Where to Find Me
The great dark abyss of your own mind is the scariest place to be. You're all alone, left to crawl-up next to a nightmare or two, curled-up in the deepest recesses of those many thoughts you've failed to keep from your mind; memories you've long since hoped to repress.
You've joined me here a time or two. You remember me. I'm the one that sits in the corner, covered by the shadows. I'm the source of the silent sobbing you hear each time you take a swim through the suffocating terrors of your past.
You can't see the bloodshot eyes, nor the tear-stained pajamas. You can't even see my face. You see, back in this little corner of mine, this horrid, dark little place nothing but despair. It's wrapped me between its knotty, bony little fingers and squeezed until I could but gasp for air. He's gone and there's nothing I can do about it. It destroys me to think that he's out there dying – perhaps more slowly, more painfully than I am. My pillowcase hasn't been dry for months.
We're just friends for now, he says. Just friends. We've always been more than just friends. Voldemort doesn't care what we call our relationship – there is one. That's enough for him, that's enough for me. I'm at risk either way. I wish I'd refused. I wish I'd told him I wouldn't leave him to do it alone.
He won't be the same when he's back – it's simply not possible. He could be broken – he could be dead. Every night I lay awake, struggling to fight away the fact that he could have passed on without me. Death is the easy way out. The quick surrender. Harry would never give-up. It's just not like him. He's Harry.
It's been months since I've seen him – months since I've heard his voice, or seen his messy handwriting. I miss his whisper, his touch, his embrace. I yearn for his kisses, his warm breath on my neck.
It's not easy being alone, though I suppose it never is, nor ever can be. I swear each night I hear his desperate cry for me, as if he can feel my longing for his return. It's soft, it's faint – it's a gentle cry, not unlike the soft whine of a newborn kitten. I can only hear it when I listen for it. He's calling my name. 'Ginny, Ginny' he tells me, 'just a little longer'.
"Soon," I beg, and wait forever for no reply.
Time is torturous, the distance between us is murder. He's out there somewhere, though. I can feel him. I'll wait for him here, in my little corner. He knows where to find me.
Author's Note: This is the first story I've posted in a little over two years. I'm not sure how many more I will write before retiring from , but I hope you enjoyed this little piece. Let me know if you did, and don't be afraid to enjoy other stories of mine.