A/N: My second songfic- the lyrics are from the song 'Forgiven, Not
Forgotten' by The Corrs.
Oh yes, and a coach in Britain means something kind of like a bus, but comfier and without the little tray for paying for the ride. It's usually used for longer distances. I have got no idea if you have them (at least, under the same name) in America, so I'm just explaining now.
Forgiven, Not Forgotten
I'm sitting there, staring out of the window of the coach at the rapidly passing countryside, but seeing nothing. All I can think of is his face- the expression on his face as he was told he was going to Azkaban. He couldn't have done it. He'd never betray James and Lily. Not in a lifetime. Not under torture. Never. Sigh. I'm just going over the same things in my head, all over and over again. It's all I can think about. I plug my headphones into the Muggle radio I bought the other day and start listening. Half listening, anyway. I can't really concentrate. I couldn't face all my friends after that day, that day when he was caught and sent to Azkaban. I couldn't face their sad, sympathetic looks. I couldn't face them, not when I know that they're all thinking the same thing. "How could she have been so stupid? How could she have fallen in love with a murderer? And how could she possibly try to defend him when the evidence was what it was?" I couldn't even face Remus and Arabella. Twelve years passed and I still couldn't stick meeting the guys, so I'm leaving. I decided on America, and I'm even going to change my name, just in case. No need to be ambitious- I'll just change my surname. Monique Westhaven, I think. Just unusual enough to be individual without really standing out.
On comes the DJ's irritatingly chirpy voice. "And here's the latest single for The Corrs- Forgiven, Not Forgotten. It may be sad, but it's got more of that fresh new violin playing from Sharon Corr and her sister Andrea's vocals are just as sweet as ever. Oh, just listen, OK?"
Something in my mind catches as the song plays. It's so sweet and so sad…
All alone, staring on
Watching her life go by
When her days are grey
and her nights are black
Different shades of mundane
And the one-eyed furry toy
that lies upon the bed
has often heard her cry
and heard her whisper out a name
long forgiven, but not forgotten
The night after his "trial" I thought about ending it. Without him, what was there to live for? But then I realised that if I died, the last person to believe he could be innocent, then his hope would die too. I made a promise with myself that I wouldn't forget him. Whatever he did, and I definitely don't think it was anywhere near as bad as murder, it could be forgiven.
You're forgiven not forgotten
You're forgiven not forgotten
You're forgiven not forgotten
You're not forgotten
I'd become an Animagus the same time the Marauders did. The girls did too, you know. Me and Lily and Arabella and Minerva. I became a jaguar. Minerva was a tabby cat. Lily was a snowy owl. And Arabella? Arabella was a wildcat. Typical Arabella. She was always nutty about cats, right from our first year at Hogwarts. I heard recently that Minerva and Arabella got themselves registered. I won't- it's useful being unknown. Me and Lily always were the wild ones. Just like him and James. I sneaked in to Azkaban in my jaguar form to visit him once. He looked so sad, so… dull. Withdrawn, that's the word. He told me the real story about what happened that Hallowe'en. He told me he'd kill himself if he thought I was in there again for him, so I daren't go. It'd be just like him, so wild, to kill himself.
A bleeding heart torn apart
Left on an icy grave
And the room where they
once lay, face to face
Nothing could get in their way
but now the memories of the man
are haunting her days
And the craving never fades
She's still dreaming of the man
long forgiven, but not forgotten
He was like a drug. My Ecstasy, except now I can't get my next fix and I'm desperate. When we met, back in our first year, my addiction to him was just a tiny little pet. Now it's a great black horse that rides me every night. Always, always craving him…
You're forgiven not forgotten
You're forgiven not forgotten
You're forgiven not forgotten
You're not forgotten
Suddenly something clicks in my head and I stop the coach, pretending to feel sick. I stumble off and disappear. Actually, I do feel sick. Sick with myself for even contemplating leaving him, and for leaving him alone in there, that god forsaken hell-hole, for more than ten years. I'm going back to Azkaban. I'll get him out, somehow.
I Summon my luggage and Apparate to the Leaky Cauldron. Ignoring the curious stares from the customers, I engage a room for a week. I dump my stuff and Apparate once more, to the fortress this time. It's on a little island, way north.
Still alone, staring on
Wishing her life goodbye
As she goes searching for the man
long forgiven, but not forgotten
Everything's grey or black here, even the grass. It's waist height and it scratches my legs and arms as I make my way closer to the great fortress, inch by inch. When I'm about ten metres from Azkaban, I transform. It's a wonderful feeling of freedom and sleekness and surefooted-ness, being a cat. Especially a jaguar. I prowl around for ten minutes looking for his cell, but darkness comes suddenly and there's no point in searching any more for today. With a bound, I'm away up into the hills. I settle down for the night, still as a jaguar. That night, just like every other night for twelve empty years, I dream of Sirius.
