Hell Is Living Without You
Harry's POV
My vision blurs as I try to hold back the tears which are watering my eyes, demanding to be shed. No. A painful lump has been locked in my throat ever since I heard what you had done.
I can't talk around it. Damn it. I promised myself I wouldn't cry for you, told myself that you aren't worth it. Weren't worth it, I should probably say. I don't want to cry for you. At least not while anyone can see me. They don't know what happened between us. How could they understand my tears?
It hurts that I can't show what I feel. Hermione squeezes my hand, asks me something but I can't answer. I know my voice would break. Almost the whole school is assembled, pretending that they care. Some of your Slytherins seem really shocked, though.
I can't hold back my gasp, a sharp and painful fight for air as they open the coffin a last time. I feel numb except for the need to cry. I want to cry, want to howl my outrage at the world, but I can't. I can't even say which feeling makes me want to cry. There are so many different emotions raging within me. I can't find your face. There are just too many people around.
It's as though there were a thousand masqueraders, all of the, determined to show their mourning of a man they would not even have acknowledged while he was still alive. All this pathetic hypocrisy makes me want to throw up.
Am I the only one who will truly miss you? No, there's still Dumbledore. And yet I feel like the loneliest spectator, like the only one who truly cares about what is happening. A single tear manages to fight its way down my cheeks. You look so peaceful, so at ease with the world you left.
Not at all like the torn man I got to know after you suddenly kissed me during that fateful occlumency lesson. You were truly torn. Torn between your vow to Voldemort, your oath of allegiance to Dumbledore and your obligations with the order and maybe even torn between your job as a teacher and your desire for me. But you're gone now.
Gone without a trace. There will be nothing but the stone on your grave and the hole in my heart. I can't take another night without you. Can't stand lying alone in my bed; can't stand suffering through my nightmares without your arms holding and comforting me. You never said anything, never told me that it would be alright again or that we would some day triumph over Voldemort but your bastardly snarkiness was a source of comfort to me. Why did I fall into bed with you after that first, heated kiss? You never were attractive or even good-looking. And yet I could never resist. Couldn't resist your kiss, your touch and your hunger.
A small smile twists my lips. Ron would have killed me if he had so much as suspected. Or maybe he would have killed you first.
The sex between us was always mind-blowing, but we never spoke of anything more. I knew there could be nothing worse than falling for you. Hermione continues to steal worried glances at me as they slowly lower the coffin into the damp earth. I can't bear to look at anything but the wood enclosing you right now. It was hell to live without your love, to yearn for your touch, knowing that I would never be more to you than a way of relieving your sexual tension. But I was wrong, wasn't I?
Life was nothing without your love. I just needed you too much, depended too much on your hunger for me. If you could only touch me now, could tell me that this is nothing but a dream. Even heaven would be hell without you.
For just a second you even looked hurt as I told you that I had to end what ever was between us, that I couldn't stand your loveless touch anymore. I told you I wished that you would burn in hell one day. I lied. All I wished was for you to love me, to finally speak the words.
I already loved you, but thought you could never love me back. I always knew you had love to give and it seemed that you just didn't want to give it to me.
It was as though I was starving at a feast. As though I was standing right in front of my heart's desire but could never reach or taste it. I wasted so much time thinking on how I could ask you if you loved me. I never dared to, dreading what your answer might be.
The memory of your last kiss, so heated and full of anger, still lingers on my lips but it has been tainted, has been stained by the way we parted, by all the harsh words and insults we hurled at each other.
If only anyone could tell me who's to blame. Who made things turn out the way they did? Where did we go wrong? Was it your fault? Was it mine? Or are we both to blame?
I manage to blink back the other tears swimming in my eyes. Dumbledore looks grief-stricken as he throws the first handful of earth onto the coffin. The hollow sound echoes painfully in my ears. Every night without you is longer and colder than the one before. I even wake up, shivering, begging and pleading with you to hold me, to wrap your arms around me and keep me safe. But you aren't there anymore. And never again will be.
Tears are finally falling freely from my eyes.
Why couldn't you tell me you loved me?
Finis