Categories > Books > Harry Potter
Words He Could Not Say
1 reviewOneshot:When you know you're going to lose the one you love if you can't tell them what they mean, what do you do? When desaster strikes, often times it's too late. Rated for ONE harsh swear word a...
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Words He Could Not Say
He sits alone, but that's normal for him. There is no warmth to be seen his eyes, no fire burning inside him, no glow in his face, no bounce in his step, there is only cold. Cold and alone. He curls up to his nice quite alone in his nights, holding onto it because that's all he has. Darkness wraps her arms around him, her lover, her friend; every night since the last time she walked away. No words of wisdom would escape his lips, no praise or thanks, nothing. He had vowed he would never speak again.
At one point in time, he had been warm and caring, but only toward her. She was everything he knew, everything he ever cared about. That was until she walked out. A thousand times, a thousand, thousand times, he's cursed her name. He wanted her to die, wanted her to hurt as he had hurt. But never would he inflict such hurt upon her. Never would he have wanted her to be as bitter has he had become. The fire inside has died; all lights have gone out, those cold black eyes, that sorrowful glower, that's all he has left.
Never again will he feet her soft touch, or the tingle of her kiss. He will never see the fire dance in those deep brown eyes, or the wind tousle those gorgeous brown locks. Not since she walked out. He only has the memory of how her milky white skin felt pressed to his, how his body once ached for her. How his body still aches. Hundreds upon hundreds of meaningless wishes he's made, those spilled buckets of useless salt over her. Over her.
The sun rises but it shares no warmth. Not in his cold heart. The light does not penetrate through those tattered curtains. The slow dripping of water, somewhere down in the dungeons, was to blame for waking him. He cursed the sound, though there was no one around to hear his words. That sound, the water, his only friend yet still his enemy. In the light, he is paler than usual, his face more drawn and old looking, his eyes look tired, his body is weak. None of these things matter, not since she walked out.
"Why can't you just love me?" She screamed at the top of her lungs, glaring into his face. Her words bounced back at her, off the hard stone walls.
He had no answer. No answer she would like to hear.
"You told me you wanted me, you said you needed me, then why can't you tell me that you love me? Why can't you say it?" She knew not of the anguish inside him, only of the hurt she now felt.
He stood; some ten feet away from her, simply watching her hair shake about as her anger grew. He wanted so badly to say what she wanted to hear, say what he felt. He wanted to take her in his arms and tell her everything he never said, wanted to love her, to be loved. Something inside him screamed. Screamed at him to say something, anything, told him she would leave. He knew already she was going to leave.
"Damn you! Damn you to hell!" She turned her back to him as she sobbed into her hands.
His body stiffened. "Please don't cry." That was all he could say. Nothing more would escape his lips, nothing she would want to hear.
"Don't you tell me not to cry! Don't you dare!"
He had given her everything, she wanted more. Anything she ever asked for, was hers, but that one thing, he could not give. He could not say those three little words. With all of his hatred he pounded his fists into the stone walls around him. Pounded until blood pored from his clenched fists, until there was no meat left on his knuckles. How he wished he could just have said it. Told her what he felt.
Could she not see it when she looked into his eyes? Could she not feel it when his hand caressed her milky skin? Was his smile not enough?
He'd gotten the note late in the night. The note that caused his world to crumble at his feet. He did not attend the funeral. He could not go to the burial and have everyone's prying eyes on him. He could not let her see him cry.
Her words would never again fill his ears. Her lips never touch his. Those brown eyes would never meet his black ones, just because. Never would he see her kind caring smile when she gazed upon him. The smile he longed to see.
"God damn you!" She yelled, her words cutting through him like a thousand knives.
"You don't mean that." He responded, trying to hide his hurt.
"If you can not say it, I have nothing left here. I am giving you this one last chance. Say it, or be rid of me forever." She cried.
He simply stood there, staring into her tear stained face. His words caught in this throat, choked him, but would not come out. He tried to speak those three words she so badly needed to hear. The words he had to say to save her, keep here there. He could not.
Her body shook in anger, frustration, hatred, betrayal. All of the words she screamed at him, all of the hurtful things she said. Still, he stood there, no emotion showing in his face. He stood as she walked past him. He stood as she slammed the door. He stood as she walked out.
Three years. She's been gone three years. And there he stood. Stood with white roses clutched in his hands. Stood at her grave.
Slowly he knelt down, knelt with his tired body. Placing the bouquet on the grass in front of him he stared at that marble head stone. Stared at the words. He traced his finger in the groves that made up her name, the name he no longer had a face to put with. Remembering the lust that once filled her eyes, the melodic laughter she once had, that sweet vanilla and jasmine scent she always had.
She'd been so young, killed, murdered for all the wrong reasons. She'd fallen at the side of the one he hated most. The Boy Who Lived, again. She was the strength they all needed, she was the brains, the beauty; she was the one, not him. It had never been him, she was the one. The Boy Who Lived, The Man He Wanted To Kill.
Tears filled his bleak black eyes, he traced those same groves, memorized every bump, every dip.
It shouldn't have been her. She shouldn't have died. She shouldn't have left him. He shouldn't have let her go.
His voice was strained and frail as he spoke. He spoke the words he'd only been able to say too late. "Hermione Granger, I love you."
