Disclaimer: The characters don't belong to me. They belong to JK Rowling. The lyrics used toward the end belong to Our Lady Peace from their 'Gravity' cd.
Dedicated to Gedia because I know she "loves" this pairing. *cackles*
* * * *
She had never known that he hurt this much, she had never been able to see beyond his bleak façade. He had always hoped that the black could conceal everything, but perhaps it was all too successful in the long run, perhaps all the black could swallow a man eventually. He had never wanted her to know, because knowing would tear them both apart. He could never have her, he was old, far older than she was and he lived another life altogether. He had been a Death Eater. That in itself was enough to destroy any trust she might ever have in him.
He had never told her, or anyone. He had suffered in silence and now that she was gone, now that she had graduated, he knew it was over. He didn't have to suffer anymore, she would never be able to see the betrayal of emotions in his pale face. The idea had come to him one morning, only weeks before graduation and as it became more and more romantic in his mind, he came to look forward to the morning after graduation.
He could end it without any more pain. He could end it all.
He stood in a cliff top, one of the many on the island upon which Hogwarts sat. Low trees blocked his view of the castle, but that wasn't the view he wanted to see. Toward the east the burning sun struggled over the horizon and below him waves crashed against the grey rocks. Other than the sound of the water it was silent on his cliff, wind whispered by his ear, barely rustling the leaves on the trees that protected him from the prying eyes of any students that may be up early. It was a beautiful scene, violent and natural at the same time, the crashing water and the orange glow on the horizon mesmerized him.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" a voice asked from behind him.
Her voice.
She slid up beside him and glanced down at the churning water below. She was dressed in jeans and a light sweater, her thick hair tousled over her forehead from a heavy nights sleep. It was obvious that she had woken up only moments before and had come outside to enjoy the view one last time before she left the school forever.
"Professor?" she asked finally, glancing at him. "What are you doing out here?"
He tried not to look down at her, tried not to stare into her brown eyes. He didn't want her there, it was supposed to his time before he left the world behind and floated to another plane of existence.
"Professor?" she pressed.
"You never learned when to be quiet, did you, Granger?" he said finally.
She grinned slightly and glanced away. "I guess not."
"Why are you up here?" he asked, after a moment of silence.
She shrugged. "I asked you first."
He remained silent, staring out over the water. The sun peeked over the horizon, spilling orange and reds across the water. "It's quiet," he answered finally.
She frowned. "Are you okay?"
"I'm okay."
Her hand tugged gently at the sleeve of his robe. "Are you sure?"
His black eyes met her brown ones. "I'm sure."
They fell silent again and he hated that she had come up to his bluff, to his cliff top. It was to be the place where his last moments were spent, the cliff that they would find his body lying at the foot of. Now she had come onto it and it lost all its meaning. She had seeped into every part of his life, even the end.
"Go away, please," he said quietly.
She glanced up at him. "Professor, I-"
"Just go."
Her eyes fell to the ground and she shrugged. "Okay. I'm sorry." She turned to leave and was almost at the trees when she looked back. "I just wanted to say goodbye, that's all. I wanted to thank you for everything you've done and I hope you know how much of an influence you've been on my life."
His temper flared, she had always been able to make him angry with the simplest of words. She had no idea the influence she'd had on his life and now she was talking about his influence on her.
"You don't understand, do you?" he asked. "You never understood."
She frowned. "What?"
He turned and looked at her. "My influence on your life? Merlin's Beard, you've leaked into my life everywhere. Everywhere I turn, you're there and I hate it."
Her eyes immediately filled with tears. "I-I'm sorry."
"I hate it because you're always there and you're always so perfect and I can never reach out and touch you." His dark eyes met her again. "I wanted to touch your hair and your face and I can't do that. Don't you understand? I'm a professor . . . I could never do that."
Her bottom lip quivered slightly as she struggled to find the words to reply to his sudden confession. He turned away, unable to look at her any longer.
"I came up here to finish it all," he said in a low voice. "You weren't supposed to come up here. You were supposed to hear about my death weeks from now and you were supposed to shrug and go on with your life."
He heard her sharp intake of breath and heard her footsteps as she came near once more. Her trembling hand pressed against his back, warmth flooding through his skin at her touch.
"I couldn't just shrug and go on with my life," she said.
He turned to her. "Why not?"
Her eyes darted, looking for an escape. "I have to be honest, right? I don't . . . know what to think, Professor. But you're a good person, a great man. It would tear me apart to hear that you died."
His eyes turned hard. "Don't lie to me, don't play games. I'm not stupid, you know."
"I'm not lying," she started.
He walked away from her, taking a step closer to the edge of the cliff and breaking the contact of her hand on his back. "Go away."
