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The Unlucky Never Cry. by Miss MarlaG

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Format: One-shot
Chapters: 1
Word Count: 1,624
Status: COMPLETED

Rating: Mature
Warnings: Strong Violence, Sensitive Topic/Issue/Theme

Genres: Drama, Horror/Dark, Angst
Characters: OC
Pairings:

First Published: 02/27/2011
Last Chapter: 03/10/2011
Last Updated: 03/10/2011

Summary:



Gorgeous Banner by The Resistance at TDA

I know I should hate her for leaving me behind. But it wasn't her fault, she didn't chose to die. She didn't chose for those death eaters to lock us in that attic, and she didn't chose to waste away and lose hope on life.

Still, I've learned my lesson. To never care for anyone as much as I cared for her. For loving her as I did, it ended on her murder and on the death of my heart.


Chapter 1: Unlucky.
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hi hi. this is a one-shot based on the song by Panda, "Los Malaventurados No Lloran". Yes, its a spanish song :p but its awesome. If you understand spanish I recommend you to listen to it. If you don't understand spanish... it doesnt matter still listen to it since the beat is pretty cool :D its awesome that such a cool beat can go perfectly with such a sad song. So here it is:

The Unlucky Never Cry.

and, disclaimed.



 

 

 

 






 

 

I know she’s in a better place.
 
 


 

It hurts, of course. To know she’s gone. To know that she didn’t come back for me, like she promised. To know that she walked out of our safe place, willing to fight for her rights and ending up with her death. I shouted at her, I begged her to come back to me. I told her it was too dangerous, to not be silly and come back. To not put herself in danger. To come back to hiding, for us. But she wouldn’t. She had to go out there; she had to go out there and see for herself that it wasn’t all lost, that there was still hope. That people were still fighting for a better world, because they believed that it was possible. She needed to see; she needed a reason to believe in life again. Because as we spent more days trapped in that mossy attic, she los the notion of time. The will to life has slowly been tortured out of her, and a single day didn’t pass when she begged me to kill her. To please kill her, because she wanted to end this. She couldn’t do it anymore. So she was very weak. They had tortured her until she almost went mad. They stabbed and hexed her, leaving her unconscious plenty of times. They gave us little food, and with the pass of time I began to see her frail little bones and her bony face. They made her lose hope on any rescue, and eventually, convinced her that death was the better way to go for people like her. They convinced her she was a thief, a murderer, a convict, scum. And all because she was a mudblood.




 

 

 


I was always there by her side, gripping her hand, wiping away her sweat and her tears, kissing her forehead. Begging her to not give up on life. Begging her to be strong, for us. Begging her to survive through this so we could be together again. Begging her to remember those sweet kisses in the summer rain, down by the shore, when there wasn’t any way, death eaters, or mudbloods being captured all over the country for us to worry about. Always begging, begging, begging. But she just wasn’t strong enough. The pain, the sadness, the torture had become her reality, and she just couldn’t remember a time when we weren’t stuck on this darkness. She could not remember a time when the death eaters hadn’t caught up with us. She couldn’t take this much abuse for being different. It wasn’t her fault, it was racism. It was racism against anyone with a single trace of muggle blood in their veins. I wished I could have done something, anything so she wouldn’t have to suffer so much. But they picked on her more because her blood wasn’t pure, and in their priorities mudbloods always came before blood traitors. So they didn’t torture me as much, but they did. And it hurt like hell. And it was awful, but the worst was watching her life fade away in my face. She was wasting away in front of my eyes, and that hurt a million times more to watch than a hundred Cruciatus curses. And it hurt even more that I couldn’t do anything to help her.




 

 

 


I know she feels better.




 

 

 


She has to. Anyplace is way better than here while on the war. And I’m sure she’s someplace wonderful, in heaven perhaps. Someplace out of this world. She deserves the best. After so much suffering, so much pain, she needs relief, she needs peace. And I know I should feel happy for her, that the pain is gone, that she is not dying by my side, that she’s in a better place, but I can’t do it. I mean, I am, but it also hurts to think about it. I am so glad that she feels better. I know she does. And then I remember that she feels better because she’s not here, and I am; I’m drowning in my own pain and sorrow at her death. I lie down in my bed, my curtains drawn, and just stare into space. The hours drag on, I’m never sure when its day or when its night anymore. I have lost notion of time, just like she did. The only thing I can feel is this huge gaping hole in my chest apart from the nothingness, apart from the fact that nothing in my life is real, leaving me with no respiration and just depression. It’s hard to eat. It’s hard to stand up. All my life has become is this mattress, this dark room, and that picture of both of us, the only decoration in my nightstand. We are down by the lake. She waves at me, and I kiss her cheek. And every time I look at it tears slide down my face, because I know I’ll never see her wave at me again. I’ll never see that beautiful smile that used to light up my day again. I hadn’t seen it in a while. I know she’s gone, and she isn’t coming back for me, like she promised. The war ending may have started life again to many, but it ended mine. She is gone, just another lifeless body among many others, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I never kept the promise I made her, as she didn’t keep hers. She said she would come back, and I said I would keep her safe. But now she’s dead.





 

 

 

 

I wanna tell her so many things.




 

 

 


I wanna find a way to talk to her. I have to. I need to see her again, kiss her again, hold her in my arms again and never let go. I need to smell the sweet scent of her perfume and her distinct aroma that was always present, giving me hope. I wanna tell her that everything’s worse. While everyone is rising from the ashes and broken homes Voldemort left behind, I am just swirling downwards this bottomless well of endless blackness. She was my light. She was the light switch of my wall, but now that she’s gone, my life has gone dark. It has lost any meaning it had at all, now that my family is gone too. I wanna tell her that just like her, my willpower is gone. That just like her on the last few months of her life, I don’t wanna live anymore. That I wish someone would come and finish the job. I wanna tell her all about how everything’s wrong now. I wanna tell her that I would catch up with her if I had the chance. I miss her so much. I love her so much. But she’s gone.





 

 

 

 

I want to feel her by my side. I want to walk farther than anyone has ever gotten, I want to get to the unknown. I want to find her there, and be with her there. I want to let her know that just like her, my hope is gone. I want to hug her and for everything to be normal again, even for just a little while. My life was sad enough already, with Fenrir Greyback murdering my family; I really didn’t need her dead too. But she is, and I’m alive, and yet, I feel like its me the one who’s lifeless, while she has gotten a second chance at happiness out there, wherever she is. So she is living, and I am dying. I want to hear her tell me that she is never walking out on me again. That when I beg her to stay with me, she will. That she will keep her promise, and come back for me. I need her to say all this things for the gaping hole in my chest to start to heal. Even if she’s not here with me anymore, I know that she’s watching me, and protecting me like I failed to do. Maybe that way I’ll start living again.





 

 

 

 

I should remember that the best way to feel better is to not believe in love. I know should hate her, I know should hate her for leaving me here behind in the blackness but it wasn’t her fault. She didn’t choose to die. I am just a lonely former lover, and I have learned my lesson. What’s the lesson? I am not sure. Maybe never care for anyone else as much as I cared for her. For loving her as I did, it ended on her murder and the death of my heart.





 

 

 

 

What I really want is to say hi. To say hi, and wave, and kiss her cheek. And I want to sigh in her ear and tell her that while I miss her, my life is slowly fading away. And I want to ask her to forgive me for letting those death eaters make her forget it was worth living, and for not even trying to escape from that horrid place or finding a way for her to get away. All I really want is to see her again, and soon, I will.






 

 

 

 

 








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