Disclaimer: I own nothing. Blah blah blah blah.
A/N: This is my first real attempt of angst. I'm pretty proud of it, but I'd really like to know what other people think of it, so please review and tell me what you thought, what I need to work on or whatever. Thanks.
**********
Never Again
By Skippy1
**********
The evening air becomes cooler as the sun begins to slip under the horizon. I wrap my cloak tighter against myself and quicken my pace. I will get home faster and the movement warms me up a bit. I could Apparate home, I know, but recently the walking has helped me, given me some time to sort out my feelings and think about things. I've needed this time lately.
Voldemort is the name that can sum up all my troubles. He is the reason my parents are dead. He is the reason my godfather is dead. He is the reason my two best friends, besides my wife, are dead.
The last the most recent, only two months ago. A lump forms in my throat, just thinking about them. Ron and Hermione had been married for six years. The last time I saw them, Ron wanted kids. Hermione wanted to focus on her career. They were both Aurors, the same as me. Maybe that's why Voldemort killed them. Or maybe, more likely, because they were avid members of the Order of the Phoenix, the secret society dedicated to Voldemort's downfall.
But those are just ideas to distract me from the real reason real reason Voldemort killed them. It's because they were my best friends. I've got this heavy burden on my shoulders. A prophecy was made and I'm the only one who can defeat Voldemort, get rid of him forever. So Voldemort, of course, wants to get rid of me first.
It's a fine life for me.
My family is the one thing that keeps me going. My wife and I have been married for five years, and three years ago we had a daughter, Lily, named for my mother. I love them both more than anything and worry about them constantly. The house is in a Muggle neighborhood, so Voldemort would have trouble finding it if he so desired to, but if he did, I have people I can trust watching it twenty-four hours a day.
The sun is completely gone from sight now. The wind rustles through the trees eerily, adding an extra chill. My home is not far ahead.
And suddenly my heart stops, as well as my legs. I blink. Surely I am imagining this.
The Dark Mark is hovering above the rooftop of my home, where my wife and child were this morning.
I drop my bag, take out my wand, and run. How long had it been? Were they okay? Where was Voldemort? Why hadn't the guards done anything?
The answer to my last question lies just ahead on the sidewalk, dead, right by my fence. They'd killed him. I struggle not to add the word "too" to my last thought. Nothing was for sure yet. I jump over both the body and the fence and continue to the door without slowing.
I tear open the front door and enter the entryway. Everything seems normal. Nothing is out of place. I call my wife's name.
Still nothing.
The next few rooms are a blur. I run through them all, but they're all the same. Undisturbed. I call out every few seconds, each time becoming more desperate. I need to find something. I burst open the living room door from the kitchen, and I find something. Furniture is turned over, shattered glass lies on the floor. But I don't notice any of that. My wife is lying on her back on the floor, eyes closed. She's pale.
She's dead.
No, I tell myself. No. This is just a dream, a horrible dream. In a second I'll wake up, and she'll be beside me, and she'll laugh when I tell her. We'll both laugh. I shut my eyes tightly and then open them again, expecting my bed. But I'm still here, staring at her lying on the floor. Why won't I wake up? It certainly feels like a dream.
The shock of realizing that this was reality was as bad as the shock of first seeing her dead. I drop my wand, fall to my knees and crawl to her body. I take her head in my trembling hands. She's still beautiful.
I look up and see the display of pictures on the wall. It seems to be the one thing untouched in the room. In the center was an enlarged picture of her and me. She had always loved that picture. It was taken shortly after our wedding. We were sitting on a bench, looking into each other's eyes and laughing.
Never again. She will never laugh again. She will never smile again. She will never talk again. She will never love again. She will never live again.
I will never see her again. God, no! I vomit onto the floor, and then I remember.
Lily.
No, please, please, don't let her be dead too. I surprise myself by jumping to my feet and beginning to run, but there is no need. She's wrapped up in a blanket behind an overturned chair.
Oh, God! Have you no mercy?
I pick her up and hold her in my arms. Her head with brown hair droops to one side. I look at the wedding picture again.
Never at all.
And suddenly I break. Still holding my daughter, I scream and pound on the wall, hot tears flowing down my face. Why? Why did they have to be killed? Why couldn't I have gotten home earlier? Why am I left with nothing? Why has everyone I have ever been close to been killed? Why couldn't it have been me?
Still sobbing, I walk over and place my daughter's body in her mother's arms. I lean down and give them both a kiss. "I'll be right back," I whisper, and I walk with legs like jelly into the kitchen. I find the knife drawer and take out the biggest without thinking about it.
Carrying the knife, I walk back to the living room and lie down next to my family. Then I take the knife and slash both my wrists, not feeling any pain. I cannot feel any more pain. I drop the knife and put my arm around my wife and daughter, ready to be cast into death, into oblivion.
After a few long minutes, I realize I'm not dying. I roll over and look at my wrists. They have healed.
The prophecy. I have to kill Voldemort, or be killed by him. The damn prophecy! I can't even kill myself!
I scream and throw the knife at the wall. Then I get up and run. Before I know it, I'm outside. "Come on!" I scream to the darkness. "Come on and kill me! I'm asking you to! I want to!" I collapse to my knees, sobbing. Soon enough, a popping noise is heard beside me. I don't look up. I know who it is.
"I was hoping you'd say that," said Voldemort. He let out a cold laugh and said the words.
