THE LEAVING STORY
~*~*~
Tears of Lost Hope-
"You came back," you say, standing where the old woman used to. I smile. No matter how long I am gone, you will always be waiting in the doorframe for me. It is a consistency that I need in times like these.
Her creatures are approaching you cautiously. Do you notice? The old woman has died, and you have taken her place. I knew it wouldn't, couldn't be me, but I had hoped you would be spared from the burden of her knowledge.
"Potter will be coming shortly," I say, watching your face for a reaction. There is none. I missed the actually day you recovered from that particular injury. I wish it still hurt you, in my twisted hate of all things In Between. Harry Potter is In Between. Albus Dumbledore is In Between.
We, together in our accepted rage and peace, make up two-thirds of the true Light. In fact, we make up all that is left alive of the true Light. The old woman was the main source of Light, but she is dead and buried, where Light cannot reach her.
I look towards where I know the old woman's grave is. A fully grown unicorn lays weeping next to her headstone. It is the same unicorn I saw tethered to her fence when we first came here together. How many years does that take, for unicorn to mature? More than three. Is that how long we have been here? Is that how long we have been fighting?
"That is how long we have been fighting, sir," you say. I was not aware I had spoken aloud.
"And what have we achieved in those three years? Only an assurance that our heads will be the most desired when this forsaken world meets its doom, no matter which side prospers?" I spit at you. Funny that I should be half of what is left in the true Light. I am darker than even you can imagine.
"Among other things, sir, namely which is a great deal more hope than we had originally," you say, stirring a potion in one of the many cauldrons in the cottage. It is not 'our' cottage, yet we live there most of the time. It will never be 'our' cottage.
I sit down at the, not our, table.
"What did Harry say to you?" I hear you asking. I don't want to answer. Why is it that you are allowed to stay at the cottage taking care of creatures while I must attempt to convince lost souls to help us redeem the world?
Then I remember. I ask you to stay here. You are not happy about it, but you always do what I ask. I wonder why. Is it some sort of misplaced debt you imagine you owe me? Is it simply a way of fulfilling your own need for consistency? Somewhere within myself, I imagine it has something to do with the way you watch the sun rise every morning when you think I am not looking.
"He's here," you say, and I know you can sense the change that has come over the creatures.
The knock expected at the door comes, and you walk over, in all your righteousness, to answer.
"Oh," you say. I look up from the cup of tea I had gotten myself sometime during my travels through my thoughts. It was supposed to be Harry Potter, not a busy looking Ministry official sent to deal with th Minister's minuscule business. It is a good thing I did not bother to get my hopes up. You are not so fortunate.
"Sorry, Harry couldn't make it. You know how things are, him being new Minister and all. Then again, maybe you don't," the worn looking man you once counted as a friend says, sending a glance at me. I know he thinks the rumors are true, that I have run off and bewitched you into abandoning your life and coming with me. Does he not realize his active part in abandoning you?
"Harry didn't want to come, sir, and you know it would be pointless to tell him anything if he didn't want to know," you say to me, trying to look resigned to the whole matter.
"And he wants to be here? He wants to know?" I ask you of our uninvited guest. I do not regret the sadness I have made fall over your features. You look at the shadow that has replaced the once sunny Gryffindor keeper.
He realizes we are asking him a question, indirectly.
"Oh yes! If you have something important, or that might just help our cause a bit, then of course I'll be glad to hear it." You start to calmly tell him what I would have yelled into his face.
"There is no 'our cause' at the moment. There is Severus's and my cause, and there is your cause, the In Between's cause."
He laughs. I look at you, asking permission to wring his throat now.
"Ah yes, Harry told me your would bring up some 'in between' business or another. If you haven't any information that will help the Light, I really must be getting back." He stood. You stand. I bury my face in my arms, defeated already. It has been too long, and too hard, and I am simply too fed up. When will I finally be allowed rest?
