Lost, Lies and Lovers
I lost it, after all this time carrying it with me... keeping it close to my breast and now with it gone, my heart feels cold. Like it was my barrier against the chill and without it I am without protection. One moment of weakness, I saw just a glimpse but it was all it took. By instinct, my feet lead me towards him. I couldn't let him pass. I couldn't be strong enough. Look what it has cost me.
What worries me more then losing the charm, is that he knew. He knew immediately that I was there. It was as though I was back and he had returned to me... he could always tell when I was looking, when I couldn't peel my eyes off him. He always knew. But it's not him. I have to remind myself that. It's not him. But how did he know? The moment I dared open my eyes to the sight of him, there he stood looking back. He didn't see me, but if I took but one step forward he would have.
He taught me better then that. It had been too close. I need to restrain myself, but the temptation is just too strong. I dream of ghost eyes and his are clones of the ones I knew. Would things be different if he knew, would I see my eyes one more time.... He would never understand, he needs more time. I need more time. Ironic. I need more time. I never believed I would ever say that, ever think that, but there it is. I need more time.
I have been sitting here for hours now, trying to think of a way to get it back. To get the charm back to where it belongs. With me. I will get it back, I have to. It's my little piece. My reminder. My anchor to what is real. I woke up this morning and it all felt like a dream, just like every other day. A fog clouding every detail, in a haze. So you are never really sure if what you are seeing is true. And like ever morning I needed proof to show myself, to prove to myself that it had happened, that it had all been real. I find myself repeating that same mantra over and over. Writing the same words over and over. Praying that the more times I use them the more possible they will become.... I am not sure it is working.
How many times do I need to tell myself that it happened? Every day? Every hour? Every minute? Every second? Maybe. Maybe after that it will feel like I am speaking some truth and not the constant lies that seem to be flowly from my mouth these days. They seem to have a life of their own. I open my mouth and the words just say anything that comes... and I am left with nothing, nothing real to associate this life for the other. It's not helping. Maybe if I just keep telling myself what I believe is truth things might change. Maybe.
I had a dream last night. Dream? No, wrong word, I remembered a memory while I was sleeping. Is that a dream? Or is that a memory? I don't know, I should go to the library and find out. Clarification, to clear my thoughts, because that's what I need more proof that it wasn't all a dream.
The memory was of something I had almost forgotten. It seemed so mundane at the time, I didn' t think there was anything to remember but while my mind was sleeping, my heart was free to watch. Free to see what really happened. For now in this new light in which I am forced to see things in, it means nearly everything.
" The moon streamed through the stained glass window, the beams of light dancing with the dust fairies that hung in the air. The stone walls reflecting it in between the only two creatures in the corridor. A boy and a girl, sitting in a small alcove that encased the window. They sat there staring out into the inky night sky. They were completely alone. Not even the night disturbed them, not an animal could be heard. Not a creak of an aging door. Not the groan of a stiff statues. Nothing.
They embraced their time alone, tired of overused conversations with everyone they knew. The same topics, the same discussions, the same responses, the same conclusions. Nothing new. They were barely whispering, but in the hush of the night, their words were clear and concise. The boy had his head in his lap, his long pale hands tapping the cobbled floor, completely unaware of the petite girl by his side. She was staring intently at his figure, taking in his every movement. It appeared as though she was study him, memorizing his every characteristic. Every few moments her own body shook with trepidation for when he would look her way again, for his eyes would peer into her soul once more.
His hair hung down his back in layers of gold. The girl breathed deep, filling her senses with his sweet scent. Her nose wrinkled slightly, it was too sweet. But she seemed to creep closer to him with every passing second. The more she could smell him, the more it meant he was near. The more it meant he was there with her.
The girl's fingers were playing lazily with a thread from her sweater, when the boys eyes opened. It seemed as though all the answers lay within them, no matter what the girl would ask him, he would find the answer. For her he would find them. It was the look of love. He could not escape it, he could not hide from it, he could not mask it. So he simply let it be apart of who he was, who he had become. A soft smile was on his lips, as he looked upon her.
