Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, nor any of its characters.
Shadow on the Wall
Another shattered heart.
Another broken life.
Another future forgotten.
Another soul lost.
Life never goes the way you expect it to, but why should it? Who are you to say how the stars should align themselves so that you might always have the perfect life? You are nothing but a flitting life, like a bird, flashing through a tiny vein of sunlight, only there for a moment. Life is short. Why make it shorter?
But what would I know of life? I have never been alive, but I've always been beside you. I have seen your every movement and mirrored it, staying at your side; even in darkness, I am darker than all others. I have watched you silently, and I have seen your troubles and am the only one who understands completely. I may not experience it, but I have seen you burn with the pain so often, that it would have been easier to be alive.
Tear drops have stained the sheets of your bed, and your sobs question your place on this earth. Why should you be here if you have nothing to live for, no happiness? Sleep eludes you, keeping your red-rimmed and clouded. Why stay? There's nothing here for you. Your eyes, your once-pretty eyes, run across the room, cluttered with broken glass and torn clothes, then they land on the thin, eleven inches of mahogany with a unicorn hair core. What could be the harm?
Two words. That's all it would take for your pan to ease, for you to slip into an eternal rest. But your hand doesn't reach for the wand, you don't have the guts. You never have. A Gryffindor, and you don't have strength or bravery to face the unknown. Some fearless lion you are.
You end up smashing the clock on your dresser with your fists, unable to bear the repeating ticking, the sound of seconds passing. As the blood runs down your fists, I can see how drained of energy you are as you sink back onto the bed. Your mother eventually comes and knocks on your door, begging you to come eat something. How long has it been? A week? Your energy and will is quickly depleting, but why waste good food on something that's already as good as dead?
I can hear her desperation as much as you can; she's been crying for a long time by the sounds. Losing her daughter is certainly taking a toll on her. But you're beyond the point of caring; I know that even if my lone voice could be whispered into your ear, you would not heed me. Bloodstains from your hands join the tearstains. Why are you still here? Why haven't you picked up the stupid wand and just done it yet? Your father comes eventually and bangs on the door, telling you he'll blast it down if you don't open it. But as far as they know, you're not even alive. You haven't said a word to them since that day.
That day.
That day he left.
That day he left you.
That day he left you alone and broken.
The day that causes your scarily thin body shiver like a leaf in a storm every time you think about it. I often wonder how you are still attached to the rest of yourself. I can almost see the shattered pieces of your glass heart that he left behind. You squeeze yourself into a ball, as if that will keep the tiny fragments together in yourself. Nothing works. You are slowly cracking even more as the days pass. With that copper-colored hair that you despise falling in your glossed, blood-shot eyes, you stare at nothing, trying to find all of your pieces and put them back into place, like a puzzle.
You scratch at the clotting blood on your hands, liking when the wounds release fresh blood. There's a sort of calm in the process, although I wonder if you even realize what you are doing. The day he left you, he might as well have killed you. Hearing him tell you those words. Leaving. Just like that. I heard your heart break and saw the first trails of tears slide down your once round and glowing cheeks. To have someone notice someone like you, someone often lost among the waves of Weasley children with crimson hair, was like angels had rained blessings on you.
A knock on the door comes again. "Lucy, I miss you." Your older sister crying pulls you out of every trance you fell into. Molly never ever shows weakness. She's smart and brave, and your older sister. You know something's wrong if your sister is crying. She gives you the resolve you haven't had in a long time. You finally move away from the bed and unlock the door, opening it to your sister hugging herself. I follow you there and see her crystal eyes so much like yours shimmering with tears that haven't brimmed over yet.
When Molly sees you, she gasps and flings herself into your arms, squashing your petite and frail body. She sobs for your sorrow and the relief that you're still alive. You are responsive and clutch her back just as tightly. This is better than any eternal rest you could have gotten.
With your sister and the rest of the family, you'll patch yourself together. It may take time, but don't lose hope. You will never be fully repaired, but one day you will find one man who has pieces of a glass heart that will fit right in to those holes in your heart. But what do I know? I'm only a shadow—your shadow. I can't live your life for you.
I'm only a shadow on the wall. You, Lucy Weasley, are so much more.
So I have no idea where this even came from, but I was listening to Shadow on the Wall by Brandi Carlile, so that's where the point of view came from. Please review! I want to hear your views on the story. I don't know who the guy is that the story kept referring to, but if you have an idea, feel free to share it! PLEASE REVIEW!