Still Holding On: Roseh's Fanfiction Collection

[Guest]

Shattered Glass

The time was passing, the seconds, minutes, hours each inching away from her. Every moment seemed to be distancing her from reality, every echoing footstep pulling her further away from her daughter. She refused to look at her watch, not wanting to see how much time was passed to calculate the likelihood that her daughter would return home back to her.

Her boy breathed, peaceful and halcyonic, oblivious to the raging battle both his parents were currently stuck in. Every inhale of his filled his grandmother with the hope that they would return, while every exhale seemed to discount any of it.

Her pastel-brown eyes turned to a photograph hanging on the grey stone walls. A man and a woman dancing together; he in a traditionally cut black suit with a white shirt and blue tie to compliment his eyes, she in an ivory silk dress and purple corsage. She began to cry, small, delicate droplet tears. Losing him was bad enough.

The picture was in a triple-frame, antique and oak-edged. The middle picture seemed to show a typical happy family; mother, father and baby daughter. That was before any of this ever happened, before even the first war had truly began.

The third picture is very similar to the first. The girl wears the same dress, the same corsage. The man wears a similar suit, yet in grey and the tie, though a different shade of blue, still matches his eyes, makes them seem brighter than anyone had ever seem then in reality. His hand fits to the curve of her waist and hip, their arms stretch in front of them and they turn, mimicking the breeze that was absent that day and their faces show silent, starlight laughter.

She looked through the perfectly-kept white curtains out to the night. The moon, a half, leering down to her and the icy crystal stars seem to taint the sky dark red.

Somewhere out there was her galaxy, her namesake. There was also her sister’s star, just visible beyond the moon, the ice melting. The whole sky appeared as a census, noting the generations like a scrawled, sprawling family tree. Galaxies, stars, her son-in-law's moon, everything taken down and held, suspended in time in the sky. As she watches, a thick veil of cloud passes over, covering the moon, the nearby stars with a dusty, suffocating blanket of grey.

Someone was tapping hard against the door. Her daughter, her son-in-law, they had both returned safely. Her face spilt into a sunlight smile, ready to embrace the pair of them…

“Can I come in?”

Of all the people she had expected to see at this hour, Molly was not one of them. Her voice shook slightly as she greeted her.

“Of course.”

The smile fell, faded away into the now waning darkness.

Her hands shook as she poured lukewarm tea into off-white china cups; the delicate painted roses had long since faded into subtlety. She handed Molly the cup, who took it with her hands comparatively still, but very warm. Her faced was flushed and red; either from tiredness or mourning. Or both.

“I thought you were fighting?” It was true. Why was Molly not fighting?
“It’s over.”
“Over?”
“We won.”

The knot that had been forming in Andromeda’s stomach all evening seemed to tighten convulsively. There was something wrong about the words Molly had just spoken, yet it takes her a moment to work this out.

“But, if you won, then why haven’t Nymphadora and Remus returned yet?”

Molly’s eyed welled, reflecting the washed-out pallor of the first colours of the sunrise.

“Andromeda, I’m really, really sorry, but...but...,” her voice was constricted, though she had no need to finish her sentence.

Her mind had gone nub, her body unfeeling. The shock was too much to cry. Crying wouldn’t help, it wouldn’t bring them back. All she felt she could do was to place her arms around Molly’s tremoring shoulders, to provide a hand of support. She tried to open her mouth, to ask who else had gone down with them, but only breathy, indistinguishable whispers escaped her.

Molly was choking herself through her tears, yet she seemed to feel the need to tell Andromeda everything, to keep going.

“We sustained heavy losses, fifty, maybe more,” she stammered. “I think everyone lost someone. We all did.”
“Who? Who did you lose?”
Molly mouthed his name. She didn’t seem to be able to force it out of her.

“Do you know anything, anything about Narcissa, about Bella?” Andromeda felt she should ask. There was still something there for her sisters, some familial love that didn’t evaporate when she had run away.