The quiet was broken as his voice filled the hall once more, " I remember when the snow would turn to rain, as it stuck to the window," he said, tracing his finger along the stained pattern on the windows surface, "when I was young, I used to believed the heavens were crying every time the skies opened up and the tiny droplets fell. I would always run out and dance among the crystals, hoping that it just might cheer them up. It sounds rather depressing, doesn't it."
The boy turned his eyes downcast, staring at his feet, his face weary. Without thinking the girl reached out and gently clasped the boys chin, pulling his gaze back to hers.
"No, it sounds beautiful," she whispered, his cool breath bathing her skin.
The boy's hand came up and cupped hers, drawing them down into his lap, "I want you to see the rain again," he voice was like a prayer, a quiet plea to who was ever listening to help them, "I want you to dance in the rain, I want to watch that. I want to see the smile on your face as the rain cleanses you of everything that has happened."
The girl smiled weakly, brushing her thumb against the back of his hand, "You will one day," she paused, staring into his eyes, "it hasn't all been bad."
The boy just smiled back, "maybe."
Grabbing his other hand, the girl pulled him close and whispered a promise into his hair, into his skin, into his being. She promised him, that he would see her dance in the rain, that he would see her dance in the rain with tears streaming down her face. She promised him that she would dance with him in the rain. One day. She promised.
The boy simply nodded. "
I should of know then, that something was wrong. We never made promises. It was a rule. His rule. Don't make promises, you don't know if you can keep. I broke a rule and he said nothing. So wrapped up in my own worries, I didn't even notice. If I had would things have turned out differently? Could I have stopped it? Could I have stopped him? Would it have been better with him, simply remembering but never experiencing anything new. Then here, where everyday something new begins. I don't know if I could choose. He must have believed here was better or her never would have done what he did.
Somewhere deep within my heart, I know what he did, he did for me. He set me free. He gave me the key that had been lost years before. I know all this, but in those dark moments when I am all alone once more with only my thoughts for company. I begin to think he was just looking for his own way out, his own escape. He wanted to be free himself. He had been caged for so long and I wasn't enough, he needed something new. Had I become just like everything else? Never changing, never growing, never anything new? If I ever found out that these thoughts were true, I don't think I would blame him. I could never blame him. For who would want to be stuck for eternity with that? A constant reminder of everything that went wrong.
My mind can't fathom that it was only a little over a month ago that he had sat in front of me, telling me of the rain. It feels like only yesterday I had him in my arms, promising him things that could never happen. And yet it feels as though it was a life time ago that I had him in my arms, promising to dance with him in the rain.
I have yet to see the rain, but I won't break my promise. I will dance with him in rain.
- - - N . E . S - - -
"Scorpius, you can't sit here all night, they won't be back," Darius drawled, sick of spending time with his other housemates, Harper and Davis, "You have been here all day, you can't skip anymore classes."
Scorpius simply glared, "Tell the professors I'm sick, like you did today."
"Yeah, you're sick but you haven't gone to Madame Pomfrey for the quick fix potion?" Darius snorted, "Even the professors know you hate being sick, You complain enough about it, when you really are sick."
Darius just received a death glare and he could of sworn he heard a mumbled, "I don't complain that much," but he didn't say anything. He understood why Scorpius refused to move. But if who ever it had been the night before hadn't returned for the pendent by now, he doubted they would later on.
"I had an idea, " Darius announced, Scorpius looked up from his feet, his eyebrow raised in inquiry, "but I need to borrow the replica charm that we found last night."
Scorpius hesitated for a moment, then reached behind his hair and unclasped the chain. Getting to his feet, he placed the charm firmly in Darius' out stretched hand.
