The Sound and the Fury

There were windows, rows and rows of windows, but the bars keep everything just out of reach. You seem to think, seem to remember what it was like on the outside but the memory is blurred. You want to scream but you can't because your throat is raw from it already; if you scream now it will be too painful and you'll taste blood again (you hate blood because ohgodthere'ssomuch)

You can't remember how it happened but you remember the fear in her eyes and the way it felt to lose control (you swear you never meant to hurt her because you would rather die). You still don't know what happened (and you're sorry so sorry and ohgodwhathaveIdone and Ilovedher). You remember saying things - spells? curses? That, you don't know. It's hard for you to remember your own voice because you don't use it anymore (the sound of it hurts your ears and it's always pain).

You remember rage. You killed him and it didn't hurt; you killed him and you liked the way it felt (because he deserved it for every person you loved that he took away and it shouldn't have felt so good but it did and they'll never let me keep this power). You saw Ron. He said he wanted to help you (you knew you knew he wanted to take the power away but you couldn't let him). You hit him. You hit him over and over until he stopped moving. Then there was blood (so much fucking blood). Your hands were red; your clothes were red. You could smell it. You could hear it. Blood spattered the floor. You heard Ginny scream; you pointed your wand at her and she dropped heavily to floor (and she wasn't screaming now).

You saw her then. She was afraid - she was afraid of you. There was something cold and sharp in your hand and you didn't know how it got there. She was trembling when you stepped toward her. “Harry…what have you done?” she whispered. You hate the fear in her eyes (she's afraid of you and you hate it).

Her eyes are pleading with you. The sharp-thing, cold in your hand, you point it at her and there's blood and tears (you said you'd never make her cry). You can't bear the sound of her pleading, of her crying (stopstopstop pleasestop you just can't listen to it because it hurts to hear and it hurts and hurts to hear it from her). She whispers I love you because she can't speak, can barely breathe (and it hurts). You don't know when your fingers wrapped around her throat (but you remember her skin was warm and soft and so soft). And then her eyes didn't blink and you watched tears disappear into her hair. She wasn't moving now.

Her name was on your lips: “Hermione…”

(you killed her you killed her you killed)

You started to shake and then you started to scream. You screamed until your throat bled. They came. The pulled you away from her (ohgodIcan'tleaveher). They said something about crazy. And then you slept.

You don't scream now. You can't remember her voice (only that whisper).

You take off the cotton pants and the air in the room is cool against your skin. You think, now, you should go to her because you're so sorry (and she loved you still loves you because you can feel it still when your heart beats). And then you can't breathe (and you don't wonder why your feet can't feel the floor). In the window-reflection you think she smiles. It's all right now.

So bury me in memory. Her smile's your rope, so wrap it tight around your throat.