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Snowy Days
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He stood on the Astronomy Tower, hands clasped behind his back, gazing at the faraway horizon. His thoughts wandered mindlessly, and his expression became distant as he contemplated the sight that lay before him. The white sky loomed above him, and large snowflakes were floating down, every so gently. The high treetops of the Forbidden Forest were layered with snow, the lake was frozen and everything was pure white.
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I'm so tired of being here
Suppressed by all my childish fears
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He closed his eyes distractedly. Everyday was the same, and he was tired of the routine, tired of this world, tired of this pointless life. He just couldn't bring himself to like any of it, all of it. He was so tired, he felt so emotionally drained.
He missed what he used to be. He missed the challenges, he missed the fight, he missed the struggle, he missed …the past.
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And if you have to leave
I wish that you would just leave
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And he missed Harry.
He missed the days when Harry would sneak out from the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix just to see him for a few hours, sometime the entire night. He still remembered when he saw Harry on raids. The boy would fight him every time, and every time, he couldn't bring himself to harm him. He loved Harry too much to hurt him.
Sometimes at night, he would think that perhaps, when he woke up, Harry would be sleeping beside him, looking like an angel.
But then, he would remind himself that Harry was gone, gone and not ever coming back.
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'Cause your presence still lingers here
And it won't leave me alone
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Sometimes, a shadow would flicker, and he would whirl around, hoping that his love was still there. No one is ever there when he turns around. And so, he had stopped turning around. He knows that it is only a figment of his imagination, only a part of him that still hoped that he hadn't lost the one person who had given a damn about him.
Yet, he sees Harry everywhere, in everything. Lucius was Harry's friend. The Whomping Willow was Harry's protector at the Final Battle. The Forbidden Forest was Harry's refuge. Blaise Zabini was Harry's friend. Hogwarts was Harry's home. He was Harry's killer.
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These wounds won't seem to heal
This pain is just too real
There's just too much that time cannot erase
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Voldemort's form shook in the cold. His blood pounded in his ears as he tried to shake away the guilt that haunted his very soul. Why, why did it have to be this way? Why, and how could a war possibly be more important than his emerald-eyed angel? Was this life better than a life with Harry?
Was this torture worth his death?
Eight years ago, at the Final Battle, his heart had cried out in despair when he had pointed his wand at Harry's heart. Harry's wand had been destroyed by MacNair, the boy had been helpless. And yet, his hand had trembled as he mouthed the incantation of the Killing Curse. Nothing had happened. No green light, no thud of body on the ground, just Harry looking at him with those wide pleading eyes. Then, Harry had pulled out a dagger and plunged it straight into his heart.
No, the Boy-Who-Lived lived no longer. The Saviour died by his own hand.
The Dark Lord won the war
And ever since that fateful day, Tom Riddle's heart had not been whole. Everyday, for eight long years, Voldemort had hated himself for driving Harry to suicide.
For eight long years, the Dark Lord had suffered silently within himself.
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When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears
When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears
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Harry had hated the world.
Tom remembered Harry telling him that. He had been so surprised to hear that the Beacon of Light hated the Light Side. He had offered him a chance to join him again, to stand at his side on the Dark Side.
Harry had refused, saying that as much as he hated them, he still cared.
Tom had said nothing after that, and Harry had been content.
After all, he had meant everything to Harry, and he did try to protect the boy, ironic as it was. They loved each other, and Voldemort had felt that it was his duty to look after him.
The snowflakes swirled beneath the endless white sky. The wind took the snowflakes under its wing and tossed them into the air, again and again.
Voldemort paid no attention to the storm. He was too caught up in his thoughts of the past.
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And I held your hand through all of these years
But you still have
All of me
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He had fucked countless whores on countless nights, trying to forget about Harry, failing every time. It has never been the same, he couldn't feel what he once felt, couldn't move on.
