Post by TabbyMin on Feb 25, 2005 18:29:40 GMT -5
A/N: Yeah, yeah, I know it's a name of a book but the story fits. I was doing my homework and this was the result of a boring day. Oh and, if you DON'T like the title, another might be 'A McGonagall dosen't cry'.
She cried. Slowly at first but then tears racked her body, barely drawing breath as she looked into the final burning ashes of what was once a roaring fire. Time, as an ever-changing constant, stood still as if her sadness would go on for eternity, never ceasing to end like the ashes of a Phoenix rising again and again. But just like the Phoenix, her vibrant life gave off a spark, which started the ashes to flame again. And with that flame, her salty, watery tears dripped down her soft cheeks and onto her lap as she sat alone on the deep red Gryffindor couch undisturbed but no longer silent. Drowning in her own sorrows, the faint traces of life that still resided in the woman vanished into the night like the stars disappear into day. This time, the new beginning that morning brought would not come to her. Instead, she was now just a small part of a helpless person in an entire crowd. For a part of her had been lost, and lost it would stay until she herself went on into the darkness like many others had done before her. She knew that these tears would not bring her love back. But she also knew, that these tears, the tears she shed now, would be the only thing that would keep him alive as she so desperately wanted him to be, even if it was only within herself. Her last thought before she drifted into an uncomfortable sleep, was simply that, a McGonagall doesn’t cry.
She cried. Slowly at first but then tears racked her body, barely drawing breath as she looked into the final burning ashes of what was once a roaring fire. Time, as an ever-changing constant, stood still as if her sadness would go on for eternity, never ceasing to end like the ashes of a Phoenix rising again and again. But just like the Phoenix, her vibrant life gave off a spark, which started the ashes to flame again. And with that flame, her salty, watery tears dripped down her soft cheeks and onto her lap as she sat alone on the deep red Gryffindor couch undisturbed but no longer silent. Drowning in her own sorrows, the faint traces of life that still resided in the woman vanished into the night like the stars disappear into day. This time, the new beginning that morning brought would not come to her. Instead, she was now just a small part of a helpless person in an entire crowd. For a part of her had been lost, and lost it would stay until she herself went on into the darkness like many others had done before her. She knew that these tears would not bring her love back. But she also knew, that these tears, the tears she shed now, would be the only thing that would keep him alive as she so desperately wanted him to be, even if it was only within herself. Her last thought before she drifted into an uncomfortable sleep, was simply that, a McGonagall doesn’t cry.
