Title: Only Dry Sobs
Author: Kya
Summery:
The war is over, and the speaker stands before the tombstone of her love, telling him exactly where he stands in her heart, her soul and in her mind.
Speaker: Should be quite easy.
Pairings: ??/PW
Please review and tell me what you think
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
I stand here, my breath over-ridden with dry sobs. My anger, my sadness has disappeared over the years. My emotions have forgotten you.
My mind has not.
You used to say that if anything was to happen to you, I was to only allow myself to mourn for a certain period. A few words of advice that everyone else has managed to follow, except for me.
My mind won't allow it.
The part of me that you listed as one of your favourite characteristics about me, refuses to betray you. Every time my mind sinks into a new bout of depression, those words suddenly appear.
-Do not mourn me for you whole life if I do not see the end-
And then in a floods, all the memories of you and me return. Ones where we are laughing. Smiling like two love-struck puppies. Or, simply holding hands.
There are more pleasant memories of you and I than horrid ones, yet that has never stopped my sobs to overtake my body. Like now, they are dry. No tears accompany them. No screams on my part. Just dry sobs.
And as the memories flash before my eyes, my mind remaining faithful to you, it does nothing to improve my mood.
You knew that you would live to see the defeat. I saw it in your eyes. I saw the knowledge that you wouldn't be there at the very end slowly become recognised. Realised. And then accepted.
You began preparing me for that day. Minutes before you left to go fight on a mission, you would wake me up and whisper those words into my ear. Give me a kiss.
Always. Without fail.
And I?
I began to follow you example. I would always leave a note pinned to my pillow with the words -I'll wait for you- carefully written. I'd stop at the doorway, even if I was late to go off on a mission and smile, at the sight of you curled up in bed, the covers tangled around your legs.
I was preparing you for when I died. And myself. The image of you safe and warm was the last memory I wanted of you if I was killed before you. My last living memory until the day you would join me in Death.
It would happen that way. Neither of us would live to see the end of this war.
Then the fateful day came. You miscalculated the speed of the Death Curse. That's what I was told. The Curse hit you on the shoulder and you died immediately after.
I cried. My tears poured out of my eyes upon hearing the news. I was unconsollable until your older brother muttered those fateful words to me -He wouldn't want you to mourn for him for your entire life-
And those words kept me going. I even smiled a bit.
I would be seeing you soon. If you didn't survive the war, then neither would I.
No one, not even the Powers above, would dare split such a perfect whole of you and I. If you died, then death would be shortly coming for me.
But then the war showed signs that it was drawing to a close. Three years had passed since you had died and I hadn't been killed yet.
My smiles faded.
And then my luck seemed to return. I had one last chance to join you before the war ended. The last battle against the so called Lord Voldemort.
There had been plenty of chances before for me to be killed, except you would have chastised me severely if I had on purpose got myself killed. If I went into harm's way without a real reason, you would never forgive me.
And when you were dead, you were dead forever.
So, I allowed my instincts and reflexes to take over. In every battle. Every case. Every mission.
But nothing went as planned.
The last fight against Lord Voldemort came, lasted three weeks and then ended.
And I?
I was still alive. Still sane.
My worst wound was my mangled right ankle. But, I didn't lose enough blood to join you.
I spent several days in the Sick Wing, Madame Pomphrey hovering over me, as she and the rest of you family who were alive worried how I would react to a life without a foot.
The medi-witch had been forced to amputate my right foot to just above my ankle due to the lack of blood circulating in my foot.
She did it so that I wouldn't end up losing my entire leg, or worse, in her mind, my life.
The only reason I didn't follow the bright light when I was being operated on was because I couldn't have allowed myself to die during the amputation. I knew what words would greet me if I did.
-I haven't followed your advice. I had did a cowardly death- you would say.
So I lived, unlike your sister, my best girl friend, who joined you over a year ago. I lived when so many others got to join you.
I survived the entire war.
And you didn't.
Now I sob, without tears, without anger, at the words you gave to me.
You believed they would be enough for me to move on, but they haven't. Instead, they just make me realise that I will not die until I am an old woman, many years from now.
I am still young. I am asked out, but I refuse to let another man into my heart. Invited to places.
'[Percival Weasley
1976 - 2011
Loving Son, Brother, Lover and Friend
Never Shall your Bravery Be Forgotten
Rest In Peace]
I can say, without anger: I hate you. Your words that were meant to reassure and save me, haunt me instead.'
