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Gone by The_seeker12
Chapter 2 : Always alone/the Phoenix from the Ashes
 
Rating: MatureChapter Reviews: 17


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Disclaimer: I do not own my beloved Al, (sadly) or anybody else that you recognize, for that matter! It all goes to J.K. Rowling. (Except my wacked out plot)


Al and Scorpius Malfoy, Beauitful chapter image by AzureSeas @ TDA. 
 



I lay on my bed, staring up at the ceiling. If I turn my head just a fraction, I can see the stars through my window.


I shudder silently, refusing to cry, as I realize just how alone I am in this world right now.


Alone…


As long is Dad is gone, I will always be alone.


I jerk upright in bed, glancing around carefully. Not caring that it’s nearly midnight, I slip into jeans and a jacket and quietly exit the house.


I walk to the park, taking in the crisp, fresh air, shivering and pulling my jacket tighter around me.


I walk to the lake, glancing for other people, but seeing no one.


As I reach the lake I stop and stare at my rippling reflection. The boy that stares back at me is different than normal.


My raven-black hair is falling in my eyes, my skin’s pallor paler than normal. My emerald eyes look older. Everything that has happened reflects in them, as if I happen to be holding a mirror in front of my face, and the images are flashing through my now dull looking eyes.


I stare at myself, not even recognizing the reflection.


Dad is gone.


I am not me.


Dad is gone.


No one is the same.


I breathe out a trembling sigh, and hang my head.


Suddenly, a voice asks, “Potter? What are you doing here?”


I whirl around, standing up and dusting off my jeans to see Scorpius Malfoy behind me, raising an eyebrow.


I swallow slightly, and open my mouth to say something, but then stop, looking away, muttering, “I could ask the same of you.”


He stares at me for a moment, as if judging me, and then says, “Alright. My Mum has Huntington disease and is in the hospital. My Dad has been in France for the past two months, trying to avoid the fact that she’s going to die soon. I came here to get away. You?”


My eyes meet his and it just slips out. “My Dad’s missing and nobody knows where he is. My family thinks he’s dead.”


Scorpius seems to freeze, trying to think of a reaction to my statement, and finally asks, “Do you think he’s dead?”


I take a shuddering breath and say, “I don’t kn—know.”


I sink to the ground and begin to cry.


I have to be strong for my family. I have to, but I hold this in, this weak side of me, the Albus Potter who wants to just breakdown and cry for forever, and so, I wind up sobbing in front of people I barely know, (ahem) Scorpius Malfoy.


Scorpius looks around, completely lost.


I don’t think that he’s ever seen me cry either.


“S—sorry,” I stutter. “I—I’m not n—normally l—like th—this… It’s—it’s just—I… I… I’m sorry.”


Scorpius bites his lip and then sits down next to me, patting my back awkwardly. “It’s alright,” he murmurs.


When I stop crying enough to get out a straight sentence I say, “Thank you. This must be really uncomfortable for you.”


He shrugs. “My life is normally uncomfortable,” he says, a slight smirk on his face, rolling his eyes.


I shudder, still crying softly and say, “I just—I just don’t know what to do.”


Scorpius is silent for a moment but then reasons, “Well, if you don’t think he’s dead, or at least, don’t believe he’s dead, shouldn’t you try and find him?”


I freeze, and then look up at him. His silver eyes watch me calmly, and I take a slow, deep breath.


“I wouldn’t even know where to start,” I whisper to him. “But he can’t be gone, can he?”


I glance at Scorpius hopefully, but he doesn’t say anything.


I look down at my hands and murmur, “He is though, isn’t he? I won’t see him again. He’s gone.”


Suddenly, Scorpius gets an odd look on his face. He shakes his head furiously. “You can’t give up like that! You don’t know he’s dead! What if he’s really alive out there somewhere and you’re just giving up? No.”


I shiver and look up at him helplessly. “What do I do then?”


“Find him,” he says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.


“How?” I ask tiredly, hopelessly. “I don’t know where he is. No one does. We don’t even have a hint.”


Scorpius shakes his head again and tells me, “You can’t give up.”


“Then what am I supposed to do?” I cry.


Scorpius stops, and finally says, “I’ll help you.”


“I don’t know where he is, I don’t know where to start—Wait. What?” I stare at him, my eyes wide as I process what he just said.


Or, at least, what I think he just said.


I didn’t just imagine that, right?


“I’ll help you find your Dad,” he says again.


“W—Why?” I squeak, staring at him.


This is crazy. I barely know him, and he’s offering to help me find my Dad. How can I trust him?


