disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to Warner Bros, Scholastic, JK Rowling... I don't lay any claim to it. I don't own this song either.
A Ghost of You
I will wait up until the end.
When the pendulum does swing back to the darker sides of our hearts bleeding.
And i will save this empty space next to me like its a grave where I lay a place for us to
sleep eternally together.
I have been searching for traces of what we were.
Harry sat in his room at number 4 Privet Drive. In his lap were pictures...
pictures of his parents...
pictures of Sirius...
pictures of happier times.
Tears rolled down Harry's cheeks as he looked at those pictures.
Never, in Harry's nearly sixteen years of living had he been happier then when he had
know he had had a family.
Now, like his parents, Sirius was dead.
GONE.
Nothing more than a memory.
A ghost of you is all that I have left,
Its all that I have left of you the hold
I wake in the night to find there's no one there but,
There's nothing left of what we were at all.
Harry stared the picture of Sirius playing best man at Lily and James' wedding. He looked
at his mother, so radient and beautiful, his father practically beaming with love and
happiness.
Then in his mind's eye Harry saw Sirius' face gaunt and thin when Harry first met him.
Sirius, singing stupid annoying songs at Christmas last year.
Sirius looking worried whenever he thought Harry's life was in jepordy.
Then, he had a faint memory of his mother leaning over him, her hair shining like the sun,
as she sang him a lullabye.
Harry's thoughts whirled and settled on a sliver stag. The stag that protected him from
depression and a souless existance.
Then without warning, Harry saw a flash of bright green light.
Again, Sirius' laughing face, but this time shot in the chest, falling backward through a
tattered black curtain, never to return.
So here I am pacing around this house again.
With pictures of us living on these walls.
I see my breath in the cold of the air that I breathe and
I'm wondering if its you that I feel
if its you that I feel here haunting me forever.
I'm not looking for anything but us
Anything but what we were
And I'm not asking for painted memories;
I only want to know you're here.
Harry tried to push the image of the light and Sirius' death from his mind but couldn't.
He tried to feel thier presence but couldn't.
How many times had Dumbledore told him that his father lived inside him?
Right now Harry did not believe that.
That was bullshit.
Frustrated, Harry flung the album against the wall oposite him. It slid to the floor,
scattering pictures everywhere. Harry sank onto his bed watching the sun sink below his
window sill. Tears continued to flow down his face
A ghost of you is all that I have left,
Its all that I have left of you the hold
I wake in the night to find there's no one there but,
There's nothing left of what we were at all.
Lieing there in the darkness of his room, Harry's mind seemed only capable of one though:
I hate Voldemort.