasting. They cut deeper than any other wound. Sometimes, just sometimes, they also cut things that are never able to be healed.
She could still feel them in her mind even now, after he had tried to stop them.
Loony.
Freak.
Strange.
Abnormal.
Cursed.
There were years of build up behind those words that caused them to hurt, burn like a newly opened wound every single time she came into contact with them. They were like a blister that was permanently on her skin that was only beginning to fade. A branding burn that would always remind her of what she was. She would wait for the sting to go away.
To stop burning.
Slowly.
Before it flared up again.
Actions. Words. Glances. Glares.
They were all the same, weren't they? All of them weapons to the unguarded, sharp jagged edges uncaring, unforgiving.
It was just one more sleepless night. Her tears staining the pillow her head rested on. Her pillow would be dry by morning, no one would be any wiser. Her pillow could not speak of her silence, her anguish, her torment. Her pillow would remain silent.
His pillow would be her silent comfort. His smell still lingered on it, comforting her and making her feel just a little more safe.
He was busy today. One of the few Death Eater meetings he called while she was still awake.
And she understood. Being the leader of the Death Eaters, of an entire faction in a war, was no easy feat. The fact that he managed to spend as much time as he did with her, even if it was only in silence while he worked, occasionally sending her glances making sure she was still all right, meant more than he could imagine. The fact that he was willing to put her above anything in his life meant a lot.
Only her father had done that. She could vaguely remember her mother doing that too, but they were her parents. Not that she saw their care as anything less important.
But it were times like these, when she was almost alone with only the darkness and the bright orb after which she was named keeping her company, she wondered.
She wondered what would happen if she was simply no longer. Would it make a difference? Would anyone care?
She would like to believe that he would still care, that he would feel something.
She would like to believe he would still be everything he promised to be.
In his own way.
Because even he needed someone to accept him. She had always been willing to do that for him. For everybody, but for him especially.
Always will be.