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Standard Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter and the title is from the song "5Rebeccas" by The View. Any mentions of Seattle Grunge, Mudhoney, Leonard Cohen were all for no other reason than to enhance the feel of the fic. They belong to their respective owners. Not moi :)


3.



REBECCA THE THIRD
1990 - present



It had been two months since I’d first arrived in Romania and already I was sick for the Rebecca that I’d left behind. Her face was burned in my head. A cigarette burn on my brain.

It hurt to think of her and it hurt even more to ignore her. She’d broken my heart and it stopped being a metaphor. My heart literally felt broken. It hurt when I tried to move, or when I tried to laugh. When I got up, I felt like I could hear the tiny pieces rattling in the open cavity that was my chest. She’d broken me but I couldn’t find the strength to hate her. Nor could I hate myself. We both did what we thought was right. And despite everything, I loved her. Broken or not, my heart was hers.

She said she would write but she never did. I waited by the mailbox and by the owl window, all in hopes of receiving even one word from her. Nothing came and I fell into a slow descent into grunge.

Grunge was my sanctuary. Seattle strained the melodies of my broken heart. I ignored my once regular trips to the barbershop, opting instead to let my hair grow down passed my shoulders and into the prison of a ponytail (much like Bill, to my deep despair). The razor became a thing of the past, enabling me at last to grow a beard Rip van Winkle would be ashamed of. Coffee and firewhiskey became the staples of my diet and I was nothing but the shadow of the happy man I used to be with Rebecca.

Then I saw her.

She was darker than the sky at the night of the new moon. She stood tall and proud with the pride and ferocity of a predator on the prowl. She had the will of an unstoppable desert storm.

She was my first dragon. And I named her Rebecca.

And it seemed, for once in my life, I could forget about love.

Even as a dragon pup, Rebecca had a way of working her magic on me. She was fierce, fiercer than what they’d prepared me for, but I wasn’t afraid of a dragon with bite.

She was mine to care for and mine to belong to. I fed her, trained her and took care of her everyday, seven days a week. I let her listen to Oasis while she preyed on the hundred pounds of steak that I threw into her pen every morning. When I took her out for a whirl in the sky, her growls seemed to sing Mudhoney’s Every Good Boy Deserves Fudge album. When I set her to sleep, she hums along to her Leonard Cohen lullaby.

She hated all the other trainers but only disliked me. When she burned my skin, it seemed like her eyes whispered a soft apology, soft enough that she wouldn’t make herself look too soft in front of the other dragons.

Working and caring for Rebecca made me forget about the one I’d left behind. Or at least, she made me think I was forgetting her. But like a cigarette burn, she was still there. Slowly healing but leaving a scar.

The days were still dark, though less so. But the feeling did not wane.

I was still broken-hearted and still knew I would never to love again.

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