And I Could Do No Good, a harry potter fanfic

Title: And I Stood There, On the Brink, and I Could Do No Good
Author: Lady Akita
Rating: R for slash, pre-story death, suicide
Summary: S/H, "… I stood beside the fire then, each time I saw your eyes or a blaze that burned as if it had been taken from your depths, and willed myself to burn for your benefit or honor or love or all in between the cries and the pulling that never reached deep enough and I stood there, on the brink, and I could do no good."
Challenge: Who's who?
Authors Notes: This is a very personal peace, as it deals with mourning, and even though it has been almost a year, I am not over their deaths yet. I miss and love you, G&G.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is property of J.K. Roling. This piece is property of me. Don't take, as death is a painful bit of business.

"…and I stood there, on the brink, and I could do no good."

I stood beside the roaring fire, believing that I could hear you calling for me again. Like that last time I had seen you, when the weather wasn't quite as damp and the pain wasn't quite as deep.

It hurts me to recall you as you stand at the edge of that cliff, looking back with my name on your tongue, then the wind that also roared with that blaze; it hurts for me to call to you as I had that day, when the wind whipped and the blaze burned against my skin as I raced for you, the words as lost now as they were then; it hurts for me to reach out again in my dreams, where I'm always standing at the edge of the blaze, watching you mouth the words I can never recall from fragmented memory, hearing you shout over the blaze as you search as I had, knowing nothing would come of it as the blaze surged with the wind that stole you off that cliff and forever away from me; it hurts to stand next to every fire, expecting your voice over the crack and the pop and the hiss that soars in its confined space.

I stood beside the roaring fire, believing I could hear your voice, cracked and broken with pain and soot, again, knowing that I was only hearing my disillusions and memories. I stood beside it in a room of people that never understood, that never cared to; people that fought for flesh and blood that did no service to your name nor your cause nor your good and I wished to wail out the pain, the regret, the memories, but I forced myself upon my part, knowing they would never believe my words, my intents, as they never believed yours.

I stood beside the roaring fire, believing in what I cannot name as another party unfolds in your honor, another year to mark the day your voice last called to me, reminiscent of the last moment of peace we shared, with the pain, the hurt, the force of the emotions pressed upon us too early to tell and I stood beside the fire then, each time I saw your eyes or a blaze that burned as if it had been taken from your depths, and willed myself to burn for your benefit or honor or love or all in between the cries and the pulling that never reached deep enough and I stood there, on the brink, and I could do no good.

I stood beside the roaring fire, whispering in my mind the things I'd say, if only I could get away from the pain and the regret and the idiots that force themselves onto my pain; if only I could hear your voice as I stand listening to the flames, but there is only the roar of nature burning itself a hole too deep to fill and I watch it grow higher, higher to the sky where none would question it nor know its purpose.

I stood beside it, knowing the pain that would come, as it always has, from the depths of my mind, where even darkness cannot reach, no, not to this bright blister that has sealed itself to my soul at the sound of your cry that echoes in my mind still years after you tumbled and fell, broken and frightened, to the shore you claimed to hate, for it was cold and impersonal as your allies who had always thrown themselves at your feet.

I stood beside it, holding the knowledge of their lies tucked away, away from the memories that burned deep within. Like the moments we had stolen, to few, to far away, just as the voice that calls from the blaze in your voice now as I listen to the blaze.

I stood upon the hearth, hearing your voice again, as clear as that day and I stepped within the blaze, praying that I'd reach you this time before the world would disappear amidst the pain, the terror, the guilt that calls to me to reach for you one last time before you slip over the edge, a step ahead of me and to far to reach, but this time I would find you before we both lose our names to the wind.