Scorpius looks down at the ground and then mutters, “My mum is going to die within two months. This disease is so bad that every time I see her I wish she was dead so she would stop feeling so much pain. I’m going to lose her. I’m not going to let anyone else give up. Especially you, because I can help.” He makes a face and adds, “Hopefully, that is.”


I look up at him. “Why were we never friends before?”


He shakes his head slightly. “Good question,” he finally mutters.


There is a pause, and then I ask rather uncomfortably, “So, where do we start?"
 



“Nothing,” I say flatly, shoving the papers across the table to Scorpius. He grimaces and looks down at them.


He offers me the papers he was holding as he re-reads the ones I just looked at. I flip through his pile for the third time in an hour, and in frustration, throw them on the table, telling him, “Nothing, nothing, nothing! There’s still nothing! What were we even expecting to find down here anyways?!?”


My voice gets louder as I talk and Scorpius throws me an annoyed glance. “Yeah, sure, wake everyone up will you?”


I walk over to my Dad’s desk, trying to calm down, but mostly just smelling his scent in the air.


Oranges, grass, laundry, rain.


Home.


Always home.


I shift through more of the papers on his desk, and still find nothing.


As I pick up a picture of Grandpa James and Grandma Lily, readjusting it, something catches my eye.


I pick up the torn piece of paper and stare at it.


I flip it over and stop in surprise.


Written on the other side of the folded up note is a name. My name. I take in a sharp breath.


“Al?” Scorpius asks, turning to look at me.


“N—note,” I choke out, staring at it reverently. It’s written in Dad’s handwriting. It’s in Dad’s handwriting.


Dad left me a note?


Scorpius jumps out of his chair and rushes to me, not caring that half the papers on the table just fell to the floor and his eyes flicker over my name.


Dad left me a note!


Holy—


“Well?” Scorpius demands. “What are you waiting for?”


“Huh?” I ask, looking at him in confusion.


Scorpius glares at me in exasperation. “Open it!”


“Oh, right,” I gasp. I open the letter and begin to read breathlessly.


“Al. If you’re reading this, things must be worse than I thought.” I exchange a nervous glance with Scorpius and continue, “I just thought you ought to know that things are tough right now at the ministry. Anything odd happening at home might have something to do with that.” I pause for a moment, swallowing, and continue, “I’ll have to explain more later. Please don’t mention this to James and Lily. I love them, but you’re stronger than they are, Al. I know you can handle this. Watch out for DE. Take care of James and Lily for me. I love you, Al. Dad.”


My voice cracks and is hard to get out as I hold back my tears, but I manage to finish the letter.


I love you too, Dad.


Scorpius pats my shoulder comfortingly, but then glances back down at the letter and asks, “What’s DE?”


I shrug. “I have no idea. I don’t know if I’m even supposed to know what it means. I think it’s something that he just wants me to figure out.”


Scorpius’s eyes narrow in concentration and he says, “Well, that means we have to figure out what he’s trying to tell us.”


“DE,” I repeat. “D. E.” I stop and look at Scorpius. “Does it stand for something do you think?”


Scorpius’s eyes light up. “Possibly.” Then he makes a face. “But what?”


“Dead Eagles?” I suggest jokingly, trying to ease the slight tension in the room. Scorpius rolls his eyes at me.


“Yeah, of course,” he agrees sarcastically. “‘Watch out for Dead Eagles, Al, they’re really dangerous.’”


I shrug slightly. “Well, if you’re so brilliant, you come up with something,” I tell him, wrinkling my nose.


“D… Dead… E… Hmm,” Scorpius musses for a moment, his head tilted to the side, his mouth forming words, but not saying anything.


Suddenly he freezes, his face going pale, his silver eyes closing in disbelief.


When he is able to talk again he simply says, “Shit.”


“What?” I demand. “What?”


Scorpius looks at me, and whispers, “Death Eaters.”
 



A prisoner’s P.O.V.


Darkness.


It settles over me in a final silence, the stillness of the night, the haunting noise of a single owl off in the distance. The sound of a chorus of crickets, too far out of reach. The smell of fresh rain off in the distance, thunder clapping away from here. The flash of lightening from even farther away.


All of it is a lifetime away, so far from this place that I am. So far from who I am slowly becoming as I sit here.


The silence of the night, the deadly practice of waiting. Waiting alone, waiting for my end. Waiting for death.


Not a single star to light my life, no hope. No pain. No chance. No love. No life. No death. No tears.


Just nothing.


Nothing. It fills me like a void, a black hole. The emptiness, the loneliness, all of the hopelessness. Everything is gone.


