Disclaimer: nothing is mine, no matter how much I love them.
Never Gone
"You are gone, Tom. Why, then, is my soul still full of your ink? Why isn't my soul mine again?"
I really don't understand, you know.
All these children, Penelope, Colin, Hermione... your death brought control back to their lives, it broke the curse, it gave back their bodies… so, why, Tom, why, is my soul still full of ink and I tremble as I see the dark blue spots stain the paper? Why am I not me again, why do I feel that a part of your soul is still mixed with mine?
You're gone, Tom. Why didn't you take the stains of dark ink of my soul with you?
Father got so mad at me for trusting you – mad! I was crying, hurt and lost a part of myself and I had to stand there, hearing words of disappointment. I hate he doesn't understand that I fought you so hard, but you were (are) too strong and had already taken control of my soul – I had lost already, but didn't give up - why doesn't Father see how hard I fought against you and this disgusting love I had (have?) for your sweet words and tricking eyes?
And I hate you too, because is your fault he is Father, and not Daddy, like he used to be. Daddy is a little girls' thing and you took away everything that made me a little girl. You made me a stained woman, trapped in the body of a girl far too innocent-looking.
No – I was a little girl, trapped with a soul of a woman who had been hurt beyond repair, trapped with too complicated feelings, that nobody is suppose to feel, not that young (not ever). Yes – that's better. I'm not sure I can call my soul mine after you.
But do I even dare saying that much? That at least my body is mine? Because all those smiles and perfectly-written lies that come out of this mouth are not mine, but yours – your teachings of manipulation, of lies, of betrayal.
You would be proud – of how easy the lies come to me. Of how easy it is to pretend I'm fine, to keep my temper in check and make sure I don't end up slapping my friends and family for telling me everything is okay and that they understand.
Yes, definitely, you would be proud.
I'm dating Harry now. He's finally seen me – I'm mad for all the time it took him, but I won't say it because when I got mad at you, you tried you kill me, and Harry reminds me just enough of you that I'm afraid of saying anything (I wouldn't try to throw him away like I did with you, and I know you planned on killing me all along, but I'm not taking any chances).
He's such a great guy, he's sweet and likes me (you never did, I remember how you laughed at me as I sat on the cold floor of the Chamber and cried). Besides, again, he didn't try to kill me – he beats you just for that.
I do realize I'm insane, you know. That speaking to somebody who is dead (though I still feel you around) is ridiculous, even more telling the worst Dark Lord of all time that my boyfriend beats him. And, of course, it doesn't really help the whole picture of insanity that I'm not actually talking – just making the speech in head (I'm afraid to even write it – I'm afraid to write anything about you, really. I just know I would stay hours just staring at the paper, just to find out if it is going to write back).
And if that wasn't enough to prove my mental instability, prepare yourself (telling myself I'm insane – god, I have problems). You know what is the one thing that's not perfect about Harry?
He doesn't know my soul. He hasn't marked it as his – he never got near it, actually. And, I feel that no matter how much of my body I was to give him, he would never be able to touch me the way you did – so inside, so intimate.
Sometimes I wonder – can I still say you mind-raped me if I let you in?
I wish Harry could see my soul – but then again, maybe is better this way. He would see the stains you let, touch the thick ink and I'm not sure I would be able to stand the disgusted look on his face (he would find it sickening – I do).
You know what? Perhaps that's why Harry can never touch my soul – you already marked it as yours. Even if you are gone (you are. Please, be).
Maybe when Voldemort dies – you're part of him, after all. Maybe then I will be free and Harry will be able to have me completely, the way I want him too.
Yes, then, he will understand me completely, the way you did, the way I miss so terribly. I will be completely exposed, and different from you, he won't find me just an annoying little girl. He'll love me with a never seen depth (or will he see the way I lied to everybody, the way I cared about you, and the whole mental problems thing and turn away?)
You needed me – it didn't matter if you liked who I was or not – you couldn't leave me. I wish Harry needed me.
I wish Father was Daddy again.
I wish my soul wasn't tainted by dark ink and above everything (what proves that besides insane, I'm pathetic too) I wish that you were here – the sweet you, the fake you, the one who cared about me and told me I deserved everything.
You once told me that only the weak ones don't pursue their dreams.
I guess that makes me weak – but part of me is you, Tom.
Does that make you weak too? Is that why you had to kill me – you wished it could be have been different, but weren't strong enough to find any other away?
If you were stronger, Tom, would you have been able to love me?
Lily has your eyes – there are not green, but lie like yours did. She's not that sweet and innocent as they tell me – I know she was the one who blew up Al's room.
They can read my soul like yours, too. I know she's only seven and maybe I'm simply insane (I really don't doubt it) – but she sees right through every lie, and when she smiles, her eyes scream 'I know what you are hiding'. She can't touch them (nobody can) but it's like she can see the stains you left.
My daughter's eyes are even more like yours because they are exactly like mine.
The world moved on, the war passed, you died (in all ways a person can die) but you are still here, inside of me, keeping everybody out.
You're gone, Tom. Why, then, I still feel the stains of dark ink in my soul?
N/A: Hey, beautiful people! So, there it is. An attempt of a TG – sort of.
Oh, well. I kind of like it – especially considering I wrote it in the middle of the night, sitting on the floor. Anyway… what do you think??
Oh, by the way, please warn me about any grammar mistakes, English is not my first language and that's a point to how much you can trust your Word and the AutoCorrect.
Reviews are love =D