Are You Crying?

Are You Crying?

'Are you crying?' they ask.

I shake my head.

'Are you sad?' they ask, and I glare at them.

Of course I am sad, what do they expect? I don't want to believe what has happened, but I know that it's true: from the looks on their faces, their disguises. It's all a charade, really.

'You loved him, didn't you?' they ask.

I don't reply. Yes, I loved him. I loved him more than they can ever understand. I fought to love him. I fought everyday. At first it was against love, because I didn't want it to be true. But then I changed direction.

'It's going to be alright,' they say.

I get up and leave.

No. It's going to be anything but alright. Why can't they understand? They just don't.

Someone is knocking timidly on my door. They want to be let in. I don't want to let anyone in. Not right now...not right now.

They have gone.

I sit. Tears are running down my face and I'm still not crying, I'm not crying because crying is believing and crying is accepting. I am not crying at all.

That voice is running through my head, again and again, over and over. I can't stop it.

They are wearing black now. All of Hogwarts is wearing black, all but me. I'm not wearing black- black was his colour. I can't wear his colour. I don't know why. Black will always be his colour.

'Are you coming?' they ask.

I follow. It is my choice.

'Sit with us,' they plead.

No. I will sit alone. Alone.

I can feel them watching me. I can feel her most of all. She never understood why. I can't tell her, I'm not brave enough.

They are saying things about him. They talk about what he did. Some say who he was. It is not real, they never knew the real him. He liked it that way. I don't want them to know that I knew him better than they could.

'Why don't you mourn for him?' they ask. 'Wear black, feel sad.'

I don't listen. They don't know what I feel. They can never know what I feel. Black was his colour. I am not crying.

'Why aren't you working?' they ask.

I don't reply. It is as if I have don't nothing but work my entire life. When I stop, they ask why.

Tears are running down my face. They ask why I'm crying. I don't saying anything. I am not crying. I can't.

The words haunt my dreams. They tell me over and over, deeper and deeper. I'm not listening anymore. I am not crying.

I wake

At night, but he isn't there. He doesn't hold me to him and tell me that he's here. He's not here any more.

They talk in hushed voices as if I'm going to die. I wish that they wouldn't, I'd rather be in a sea of nothing with everything rushing on without me.

I am not.

I thought I saw him today and almost called out, but it wasn't him. How could it be when they say the things that they say?

'He's gone and he's never coming back,' they say kindly and firmly as if it will hurt less that way. Don't they think I know that?

I know.

I am crying because I believe it to be true and though I don't want to, I accept it.

"Draco Malfoy is dead."

And Hermione is crying.