I am alone. I am alone.


Always alone.


I shudder, my breath fogging in the cold air that surrounds me. My tattered clothes don’t help to warm me.


The cold, wet night still seems to have faded behind me, even though I can feel the crisp chill in the air.


Nothing is left. Nothing is here.


Just memories of the bad. Memories that are forever trapped in my head.


Memories that taunt me, making me lose my mind, slowly, bit by bit each day. For they remind me that I am alone.


Always alone.


I think of all I have left behind, the cruel place I inhabit now.


I think of others who have been in a position like this. Having done nothing wrong, they became prisoners. Behind bars, locked up in themselves.


I think, because that is all I can do. All that I know how to do in here. All that I have left in this dirty cell.


I think of my family, my children.


My enemies, my life, my regrets and dreams, my hopes and wishes.


Everything, thrown to the wind, broken to pieces, watched by me in lonely silence as it disappears.


How do people stand this?


How do people live like this?


Alone.


Always alone.


My voice comes out as a croak as I whisper oh so quietly, practically begging, “Help. Someone please help me. Help. Please, help me.”


Yet, no one is here.


No one knows.


I am alone.


Always alone.


I lean my head back against the dirty wall, breathing in a trembling breath. A sigh. A moan. A groan. A gasp.


It becomes a cry.


A cry turns into a sob, that turns into a yell. That becomes part of me. I can’t make it go away.


It is a silent, yearning, begging cry.


A cry for what I had. A cry for what I want.


I am still alone.


Always alone.


I shudder, tears dripping down my face in torrents, leaving clean tracks on my dirt smudged face.


I have so much more to lose.


But I am already lost.


I am lost to my life, to the world. To everything I have ever known. To anyone who has ever known me. I am lost.


I am alone.


Always alone.


The voices come from down the hall, but are still easy to hear in the silence of the dark night.


“—kill him?”


I freeze slowly, straightening up.


I am a prisoner. A prisoner of the night. A prisoner of my most haunting memories. A prisoner to myself.


A prisoner to them.


I suppose it is their right to kill me.


There would be nothing I could do.


For I cannot run. I cannot hide. I cannot escape. No one will save me. No one will help me. No one.


Ever.


I am alone.


Always alone.


“Not yet,” another voice says calmly, the voice soft and patient, as if he is searching for the right moment, shifting quietly through time, piercing eyes finding everything that should stay hidden. “We should wait.”


“The more we wait, the longer—”


“It does not matter. He will die. We can’t allow him to live much longer. Just a few more days. We shall convince him.”


I will die. I will die.


I have always been meant to die.


So why did it not happen long ago?


“No, we can’t! He won’t agree! He will never agree—”


“Do not fool yourself. We know what will break him, don’t we?”


I begin to tremble. No. No, no, no, no, no.


Please, no.


Anything but that.


Kill me, torture me, do whatever you want to me, but don’t touch my family. Never in a million years will I let them.


“Still—”


“It will work.”


“Uh, could you stop—”


“Do not doubt me. I will do anything possible to break our friend here.”


No, no, no.


Not my family. Not them. My life, the beautiful, lovely memories that have begun to slip from my grasp like sand through my fingers, time goes away.


Life slides away.


Everything will go away.


The memories of laughter, gone. The memories of holding a small child in my arms, comforting them, gone.


The memories of love, of life, of hope, of chance, everything that I should be looking at now before I die, gone.


It slips through my fingers like water flowing, the wind whispering away. That soft, sweet sound of a child’s laughter. I am lost.


Everything will leave.


Everything. Nothing.


Gone with one swipe, one lingering, chilling presence outside my door. It has all been taken from me.


The voices move away, and I am alone again.


Always alone.


Left to the nothingness. The darkness that closes in on me with each breath. The darkness that pushes down on me.


Left to myself in my prison.


Left to the smell of the rain, the smell of oranges, the smell of dust and dirt and tears. All that I have.


Tears, hatred, death, and sadness.


I can remember death. I can remember hate. I can remember tears. I cannot remember life. I cannot remember love. I cannot remember laughter.


For I am alone.


Always.


Always.


Always alone.
 



A captor’s P.O.V.


I feel wrong.


I feel right.


I am horrified.


I am pleased.


I am here.


I am gone.


I am found.


I am lost.


I am life.


I am death.


I am hope.


I am despair.


I am love.


I am hate.


