Author's Note: Hi! This is my new account. I already have an account on fanfic. But I shall not tell you who I am. I want a new beginning and I don't want to be judged on what I wrote last time. Wish me luck!
Disclaimer: Not mine, sadly, it never will be.
Always in the Eyes
By: BeautifulMythe
It was 1 am in the morning. No one was around so you take your time around the graveyard. Just months ago, this was a forest, filled with life, animals everywhere, people buzzing and scurrying about, trying to find the hidden wonders of the forest. Now it was nothing but graves, it was dark and sullen, much like your current mood. Tombstones littered the floor in hopeless abandon. From green to grey, how fast colours can change in war.
Colours clash as good fights evil, until you can hardly tell who is who, which side you are fighting for, why you are fighting, who your allies and who your enemies. You are blinded by the colours but tonight, there was only one colour you wanted to see – silver.
You find yourself scoffing at the word – "war". How many meanings can such a small little word hold. Staring at the many graves, you suddenly understand what the speaker meant when he said that '1War does not determine who is right - only who is left1.'
A lone tree stood amongst the fallen, ropes hung from one of its branches, attached to them was a plank. You sit on the make-shift swing, which stood beside your best-friends' graves. You often thought that they would have liked it, swinging and climbing trees, something they used to do. Before.
There were not many stars out, but you could see several constellations, like Sirius. You wanted to smile, but, somehow it seems foreign to you. You remind yourself that Harry would have loved admiring the stars.
But tonight wasn't for visiting, tonight you were on a mission. The sixth horcrux was still left to be destroyed – the locket for which Dumbledore lost his life for. All else had been taken care of, so to speak. Just that one last one, which at that moment, was in the hands of a certain blonde-haired man, who was due to appear in the span of the next few minutes.
As your prey appeared, you stood and rounded the tree watching in the shade of the tree.
Just as you expected, he stood near a fresh grave, dug not a week ago.
He held a silver object in his hand.
His eyes were directed at the object, but at a second glance, you can tell he was somewhere further away, in the depths of his own mind.
Eyebrows deeply furrowed together, a pained expression on his tear-stained face. You can only guess what is in his mind, but no doubt they were of a beautiful woman, dark blonde locks, with an unforgettable smile on her face, and a morbid green light.
He raises his head towards to sky as his sobs become louder. The object is now firmly buried in his clenched hand. Even in the soft light of the moon, you can see he was clutching so tightly, his already pale skin was getter paler, and parts of his palm were getting pierced by his nails.
He fell to his knees, you have never seen him so vulnerable; where was the ever proud boy you'd gotten used to? His lips, often in a scowl, now merely trembling, softly sobbing; his flawless face, now pulled by pain; and his eyes, often holding an expression of superiority, were clouded over and glistening with tears.
Images of the past year rushed through your mind, images you blocked out, wishing and hoping that you would soon forget about them. But as you watched him, your mind opened a floodgate and the images which haunted your nightmares relentlessly flowed into your mind.
On your own face, a lone tear fell, wetting your cheek. Making sure you were still encased in darkness, you held up your right hand and touched your cheek; tracing the tear drop, like you couldn't comprehend what it was.
It has been so long since you cried; you'd thought perhaps you had nothing left to cry about. Your eyes clouded over, images played out like they were happening again, you saw your two best friends, laughing and joking one minute, but the next, lying on the floor, blank eyes staring accusingly at you.
You choked on a sob, but those treacherous images kept moving, running through your mind. You're angry. At yourself for remembering, after so many months of trying to forget, here you are.
You close your eyes, mentally pushing those images back, far back into your mind, you couldn't let this opportunity escape you, concentration was the key. Crying would have to wait. But as you open your eyes once again, you realise he isn't as he was.
You curse when you realise the situation has been turned around. You have become the prey. And you've never liked that feeling, especially when it killed all your friends. You mentally scold yourself for allowing this to happen. Why did you let your guard down! You cautiously flicker your eyes, but before you could lift a limb, you hear a voice from the back and the hairs on the back of your neck stand.
"Can't let a grieving man alone, can you?" His voice was bitter and unforgiving, and his words cut the silence like a knife.
You don't move, already feeling the tip of his wand on your neck. Wood, how funny it was that it was made of wood, for it was so cold, just like him.
Keeping silent, he gracefully walked a half circle around you, drawing a line around your neck, as if telling you what was to come. Dark chocolate clashed with silver as you defiantly met his eyes.
"You want this?" With his left hand, he lifted up the silver locket. Your eyes flash to the locket for a brief moment before returning to his gaze.