"The information we have for you is the Light. The true Light. What cause you are currently supporting is the In Between. Lucius Malfoy is part of the In between, Peter Pettigrew is part of the In Between. The Dark Lord and perhaps the dementors are what exists of the Dark side. Please, Ron, listen." He is already opening the door. He turns around before closing it behind him.
"Hermione, I don't know what Snape's been telling you, or what potion he's been giving you to convince you to remain here, but as soon as I have a free moment, I'll get you out of here and have him thrown in Azkaban for whatever it is." He leaves, red hair being the last feature to disappear behind the door. You sit down on the floor. The white cotton robes you are wearing flair about you, reminding me distinctly of melting snow. We find ourselves alone again.
Something in my ability to comprehend my surroundings must have diminished in the past few years. I look up from my examination of the subtle designs in your robes to see your head covered in your slender hands and silent sobs racking your body.
Defeat of this sort does that to you. Whenever I can convince someone to come to the cottage, they leave no more educated about the truth than when they came. It started with Remus Lupin. Neither of us expected anything from him. He loved Harry and Dumbledore too much to imagine them capable of anything but Light. Luna Lovegood was next. You were sure she, who always believed the unbelievable, would join us. I was not so confident. It was one of the few times I did not relish in being right.
Next, and most recent short of her brother, was Ginny Weasley. You thought she would see. I must admit, I did too. She was one of the abused, one of the tormented, but the wounds were healed before Light touched her enough.
An epiphany comes to me. It is not the abused, but the abandoned. I've learned to abhor that word: abandon. Ginny Weasley was not abandoned. Potter went after her, and she was rescued and coddled 'till there was no doubting that someone somewhere cared. You and I were not given such comfort. I and you were left to fend for ourselves.
My disregard of my surroundings leads me to find myself with my arms wrapped around you. I feel your tears dripping down my cheeks.
I sit with you, sharing in your mourning over the injustices life has handed us, its only true servants. I cry with you for our own selfish hope of relief from the burdens we carry.
~*~*~
Author's Note- The phenomenal reviews I have received make it impossible for me to feel I have lived up to your expectations, but thank-you anyways and here it is.
Love, A.H.
~*~*~
Tears of Lost Hope-
"You came back," you say, standing where the old woman used to. I smile. No matter how long I am gone, you will always be waiting in the doorframe for me. It is a consistency that I need in times like these.
Her creatures are approaching you cautiously. Do you notice? The old woman has died, and you have taken her place. I knew it wouldn't, couldn't be me, but I had hoped you would be spared from the burden of her knowledge.
"Potter will be coming shortly," I say, watching your face for a reaction. There is none. I missed the actually day you recovered from that particular injury. I wish it still hurt you, in my twisted hate of all things In Between. Harry Potter is In Between. Albus Dumbledore is In Between.
We, together in our accepted rage and peace, make up two-thirds of the true Light. In fact, we make up all that is left alive of the true Light. The old woman was the main source of Light, but she is dead and buried, where Light cannot reach her.
I look towards where I know the old woman's grave is. A fully grown unicorn lays weeping next to her headstone. It is the same unicorn I saw tethered to her fence when we first came here together. How many years does that take, for unicorn to mature? More than three. Is that how long we have been here? Is that how long we have been fighting?
"That is how long we have been fighting, sir," you say. I was not aware I had spoken aloud.
"And what have we achieved in those three years? Only an assurance that our heads will be the most desired when this forsaken world meets its doom, no matter which side prospers?" I spit at you. Funny that I should be half of what is left in the true Light. I am darker than even you can imagine.
"Among other things, sir, namely which is a great deal more hope than we had originally," you say, stirring a potion in one of the many cauldrons in the cottage. It is not 'our' cottage, yet we live there most of the time. It will never be 'our' cottage.
I sit down at the, not our, table.
"What did Harry say to you?" I hear you asking. I don't want to answer. Why is it that you are allowed to stay at the cottage taking care of creatures while I must attempt to convince lost souls to help us redeem the world?
