Status: in the works!
Let Me Dream, Let Me Stay.
It's too late, but do you feel the same?
Autumn leaned against the kitchen wall, her nose buried in a heavy book as she muddled through the dark kitchen, hardly paying attention as she attempted to make herself a cup of tea. The weekend had been eventful, and her parents still weren't back from their work related trip to the Netherlands, though Autumn was hardly worried.
Twirling her wand casually to mix her tea, she hardly noticed the bang of a door until a scream, piercing and immediate, interrupted her train of thought. She dropped her wand in surprise, in turn smashing the small tea cup, but again, Autumn was already across the room to the window, where a group of hooded figures entered her neighbor's, the Pewters's, house.
She watched in horror as they dragged old Mr. Pewter out of his house, and the tallest, who spoke with cruel and articulated words, began to slash wounds in the old man's arms and across his cheeks, obviously begging him for information that he didn't possess.
The argument went on for several minutes before the Death Eaters left, and Mr. Pewter's foot stopped twitching.
Autumn ignored another plate of food her mother sent in, and she simply rolled over again, her entire body numb with a pain she couldn't feel. Autumn wasn't sure what hurt more: that Mr. Pewter, the sweet old man who always told her to stay away from “those Weasleys”, or that she had witnessed it and done nothing about it.
Her mother said she had done the right thing, that she was too young to deal with that many wizards on her own and that if she had said anything, or done anything, she would have been killed instantly, or she would be tortured, and that was a fate worse than death. Autumn hardly cared at this point. She wanted it all to end.
George had stopped by a few times, but Autumn hadn't really wanted to talk, or exist really. But George had ignored all of this, and laid with her, his arms around her waist and holding her tight. These visits were silent, and were often cut short by her anxious father, who hardly believed his daughter should be dating the local hoodlum. And the shop was getting busier and busier, and George couldn't find time anymore.
So Autumn spent most of her time alone, staring at the ceiling like it held answers to the life she had seen end. Her mother had offered a memory charm to erase the memory of it happening, but Autumn wanted to mourn his death properly, and now … well, now her mother was beginning to push Autumn away again. So she tucked herself away again too, keeping her voice silent and her words mulled as she refused to eat, a cry for attention.
She needed help, but no one was willing to give it to her anymore.
Who she needed was Vanna, but she was nowhere to be found. And even worse, Autumn hated asking for help, knowing that the jokes and sarcasm that were to follow were worse than suffering in the first place. She wanted to feel wanted and loved for once, and knew that George did completely and totally love her with all his heart.
He had told her so, curled up with her a few days ago. It was whispered, like he didn't expect her to hear it, and was murmured in her ear like a promise he full well meant to keep. Autumn had almost missed it, like the ending to a film she wasn't paying attention to.
But it hung there, waiting for a response she couldn't give.
It was another reason she full well planned to live the rest of her life in her bed, buried beneath blankets and falling asleep at midday to the sounds of rain hitting the roof.
She was scared. Scared of falling in love, of giving her whole heart to someone like a loaded gun and trusting them not to shoot her with it. She was scared of the world, where murder could happen without a single thought or repercussion on the murderer's behalf. She was terrified of what the world had become and wished that pain came in small spurts over short spans of time. She wished for the world before the famous Boy Who Lived, but she was glad, too.
Because someday, she would get out of her bed and she would live a life she deemed worth living. Just not today, she decided, and rolled back over to fall asleep and dream of a black void.
Twirling her wand casually to mix her tea, she hardly noticed the bang of a door until a scream, piercing and immediate, interrupted her train of thought. She dropped her wand in surprise, in turn smashing the small tea cup, but again, Autumn was already across the room to the window, where a group of hooded figures entered her neighbor's, the Pewters's, house.
She watched in horror as they dragged old Mr. Pewter out of his house, and the tallest, who spoke with cruel and articulated words, began to slash wounds in the old man's arms and across his cheeks, obviously begging him for information that he didn't possess.
The argument went on for several minutes before the Death Eaters left, and Mr. Pewter's foot stopped twitching.
Autumn ignored another plate of food her mother sent in, and she simply rolled over again, her entire body numb with a pain she couldn't feel. Autumn wasn't sure what hurt more: that Mr. Pewter, the sweet old man who always told her to stay away from “those Weasleys”, or that she had witnessed it and done nothing about it.
Her mother said she had done the right thing, that she was too young to deal with that many wizards on her own and that if she had said anything, or done anything, she would have been killed instantly, or she would be tortured, and that was a fate worse than death. Autumn hardly cared at this point. She wanted it all to end.
George had stopped by a few times, but Autumn hadn't really wanted to talk, or exist really. But George had ignored all of this, and laid with her, his arms around her waist and holding her tight. These visits were silent, and were often cut short by her anxious father, who hardly believed his daughter should be dating the local hoodlum. And the shop was getting busier and busier, and George couldn't find time anymore.
So Autumn spent most of her time alone, staring at the ceiling like it held answers to the life she had seen end. Her mother had offered a memory charm to erase the memory of it happening, but Autumn wanted to mourn his death properly, and now … well, now her mother was beginning to push Autumn away again. So she tucked herself away again too, keeping her voice silent and her words mulled as she refused to eat, a cry for attention.
She needed help, but no one was willing to give it to her anymore.
Who she needed was Vanna, but she was nowhere to be found. And even worse, Autumn hated asking for help, knowing that the jokes and sarcasm that were to follow were worse than suffering in the first place. She wanted to feel wanted and loved for once, and knew that George did completely and totally love her with all his heart.
He had told her so, curled up with her a few days ago. It was whispered, like he didn't expect her to hear it, and was murmured in her ear like a promise he full well meant to keep. Autumn had almost missed it, like the ending to a film she wasn't paying attention to.
But it hung there, waiting for a response she couldn't give.
It was another reason she full well planned to live the rest of her life in her bed, buried beneath blankets and falling asleep at midday to the sounds of rain hitting the roof.
She was scared. Scared of falling in love, of giving her whole heart to someone like a loaded gun and trusting them not to shoot her with it. She was scared of the world, where murder could happen without a single thought or repercussion on the murderer's behalf. She was terrified of what the world had become and wished that pain came in small spurts over short spans of time. She wished for the world before the famous Boy Who Lived, but she was glad, too.
Because someday, she would get out of her bed and she would live a life she deemed worth living. Just not today, she decided, and rolled back over to fall asleep and dream of a black void.
♠ ♠ ♠
you've got it made | we are the in crowdsorry for the delay. but here's Autumn, overreacting as always. comments are so appreciated (: