Green Walls, Blue Tears

Green Walls, Blue Tears

I wanna be a cowboy ranger

Live a life of sex and danger

"Harry, Harry!" he heard his name called by dim voices, as they were rippling through deep water to his ears. The world slams into my eyes in shades of green. 'Hospital green' I think idly, plucking at the cool cotton sheet with my fingers. I blink the world back into focus, contacts swimming in salt solution and tears.

I wanna be a scuba diver

I wanna have a 69er

"How did you end up like this Harry?" brown ayes, curly hair, concerned voice, peering down at me, Ron's engagement ring on her finger.

I fuck the girl I love the best

She lets me play with her breasts

How did I get like this Harry? The world is dark and muggy again. It was dark like this before. At the Dursley's in my cupboard under the stairs where I dreamed of being an astronaut or flying a giant motorbike. At the hovel at the back of Diagon Alley where I shot up. It exploded into colour after that - life accelerated, like permanent Quidditch. She'd be in the stands her face glowing with pride, even though she hated Quidditch, as I zipped after the snitch. Arm in arm with fucking bastard Ron.

Fuck her standing; fuck her lying

If she had wings I'd fuck her flying

I was barely sober when she was rushed to St. Mungo's. I sat with my head in my hands as she died. At the funeral Ron sat, white-faced and shaking, staring as they lowered the body he'd never known any more intimately then the man sitting next to him. They'd wanted to wait she'd said. He knows. If he didn't then he does today.

Now she's dead but not forgotten

I dug her up and fucked her rotten

He found me this morning; collapsed on top of my spade at the entrance to the cemetery, face down in the sticky grass. She was propped up on a gravestone. He had a bunch of flowers in his hand; he was going to see her. Not any more I think. He won't see her ever again. If it comes to that, neither will I.

They sent me to St. Mungo's. He told me he wouldn't press charges for old times sake. Old friends.

I took something of Ron's he never had. Something from Hermione that she should have- would have given to me. I didn't lose my mind it was mine to give away. I unclasp my hand; a lock of long, brown hair, slightly frazzled and smelling of earth sits coiled in my palm. It's all I have of her - but what use is it without her to wear it?

I found a thing to do. I pulled the lock of hair straight and wrapped it around my neck. And pulled, and pulled. Tighter and tighter until the walls started spinning and the world turned black for the last time.

Regretting nothing, Harry Potter.