okay, i dont know wher it came from but i really hope you like it.
authors random quote: "you dont realize how much you need something until you have to let it go, then, its like it's the thing tying you to life."
disclaimer: i dont own it. im not j.k. rowling. im not much. i have 10 dollars in my bank account. even if you sue me, i have nothing.
Stay
You watched them fight all day, every day for five years. You stood in the corner and watched him yell at her and her yell right back at him. You sat on the floor in your room and heard the horrid things shouted back and forth in anger, and when it was over you cried. And when the shouting finally stopped, you ran from the corner or down the stairs and prayed to whoever would listen that he would still come back.
You knew full well that it never got violent. Yes, he yelled and yes, she screamed like a banshee, but he never hit, she never hit or kicked or anything of the sort. That's why you thought it was just hard times. You never knew about what they were fighting. They fought in German. You didn't know German so all you knew was he was mad and she was mad and it wouldn't be easy but they loved each other and he would come back again.
And then, one night it changed. You were sitting on the sofa in the great room. Suddenly the door opened and they came in shouting, again. This time though, it was different. This time you understood. This time it was English, and this time, they didn't know you were there.
And she yelled something about a mudblood or something. And he yelled about it being years ago and that he wasn't sorry. And they yelled for hours…and hours...and hours. And then he said goodbye. And she fell to the ground, and you jumped from the couch and yelled "NOOO!" And then he bolted. And you saw her on the ground and went to pull her up onto the couch. And then you ran after him.
You found him in his room throwing things into his bag. You knock quietly on the doorframe. As he turned around, you pretended not to see the tearstains running down his face, making him look absolutely broken.
"You can't leave." You whispered to him. "You just can't."
He looked at you, shook his head and said, "You don't understand. You're just a kid."
"No, I'm not. I do understand, and you CAN'T leave."
"Well," he said looking at a picture and shaking his head again, "I sure as hell can't stay here."
You looked at each other in silence for a very long time, him still throwing the random thing in his bag, you wishing you were older and able to understand why he was leaving. Finally, he put the last thing in the bag, walked out the door and beckoned you to follow him. When you finally got to the front door, and he was about to put on his jacket, you finally said something again.
"Stay." It was so quiet, you didn't think he heard. If you hadn't been the one to say it, you wouldn't have heard it either.
But he was smart, you brother. He heard you, loud and clear. And he pulled you into a hug and whispered into your ear, "Reg, you know I can't stay. You know just as well as I do, that if I stay, either mum will kill me, or I'll kill her or something else just as drastic will happen and I don't think any of us wants that." He chuckled once and shook his head again. Then he put his head in one of his hands and said, "at least it'll be quiet around here again."
But you were thirteen years old. You were at that age where you just wanted a male role model. You dad was a jack ass. None of your uncles were close enough or good enough to work. You needed this boy standing in front of you, ready to leave. And you knew, this time, if he left, he wasn't coming back.
And as he opened the door, ready to step out, you tried one last time. "Please, Sirius," you cried, "please stay. I know you and mum can work it out, I just know it. You can't leave. You can't. I need you here to keep me sane. Sirius, please, please don't leave. Just, let's go play Quidditch, or something. Just stay here. Stay with me. Stay. Please, stay."
He looked at you one last time. He shook his head. He said, "I can't, kiddo. I just can't." And with that, he walked out the door, closed it and walked away without as much as a look back.
And the second that door closed, you knew. You knew it was no use begging, no use running down the street after him. No use yelling down the street. You knew then and there that it was pointless for you to curse out loud, sink down to the floor with your back to the door. And you knew it was useless to cry.
But you still did it. All of it. You threw that door back open, and ran down the street, calling after him "Stay. Please stay. Don't leave. Don't leave me." And when you heard that unmistakable pop of apparition, you walked back to your house, up to his room and sat with your back to the door staring at the one thing he left behind. You sat for hours looking into that mirror before trying one more, final time……
"Stay."
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