Bonjour! My first Romione one-shot in a looooonnnnnggggg time! Read and Review! Happy Valentines day!
HPloveofmylife
Hello.
That's all it takes for her world to come crumbling down.
It was almost like a whisper, one she had to grab before it flitted away.
Hello.
She says it back, but it's not as melodious and sweet as his is. It breaks her heart. And she doesn't know why
.
Goodbye.
They say it every year on the same platform, the air dangling with awkward conversations and words neither of them can propel to say.
She doesn't know why – she never knows anything when she's around him – but when she says goodbye, it's like she can feel her heart breaking.
C.r.a.c.k.i.n.g like china or porcelain. Something breakable. Like her.
And he doesn't notice.
He never does.
Because, to him, goodbye is merely a response.
They'll say hello again. They always do.
It's just who they are.
.
He doesn't look back.
She shouts and she screams and she lets mud drip down her legs onto her bare toes.
But he doesn't look back.
And she doesn't understand why.
She never understands why.
She screams until there are no more words left to speak.
And then she cries.
Because she's w e a k and that's what w e a k girls do.
They cry away their problems.
And her tears mingle with the rain and the mud and she feels dirty.
Mudblood. Because she is one.
How could he lOvE a mudblood?
.
Hello.
He's back again.
She knew, deep down, that he'd come back.
Because he always does.
But she still feels dirty around him.
.
Because she'll never really be clean.
.
Etched into her skin forever.
Dark magic and a knife and cuts that won't disappear.
.
She'll never be good enough for him.
And she ignores everything he tells her.
She ignores him when he tells her she's wrong.
Because she's a Granger, dammit, and she's never wrong.
Except about him.
Because there's more to him than meets the eye.
But she still won't believe that he could love someone with such [dirtyblood] like hers.
.
Nobody will ever see her cry.
Nobody will ever see her trace those eight little letters with the tip of her wand.
Nobody will ever see her break the way she does because she will not show them.
.
Because she won't let people see her tears.
Because she won't let people see her insecurities.
Because she won't let people see her blood spilled before them.
.
It's all she is.
Filthy little mudblood.
.
It's like a circle – hello, goodbye, walk away. Hello, goodbye, walk away. And it makes her sick.
She doesn't know when it all began.
A circle has no beginning.
But it began.
And she knows deep down it will never stop.
Because it is what they do.
And she is still filthy dirty – and she will n/e/v/e/r/ be clean.
E v e r e v e r e v e r e v e r e v e r
.
She draws the blade across her wrists – her final act – and lets the pain wave through her body.
She makes a final cut and knows immediately she's hit a vein.
BLOOD pours from her wrists and stains pristine white tiles.
She looks at her wrists for a last, single moment before she collapses.
Her chest stills.
She doesn't move again.
Drip
Drip
Drip
Drip
Blood
Dirty blood
Mudblood