"No," she said simply. "I'm not going away and letting you hurt yourself." She heaved a sigh and stepped closer to him once more. "I can be anything that you want me to be. A punching bag. A piece of string that reminds you not to think."
"Stop it," he growled.
"They found the note down in your room. It's not your fault it gets this hard."
"You weren't supposed to know, not until it was over," he moaned.
"Hold your head high, don't look down. I'm by your side," she murmured.
His eyes shut tight against any emotions that were trying to escape. He had worked so long and hard to be what he was, worked so long to keep everything hidden inside him. He wasn't going to let it all out because of one woman.
"You wanted a hero tonight," she murmured. "Well, I'm not made of steel, but your secret's safe with me."
He stood with his face to the sun, praying for it to light him on fire, praying for it to burn him to cinders right before her eyes. He didn't want her to know, she wasn't supposed to find out until he was gone. She was supposed to feel guilty.
"I'd be anything that you want me to be," she whispered, leaning close. "A holy cross or some sympathy that reminds you how to bleed."
"You're not supposed to care," he said, listening to her words beneath the crashing of the surf.
Her hand found his, hidden in the twists of his robes. Her fingers entwined with his, warm and thin, stroking patterns on his palm. "They found the note down in your room, you climbed up here to fall apart."
"Stop it," he whispered.
"They knock you down, I'll pick you up. They laugh at you, I'll shut them up."
"You don't have to protect me."
"You wanted a hero tonight. Well, I'm not made of steel but your secret's safe with me."
"I don't need you to do this," he said. "If you're trying to stop me or save me by lying, it won't work."
She shrugged and squeezed his hand gently. "I'm not made of steel," she repeated, "and neither are you." Without another word, she let go of his hand and carefully made her way back down the path she'd followed on the way up.
He stood in the sun, basking in it's warmth and waiting for the familiar pain to take over. She was lying to him, she had to be, there was nothing other explanation. There was no way a woman like her could ever return the feelings he had.
With a deep breath he took another step toward the edge and stared down at the churning water. It beckoned to him, thrashing against the side of the cliff in a desperate attempt to reach him. He closed his eyes and took a step back, then another. He shed his outer robe, dropping it to the ground. It puddled behind him, blacker than night, the hardest shell he'd ever worn.
With a tiny smile on his face, he turned away from the edge and followed her down the path. No one was made of steel.
End
Dedicated to Gedia because I know she "loves" this pairing. *cackles*
* * * *
She had never known that he hurt this much, she had never been able to see beyond his bleak façade. He had always hoped that the black could conceal everything, but perhaps it was all too successful in the long run, perhaps all the black could swallow a man eventually. He had never wanted her to know, because knowing would tear them both apart. He could never have her, he was old, far older than she was and he lived another life altogether. He had been a Death Eater. That in itself was enough to destroy any trust she might ever have in him.
He had never told her, or anyone. He had suffered in silence and now that she was gone, now that she had graduated, he knew it was over. He didn't have to suffer anymore, she would never be able to see the betrayal of emotions in his pale face. The idea had come to him one morning, only weeks before graduation and as it became more and more romantic in his mind, he came to look forward to the morning after graduation.
He could end it without any more pain. He could end it all.
He stood in a cliff top, one of the many on the island upon which Hogwarts sat. Low trees blocked his view of the castle, but that wasn't the view he wanted to see. Toward the east the burning sun struggled over the horizon and below him waves crashed against the grey rocks. Other than the sound of the water it was silent on his cliff, wind whispered by his ear, barely rustling the leaves on the trees that protected him from the prying eyes of any students that may be up early. It was a beautiful scene, violent and natural at the same time, the crashing water and the orange glow on the horizon mesmerized him.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" a voice asked from behind him.
Her voice.
She slid up beside him and glanced down at the churning water below. She was dressed in jeans and a light sweater, her thick hair tousled over her forehead from a heavy nights sleep. It was obvious that she had woken up only moments before and had come outside to enjoy the view one last time before she left the school forever.
"Professor?" she asked finally, glancing at him. "What are you doing out here?"
He tried not to look down at her, tried not to stare into her brown eyes. He didn't want her there, it was supposed to his time before he left the world behind and floated to another plane of existence.
"Professor?" she pressed.
"You never learned when to be quiet, did you, Granger?" he said finally.
She grinned slightly and glanced away. "I guess not."
"Why are you up here?" he asked, after a moment of silence.
She shrugged. "I asked you first."
He remained silent, staring out over the water. The sun peeked over the horizon, spilling orange and reds across the water. "It's quiet," he answered finally.