THE END
A/N: This is my first real attempt of angst. I'm pretty proud of it, but I'd really like to know what other people think of it, so please review and tell me what you thought, what I need to work on or whatever. Thanks.
**********
Never Again
By Skippy1
**********
The evening air becomes cooler as the sun begins to slip under the horizon. I wrap my cloak tighter against myself and quicken my pace. I will get home faster and the movement warms me up a bit. I could Apparate home, I know, but recently the walking has helped me, given me some time to sort out my feelings and think about things. I've needed this time lately.
Voldemort is the name that can sum up all my troubles. He is the reason my parents are dead. He is the reason my godfather is dead. He is the reason my two best friends, besides my wife, are dead.
The last the most recent, only two months ago. A lump forms in my throat, just thinking about them. Ron and Hermione had been married for six years. The last time I saw them, Ron wanted kids. Hermione wanted to focus on her career. They were both Aurors, the same as me. Maybe that's why Voldemort killed them. Or maybe, more likely, because they were avid members of the Order of the Phoenix, the secret society dedicated to Voldemort's downfall.
But those are just ideas to distract me from the real reason real reason Voldemort killed them. It's because they were my best friends. I've got this heavy burden on my shoulders. A prophecy was made and I'm the only one who can defeat Voldemort, get rid of him forever. So Voldemort, of course, wants to get rid of me first.
It's a fine life for me.
My family is the one thing that keeps me going. My wife and I have been married for five years, and three years ago we had a daughter, Lily, named for my mother. I love them both more than anything and worry about them constantly. The house is in a Muggle neighborhood, so Voldemort would have trouble finding it if he so desired to, but if he did, I have people I can trust watching it twenty-four hours a day.
The sun is completely gone from sight now. The wind rustles through the trees eerily, adding an extra chill. My home is not far ahead.
And suddenly my heart stops, as well as my legs. I blink. Surely I am imagining this.
The Dark Mark is hovering above the rooftop of my home, where my wife and child were this morning.
I drop my bag, take out my wand, and run. How long had it been? Were they okay? Where was Voldemort? Why hadn't the guards done anything?
The answer to my last question lies just ahead on the sidewalk, dead, right by my fence. They'd killed him. I struggle not to add the word "too" to my last thought. Nothing was for sure yet. I jump over both the body and the fence and continue to the door without slowing.
I tear open the front door and enter the entryway. Everything seems normal. Nothing is out of place. I call my wife's name.
Still nothing.
The next few rooms are a blur. I run through them all, but they're all the same. Undisturbed. I call out every few seconds, each time becoming more desperate. I need to find something. I burst open the living room door from the kitchen, and I find something. Furniture is turned over, shattered glass lies on the floor. But I don't notice any of that. My wife is lying on her back on the floor, eyes closed. She's pale.
She's dead.
No, I tell myself. No. This is just a dream, a horrible dream. In a second I'll wake up, and she'll be beside me, and she'll laugh when I tell her. We'll both laugh. I shut my eyes tightly and then open them again, expecting my bed. But I'm still here, staring at her lying on the floor. Why won't I wake up? It certainly feels like a dream.
The shock of realizing that this was reality was as bad as the shock of first seeing her dead. I drop my wand, fall to my knees and crawl to her body. I take her head in my trembling hands. She's still beautiful.
I look up and see the display of pictures on the wall. It seems to be the one thing untouched in the room. In the center was an enlarged picture of her and me. She had always loved that picture. It was taken shortly after our wedding. We were sitting on a bench, looking into each other's eyes and laughing.
Never again. She will never laugh again. She will never smile again. She will never talk again. She will never love again. She will never live again.
I will never see her again. God, no! I vomit onto the floor, and then I remember.
Lily.
No, please, please, don't let her be dead too. I surprise myself by jumping to my feet and beginning to run, but there is no need. She's wrapped up in a blanket behind an overturned chair.
Oh, God! Have you no mercy?
I pick her up and hold her in my arms. Her head with brown hair droops to one side. I look at the wedding picture again.
Never at all.
And suddenly I break. Still holding my daughter, I scream and pound on the wall, hot tears flowing down my face. Why? Why did they have to be killed? Why couldn't I have gotten home earlier? Why am I left with nothing? Why has everyone I have ever been close to been killed? Why couldn't it have been me?
Still sobbing, I walk over and place my daughter's body in her mother's arms. I lean down and give them both a kiss. "I'll be right back," I whisper, and I walk with legs like jelly into the kitchen. I find the knife drawer and take out the biggest without thinking about it.
Carrying the knife, I walk back to the living room and lie down next to my family. Then I take the knife and slash both my wrists, not feeling any pain. I cannot feel any more pain. I drop the knife and put my arm around my wife and daughter, ready to be cast into death, into oblivion.
After a few long minutes, I realize I'm not dying. I roll over and look at my wrists. They have healed.
The prophecy. I have to kill Voldemort, or be killed by him. The damn prophecy! I can't even kill myself!
I scream and throw the knife at the wall. Then I get up and run. Before I know it, I'm outside. "Come on!" I scream to the darkness. "Come on and kill me! I'm asking you to! I want to!" I collapse to my knees, sobbing. Soon enough, a popping noise is heard beside me. I don't look up. I know who it is.
"I was hoping you'd say that," said Voldemort. He let out a cold laugh and said the words.
THE END