Author: Kya
Summery:
The war is over, and the speaker stands before the tombstone of her love, telling him exactly where he stands in her heart, her soul and in her mind.
Speaker: Should be quite easy.
Pairings: ??/PW
Please review and tell me what you think
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
I stand here, my breath over-ridden with dry sobs. My anger, my sadness has disappeared over the years. My emotions have forgotten you.
My mind has not.
You used to say that if anything was to happen to you, I was to only allow myself to mourn for a certain period. A few words of advice that everyone else has managed to follow, except for me.
My mind won't allow it.
The part of me that you listed as one of your favourite characteristics about me, refuses to betray you. Every time my mind sinks into a new bout of depression, those words suddenly appear.
-Do not mourn me for you whole life if I do not see the end-
And then in a floods, all the memories of you and me return. Ones where we are laughing. Smiling like two love-struck puppies. Or, simply holding hands.
There are more pleasant memories of you and I than horrid ones, yet that has never stopped my sobs to overtake my body. Like now, they are dry. No tears accompany them. No screams on my part. Just dry sobs.
And as the memories flash before my eyes, my mind remaining faithful to you, it does nothing to improve my mood.
You knew that you would live to see the defeat. I saw it in your eyes. I saw the knowledge that you wouldn't be there at the very end slowly become recognised. Realised. And then accepted.
You began preparing me for that day. Minutes before you left to go fight on a mission, you would wake me up and whisper those words into my ear. Give me a kiss.
Always. Without fail.
And I?
I began to follow you example. I would always leave a note pinned to my pillow with the words -I'll wait for you- carefully written. I'd stop at the doorway, even if I was late to go off on a mission and smile, at the sight of you curled up in bed, the covers tangled around your legs.
I was preparing you for when I died. And myself. The image of you safe and warm was the last memory I wanted of you if I was killed before you. My last living memory until the day you would join me in Death.
It would happen that way. Neither of us would live to see the end of this war.
Then the fateful day came. You miscalculated the speed of the Death Curse. That's what I was told. The Curse hit you on the shoulder and you died immediately after.
I cried. My tears poured out of my eyes upon hearing the news. I was unconsollable until your older brother muttered those fateful words to me -He wouldn't want you to mourn for him for your entire life-
And those words kept me going. I even smiled a bit.
I would be seeing you soon. If you didn't survive the war, then neither would I.
No one, not even the Powers above, would dare split such a perfect whole of you and I. If you died, then death would be shortly coming for me.
But then the war showed signs that it was drawing to a close. Three years had passed since you had died and I hadn't been killed yet.
My smiles faded.
And then my luck seemed to return. I had one last chance to join you before the war ended. The last battle against the so called Lord Voldemort.
There had been plenty of chances before for me to be killed, except you would have chastised me severely if I had on purpose got myself killed. If I went into harm's way without a real reason, you would never forgive me.
And when you were dead, you were dead forever.
So, I allowed my instincts and reflexes to take over. In every battle. Every case. Every mission.
But nothing went as planned.
The last fight against Lord Voldemort came, lasted three weeks and then ended.
And I?
I was still alive. Still sane.
My worst wound was my mangled right ankle. But, I didn't lose enough blood to join you.
I spent several days in the Sick Wing, Madame Pomphrey hovering over me, as she and the rest of you family who were alive worried how I would react to a life without a foot.
The medi-witch had been forced to amputate my right foot to just above my ankle due to the lack of blood circulating in my foot.
She did it so that I wouldn't end up losing my entire leg, or worse, in her mind, my life.
The only reason I didn't follow the bright light when I was being operated on was because I couldn't have allowed myself to die during the amputation. I knew what words would greet me if I did.
-I haven't followed your advice. I had did a cowardly death- you would say.
So I lived, unlike your sister, my best girl friend, who joined you over a year ago. I lived when so many others got to join you.
I survived the entire war.
And you didn't.
Now I sob, without tears, without anger, at the words you gave to me.
You believed they would be enough for me to move on, but they haven't. Instead, they just make me realise that I will not die until I am an old woman, many years from now.
I am still young. I am asked out, but I refuse to let another man into my heart. Invited to places.
'[Percival Weasley
1976 - 2011
Loving Son, Brother, Lover and Friend
Never Shall your Bravery Be Forgotten
Rest In Peace]
I can say, without anger: I hate you. Your words that were meant to reassure and save me, haunt me instead.'