“Narcissa is fine,” her voice seemed clearer now, her body stiller. “Bellatrix is dead.” Molly’s voice was mixed, tones of compassion, of condolence, of loss and of something else, something Andromeda could not quite put her finger on. Molly sighed, as though preparing herself to say something she knew she should but didn’t want to.
“I killed her.”

For some reason, Andromeda did not feel any hate towards Molly at all.
“She was aiming for Ginny, I couldn’t not let that go.”

She felt the need to justify what she had done, though this wasn’t needed.

“It’s okay. I understand. You didn’t want to lose another child,” Andromeda found herself able to speak again. “I understand how you were feeling.”

Their eyes met, taupe on azure and in that glance they shared a realisation, an acceptance.

“I must go.”

Molly stood up, her chair scraping against the flagged floor. Andromeda followed suit.

They paused for a moment in the doorway; the sun had fully risen now and the kitchen was flooded with a garish light quite unsuitable for the moment. They had said too many goodbyes in those last weeks to need to say another. Andromeda watched as her friend turned her back on her, walking away from the house before vanishing.

She traced the lonely lines of the house, caressing each and every familiar crevasse that she had left. Her fingertips ran along the work surface in the kitchen, across the arcs of the unoccupied chairs, the aged, wooden banister, the dresser, the bedstead, along the uneven walls, wanting to take in everything she had, to reassure herself that there was still something there.

She looks to the triple-framed photo. No more. She was the only one left. Out of all the people in those pictures, only she was still there, still remaining. Her insides feel black and burnt. Or white and parched. The colours were indistinguishable now. Black, black, black for her family and for the mourning, black for the night, black for the overwhelming darkness that seemed to be imploding upon her.

The black is hot; hot midnight rage. Why was she the one left? Why could they not have taken her instead to save her from this? Whywhywhywhywhywhywhy?

Lord, imma' lose my head here
Lord, imma' lose my way
If living means I'm dead here
Come hurry and resurrect me

There is a clatter and a sound like wind chimes; too sparkling, too light. Tiny shards of glass littered the floor, and a large crack had split the photograph frame into fragmented flashbacks. The lights that once reflected out of her daughter’s eyes now came from sunlight on the many-faceted divide, the laughter from her husband’s face turned to a waterfall of wasted tears and the memories of her son-in-law too few, too little. They never had their time.

From the next room, a baby wakes in tears.
--

Okay, I'm gonna still be posting my fanfiction! I'm starting again however, so I'll post everything I have from the old one as well as some new stuff

And some of the things will have a few edits as well!

[Salazar Slytherin - Inact]

Ok, I just cried my eyes out.

[Guest]

Thank you, Sal *hug*

Escape

Rain.

Rain that fell through the starlight, momentarily catching it’s light, then releasing it and being driven downwards by the spiralling wind.

Rain that stole the chill from the night, encapsulating a modicum of it in itself before releasing it onto whatever it landed on.

Rain that quickly gathered wherever it could reach, forming pools of water that allowed other drops to bounce into them and create ripples which ricocheted off one another.

And through this rain, this night, she dances.



She feels the water easily slide through her now stained and soaked nightdress, penetrating her skin, diluting her blood, forcing it’s way through her down to her bones, her brain, her heart.

The heart that had been shattered too many times, only to be rebuilt again for another demise.

Her body twists and turns, rotating, free-wheeling, gliding, floating through uncharacteristically graceful pirouettes, jumping, spinning, leaping; all a ritual of improvised expression, all to rid herself of everything, to numb every one of her emotions.

All that matters in this night is the rain that falls around her, over her and onto her.

It seems to cleanse her, to free her of anything else. All the problems seem to dissolve in the darkness, until she was the only being in existence, one with no feelings, problems, pain. Everything from the past weeks, months, years meant nothing now.

Tilting her head upwards, flinging her arms out and ceasing her movement, she just breathes, her mouth wide open, as if exhaling the last remaining remnants of her memories. All the while, the rain continues to fall, tracing all the contours of her face, her skin, just like he used to do. It goes into her mouth as well, hitting the back of her throat like ice cubes, making her cough. But she still keeps it open, allowing it to flow down her throat.

