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Authors Note: I wrote this about a year ago, when I was a little disturbed in the head. I'm not even quite sure that it makes all that much sense, but I dug it up for you, and hopefully you'll like it, in its strange, disturbing way.
Thanks to Brand New for the title.
To save you, would not have meant that you would not have been you. You needed saving long before I came along. A long, long time before me. I didn’t know it then, but even in your happiest moments, you were trapped.
You died, not a hero or prisoner of some fucked up war, but of your own account.
I needed saving too. I did, I did, and I wanted you to save me. There was always hope for me, but never any for you. You knew it, I didn’t. I could only focus on being free, with you.
Because of what you did, I always felt like I was never enough to grant you the freedom you craved. You make me feel guilty and hateful towards myself. Then I remember you would never want me to feel this way.
You were a contradiction. To yourself and to everything I believed in. Yet you made such perfect sense that I was stupid not to completely understand until long after you had gone.
I’ve contemplated it myself, so many times. When the wand is pointed, something throws it across the room. When the gun is against my forehead, I hear a click, but see no blissful darkness. When I pull on a rope, something always cuts me loose.
There’s still one thing I haven’t tried. I haven’t tried your way. But it’s not worth it. I know I would only float to the surface.
Why?
You want me to live, that’s why. But a life without you, is not a life at all.
I saw your mother today. She is as she was since the war had ended. Cold, hard and empty, but as strong as steel. Made that way through years of enduring fires of searing pain. White hot pain, like being buried under molten lava and surviving. She acknowledged me. I nodded and then I disapparated.
I’m moving out of here. Three years stuck in an empty house. It’s full of our things, but it’s empty. It’s so damn empty and I can only buy so many things to make it seem emptier.
I cleaned your half of the wardrobe today. Everything was still there, ironed, untouched, unworn. Your gown was in a silver box. I drenched it with my tears. Funny that, a Malfoy crying over a dress. But I did cry, I soaked it, saturated it with my salty tears, until it was simply a wet, white piece of cloth. The sunlight dried it, and left it stiff, and I cried again, remembering how stiff your body was when I last held it.
They found you, floating with your red hair all around, face down. The press was in an uproar. The beautiful, glorious daughter and sister of the Weasley war heroes. Your family was in hysterics, what remains of them, anyway. Their precious sister, their darling, gorgeous Ginny.
I had lost all conscious thought.
When they stopped suspecting I had done it, they gave me your body. I held it, screaming for you, and kissing you.
Even in my arms, you would not wake up.
I put you back in the sea. Where you were saved.
Thanks to Brand New for the title.
To save you, would not have meant that you would not have been you. You needed saving long before I came along. A long, long time before me. I didn’t know it then, but even in your happiest moments, you were trapped.
You died, not a hero or prisoner of some fucked up war, but of your own account.
I needed saving too. I did, I did, and I wanted you to save me. There was always hope for me, but never any for you. You knew it, I didn’t. I could only focus on being free, with you.
Because of what you did, I always felt like I was never enough to grant you the freedom you craved. You make me feel guilty and hateful towards myself. Then I remember you would never want me to feel this way.
You were a contradiction. To yourself and to everything I believed in. Yet you made such perfect sense that I was stupid not to completely understand until long after you had gone.
I’ve contemplated it myself, so many times. When the wand is pointed, something throws it across the room. When the gun is against my forehead, I hear a click, but see no blissful darkness. When I pull on a rope, something always cuts me loose.
There’s still one thing I haven’t tried. I haven’t tried your way. But it’s not worth it. I know I would only float to the surface.
Why?
You want me to live, that’s why. But a life without you, is not a life at all.
I saw your mother today. She is as she was since the war had ended. Cold, hard and empty, but as strong as steel. Made that way through years of enduring fires of searing pain. White hot pain, like being buried under molten lava and surviving. She acknowledged me. I nodded and then I disapparated.
I’m moving out of here. Three years stuck in an empty house. It’s full of our things, but it’s empty. It’s so damn empty and I can only buy so many things to make it seem emptier.
I cleaned your half of the wardrobe today. Everything was still there, ironed, untouched, unworn. Your gown was in a silver box. I drenched it with my tears. Funny that, a Malfoy crying over a dress. But I did cry, I soaked it, saturated it with my salty tears, until it was simply a wet, white piece of cloth. The sunlight dried it, and left it stiff, and I cried again, remembering how stiff your body was when I last held it.
They found you, floating with your red hair all around, face down. The press was in an uproar. The beautiful, glorious daughter and sister of the Weasley war heroes. Your family was in hysterics, what remains of them, anyway. Their precious sister, their darling, gorgeous Ginny.
I had lost all conscious thought.
When they stopped suspecting I had done it, they gave me your body. I held it, screaming for you, and kissing you.
Even in my arms, you would not wake up.
I put you back in the sea. Where you were saved.
The End.
chrasy_vendredi is the author of 2 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 2 members. Members who liked Like A Stone In The Sea also liked 53 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 2 members. Members who liked Like A Stone In The Sea also liked 53 other stories.
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