Title: Gone
Author: Vanilla Twist
Chapter One
"Horrid Hair
Freckles
Such a ghastly white
Tall and gangly
Too quiet
Too loud
Too Smart
Too Naïve
Too Young
Yet too old
Never Enough
Nothing is ever enough
Unlovable, Worthless
Am I?"
His eyes glistened in the firelight with unshed tears as he read her poetry, her soul on paper. Anyone who would have seen him wouldn't ever believe that he was even capable of producing tears, his strong cool, in control physique held up well as a front.
"How could someone so wonderful and kind think that they were worthless?" He thought in complete wonderment.
He'd been reading this small black book full of her poetry all day, each page even more painful than the last. He could read her pain through her words. From the simple scribbles forming words on those pages, his heart- which was until then frozen and untouchable- was breaking. Her sorrow was tearing at him. Her pain, and his were so much alike. Yet they themselves were so different.
He sighed softly and turned the page. Scribbled there in blood red ink were the coldest and most heart-wrenching words in that entire book.
"Tonight, at eleven
My every pain will end
My sorrow will cease.
No one will notice
And if anyone did then it wouldn't matter
Because they never saw before.
I am a coward of sorts
Running like this
Hiding from the truth.
This is my chance…
My final escape from reality
A chance to find my fantasy world.
Now I sign off for the last time,
This is my final farewell
My last good bye
Forever…"
He paled at the thought of her beautiful body, mangled and bloodied, dead for all to see. He shuddered slightly, he'd seen death before, and in fact he brought it to his fair share of human beings in his seventeen years of life. Her being dead though, that was to him, like the sight of a slain unicorn, the most terribly sad thing he could imagine.
He had noticed her prior to finding this little black book, he had seen her, drowning in her misery, not even pretending to be happy anymore. He missed the thrill he would get taunting her, missed seeing her go as red as her hair and shaking from head to toe before winding back and slapping him sharply across the face like she did in her fourth and fifth years. Now she was different, he missed her.
Now he was never one for heroics, he'd rather be the bad guy, but he knew that he had to be there. Even if he could do nothing to stop it, he had to be there to see her, a final time.
He checked his watch and with a start, realized that it was ten minutes before eleven and hastily rose from the cool leather armchair. He snapped the book closed and crossed to the stairs.
His feet took him directly to the tower; he knew that she'd be there. He stood alone in the shadows of the room, she was there, bathed in the light of the moon shining through the lone tower window. She reached down into her bag and withdrew a small ebony handled dagger. He stood in the shadows waiting, watching her.
She rested the blade of the knife against the creamy freckled skin of her neck, hand shaking. Two teardrops, slipped down her cheek and onto her hand and she laughed softly, bitterly.
"I didn't think I had any tears left to cry." She murmured, as they from her dead brown eyes.
He watched the beautiful creature before him, crying, the moonlight making her skin glow, her hair shine. She was the portrait of a goddess and he was a man, not even fit to look at her. She was perfect, except for the silver glint pressed to the side of her neck.
"Why?" He asks, not stepping from the shadows. "Why now?"
She took a deep shuddering breath and speaking into the shadows, said; "Why? Why does it matter? No one cares."
"No." He answered, barley audible. "I care. I don't think I've ever cared more."
"You're too late." She whispered, though her hand shook terribly.
"I know." He said quietly, stepping from the shadows and into the moonlight for the first time.
Their eyes met and he could see emotion struggling within the depths of her once believed dead eyes. He knew, by the tremble racking through her, the tears falling like rain from her beautiful eyes, she was close, but not yet gone.
"Don't." He commanded just above a whisper. Then softly he added, "I think I love you, Virginia."
She dropped the knife and flung herself into his arm, sobbing.
The next morning, a stunned Hufflepuff first year would enter the tower room to find Ginny Weasley sleeping peacefully in a silver-haired Slytherin's embrace, and genuine smile on that Slytherin boy's face.
Author's Note – Read and Review Please.