Released
WARNING: Suicide. Character Death. Disturbing Images.
RATING: M. Read with an open mind.
DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter and all related registered trademarks are the property of J.K. Rowling, Warner bros Inc. Scholastic Books, Bloomsbury, et. Al. I am in no way making any profit from writing this story.
A/N: This is what you get when you overdose on painkillers… bah! There goes my excuse. But seriously, this is my comfort zone: ANGST and TRAGEDY. If you have any qualms about that, get lost. This is not the story for you. GO check out my other fics if you want sunshine and daisies. You have already been warned. If anyone flames this story, well, that just means that you can't read warnings properly. This is told in second person POV. One-shot.
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The flames have long ceased burning. There is nothing but smoke and charred debris lining your path. You lower your wand.
It's finally over.
You take a deep breath –you do not notice that you were holding it in for so long until now. Then, you being to feel the heaviness as it starts to settle: first on your head, then, on your shoulders, finally on your knees.
You fall to the ground.
You hear nothing but silence –only a while ago, screams and curses permeated the air – but now, you hear nothing but deafening silence. A while ago… how long has it been anyway? It seemed that you have been fighting all your life –it felt that way.
But it was finally over.
You've done your part.
It's time to move on.
You force yourself to stand p. You will not allow yourself to perish on the same ground as your mot loathed nemesis did. No, there is only one place where you would want to end it all. With a slight limp on your left leg, courtesy of one blonde peacock, you make your way to your destined safe haven. No one seems to notice you –not that you expect them to. They are all far too busy celebrating the murder you have just committed. Surely, you got rid of an evil wizard, really a good riddance –but no matter what, you still killed. Your soul has been tainted beyond repair. You were no longer different from the evil git you just offed.
You gently open the faulty wooden door that served as the entrance to the rundown shack, trying hard not to make a sound, afraid that you might wake its sole occupant –you then close it ever gently behind you.
It was dawn; the windows were boarded up though, so you cast a Lumos. The faint glow from the tip of your wand was enough to light up the whole room. Your emerald eyes quickly scanned the compact area until you find what you are looking for.
Him.
Your eyes rest on his defeated form: up against the wall, his eyes closed, unmoving. If you did not know any better, you would say that he was just fast asleep. But that is just it –you know better. His chest is not rising and falling intermittently, gone is the faint snore that escapes his lips every once in a while… and what happened to the smooth and steady heartbeat –the one that you'd fall asleep listening to as he held you in his strong and sturdy arms?
No, don't even go there, you tell yourself. It's too painful to even recall how happy you've been to have found him –only to just lose him all of a sudden.
Really, it's all your fault.
You approach him, your heavy footsteps echoing in the silence. The musky smell of damp, rotting wood and dried blood made you want to throw up, but really, you should have gotten used to that by now, you thought wryly.
You finally reach his side. You drop to your knees unceremoniously and reach out with a trembling hand to touch his face –it was cold, very cold. You don't know how long it has been since you last held him as he died, bleeding in your arms, but it all felt fresh in your mind's eye. You close your eyes as you let your fingers wander –touching his face, memorizing each line, nook and cranny.
Will you see him again?
Probably not, where you're going.
So, you try to take everything that your memory can store: his smoldering gaze, his frugal smile, his graceful movements –the way he moved with you was one passionate dance with an elaborate choreography that never failed to mesmerize you every time you touch. You then try to take in all that your heart will allow you: the way his voice brings chills down your spine, the simple, subtle gestures he does to show you he cares, his unwavering devotion and loyalty to you, and you alone… until the very end. You clutch the vial of memories in your hand. You need not see them to know. You throw it against the wall. It breaks, the silvery substance escapes its confines.
Tears escape as you open your eyes. There was no use going through t all again. Nothing can bring back time and space. Nothing can bring him back to life… back to you.
It will be over, soon.
You take a spot right next to him, against the wall. You try to steady your breathing. You raise your wand one last time and directed it at an unsuspecting silver mask that lay beside his bloodied cloak. Transfiguration was never really your best subject –but right then, you hope that it would be enough – a passable attempt.
You lower your wand as your other hand reached for the transfigured mask. You let go of your hold and phoenix feather as s macabre smile ghosted your pale lips.
Perfect, you thought, as your hand gripped the silver athame your magic had produced. It was sharp and shiny –McGonagall would be proud.
You steal one final glance at the man who lay beside you. You lift the blade you wielded in mock salute.
Cheers, Severus. See you, I hope.
You shifted the blade to your preferred hand. It was really just a small knife, but it felt heavy on your bruised, scratched and battered palm. The metal was cold –as cold as Severus' face, you thought. You let out another deep breath.
You close your red, swollen eyes as you tried to empty your mind –Occlumency, really, are you just trying to attempt it now? You force out every thought, ever memory, every emotion that held you back – in this world, I this mortal realm.
You bring the blade against your left wrist and make a deep cut.
Funny, it doesn't seem to hurt, you thought. Isn't it supposed to hurt?
You open your eyes to check if you missed your mark. Your vision was immediately greeted by a fountain of deep, dark red blood oozing from your damaged vein. You sigh in relief –you are still human after all, no matter how people brand you as some sort of demi-god who knew and could do no wrong. It felt good to be normal, to bleed just like everybody else does.
You close your eyes once more as your blood start to flow me freely. The heaviness you felt earlier seem to start melting away. Really, who wants a life like that when death was easier?
Your vision starts to falter. How long has it been? You try to open your eyes but you see nothing. Your heart beat starts to slow down. You can no longer feel your limbs, let alone move them. You try to wiggle your fingers and toes –it's no use, they just wouldn't cooperate.
From a distance, you hear footfalls approaching, worried voices, panicked hollers –all shouting your name. You smile to yourself. Will they ever learn?
No, but of course not, a voice from the back of your head came on.
You can sense them drawing nearer, but as they do, their screams become fainter. You can now feel your heart almost come to a complete stop.
The panicked voices were now gone –only to be replaced by familiar, welcoming ones.
Harry, my baby!
Prongslet, hey son!
Welcome home, cub!
I missed you pup!
Hello, love.
Your heart stops altogether right after that last voice. Your lids were heavy like iron, but you fought hard to open them once more.
That was when you saw.
'Severus,' your last word was, as you took your final breath, a ghostly but contented smile, etched on your weathered face.
Finally, it's truly over.
You are now released.
Free.
Happy.
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A/N: It ended happier that I intended it to be, but there you go. As always, reviews and constructive criticisms are welcomed, feedbacks, ideas and suggestions are greatly appreciated. Flames? No… well, go ahead if you must. But don't say I didn't warn you. Until next time -Eastwoodgirl