"Don't loose it. I want it back tomorrow morning," and with that he turned and headed back toward the Slytherin Dungeons.
Darius sighed heavily, closing his fist around the silver pendent, hopefully this idea worked. Scorpius' mood since last night had been nothing nearly short of violent. He snapped and hissed at anyone who got in his way, or even his eyesight. This girl was really getting to him. That was why Darius was determined to discover who she was and find out why she was doing this to his friend. With this thought swirling around in his brain, Darius headed for the library. Just as he was rounding the corner, Sacha was upon him.
"Hey Nott, have you seen Scorpius today?" she asked, flipping her hair around her shoulder.
Darius had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes. How did Scorpius put up with the Zabini's. Family friends or not, they were annoying.
"No, why?" he retorted.
"Oh, oh, um, no reason," she replied meekly, she turned to leave but was stopped abruptly when Darius caught he by the wrist spinning her back around to face him.
"Sacha, what is he planning?" he demanded.
She tried to pull free, but his grip was firm and unrelenting. Finally giving up, she just sighed and gave him an impatient look.
"I have no idea what you're talking about, Nott. Now let me go!"
"Don't be flippant with me, Zabini. What is Jean planning?"
Sacha began to pull against Darius' hold again, "I really have no idea what you're talking about. Jean isn't up to anything, for once."
"Stop playing games with me, Sacha," he growled, tightening his grip
"Owww, Darius you're hurting me, "she cried, her eyes growing wet from the pain.
Just as suddenly as he had caught her, Darius threw her wrist away as though she was nothing but filth. Taking a step back, he stared at her, taking in her every action, reading her body for any signal. She was squirming under his gaze, she knew something, that much Darius knew. But it didn't have anything to do with her brother. Darius could see it now, the slight relaxation in her muscles, she was nervous but also relieved that he had gone staight to Jean. He slowly took a step forward, regaining the lost ground, trapping her against the stone wall.
"Okay, say I believe you, it's not Jean. Then who is it?" he hissed.
Smirking, he almost laughed at how easy it was for him to read her face. He had her now, she had just given everything away. The colour had quickly drained from her cheeks and her eyes started rapidly blinking. She had no where to go but through him. Placing the charm safely in his pocket, with his now free hands he trapped her further in a cage made by his arms.
"Darius please, just let me go. It's not what you think. I was only worried because he didn't come to the Great Hall all day, that's all," she whimpered.
"Lies!" Darius yelled, "tell me!"
Sacha stiffen, never had she heard Darius raise his voice before. It frighten her more then anything else he had done so far, slowly she edged her hand towards her pocket in which her wand rested, "Don't demand things from me," her voice grew more confident the closer to got to her wand, "when my brother finds out about this he'll..."
"He'll what?" Darius interrupted, smirking, "Hex me? Curse me? Kill me? I don't think so Sacha, I don't think your brother will do anything. He may be a tyrant but he is no idiot. He knows he would not win in a contest against me. I out smart, out wit, out match him in every way mentally and magically. What has he got left brute strength, even your brother wouldn't lower himself to such barbaric tactics. No, I doubt he will do anything, except give you a slap on the wrist for being so careless as to let yourself fall into this situation."
Sacha just stared at him wide-eyed, one more inch and she would be able to hex his tiny balls off herself. As he fingers brushed the edge of her pocket, a long spidery finger trailed down the back of her hand, "I wouldn't do that, we wouldn't want to hurt ourselves now would we," Darius drawled, pulling her hand away from her wand, "now, you are going to tell me who is inquiring after Scorpius and you are going to tell me before I loose even more of my patience."
Sacha gaped, how did he do it? How could he be so smooth, yet so menacing all at the same time? She had the sudden urge to kiss him, as well as slap him. He was this silent killer, if she had not been here she would never of believed that Darius was so capable at intimidating anyone with just words and body language, but here he was doing it to her. She was just about to answer, when Darius was violently yanked away from her.
