A/N: I don't own Harry Potter or any related characters
This is for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Assignment #10 Brewing and Distilling Task #3: Carrots - Write a fic set at St. Mungo's or a hospital.
Also this is for the 30 days of music challenge, prompt: 14. There She Is - Frank Turner
Word count: 786
Warning: injury, sort of death, death idealization
He didn't know how it happened. He'd stumbled through the dark, he'd made decisions that had haunted him. He could still hear their screams in his nightmares, hear his own screams in his waking life. He knew what he was, what the world would see him as. He was no hero, he never would be considered as such. He'd done unimaginable things, pushed away the one person he'd thought his friend.
He was willing to welcome death that day, willing to finally let the world slip through his fingers and accept the fate he'd created for himself. He felt the fangs pierce his skin, the sweet release of pain, of poison. It burned like acid in his veins, from his neck, he felt it traveling, burning him inside out. He could hear Potter screaming.
He smiled, although he wasn't sure his lips were capable of actually moving anymore. It had started with a Potter, it would end with that man's son standing over his body. Full circle, it felt complete. He let the darkness fill his vision. It would be over soon, soon he'd be able to finally rest in his eternal damnation.
Light, so blinding, it hurt. He raised a hand to shield his eyes, to lessen the intensity. How could this be, how could he be here. No, this wasn't right. It was too much, too bright, too white. Heaven? This couldn't be, no, he didn't deserve that, deserve this, not after everything he'd done. He'd killed people, tortured people, destroyed Lily. No.
The light started dimming and he became aware there was no heavenly music, no angels playing harps. No, he could hear the hustle and bustle of busyness, of people in a rush. Where? He wasn't dead? No, he'd been promised! He didn't want a second chance, another chance to destroy everything, to lose everything.
A shadow came over him, bushy hair, a worried expression on her face. He could see something in her eyes, something he didn't want to see. She cared about him, no, he couldn't allow it. He destroyed everyone who cared. It didn't matter that she was there, here, where ever this was. She put a hand on his shoulder. It didn't hurt as much as he thought it should. How long? She was older now, wasn't she? No longer the bucktoothed little know it all he'd once hated. Why had he been so cruel? She'd been like Lily, a muggle born and brilliant.
She was smiling at him, speaking to him. He didn't want to listen. His ears had other ideas. He'd survived. It had been nearly a year. He had been in a coma. She'd been by his side the entire time. Why? He wanted to ask, but he found he had no voice. He was silent as she continued, telling him everything that had happened, now he'd been mostly healed, but they couldn't restore his voice, she'd miss that about him. How she apparently loved hearing him speak. He didn't deserve her attention, not now, not ever.
Yet, here she was, laughing about a joke she'd heard. He let out a snort, just a burst of air through his nose. She found that funny too. He didn't deserve her, not after everything he'd done. But it wasn't about him anymore, he was starting to realize. She needed him, needed someone who... he wasn't sure why she wasn't with Potter or, worse, Weasley.
Maybe she'd realized something, had an epiphany about how her friends used her for her brains, used her for her brilliance? He could never do that, they were matched there, he would admit that if he could speak.
A month, he spent another month in the St. Mungo's. He hated it, the smell, the lights, but her smile, her voice the one constant that he didn't hate. She was there when he relearned to walk, the poison having had an effect on his body. He would use a cane, a twisted wooden thing. He'd had it made to match his wand, same as Lucius'.
She was there when he'd had set back after set back, when he'd wanted to scream in frustration, when he'd thrown things because he couldn't scream. She'd picked up the pieces of whatever he broke, putting it back together, putting him back together as best she could.
She brought him books, volumes he'd never seen, things he loved but had never had the courage to admit. She knew. She knew him, she knew his heart and the day, the minute they stepped outside the hospital, the day he'd was finally allowed to start his life again, her lips found his and he wished for that moment to never end.