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Gone, Gone, Gone by meghna
Chapter 1 : {GONE, GONE, GONE}
 
Rating: 12+Chapter Reviews: 7


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A knock on the door.

He never has visitors.

Who could it be?

The short walk to the front door seems unnaturally stretched, and he feels like a stranger in his
own limbs.

Hesitance. The doorknob is turned at long last.

“What are you doing here?”

He doesn’t mean to be rude, they just tumble out.

A sigh.

“Can I come in?”

He steps aside, wishing he had cleaned up the tea stains on the rug. It would have only taken a
few seconds.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” she says, before the door slams shut. It is colder inside
the house than outside, and she wonders how it is possible. There is no fireplace.

“Then do tell,” he tries not to sneer, but it is a habit he cannot shake. Sneer and spite. Hand in
glove.

She pulls a rectangular piece of paper out of her coat pocket and sets it on the table, staring at it
and refusing to meet his eyes.

“What is that?” he asks, though he fears his mind has already answered that question for him.

“An invitation.”

Of course.

“To what?” he asks anyway, to keep the conversation going. It was too early for it to come to a
crashing halt.

“My wedding.”

Cue crashing halt.

He knew the words she was going to speak before they left her mouth. And yet, it was as if he
had realized there was another step at the end of the staircase, and had gone tumbling down.

“Potter?” he manages, stumbling forward to grip his emotions, and she nods without noticing.

“Will you come?”

He laughs this time.

“Invite a hippogriff to its own execution?” he says with a wicked smile, but his eyes speak in
volumes.

She does not find humour in his words.

“It would .. mean a lot to me if you were there.”

The silence does not convey the tempestuous cocktail of rage and loss stirring within him. If he
clenched his fists any tighter, the fireplace would go up in flames.

There is nothing else to say, he decides. At this point, he could offer her a cup of tea or his hand
in marriage and it would make no difference. Potter had won. She had made her choice. It was
not him. It never was.

“I know it’s hard – ”

A scream of anguish, begging her to stop talking. A hoarse, panting voice. His control breaks
and he is on his knees, his hands in his hair.

Another chapter ending, another battle lost.

She is by his side but he dares not touch her. One lingering moment is enough to throw him
backwards, deeper into the cesspool of wasted affection. The light has left his eyes, and he is
disheartened to see it burn brightly in her own, behind a watery mask.

Green eyes. His saviour.

A broken home. A lonely youth. A miserable adolescence.

But with blinding flashes of green and red – followed by an almost sickly churning feeling in his
chest. He feels it still. But it’s no longer just a squeeze of hope, a pinch of faith. It has turned to
quite the opposite, and suddenly, breathing seems like an impossible task.

“Severus,” she whispers, and he closes his eyes tightly, as if it will help him stop from hearing
anything more. “I’ll always be here. I always have.”

“You’ll never be mine.”

“I always was.”

He opens his eyes and lets the tears slide off the crook of his nose, changing the colour of the
wooden floor. On the patch on his greasy shoe, he can see her shadow.

“Will you come to the wedding?” she whispers.

“Why?”

“Wish me luck? Say goodbye? Change my mind?”

“Can I?”

“Come to the wedding? Of course ...”

“No. Change your mind.”

“It would make us both very unhappy.”

“No, just you,” he sighs and lifts himself off the ground. He is certain that if he looked for it, he
would not find his pulse.

“I want to say something.”

He knows what it is. This time, he’s smart enough to stop her.

“Don’t. Leave.”

There was no need to be cordial. He had given up his whole heart and she had not taken it. He
would rather not waste the tea as well.

The only sound came from her rubbing her foot against the floor, her hands twisting together.

It was his curse that she was so beautiful.

“Will you find somebody else?” she asks, and he wonders if she wants him to. From her
intonation, he knows she doesn’t.

“Probably not,” he replies, giving her what she wants, as he always had done.

“Why?”

She knows why.

“I believe I have exhausted my affection for one lifetime,” he whispers.

She leaves.




 




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