"What's going on here?" someone shouted, "Sacha, tell me!"
Darius had been flung back a couple of steps, but he looked unruffled. He now had his wand in his hand and pointed at the last person he had expected to see defend Miss Zabini. The Weasley stood, legs apart, ready to charge, his arm flaying about at his sides. His face was as red as his hair, as his eyes flashed between Darius and Sacha. Something clicked in Darius' head, and everything made sense, well sort of. The little weasel thought something was going on between him and Sacha. Darius had to laugh a little, which brought him to the others attention.
"You have no idea how amusing this is, Sacha really a Weasley, could you stoop no lower. It's not that they are blood traitors, I don't even care about that. But do you really think you could be happy in rags?" Darius mocked.
Weasley took a step toward him, his fist clenched, but his path was blocked when Sacha stood in front of him, pushing him back.
"Fred, no!" she pleaded, "It's not worth it."
Darius let out another laugh, "Oh look now you protect him."
Sacha spun around on her heel, "Nott, please enough!"
Fred grabbed Sacha by the shoulders and turned her to face him, "What's going on? Tell me now!"
Sacha sighed, "Everyone wants to know something, Merlin. Darius wanted to know why I was asking about Scorpius' where abouts. He thought Jean was up to something. He was just protecting his friend. He was doing nothing wrong. Fred, it's in our nature to be suspicious, it was no harm."
Darius couldn't really believe what he was hearing. He may just yet gain some respect for the youngest Zabini. But right now, it was not the issue, "Yes, Sacha. But you never did tell me who you were gaining this information for. Pray tell?"
Sacha gave a quick look to Fred Weasley II, then turned back to her fellow Slytherin.
"Darius, I will tell you who asked me find out, but only if you promise to never speak of Fred and me to anyone," she gave him a withering stare, Darius just nodded not surprised by the compromise, Sacha smiled weakly her shoulders slumping down, she was safe for another day, "It was a girl. For some reason I can't remember her name, but she had some how found out about Fred and I and she blackmailed me, saying she would tell my family if I didn't help her keep tabs on Scorpius. She never said why? I didn't ask, I just didn't want my family to know."
Darius processed the information, then the questions started popping up in his head, "Do you know her? Have you seen her around the school?"
Sacha nodded, "Yes, she seemed familiar. It's strange, at the time I felt like I knew her, her name and everything. But now it's all kind of fuzzy. I do know that she's not in Slytherin, she was wearing red and gold."
"Gryffindor," Darius whispered, more to himself as he placed the pieces together. Who in Gryffindor did Sacha and Scorpius know? He was drawing a blank.
"Oh, there's something else," Sacha said suddenly, "Her name it was kind of like a plant or something, you know those parents who think it's pretty to have daughters with names like Lily and Daisy. I remember that because I remember thinking that it was rather generic."
"A plant, a flower," Darius thought out loud, "Names that are flowers; Lily, Jasmine, Willow, Pansy, Holly, Daisy, Iris, Violet, Ivy, Poppy.... Anything else?"
"Your forgot Rose, that's my cousin's name," Fred added, grinning.
Darius looked up, "Rose," Darius repeated the name, "Rose Weasley, hmm?"
"Ehh, yeah," Fred answered, his grin gone and his brow gathered, "But it can't be her."
"She's in Gryffindor yes?"
"Well yeah, but so is Lily Potter, and I'm pretty sure there is a Holly Thomas as well, so?" Fred's face looked concerned, as he watched the Slytherin male put everything together in his mind.
"Hmm, yes your right," lost in thought Darius, nodded and headed to the library.
"Hey!," Fred shouted after him, "where are you going?"
Darius just ignored him, he only had on thing on his mind now. Pulling the charm from his pocket he took in all the detail on the front, running his fingers over all the edges. He felt his finger tip brush over an indentation. Turning it over, there on the back scratched faintly into the charm, barely visible was one word.
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