I am me, and yet I am not. I am alone, and yet I am a part of something. I am frightened, and yet I am brave. I am clever, and yet I am no wiser than I ever was. I am the follower, and yet I am the leader. I am peaceful, and yet I am violent. I am feared, and yet I am admired. I am new, and yet I am old. I am cunning, and yet I am naïve. I am dark, and yet I am light. I am free, and yet I am captive. I am reality, and yet I am fantasy. I am high, and yet I am low.


I am myself, and yet, I am not.


Somewhere in me, I know something is wrong.


That I shouldn’t be acting like this. Like this is not me. This is not who I am, at least not now. This is not how I was supposed to ever end up.


This is not who I truly am.


Yet that confusion is pushed away by a bigger purpose. The chance of a lifetime. The knowledge that I will be the winner in the end. I will win. I am their leader, and they will all serve me.


Something is still wrong.


This is not me, and yet it is.


Who am I truly? In this mystifying world, how am I to know who I really am? Almost every decision I’ve ever had a choice on was made for me. Every choice I could have grabbed was snatched away, taken from my grasp.


So, I never really had a choice.


This was my last chance.


And yet, I am still not myself.


I am not the person I thought I was.


I am not the person I thought I would ever be.


I am not the person I thought I had become.


I am not the person who has a perfect life back home.


I am not who I am supposed to be.


I am not the person who should be here.


I am not.


I never was.


I never will be.


And yet, I am.


I am not what was expected to rise from the ashes of the Dark Phoenix’s flames, the spreading wild-fire.


I am not important, and yet, here I am, the new Phoenix.


I have become the flames, the fire, the brilliant light that none can stand to look at for very long.


A Phoenix.


I am not a dragon; no longer will I clumsily follow the red brilliance of the soaring bird. I am not a snake; no longer will I slither in my cowardliness. I am not a lion, I will never be brave. I am not a raven, for I was never witty. I am not a badger, for I was never kind. I am not a ferret, for I am not weak. I am not what I was.


I am not what I could never be. I am not what I used to be. I am what I never was.
I have become something else.


A Phoenix rises from its ashes, becoming new.


I have come from the ashes of the lost, and I am the new.


The lost, the dead, the hopeless, are all part of me. They will always scream inside my head, searching for a way out, but will find none.


There is no escape.


There is never any escape.


I am the unquenchable flame, the undesirable lord. I am Dark. I am black. I am flames. I am fire.


I am cunning.


I am wild.


I am the Phoenix from the ashes.


I will rise, and I will bring the rising of those who were never wanted back on this earth. I will become what no one wants.


Yet, something is still wrong.


For I feel timid.


I feel alone, and lost.


I feel like a small child, crying to help in the darkness, no one to respond, no one to catch my hand and save me from my fall.


I feel terrified.


I feel as if there is no one to save me from disappearing into the darkness of myself.


I feel as if this is the end of me.


I feel as if this is the end of all I have ever known.


I feel as if no one can help me ever again.


I feel as if I am not myself.


I feel as if I should belong here.


I feel like I don’t belong here.


I never will belong here.


I feel so scared.


I feel so alone.


I feel so lost.


I feel—


Right.


Wrong.


Alone.


Never alone.


Always alone.


Never.


Always.


For my feelings no longer matter.


Only revenge. Only useless wishes. Only that which has no chance, no hope, dreams with no substance, no purpose.


Only they matter to me now.


They will be the only ones that matter.


I have no feelings. I am as cold as ice, willing to sacrifice anyone and everything. Willing to sacrifice a villain. Willing to sacrifice a hero.


My work will never be in vain, for I will get my revenge. I will fight for what I want. What I will always want.


This is who I will become, even if it is not right.


I will become someone who is me, yet not me. Someone who will never be, yet who will always be me.


I will die, and rise again.


From my own ashes, I have risen.


From my own flames, I have died.


The snake has become a bird.


I will fly, losing myself in the fire of hatred, the burning flames of jealousy and want. And yet, I will gain what I want.


Do not doubt me.


For I am the Phoenix from the ashes. 
 



Author’s note: Hey all! Did you guys enjoy this chapter? Please review if you like it. I hope you did!


Before anybody mentions it, yes, I know that the a prisoner’s P.O.V. and the a captor’s P.O.V. is slightly confusing, but you’re not supposed to know who is who! I can’t tell you either, but you’re welcome to guess. I would like to know who you guys think they are. :)


Also, a sneak peak for chapter three:


“No, it won’t!” He cries. “Don’t you get it, Al? He. Is. Gone. He. Won’t. Come. Back.”


“You can’t know that,” I say brokenly to him.



He looks up at me, continuing to cry and asks, “And how can you know that he’s not dead?”



“I just… I just know,” I say weakly
.


I’ll get chapter three up fast!!
 


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