Then I remember. I ask you to stay here. You are not happy about it, but you always do what I ask. I wonder why. Is it some sort of misplaced debt you imagine you owe me? Is it simply a way of fulfilling your own need for consistency? Somewhere within myself, I imagine it has something to do with the way you watch the sun rise every morning when you think I am not looking.
"He's here," you say, and I know you can sense the change that has come over the creatures.
The knock expected at the door comes, and you walk over, in all your righteousness, to answer.
"Oh," you say. I look up from the cup of tea I had gotten myself sometime during my travels through my thoughts. It was supposed to be Harry Potter, not a busy looking Ministry official sent to deal with th Minister's minuscule business. It is a good thing I did not bother to get my hopes up. You are not so fortunate.
"Sorry, Harry couldn't make it. You know how things are, him being new Minister and all. Then again, maybe you don't," the worn looking man you once counted as a friend says, sending a glance at me. I know he thinks the rumors are true, that I have run off and bewitched you into abandoning your life and coming with me. Does he not realize his active part in abandoning you?
"Harry didn't want to come, sir, and you know it would be pointless to tell him anything if he didn't want to know," you say to me, trying to look resigned to the whole matter.
"And he wants to be here? He wants to know?" I ask you of our uninvited guest. I do not regret the sadness I have made fall over your features. You look at the shadow that has replaced the once sunny Gryffindor keeper.
He realizes we are asking him a question, indirectly.
"Oh yes! If you have something important, or that might just help our cause a bit, then of course I'll be glad to hear it." You start to calmly tell him what I would have yelled into his face.
"There is no 'our cause' at the moment. There is Severus's and my cause, and there is your cause, the In Between's cause."
He laughs. I look at you, asking permission to wring his throat now.
"Ah yes, Harry told me your would bring up some 'in between' business or another. If you haven't any information that will help the Light, I really must be getting back." He stood. You stand. I bury my face in my arms, defeated already. It has been too long, and too hard, and I am simply too fed up. When will I finally be allowed rest?
"The information we have for you is the Light. The true Light. What cause you are currently supporting is the In Between. Lucius Malfoy is part of the In between, Peter Pettigrew is part of the In Between. The Dark Lord and perhaps the dementors are what exists of the Dark side. Please, Ron, listen." He is already opening the door. He turns around before closing it behind him.
"Hermione, I don't know what Snape's been telling you, or what potion he's been giving you to convince you to remain here, but as soon as I have a free moment, I'll get you out of here and have him thrown in Azkaban for whatever it is." He leaves, red hair being the last feature to disappear behind the door. You sit down on the floor. The white cotton robes you are wearing flair about you, reminding me distinctly of melting snow. We find ourselves alone again.
Something in my ability to comprehend my surroundings must have diminished in the past few years. I look up from my examination of the subtle designs in your robes to see your head covered in your slender hands and silent sobs racking your body.
Defeat of this sort does that to you. Whenever I can convince someone to come to the cottage, they leave no more educated about the truth than when they came. It started with Remus Lupin. Neither of us expected anything from him. He loved Harry and Dumbledore too much to imagine them capable of anything but Light. Luna Lovegood was next. You were sure she, who always believed the unbelievable, would join us. I was not so confident. It was one of the few times I did not relish in being right.
Next, and most recent short of her brother, was Ginny Weasley. You thought she would see. I must admit, I did too. She was one of the abused, one of the tormented, but the wounds were healed before Light touched her enough.
An epiphany comes to me. It is not the abused, but the abandoned. I've learned to abhor that word: abandon. Ginny Weasley was not abandoned. Potter went after her, and she was rescued and coddled 'till there was no doubting that someone somewhere cared. You and I were not given such comfort. I and you were left to fend for ourselves.
My disregard of my surroundings leads me to find myself with my arms wrapped around you. I feel your tears dripping down my cheeks.
I sit with you, sharing in your mourning over the injustices life has handed us, its only true servants. I cry with you for our own selfish hope of relief from the burdens we carry.
~*~*~
Author's Note- The phenomenal reviews I have received make it impossible for me to feel I have lived up to your expectations, but thank-you anyways and here it is.
Love, A.H.