She opens her dark eyes, reflecting the star-strewn sky and the clouds which only just hid the moon from view. Her hair, just this once electively mousy brown, fell limply, having absorbed as much water as it could take and was now mechanically letting it go in drops.

Her bare feet, now beyond blue and more of a deathly grey colour, run along the tarmac street to the nearest puddle and skimm the top of the water like the stones she used to skip with her father across the pond in their back garden.

Too many memories.

Her father leaving, scared, in danger to go on the run. Would she ever see him again?
The note her husband left on the table. One telling her he couldn’t face it any longer, that he was scared for her, that he had something to do and needed to go.
The shock at losing her mentor. The one who she believed could, in some way, never die. The one who had done so much and survived it all.
The seemingly endless nights spent waiting. Waiting for him to come home again. She didn’t have to stay up, but he needed to know she would stay by him no matter what. She didn’t care. All that mattered was that he was safe.

Let it go. All of it.

The euphoric happiness and infinite perfection when she danced on her wedding night with her husband alone in the back garden, underneath the stars, that, on that night, seemed to fall onto them. Just like the rain.
The kiss by the lake, the night after they argued. The day when she thought that, somehow, everything would be alright, still being young, still full of adolescent, innocent, naivety.
The argument the night before. Everyone knew what she felt then.
The months spent in blackness. The months when nothing mattered to her at all. Like an endless version of this night, of the coldness, the numbness.

All gone.

None of that mattered any more.

Nothing.

That wasn’t worth fighting for.



But there was something there.

Something more, something worth fighting for.

And as if she needed reminding, her hands drop subconsciously to her stomach, where her nightdress clang and creased over the swollen lump there. She gasps, her breath catching on the passing raindrops, now beginning to slow down and pass on, as she feels movement over where her hands are.

That was what she lived for now.


Looking back up, she sees the clouds shift aside slightly and show the moon.

It’s full.

[Guest]

I'M SO GLAD YOU CAME TO THE NEW FORUM!!!! I MISSED YOUR WRITING!!!

[Guest]

Thank you *hug*

And now I bring you updates!

Visions

She smiles and waves at her fluid reflection, and watches as the pink-haired girl returns the gesture, her visual fingers dancing in the same way her own real ones did.

In her twenty-three years, she should have really got used to this phenomenon, yet still it stunned her to gaze upon her own face.

She fixed her eyes upon her own, and watched as they changed their colour from an experimental brown back to a starlight shade of blue-violet. But while she remains the same, the mirror begins to change.

Firstly, the background starts to spin, moving like the pictures in those old muggle movies her father used to drag her to as she grew up. Then she begins to move as well, gliding backwards into the scene of a musty, dust-showered basement in which she shouts at another man. No sound escapes, only silent pictures.

The picture shift again, and she now sees herself, still shouting at the same man, but in a lighter, brighter room, lit by dancing moonlight through high windows. They’re not alone this time, instead surrounded by a whole crowd of people, all of whom she knew, all forming a crowd of spectators to their interesting attraction.

She’s with the man yet again in her next image. Not arguing; instead they’re entwined together by a lake, the sunlight reflected like diamond facets onto her back, his hand running through her hair, hers tracing the curve of his spine. One of the most exquisite sights she had ever seen in her life.

But she didn’t know this man. Who was he? How did he know her? Why were they arguing and now kissing? What was this she was seeing? A vision? An image? A prophecy?

A new scene: a girl and a boy, together in each others arms, she being held above the ground and an ivory dress falling out behind her as he spun her round. And they laughed.

More arguments, silent shouts, tears pouring down deathly pale cheeks, a swollen stomach…

“Stop it! Stop it!” she yells at her reflection, her throat constricted with fear and disorientation.

Still new images, an embrace, an absent scream, a turquoise-haired child, a frozen body…



A trembling girl curls up on the floor of her mother’s bedroom, rocking herself backwards and forwards in time to broken sobs, before finding herself in her mother’s controlled, comforting, truly real embrace.

[Guest]

This story is absolutely amazing!

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