He steps closer and instinctively you move back. He gave a small smile but you don't know what to make of it. Your hands reach behind you, only to come in contact with the tree. Internally your mind is in chaos, but your face is still emotionless.
He leans in, within a hair's width next to your ear and whispers, "You could never hide your feelings that well, Granger. It's always in the eyes."
You force yourself not to respond, eyes clam shut for a second before opening to find his nose almost touching yours, eyes staring patiently at you.
You know he was waiting for an answer. Finally finding your voice, you gave a resounding 'The locket'. But what you hoped would come out as determined and unfeeling, defied you as the words were laced with fear.
He blinked. He pulled himself back to his full height and out-stretched his left hand, hovering slightly over yours, his wand hand retracting and disappearing into his robe.
You're confused, but opened your left hand. He deftly drops it into your hand. You check it but you see nothing to conclude that he gave you a false trinket.
"It's genuine." You look in his eyes and can tell he was telling the truth.
After a long pause, you can't help but ask, "Why?" You have little control on your curiosity.
"Is it important?" His eyes were listless, and a cold grin played on his face.
"Yes." You blink and wait patiently, storing the locket in your robe pocket. Your right hand fell into the other pocket and took hold of your wand. Immediately you felt a calming reassurance cloak you.
He stared blankly at you, eyes briefly flickering over your right hand, which was still buried in your pocket, before staring at the sky.
"Granger, even if I could answer that, you wouldn't believe me." His eyes never left the sky.
You couldn't accept that. It wasn't enough. After all those years of hell, after all those years of fighting, you couldn't accept that for an answer. And he knew it too.
Just to encourage him, you try spite him, "Try me."
He gave a small chuckle. You couldn't see his eyes, but you could tell mirth was held in his sky-blue depths, but he still answered.
"Everyone is just so sick. Just so sick and god damned fed up. We're so tired, everyone wants to just hide somewhere and give up. But we can't unless others join us in hiding. 2We know more about war than we know about peace, more about killing than we know about living2." He barely whispered, his eyes still looking forlornly at the sky, perhaps counting the stars.
You understand what he says. It has occurred to you many, many times, the yearning to end it all, all that torture, all the pain… You wish you could understand why there was war, and you wish you could accept his answer straight off… But you need a longer explanation, on more subjects than this. You want all the answers and you won't leave till you get them.
For the first time in a long time, his eyes leave the sky and meet yours. You are taken aback as you stare into his silver-blue eyes. You aren't used to seeing this vulnerable dishevelled young boy. His eyes defied his age, height and stature. The hopelessness reigned in his eyes, defying all he was. It was your generation to bear all. The pain. The torture. The sufferings.
You look into his eyes and wondered how it was that two people, so different, could be so similar at the same time. How you could share the same thoughts and same feelings. You shiver, not at the chilling breeze, but at the implication that you could be alike.
You are falling into his eyes, and wondering if he was going to say any more. You don't even notice that he is now less than a hair's width away. But as soon as you do, your right hand grips your wand tighter, ready to cast any spell. Any spell.
Those words run through your mind, thinking how war has changed so many things about you, not more than three years ago, any spell would more or less mean protection spells, but now, it literally meant any spell even dark curses.
You feel your body tense as you sense him leaning down, but he brushes past your face, he whispers softly into your ear, "It's late."
Not waiting for an answer, he turned and walked back to his mother's grave. You watch him as he sits down, huddled in front of her gravestone, and uses one hand to trace the outline of her name. He suddenly turns back to look at you. Your eyes clash again for the last time that night, simultaneously, both of you mouth messages, yours a silent 'Thank you', and his, a hopeful apology. You decide the message passed through both of you is enough for now.
As quietly as you came, you disappeared again, leaving the grieving man alone.
When you reach Number 12 Grimmauld Place, you leave the locket on the table; someone will find it in the morning. You don't need the acknowledgement or gratification; if the war ended, that was gratification enough.
You headed upstairs to your room and lay on your bed, the night's events still coursing through your mind, leaving you more mentally exhausted than expected. It wasn't long before you fall asleep dreaming of the sky – blue with silver specks. You never liked flying, but tonight it felt like you had wings or the knowledge that whatever support you had – wouldn't fail you.
Perhaps it is true – it is always in the eyes.
Quotes:
War does not determine who is right - only who is left. Bertrand Russell
The world has achieved brilliance without wisdom, power without conscience. Ours is a world of nuclear giants and ethical infants. We know more about war than we know about peace, more about killing than we know about living. Omar Bradley
End Note: So…? What do you think about my new beginning? Review please!