Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.k. Rowling. She is the amazing mastermind behind the Harry Potter stories!


The letter of regret

A shiver went through her body. A tear started to form in her eyes. The letter she had in her hand fell on the ground; it fell as if it was in slow motion. This could not happen, not to her. She was perfect; she had the perfect life according to everyone, had she not? Another tear formed and followed the first. Soon she was silently crying, alone. She felt herself getting weaker. She knew she should sit down, but she couldn't. Her body could not move. She was standing in the middle of the room, showed.

How did this happen? Why did this happen? How could she now live on? Where would she get inspiration from? Her happiness? Who was going to help her when she needed help? Her help. Who could she now turn to when she wanted to cry? When all she needed was just a loving hug.

Her legs gave up on her; she hit the ground hard. She did not feel the pain. She lay down on the ground, curling up. She cried, her jeans got wetter of the tears. She was not sure if she could ever stop crying. She felt it was her fault. How did she not see it coming? Where did it go wrong? Did she do something wrong? Was it her father?

She knew her father could be violent when he was drunk. But he didn't drink anymore; he had promised that to her. Had she missed the signs? Had he started drinking again? Is that why her mother had done it? She could not remember her mother telling her anything about it. Of course her mother would not say anything about it. She should have been there to protect her mother, just as her mother always protected her. Why had she left? Why had she left her mother alone with her father?

Tears kept rolling down her face on her knees. The floor was cold. The cold was slowly spreading through her body. She felt it, she just did not notice it. She did not care. Why would she?

She never had a perfect life; why did she always pretend that she had a perfect life? Why did she always tell others about her perfect life? No one knew about her father. No one knew about the scars he had given her, both the physical as psychological ones. Now he had given her another open wound, a wound that needed healing and would become a scar she had to live with. But how could she heal when she knew it was her fault. She could have taken care of her mother. She should have taken care of her mother. She should never have believed her father. She knew deep in her heart that she should not have. He had promised it her before. But she wanted to believe; she had wanted him to change. There had always been a sparking hope of a better life with her father. The hope to get the father back she used to have. The father she loved. She knew she should have given up hope; this would not have happened. The look in his eyes had given her so much hope; he looked so full of regret. Regret of all the pain he had caused, the scars he had made. How could she have believed him?

The door of the room was opened. Footsteps were coming closer. She didn't look up. She didn't care. She felt how she was tilled on to a bed. As if she wasn't really there. Her head was put on someone's lap just seconds later. The person caressed her hair. All she could there was lying there and cry. She did not need to know who it was. She was just glad that she wasn't alone anymore.


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