Sunday Morning Coming Down

FawkesRises

Can you feel it crush you

Does it seem to bring the worst in you out

"Colors" Crossfade

--------------------------------------

A week later and the parties are still going strong. The prestigious wizarding world is a blur of liquor, sex, and God knows what else. It's a rush to see who can burn out all the bad memories first.

I wish it worked for me.

I can get roaring drunk and still wake up screaming in the middle of the night. All my nightmares are red and green. Christmas colors. I suppose that should seem ironic.

I haven't actually tried the fucking -- I can't stand to be touched so sleeping with someone isn't going to work real well. Hermione tried to hug me the other day and I jerked away from her. The look on her face...I'll never be able to tell her how sorry I am.

She and Ron keep asking me if I'm okay. I just nod and let them get back to whatever they were doing before they remembered to check on me.

How can I explain that I feel like tearing my own skin off? Or my sudden urge to hide in a corner and suck my thumb like a fucking two year old – I'm seventeen. Seventh year Gryffindors do not suck their thumbs, not even Neville.

I guess it was stupid to think I could have a normal life, one without power mad dark lords and impending doom around every corner.

Voldemort's dead.

I'm alive.

I should be happy; I'm supposed to be happy.

After all, I did everything right, everything everyone expected.

But I keep seeing him over and over in my head. I looked Voldemort in the eye and said ...

I said...

And nothing's ever going to be okay again.

-------------------------

AN: This was definitely a long time coming. I've had this thing for over a year but it never really got right until a few nights ago. Title's one of my favorite Johnny Cash songs. He's the man. Many thanks to my wonderful support team: Fluffy, Maida, The Red Deveel, Henry, Tate, the vicious Baby Hyena (go cat go!) and of course Bunny and RamBam thank you m'am. You guys are the best. LOL -- leave it to me to write my friends a sob story