She frowned. "Are you okay?"
"I'm okay."
Her hand tugged gently at the sleeve of his robe. "Are you sure?"
His black eyes met her brown ones. "I'm sure."
They fell silent again and he hated that she had come up to his bluff, to his cliff top. It was to be the place where his last moments were spent, the cliff that they would find his body lying at the foot of. Now she had come onto it and it lost all its meaning. She had seeped into every part of his life, even the end.
"Go away, please," he said quietly.
She glanced up at him. "Professor, I-"
"Just go."
Her eyes fell to the ground and she shrugged. "Okay. I'm sorry." She turned to leave and was almost at the trees when she looked back. "I just wanted to say goodbye, that's all. I wanted to thank you for everything you've done and I hope you know how much of an influence you've been on my life."
His temper flared, she had always been able to make him angry with the simplest of words. She had no idea the influence she'd had on his life and now she was talking about his influence on her.
"You don't understand, do you?" he asked. "You never understood."
She frowned. "What?"
He turned and looked at her. "My influence on your life? Merlin's Beard, you've leaked into my life everywhere. Everywhere I turn, you're there and I hate it."
Her eyes immediately filled with tears. "I-I'm sorry."
"I hate it because you're always there and you're always so perfect and I can never reach out and touch you." His dark eyes met her again. "I wanted to touch your hair and your face and I can't do that. Don't you understand? I'm a professor . . . I could never do that."
Her bottom lip quivered slightly as she struggled to find the words to reply to his sudden confession. He turned away, unable to look at her any longer.
"I came up here to finish it all," he said in a low voice. "You weren't supposed to come up here. You were supposed to hear about my death weeks from now and you were supposed to shrug and go on with your life."
He heard her sharp intake of breath and heard her footsteps as she came near once more. Her trembling hand pressed against his back, warmth flooding through his skin at her touch.
"I couldn't just shrug and go on with my life," she said.
He turned to her. "Why not?"
Her eyes darted, looking for an escape. "I have to be honest, right? I don't . . . know what to think, Professor. But you're a good person, a great man. It would tear me apart to hear that you died."
His eyes turned hard. "Don't lie to me, don't play games. I'm not stupid, you know."
"I'm not lying," she started.
He walked away from her, taking a step closer to the edge of the cliff and breaking the contact of her hand on his back. "Go away."
"No," she said simply. "I'm not going away and letting you hurt yourself." She heaved a sigh and stepped closer to him once more. "I can be anything that you want me to be. A punching bag. A piece of string that reminds you not to think."
"Stop it," he growled.
"They found the note down in your room. It's not your fault it gets this hard."
"You weren't supposed to know, not until it was over," he moaned.
"Hold your head high, don't look down. I'm by your side," she murmured.
His eyes shut tight against any emotions that were trying to escape. He had worked so long and hard to be what he was, worked so long to keep everything hidden inside him. He wasn't going to let it all out because of one woman.
"You wanted a hero tonight," she murmured. "Well, I'm not made of steel, but your secret's safe with me."
He stood with his face to the sun, praying for it to light him on fire, praying for it to burn him to cinders right before her eyes. He didn't want her to know, she wasn't supposed to find out until he was gone. She was supposed to feel guilty.
"I'd be anything that you want me to be," she whispered, leaning close. "A holy cross or some sympathy that reminds you how to bleed."
"You're not supposed to care," he said, listening to her words beneath the crashing of the surf.
Her hand found his, hidden in the twists of his robes. Her fingers entwined with his, warm and thin, stroking patterns on his palm. "They found the note down in your room, you climbed up here to fall apart."
"Stop it," he whispered.
"They knock you down, I'll pick you up. They laugh at you, I'll shut them up."
"You don't have to protect me."
"You wanted a hero tonight. Well, I'm not made of steel but your secret's safe with me."
"I don't need you to do this," he said. "If you're trying to stop me or save me by lying, it won't work."
She shrugged and squeezed his hand gently. "I'm not made of steel," she repeated, "and neither are you." Without another word, she let go of his hand and carefully made her way back down the path she'd followed on the way up.
He stood in the sun, basking in it's warmth and waiting for the familiar pain to take over. She was lying to him, she had to be, there was nothing other explanation. There was no way a woman like her could ever return the feelings he had.
With a deep breath he took another step toward the edge and stared down at the churning water. It beckoned to him, thrashing against the side of the cliff in a desperate attempt to reach him. He closed his eyes and took a step back, then another. He shed his outer robe, dropping it to the ground. It puddled behind him, blacker than night, the hardest shell he'd ever worn.
With a tiny smile on his face, he turned away from the edge and followed her down the path. No one was made of steel.
End