Untitled Document

Miseryland
(One More Day)

Sequel to True North

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I learned to fly
But you
You ran to find the gun
To shoot me down
Before I got too high

It's a joke, right? A joke. It has too be, of course. How stupid of me, I've fallen for one of Ron's stupid jokes. Ha, ha, ha, Ron.

Wait a second, I thought. This can't be Ron. He can't even speak... his... name aloud, much less write it in full calligraphy swirls. Harry, maybe? No, Harry wouldn't either... Draco being a Malfoy was too loyal... Oh great, Hermione. You've run out of people to blame. That was all I could think. It paralyzed me that this could be real.

'Cause you could not stand
To stand
Alone in a long line
For your wild ride
It requires two lost souls per seat
At least Five Foot Five

So. Given no evidence otherwise, logically I was forced into assuming the letter was real. About five seconds later I rushed into the bathroom, hand over my mouth.

A murderer loved me. A dark magic wielding, wrathful, madman of a murderer had fallen head-over-heels for me. It was flattering and yet disgusting at the same time, especially when a pathetic little voice spoke up in my head. There must be dozens of concubines that'd loooove to be in your position, I'll bet, Hermione! No use for it, really. I gagged again.

And I don't wanna go
For a ride
Down to Miseryland
Trapped with you
By my side
Down in Miseryland

He loved me, did he? I could tell by his tone in the writing that he was sincere. I stamped back into my room, queasiness gone with rage. So he loved me, did he? I picked up my quill, spreading out a piece of parchment, and dipped the goosefeather in my bottle of red ink.

So he loved me, did he? Then I'll just have to break his little heart.

Up in the air
You wave
Two tickets for my utter amusement
You posess
An express pass to unhapiness
That makes you feel alive?

I had never put that much of my rage into a letter before. It was all there, the anger, making my words like flames. I wanted this to be the ultimate thrust with a double bladed sword.

I attacked every aspect of his personality with a paragraph. I called him a traitor. I called him a beast. And worse.

And I don't have a place anymore
Down in Miseryland
Trapped with you forevermore
Is not what I have planned
So take a seat by yourself
And wait to fall a hundred stories

I continued my verbal mauling. Determined to make whatever part of his soul this had come from into a bloody, bleeding pulp, I wrote onwards. My words were going to kill him and I liked it that way.

Better hold on tight
Hands inside the ride
Don't forget to breathe

The bottle was still drenched in returning spells. I shoved the rolled up parchment down into the green glass and nearly cracked the neck forcing the cork in.

Aunt Arabella, whom I was staying with, always was fond of balconies overlooking the sea cliffs. With a heave I chucked the bottle as far as I could...

No I don't wanna go
For a ride
Down to miseryland
Trapped with you by my side
Down in misery...

I turned a swift heel back into my room and read the letter again as I massaged my temples. All of this had given me a headache. As I took the time to go farther into his words, I noticed something.

I knew he had been in hiding for about three months, and the stress nearly bleeded from the words. The man sounded desperate... almost...

Suicidal.

Ooops.

I flew down the stairs, glad I was wearing my swimsuit. Not saying I wouldn't really mind his blood on my hands, but still, it's a person's death I happen to be responsible for. Besides, it also would be a terribly embarrassing problem to go to my psychiatrist with.

I learned to fly
But you are still shooting
The sky
Still shooting

Within fifteen minutes I had climbed back up the stairs to the guest room I inhabited, soaking wet, even more miffed, but with the bottle firmly clamped in my hand.

I got the piece of parchment out of the bottle and threw it on the fire. That's all I really cared at that moment, because after that it was a warm shower and warm pyjamas and bed. The sea green glass container was sitting quite patiently on my desk.

It could wait one more day, I thought to myself. He can wait one more day if he's waited this long.

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AN:

The song is, of course, by Fisher. It's (as the title implies) from the song "Miseryland", off the alblum True North. Again, go buy and make Fisher rich and happy so she'll put out more CDs and bump the boybands from the radio! Yeahh!

A great and hearty thank you to those of you that reviewed True North! That would, of course, be these wonderful people: Mistaria (whodathunk indeed?); Trin (yay! I'm not alone! And yes, I'm trying to write more H/V); Pipsqueek (I wrote more. You'll read more?); Gileonnen (thank you for the wonderful flattery! Yes, it is a bit of a strech, but I'll hopefully explain later - this should be a bit more realist); Davita (that's on cue for the rest of the series... and always remember, there's more than one side to every person); Catriona Snape (and yes, pleeeease write me soon, I'm getting lonely! All of my pet rats are dying on me! *sob* Okay, only two, but that's still a lot in rattyness...)

See what you get if you review?! ^_^ Don't you want to go review...

Now?