Disclaimer: I do not own rights to Harry Potter. All characters and related material belong to J.K. Rowling. This is for entertainment purposes only, no money is being made.
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Never
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spectrosilver
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a/n: Sorry I didn't get one of these up for a few days. Things have been stressing me out, and yeah…;) But it's kind of a long one, so that (sort of!) makes up for it…And just so you know, everything goes in order, as disconnected as it may seem in parts.
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He always used to talk to her in a very serious tone. They never joked much. And he would tell her what to say and what not to say. What to do and what not to do. How to live. The best way a Slytherin could live, that is. And she remembered it, most of it, and his voice was always the same. And what he said seemed so important, but it never really was.
"Never lose your pride. You're a Parkinson, you're a lucky girl." He said to her one day when the sky was turning grey and the clouds were rolling in.
They sat in the parlor as their parents talked. About war and about death. About curses and hexes and killing and dying. And they laughed. And they laughed so hard it shook the room. The room made of heavy stone. Her mother's shrill voice, his father's icy tone. They hit her like needles on bare skin, piercing and stinging. And for the first time, she was ashamed to be there. She wasn't proud of being a Parkinson.
"Never feel regret. Be able to do anything while feeling numb." He said to her one day while the fire in front of them crackled.
She looked upon the mortified faces of first years, their faces pale and horror-struck. She had taken place in the ritual year after year, scaring and scarring the baby first years. This year it had been strange. Different. She could feel herself laughing, but she wasn't there. Not in the same way. She felt as though she was watching herself from afar. Looking at their faces. Looking at their fearful, young, innocent eyes. Mostly innocent. She looked at herself in a mirror on the wall in her room. Her eyes had lost that innocence, that childish verve, long ago. And that really was a pity. Because she'd never get it back.
"Never give in to them. They don't matter, and they'll be gone soon enough." He said to her one day while the raucous laughter of classmates filled their ears.
They were so perfect. The wonderful, fabulous, perfect Gryffindors. Always smiling, always laughing. Always saving the day, always wrecking hers. They ran around the halls together, those three. Whispering to each other, sharing secrets. They sat together at meals, huddled together, joking together. Doing everything together. Helping each other fill their plates. And she felt bad. She was perfect, too. In the eyes of the Slytherin girls, she was prefect. A princess, a spoiled brat, but perfect nonetheless. Her parents bought her everything, she could have anything. And others were envious. But as she looked around the table she sat at, the table under the silver and green, she realized that what they had was something that even Father could never buy for her. And she was jealous.
"Never fall in love, especially with me. You'll only be hurt." He said to her in the cold, cold dark.
They sat by the willow tree, their willow tree. Alone. Their prefect badges shinning on their cloaks. And she watched him. She watched his blue-grey eyes blink and open. Those same eyes she had known since she was small. Since forever. And she watched him brush his hair off of his forehead, with his long, pale, fingers. The same fingers that used to intertwine with his as they ran and ran on hot summer days. The same fingers that felt cold on her cheek. And a warm, strange sensation flowed through her blood as they continued to sit under the tree. Their reflections danced in the water of the lake, the lake they knew so well, and she took his hand in hers. And she realized how much it would hurt if he was gone.
"Never lose your sense of reality. You'll lose yourself in the doing." He said to her as the sun fell from the clouds and the moon rose up.
Her blue eyes glittered in the sunlight, filled with delight. The wind whistled in her ears as they walked down the path. The path by the lake. The path they took daily. And then she noticed. Something was off with him, something was wrong. Something was wrong with the heaviness in his step, the sharpness when he inhaled. She clutched his hand tighter, but he pulled away. And she pondered and worried and kept thinking of what could be wrong. She noticed every hitch in his step and stumble in his walk. He was lost and not the same. Her heart began to thump and her mind race. And she thought of all the reasons why he would be upset. She completely forgot why she had been happy in the first place, and instead turned her head to worry and concern.
"Never give up. You can do whatever you wish, Parkinson. Have whatever you want. It's who you are." He said to her one day as the snow graced the ground.
She walked down the corridor. Down and around bends, in circles. Walking by herself. It was past midnight, she guessed. Past curfew, at least. He was late, so very late. And she was tired, so very tired. And in the back of her mind, she knew he wasn't coming. She knew he was there, somewhere. But he wasn't coming to her. So she left. She went back to bed, pulling the curtain around tightly. And she thought of him. And then she thought of who he was with.
"I'll never leave you, Parkinson. No matter what, you'll always have me." He said to her as autumn leaves rustled across the grass.
She sat with Blaise and Millicent in the carriage as they went back to the train. She'd see him again, she talk to him again. Briefly. But he'd never really be hers. He was gone. He was empty. He was destined for things unspeakable, and she was not apart of the plan. It was too late to argue, too late to hold him back. To keep him. He was gone; he had slipped from her hands. She could see him now, in the compartment with the boys. And there was only one thing she could remember. He told her he'd never leave her. And she learned that day that never was really never an option.
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