Onlookers saw his dark figure moving from her grave site. They watched as his robes billowed in the wind, watched how he slumped over as he walked. They watched the broken shell of Severus Snape as he walked away.
He sits alone, but that's normal for him. There is no warmth to be seen his eyes, no fire burning inside him, no glow in his face, no bounce in his step, there is only cold. Cold and alone. He curls up to his nice quite alone in his nights, holding onto it because that's all he has. Darkness wraps her arms around him, her lover, her friend; every night since the last time she walked away. No words of wisdom would escape his lips, no praise or thanks, nothing. He had vowed he would never speak again.
At one point in time, he had been warm and caring, but only toward her. She was everything he knew, everything he ever cared about. That was until she walked out. A thousand times, a thousand, thousand times, he's cursed her name. He wanted her to die, wanted her to hurt as he had hurt. But never would he inflict such hurt upon her. Never would he have wanted her to be as bitter has he had become. The fire inside has died; all lights have gone out, those cold black eyes, that sorrowful glower, that's all he has left.
Never again will he feet her soft touch, or the tingle of her kiss. He will never see the fire dance in those deep brown eyes, or the wind tousle those gorgeous brown locks. Not since she walked out. He only has the memory of how her milky white skin felt pressed to his, how his body once ached for her. How his body still aches. Hundreds upon hundreds of meaningless wishes he's made, those spilled buckets of useless salt over her. Over her.
The sun rises but it shares no warmth. Not in his cold heart. The light does not penetrate through those tattered curtains. The slow dripping of water, somewhere down in the dungeons, was to blame for waking him. He cursed the sound, though there was no one around to hear his words. That sound, the water, his only friend yet still his enemy. In the light, he is paler than usual, his face more drawn and old looking, his eyes look tired, his body is weak. None of these things matter, not since she walked out.
"Why can't you just love me?" She screamed at the top of her lungs, glaring into his face. Her words bounced back at her, off the hard stone walls.
He had no answer. No answer she would like to hear.
"You told me you wanted me, you said you needed me, then why can't you tell me that you love me? Why can't you say it?" She knew not of the anguish inside him, only of the hurt she now felt.
He stood; some ten feet away from her, simply watching her hair shake about as her anger grew. He wanted so badly to say what she wanted to hear, say what he felt. He wanted to take her in his arms and tell her everything he never said, wanted to love her, to be loved. Something inside him screamed. Screamed at him to say something, anything, told him she would leave. He knew already she was going to leave.
"Damn you! Damn you to hell!" She turned her back to him as she sobbed into her hands.
His body stiffened. "Please don't cry." That was all he could say. Nothing more would escape his lips, nothing she would want to hear.
"Don't you tell me not to cry! Don't you dare!"
He had given her everything, she wanted more. Anything she ever asked for, was hers, but that one thing, he could not give. He could not say those three little words. With all of his hatred he pounded his fists into the stone walls around him. Pounded until blood pored from his clenched fists, until there was no meat left on his knuckles. How he wished he could just have said it. Told her what he felt.
Could she not see it when she looked into his eyes? Could she not feel it when his hand caressed her milky skin? Was his smile not enough?
He'd gotten the note late in the night. The note that caused his world to crumble at his feet. He did not attend the funeral. He could not go to the burial and have everyone's prying eyes on him. He could not let her see him cry.
Her words would never again fill his ears. Her lips never touch his. Those brown eyes would never meet his black ones, just because. Never would he see her kind caring smile when she gazed upon him. The smile he longed to see.
"God damn you!" She yelled, her words cutting through him like a thousand knives.
"You don't mean that." He responded, trying to hide his hurt.
"If you can not say it, I have nothing left here. I am giving you this one last chance. Say it, or be rid of me forever." She cried.
He simply stood there, staring into her tear stained face. His words caught in this throat, choked him, but would not come out. He tried to speak those three words she so badly needed to hear. The words he had to say to save her, keep here there. He could not.
Her body shook in anger, frustration, hatred, betrayal. All of the words she screamed at him, all of the hurtful things she said. Still, he stood there, no emotion showing in his face. He stood as she walked past him. He stood as she slammed the door. He stood as she walked out.
Three years. She's been gone three years. And there he stood. Stood with white roses clutched in his hands. Stood at her grave.
Slowly he knelt down, knelt with his tired body. Placing the bouquet on the grass in front of him he stared at that marble head stone. Stared at the words. He traced his finger in the groves that made up her name, the name he no longer had a face to put with. Remembering the lust that once filled her eyes, the melodic laughter she once had, that sweet vanilla and jasmine scent she always had.
She'd been so young, killed, murdered for all the wrong reasons. She'd fallen at the side of the one he hated most. The Boy Who Lived, again. She was the strength they all needed, she was the brains, the beauty; she was the one, not him. It had never been him, she was the one. The Boy Who Lived, The Man He Wanted To Kill.
Tears filled his bleak black eyes, he traced those same groves, memorized every bump, every dip.
It shouldn't have been her. She shouldn't have died. She shouldn't have left him. He shouldn't have let her go.
His voice was strained and frail as he spoke. He spoke the words he'd only been able to say too late. "Hermione Granger, I love you."
Onlookers saw his dark figure moving from her grave site. They watched as his robes billowed in the wind, watched how he slumped over as he walked. They watched the broken shell of Severus Snape as he walked away.
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