Torn From The Sky
Title: Torn From The Sky
Author: Rachel McFaith bloodrebel333
Pairing: Bella/Rodolphus, Bella/Severus
Author's Note: Farewell,
HP_Literotica. Didn't want this to end without posting this.
Torn From The Sky
You, fool of everything I ever dreamt you were: you stand before me with your hair unwashed and savage, grease forming a feel and a sophisticated touch of silk.
You stand before me with an angry man's eyes, the life that you stole from your mad Mother's souvenir box shredding the archives you locked your memories in into a million skyclad anguished whispers lost within the crowd; you do not catch the snippet, and your childhood goes unfazed.
You talk of war as if you've been in it, and maybe you were, but even if that's true you didn't know it yourself.
You etch lines in your young face with your frown, and try to remember how it was to be young.
You pretend you cannot see what our youth and the dry, remorseless thud of bodies made us become: blurred faceless silhouettes of what we used to be, when my laugh rang and rang like a bell until I got a headache of it myself, how you lay on your back in dewsoaked grass and listened to avowals of companionship that ended before we ever had the chance to live.
So this is how was, in something reality and time could not deny: behind the legends of orgies and murder and racism and madness everyone presses upon themselves to believe, there used to be a time when I defied a boy of fourteen like a man and he took to consider me as a pupil, a day when you laughed and smiled as I dramatically shrieked, oh, Severus, darling, save me! I'm being ravished! Yes: behind the orgies and murder and racism and madness everyone tells themselves to believe, I remember countless hours of tea and books and a big house where all thirteen of us stayed and talked and tried to amuse each other. You read poetry to us and went out in the mornings to look for a job I could've easily had my family give you, if I thought you'd ever accept.
You, with your ironic smiles and habit of calling me Marguerite, who listened when I spoke and brought reason back to me in a wooden cup when I cried and cried in your arms for the memory of two bright stars shred out of the old picture of the sky by the hand of a child that did not understand; we fought for this, we died for this, we lost for this. Accepting outstanders will be like forgetting the tears of a mother who lost all her children to an enemy who never saw the beauty in them, but who would evermore be happy to slaughter all of us.
We woke from the dream of being safe long before we tasted it, and as I drew runes of protection around the house when all twelve of you slept you'd brew poisons and potions all day, allowing the condense to make your hair gleam.
I remember hours of tea and crossword puzzles and quidditch, endless discussions and soft words of what we'd like to do once this war was over, once our families were safe, what we would like our children to have. And you'd say no, no, you bear the children, darling, you and your Rodolphus, and let me have my sleep.
The sex came later, when both of us were too bitter to appreciate it, at a time when I clung to my chair in paranoia, forgetting and remembering, begging you for a message from our saviour, and you sat and made me potions you knew I didn't drink and cups of tea and said, remember, remember, you once asked me to save you?
fin.