You're forgiven not forgotten
You're forgiven not forgotten
You're forgiven not forgotten
You're forgiven not forgotten
You're forgiven not forgotten
You're forgiven not forgotten
You're forgiven not forgotten
You're forgiven not forgotten
You're not forgotten
You're not forgotten
No, you're not forgotten…
Oh yes, and a coach in Britain means something kind of like a bus, but comfier and without the little tray for paying for the ride. It's usually used for longer distances. I have got no idea if you have them (at least, under the same name) in America, so I'm just explaining now.
Forgiven, Not Forgotten
I'm sitting there, staring out of the window of the coach at the rapidly passing countryside, but seeing nothing. All I can think of is his face- the expression on his face as he was told he was going to Azkaban. He couldn't have done it. He'd never betray James and Lily. Not in a lifetime. Not under torture. Never. Sigh. I'm just going over the same things in my head, all over and over again. It's all I can think about. I plug my headphones into the Muggle radio I bought the other day and start listening. Half listening, anyway. I can't really concentrate. I couldn't face all my friends after that day, that day when he was caught and sent to Azkaban. I couldn't face their sad, sympathetic looks. I couldn't face them, not when I know that they're all thinking the same thing. "How could she have been so stupid? How could she have fallen in love with a murderer? And how could she possibly try to defend him when the evidence was what it was?" I couldn't even face Remus and Arabella. Twelve years passed and I still couldn't stick meeting the guys, so I'm leaving. I decided on America, and I'm even going to change my name, just in case. No need to be ambitious- I'll just change my surname. Monique Westhaven, I think. Just unusual enough to be individual without really standing out.
On comes the DJ's irritatingly chirpy voice. "And here's the latest single for The Corrs- Forgiven, Not Forgotten. It may be sad, but it's got more of that fresh new violin playing from Sharon Corr and her sister Andrea's vocals are just as sweet as ever. Oh, just listen, OK?"
Something in my mind catches as the song plays. It's so sweet and so sad…
All alone, staring on
Watching her life go by
When her days are grey
and her nights are black
Different shades of mundane
And the one-eyed furry toy
that lies upon the bed
has often heard her cry
and heard her whisper out a name
long forgiven, but not forgotten
The night after his "trial" I thought about ending it. Without him, what was there to live for? But then I realised that if I died, the last person to believe he could be innocent, then his hope would die too. I made a promise with myself that I wouldn't forget him. Whatever he did, and I definitely don't think it was anywhere near as bad as murder, it could be forgiven.
You're forgiven not forgotten
You're forgiven not forgotten
You're forgiven not forgotten
You're not forgotten
I'd become an Animagus the same time the Marauders did. The girls did too, you know. Me and Lily and Arabella and Minerva. I became a jaguar. Minerva was a tabby cat. Lily was a snowy owl. And Arabella? Arabella was a wildcat. Typical Arabella. She was always nutty about cats, right from our first year at Hogwarts. I heard recently that Minerva and Arabella got themselves registered. I won't- it's useful being unknown. Me and Lily always were the wild ones. Just like him and James. I sneaked in to Azkaban in my jaguar form to visit him once. He looked so sad, so… dull. Withdrawn, that's the word. He told me the real story about what happened that Hallowe'en. He told me he'd kill himself if he thought I was in there again for him, so I daren't go. It'd be just like him, so wild, to kill himself.
A bleeding heart torn apart
Left on an icy grave
And the room where they
once lay, face to face
Nothing could get in their way
but now the memories of the man
are haunting her days
And the craving never fades
She's still dreaming of the man
long forgiven, but not forgotten
He was like a drug. My Ecstasy, except now I can't get my next fix and I'm desperate. When we met, back in our first year, my addiction to him was just a tiny little pet. Now it's a great black horse that rides me every night. Always, always craving him…
You're forgiven not forgotten
You're forgiven not forgotten
You're forgiven not forgotten
You're not forgotten
Suddenly something clicks in my head and I stop the coach, pretending to feel sick. I stumble off and disappear. Actually, I do feel sick. Sick with myself for even contemplating leaving him, and for leaving him alone in there, that god forsaken hell-hole, for more than ten years. I'm going back to Azkaban. I'll get him out, somehow.
I Summon my luggage and Apparate to the Leaky Cauldron. Ignoring the curious stares from the customers, I engage a room for a week. I dump my stuff and Apparate once more, to the fortress this time. It's on a little island, way north.
Still alone, staring on
Wishing her life goodbye
As she goes searching for the man
long forgiven, but not forgotten
Everything's grey or black here, even the grass. It's waist height and it scratches my legs and arms as I make my way closer to the great fortress, inch by inch. When I'm about ten metres from Azkaban, I transform. It's a wonderful feeling of freedom and sleekness and surefooted-ness, being a cat. Especially a jaguar. I prowl around for ten minutes looking for his cell, but darkness comes suddenly and there's no point in searching any more for today. With a bound, I'm away up into the hills. I settle down for the night, still as a jaguar. That night, just like every other night for twelve empty years, I dream of Sirius.
You're forgiven not forgotten
You're forgiven not forgotten
You're forgiven not forgotten
You're forgiven not forgotten
You're forgiven not forgotten
You're forgiven not forgotten
You're forgiven not forgotten
You're forgiven not forgotten
You're not forgotten
You're not forgotten
No, you're not forgotten…