Disclaimer: I do not own any thing associated with Harry Potter. All rights go to J.K. Rowling.
Drawings of Her
Absentmindedly, he drew on his pad, the coal pencil staining his fingers the same color as his soul. His eyes lost that spark that turned them from a dull green to a brilliant emerald. Thoughts of her flashed through his mind, robbing him of his will to live. It seems just like yesterday that she was here, in their bedroom, smiling up at him, the sunlight casting a heavenly glow upon her face. He missed her so much, the pain gnawed away at his heart and soul. He missed the way she used to wrinkle her nose when she smelled something funny. The way she sang in the shower in the morning when she thought no one was around.
He starting drawing as a way to escape the pain. A way of making the time go by. It started out as such; a landscape here, a caricature there. But he started to notice how more and more he started to incorporate aspects of her into his drawings. His landscapes would have some distant figure standing on a hill, her flaming hair blowing in the wind. His portraits would have her face, her smile, her eyes. Even his escape was marred by his pain. Now he just drew faceless figures, dark forests, refusing to add details, afraid that if he does, he'll draw her.
Minutes melted into hours. Hours melded into days. Days transformed into months. Time kept going, but it didn't make it better. Every second, minute, hour, day spent without her sent him deeper into the dark abyss that was now his constant companion. By this time, he stopped drawing. He would lie on the couch, unable to care for himself. His face was narrow and pale. His hair was scraggly and beard unkempt. His thoughts circulated around the end. The end of what, he did not know. The end of pain. The end of loneliness. The end of misery. He knew he was reaching the end and that he had done nothing to stop himself. He fell into a dreamless sleep, knowing that tomorrow would be his last day on earth.
Early the next morning, he walked into the kitchen, his plans firmly in mind. He conjured a cauldron and all the necessary ingredients to make the Sleeping Death potion. After an hour of brewing the colorless, odorless, tasteless potion, he walked over to the table where he had carefully place a piece of parchment and a quill. He sat down and gathered his thoughts. He glanced at the glass of liquid death in front of him, picked up the quill, and began to write his last words:
"To those that matter, this may seem a coward's way out, but this is my only way…To Ron and Hermione, I love you. When the whole world was against me, you were there. No amount of Felix Felicis could have made me any luckier. To Molly, Fred, and George, I'm sorry you had to lose a daughter and a sister and now you have to lose a son and brother. To my friends, it was amazing to have known you all and I hope you have great lives.
I love you all…"
He sat the quill down, tears brimming in his eyes. He grabbed the glass of liquid death, and raised it to his lips. He closed his eyes and relished the image of his flame-haired love smiling at him before he drank and slept forever.
Well, that was hard. Read and review please!