Horrible sounds.
I can still hear them today
(strangely they seem)
Beautiful now,
though they outlast my love.
He knew not how long he had been sitting there on the floor, resting his head against the wall, trying to ignore the wave of emotions “ sadness, fatigue, frustration “ that continuously washed over him. He attempted to occupy himself with staring intently across the room, taking in one tangible aspect after another to focus on, but he always found his thoughts averting back to her.
A solitary word “ regret “ would play through his mind over and over, ridding him of all other thought. He had never fully understood the word. He had always learned by living, knowing that a mistake was to be made with every wonderful moment that came. But now he willed with more conviction than he had known he possessed for the past to come undone. Only now did he know that his decision had been the wrong one. Only now did he know that it was too late. He bitterly kicked at the ground, trying to make himself feel some sort of pain. He wanted nothing more than to feel pain “ anything to distract him from the tears forming at the back of his eyes. He didn’t want to appear weak. ‘Have I not undergone enough shame?’
He took a stabilising breath, succumbing to the inevitable surfeit of emotion. He had always promised that he would come back. She had always promised that she would wait. And now, here he was. Apparently, waiting had not been enough for her.
Every word,
Every one.
Though in time they finally bent,
Every word,
Every one.
Every word.
Had he not once lived in this very house, he would not have been able to recognise it. The paint was worn and chipped; many windows were boarded up; the pathway to the door was overgrown with grass. On the inside, it was worse. All furniture had been removed “ her extensive collection of books was nowhere to be found. He wanted to close his eyes to the scene before him “ tell himself that she would be coming back “ but the impracticality of this notion weighed heavier than anything. He knew that he had missed his chance. He tried to blame her, willed himself to do nothing but hate her, but couldn’t bring himself to. He knew that the only fault made was his own. “I meant it,” he whispered, banging his head against the stone wall. “I always knew I’d come back.” He ignored the searing pain in his temple as he willed himself to believe it.
Endlessly.
"I will wait for you." So spoke,
Misery.
It had been a cold, December day when Harry had died. Ginny had brought him the news, but even at the time, it hadn’t registered. It had taken weeks for the truth to finally sink in for him. The notion of death was a fathomable one for him “ he had seen Order members dying; his family, dying; his friends, dying, slowly, suddenly, day after day. But Harry was the one person he had been counting on. He had been determined that Harry was the one who would save them all from the war. And when he had died, all Harry had left him with was a sensation of helplessness. ‘Why had he not left me more?’
It had been a cold, December day when he had confronted Hermione. He had hardly been able to bring himself to look into her eyes “ those brown eyes, always shining with wisdom, looking so lost as he spoke. “I can’t bear the thought of losing you,” he had said. She hadn’t understood. “It’s only dangerous for you to be with me,” he continued. “I can’t stay here.” She had tried to protest. She had told him that they could make it through together “ that she wasn’t in any more danger with or without him. He hadn’t listened. He had refused to. Thoughts of him being the cause of her death had played through his mind until he could no longer bear them.
He had slid a small, gold ring out of his pocket, and placed it in her shaking hand. “For when I come back,” he had said. She had promised to wait.
My empty home.
The radio told me to stay.
As it burned down
I sang alone.
You will outlast my love.
Still each time I always meant,
Every word,
Every one.
Though in time they finally bent,
Every word,
Every one.
Every word.
She had only tried to contact him four times in his absence. Her letters all read relatively the same, from, ‘My job at the Ministry has been going well’ to ‘I miss you, do you know when you’ll be back?’ He could tell that she had been getting frustrated with him. He had written a response to her first letter, assuring her that he would return.
Hermione,
I’m can’t possibly tell you how sorry I am for what I’ve done. How sorry I am for making you wait. And how sorry I am that I can’t give you answers right now. I will come back when I’m ready. I promise you.
He hadn’t been able to bring himself to send it. A part of him missed her more than he would have liked to tell himself, but a part of him didn’t want her to wait for him any longer. She deserved someone who stayed there to protect her “ not someone who fled for that reason. He didn’t know what either of them wanted. He had frustrated himself with these thoughts until finally pushing them to the back of his mind to think about later.
‘Someday,’ he had continuously told himself, ‘I’ll figure it out.’
Endlessly.
"I will wait for you." So spoke,
Misery.
I have been waiting for you,
Biting as you taught me to.
I have come to relieve you,
Of life and love.
It had been a calm, August day when Voldemort had been destroyed. The news had reached him quickly enough. He hadn’t been sure what to think. The initial relief that he had felt was instantaneously weighed down with guilt. For the first time since he had left “ a year and a half ago “ the reality of the situation had begun to sink in. He hadn’t been there. He had fled at the first sign of danger. He found himself wondering, had it truly been for her? Or was he too weak to acknowledge that it was himself he was hiding from all along?
He had told himself that he would come back on the day that Voldemort was killed. But when the day had come, he hadn’t known what to think. She had stopped writing letters. He had stopped telling himself that he would respond. ‘Someday,’ he had reassured himself, ‘I’ll figure it out.’
When he had finally made up his mind, three more months had passed. When he finally made up his mind, he returned to find the house empty.
‘I waited too long.’
I will wait for you.
I will wait for you.
"I will wait for you." She said,
Endlessly.
"I will wait for you." So spoke,
Misery.
He needed nothing more than to explain himself, he realised. He hit his head against the wall once more. “Damnit, Hermione,” he shouted, allowing the name to echo through the desolate house. No matter how long he had been sitting there, he couldn’t get used to the emptiness. “I always knew I’d come back.” His voice reduced to no more than a whisper, he listened to the way the words sounded coming from his mouth. “I should have realised that sooner. I was scared for you. I’m not asking you to forgive me. I just want you to know that I never stopped loving you.” He choked on the final words that he knew she would never hear, and made to stand. Something stopped him.
Without a quill or parchment, he traced four words in the dirt gathering on the floor. ‘Don’t wait for me.’
Wait for you,
Endlessly.
"I will wait for you."
So spoke.
So spoke,
Misery.
As he descended the stairs and reached the doorway to the house, something that he had missed upon entering caught his eye. A small envelope that had been residing under the door. He bent down and lifted it, his breath shallow as he slid it open, emptying the contents into his hand. His eyes clouded over as the small, tarnished ring fell out, along with a note, written with a trembling hand.
‘I’m still waiting.’
As I wait for you
Dear,
Endlessly.