15/1/06

My Chemical Romance - Our Lady Of Sorrows

We could be perfect one last night,
And die like star crossed lovers when we fight.
And we can settle this affair,
If you would shed your yellow.
Take my hand and then
We'll solve the mystery of laceration gravity,
This riddle of revenge.

Hermione sat on the couch staring at her hand. She could hardly believe this day had finally come. She stole looks over at Ron and Harry, each seemingly lost in their own thoughts. She knew what they were thinking. Probably along the same line her own thoughts followed. This was possibly the last time they would sit here, like this, all three of them together. She could barely stand it this way, it was slowly driving her insane. The only noise she had heard for the last hour was the Grandfather clock out in the hall strike the hour. She looked over at her two best friends, first Ron, then Harry, studying them intently. Ron, like she herself had just finished doing, was staring at his hands. His brow was furrowed in such a way, it looked as if he thought his hand held all the knowledge in the world. One strand of long red hair had fallen into one of his clear blue eyes, but he hadn't noticed. Hermione wondered whether he had the same regrets as her, whether he too wished he had said, or done more to show how he felt. She sighed softly, tears misting her vision, and averted her gaze to Harry. What she saw, however, caused a tear to threaten to leave its home, and trail down her face, a long, lonely journey she was sure Harry could empathise with. He sat, looking forlornly out the window, his expression sad, his body defeated. Yet Hermione could still see the determination in his eyes. She wanted to reach out to him, tell him every encouraging thing she was thinking…

Please understand that it has to be this way and
Stand
Up fucking tall,
Don't let them see your back and
Take
My fucking hand,
And never be afraid again.

But she had done already.

We've only got one chance to put things at an end,
And cross the patron saint of switchblade fights.
You said,
We're not celebrities,
We spark and fade,
They die by threes.

The horcruxes were destroyed, all but one. The one that remained was the one that would be the hardest to destroy. The one last piece of a soul Lord Voldemort had left. The one inside himself. Tomorrow when they set out to destroy it, they would only have one chance. One chance. Hermione and Ron were fearful, but hopeful. However, any optimism Harry had once had that they would survive, had been destroyed when Ginny had been taken. Taken, not killed, to their best knowledge. But Harry now had no confidence left. He felt forsure that they were going to die. Ron had argued with him over it, for Harry now wanted to continue on by himself. Hermione remembered the fight that had occurred hours earlier. Ron had assured Harry that they wouldn't die. Harry had retorted that they weren't celebrities, they weren't immortal, that this was real, and he would die. Alone. Hermione had screamed at him that they would fight together, all three, as it always had been. Harry had left it alone, and retreated to his own thoughts, leaving the other two to do the same. But Hermione had wanted to add more…

I'll make you
Understand,
And you can trade me for an apparation
Stand
Up fucking tall,
Don't let them see your back and
Take
My fucking hand,
And never
Trust.

But she had done already.

You said, who put the words in your head?
Oh how wrong we were to think
That immortality meant never dying.

And now, all three of them sat, lost in their own thoughts, lost in their own fear. For now it was real. They could die. Tomorrow. Three people who had once thought it would never come to this, who had once thought they would live a long happy life, now realised…

They could die tomorrow.