No More Words

~*~

No More Words

~*~

Sitting on a rock by the sea

With head bown to his knees

Caressed by the coldest wind

The silent waves receive his burden

What's the use of living when you are already dead?

The question lingers in my mind for a moment before disappearing again. I know the answer to that question but the truth is that this answer scares me so much that I do not want to think about it. But I can't help myself, and in the night there come the nightmares and the painful memories of what once has been and still is.

I lost everyone in this war. I curse the one who is responsible for this, the one I once trusted and loved because I thought that he cared about me. He was nothing more than a shadow of who he could have been. The purest evil, some might have called him. I laugh about that. He was just a man. Weak. Foolish.

Murderer.

Fire has he seen and death as well,

Man grown up by beasts

Destruction has he seen, of his own people,

Seen what cannot be unmade

My heart turns to stone as I think of him. My eyes grow cold and so does my voice, when I should ever speak about him again to others. Tom Marvolo Riddle. It was not a name that held much power, admitted, but the mystery about it made him seem that way. His other name, Lord Voldemort, holds not only power but also awakens fear in everyone who still remembers him.

I am an old woman now and Lord Voldemort is history. Replaced by another ruler who is even more insane and dangerous: Tamira Lestrange. She is, in many ways, a worse ruler than Voldemort but I do not fear her. I have not been brought up with the insanity of the last years. I am one of the survivors of the original war between Lord Voldemort and Albus Dumbledore, a war that only had Death as its referee. I have seen worse things than this Lestrange woman.

I have seen my beloved Draco die.

Eternal hatred to all heavens

By a corroded blade he swore

The bearer of stone, cursed has he kings

And burnt all the land behind

Draco's final moments were empowered by an ancient spell. Followers of Voldemort had made him blind and unable to speak right before I found him. But yet he could speak to me through thoughts and the only witness of it was Blaise Zabini, the performer of the spell, who died moments later.

To valleys of suffering,

Into the stream of bitter rivers

Aside paths made by man,

Ever under crushing weight

I'll never forget the things he said, for as long as I live.

"You know that I love you. Be strong then, Red, and promise not to avenge my death. Hold the will to survive, the same one I had long ago, and defeat this evil not by deeds but by your survival. Forget the things we told each other, for they were stupid. No more words, Red. Love is what matters and love is what you'll have until the end of days."

I kept my promise to him and survived. But that love is gone now and the only emotion left inside of me is bitterness. How can I live now? What is it that keeps me going day by day, an ancient woman who has seen more than she can bear?

I do not know the answer.

On an isolated rock by the sea

There sits a grief-stricken man

Alone he curses and lays on the sand

A weighing fate carved in stone

And I know that I do not want to live anymore. I do not want to spend another day in this world. I have spent enough days looking at the misery of others and tasting the bitterness of the victory of Lord Voldemort. Enough is enough, right?

I have lost everyone. Hermione, Ron, Harry... Charlie, Percy, Fred... Mum, Dad, George... Bill, Fleur, Blaise... Luna, Neville, Colin...

Draco.

Tom.

Yet skies don't open, no wind shall rise

And clouds they shadow the shore

In silence a roamer curses and waits

Until another tomorrow

I cry out to the ones I once loved. I cry out to the ones I once hated until love made me look twice. But they do not answer and it seems as if I am all alone. I am alone.

Just an old woman now, maddened with grief and sorrow. Lost like so many other survivors. Walking around with an empty look in my eyes so that I do not have to see the pain of this world anymore. Living on but dead at the same time. Lost.

An unforgotten grief

Ever carried with the stone

Extract From The Daily Prophet:

"We regret to announce that Miss Virginia Weasley passed away this morning in Seaside Hospital For The Mentally Ill. Miss Weasley, having turned 34 last month, was one of the last survivors of the Ultimate War. We wish those who loved her strength in this difficult time..."

An unforsaken hatred,

Madness weighing down the stone