Don't forget me (Pansmione)

(I) did you know

5 repetitive blinks.

4 compressed walls.

3 people.

2 shaky hands.

1 sense of impending doom.

I am sat between the window and Ron on the train to Hogwarts and sometimes when I un-focus my eyes we're 14 again and nothing bad has happened, but we're not 14, Harry looks tired.

The eye-bags under his eyes are darkening and there's strands of grey in his hair. The war may be over, but for us it won't ever stop.

Harry sighs, Ron yawns and I close my eyes, the cooling darkness forms into her face and I see her crying out holding him in her arms, holding Crabbes burnt body after they dragged what was left off him from the room of requirements. I open my eyes. Im back on the train.

Harry and Ron are speaking but I can't understand what they're saying. It's as if I'm underwater and my ears are clogged. The faint hums of their words travel inside my ear but my brain doesn't process their meaning. After all, is there even a meaning?

I watch the landscape unravel before my eyes outside the window and my vision is filled with the beauty of it.
It's a strange feeling gratitude.
Gratitude for the opportunity to see this place again after nearly losing it. But it's not the same.

The strange hum grows louder and a rough texture brushes my shoulder. The touch sparks something inside me and I'm suddenly aware of my surroundings, Ron's hand is on my shoulder and he's whispered my name. I merely look at them.

"We're there in 20 minutes" his voice is raspy and it makes me wonder if there is a trace of happiness hiding behind the sound of pain.

I nod in response and they continue with their dialogue as I drown them out.

My hand unconsciously travels to my wrist where the word 'mudblood' had been marked upon me and even though it's a reminder of the pain it's also a reminder of being real. It brings a comfort to know that it did happen and it's been overcome and won.

In every blink I see their faces but what haunts me is that it's not who I'm supposed to see. It's not Remus Lupin or Colin Creevey or even Fred Weasley, it's the fucking deatheaters.

Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, Draco Malfoy. They flash before my eyes continuously and I cannot figure out why.
Why am I mourning the undead.

I wake up in a sweat each mourning after seeing their lifeless eyes in their alive body look up at me and parts of me want to scream in frustration.  It's the way the colour was drained from their body and a ghostly face stared back at me before firing a curse, like machines their was no emotions behind them and their eyes were dead. Their eyes haunt me and I cannot escape.

Everywhere I turn, everywhere I look, I see them looking up at me and I can't get them out of my head.

Pansys voice is engraved in my eardrums, 'somebody do something' the way her voice broke or maybe the way it shook, something about the way she said it made her appear so small, so frail and so scared. She had to be scared.

If they were born into different families would they have joined the dark side? It's a question that roams my mind all the time but I fear I'll never know the answer.

I blink 5 times inside this compartment with 4 walls and 3 people, my hands shake and an impending sense of doom overcomes me when the train comes to a halt.