Seasons came and
changed the time
When I grew up, I called him mine
He would
always laugh and say
"Remember when we used to play?"
I don't know why I took him in. It was seventh year and he was in an awful state.
"I always loved your hair," he said, touching the thicker, golden waves. I would think bitterly of how he had removed it, so long ago, but I pitied him. He had no one left, he said. Everyone hated him…he said he'd seen it coming. He said that he needed my help and I offered it in whatever way he requested.
But sometimes I was still frightened by him, when I saw him sitting on the couches, flipping his wand across his fingers. I knew what that wand was capable of. I knew it could make me hurt. Sometimes my leg would twinge with pain, and he would notice and would always promised that someday he would kiss it better. But he never did.
I was tormented by my own mental abuse. Those eyes had not changed since he was a child. They might still think the same thoughts as they did then…he may turn at any moment to cast another spell on me then walk away. He promised me he wouldn't dare, and he told me that he loved me. My grey eyes looked straightly into his and I wished there were enough emotion in them to tell if he was lying. But he was too apathetic for me to read. I wanted to understand him, to know whether or not I was safe with him, but I really couldn't.
Bang bang, I
shot you down
Bang bang, you hit the ground
Bang bang, that
awful sound
Bang bang, I used to shoot you down.