Voldemort walked over to the statue of the Boy-Who-Lived that stood in the middle of the Astronomy Tower. It looked just like his Harry, every detail; every aspect has been captured and frozen in time onto stone. He had ordered the greatest sculptors in the Wizarding world to carve this. The statue stood on a large pyramid-like pedestal of mithril, the sculpture itself was made from light-colored marble, with perfect orbs of emerald for the eyes.
He laid a trembling hand on the figure's outstretched arm, rubbing it softly, willing it to come to life. It didn't budge, and like every time, Voldemort felt so hollow inside.
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You used to captivate me
By your resonating light
Now I'm bound by the life you left behind
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He had fallen hard for Harry, the most feared wizard in the world, the infamous Dark Lord, the most powerful man of the century, had fallen in love with a boy with a scar on his forehead, and he was still falling. Falling in the endless abyss that had once been love, falling forever, with no one to catch him….
Harry was beautiful, in every possible way. His loyalty, his defiance, his courage attracted the Dark Lord like the south attracts birds in the winter. Harry had been a refuge for the unloved little orphan that was still part of Voldemort. Harry's pure innocence had been Voldemort's salvation.
Now, with the one person who had ever cared about him gone, what could he do but live?
Live for the innocent caring boy that he had driven to suicide, live for the guilt that will never leave him, live for what he used to have?
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Your face it haunts
My once pleasant dreams
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Every night, Harry came to him in his dreams, every morning, he was no longer there. His love haunted every corner of his mind. Every star reminded him of Harry's eyes; every drop of water reminded him of Harry's tears, every child reminded him of Harry's voice, every person reminded him of Harry's death, every second, he was tortured by Harry's memory.
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Your voice it chased away
All the sanity in me
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Harry Potter, the Hero, the Savior, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One, the Prophesized Child, the Heir of Gryffindor, the Man-Who-Died.
Harry Potter, his salvation, his angel, his conscience, his beloved, his perfection, his torturer.
The wind blew harder, the snow fell faster, the blizzard's power grew as a single tear trailed it's way down Voldemort's pale face.
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These wounds won't seem to heal
This pain is just too real
There's just too much that time cannot erase
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"My Lord?"
He blinked, startled out of his flurry of thoughts.
"Yes, Draco?" he managed to say.
"Hermione Granger is here to see you, my Lord."
"Send her in."
"Y-yes my Lord," the blond man replied hesitantly.
Voldemort's hand fell back to his side. He shook the snow from his jet-black hair and faced the horizon again, and wiped away the tear on his cheek.
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When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears
When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears
And I held your hand through all of these years
But you still have
All of me
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"Tom?" Hermione said softly.
"Hello Hermione. Why did you come?" He tried to keep his voice from quivering.
The young woman approached him. "Oh Tom…" she whispered.
"I miss him, Hermione," he whispered back. The girl was one of Harry's closest friends, and she knew of his relationship with Harry.
"We all miss him, Tom."
"Then why does it hurt so much?" he suddenly yelled, whipping around to face her, he eyes overflowing with tears.
The Muggleborn flinched, then relaxed once more. "Oh Tom," she whispered again and embraced the Dark Lord tightly.
Voldemort hugged her back, and, helplessly, sobbed into her robes, unable to control himself.
"I loved him…s-so much…and he's always h-here…"
"I know, Tom, he's always everywhere."
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I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone
But though you're still with me
I've been alone all along
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He fell to his knees, alone, on the highest Tower of Hogwarts. Hermione had left.
He clutched his head with his shaking fingers, his heart pounding in his ears. He sobbed helplessly, trying desperately to forget, hating himself. His mouth opened in a soundless scream and he gasped violently in his mourning, unable to let go, unable to do anything, unable…unable…
And he did scream. For the first time in – he didn't know how long – he screamed. He screamed for what he had lost, for what could have been. He screamed, and his voice was lost in the raging storm.
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When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears
When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears
And I held your hand through all of these years
But you still have
All of me
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