Death Eater, Slytherin... Poet?

The Eighth Poem

I paced restlessly in the small room. He shifted awkwardly and opened his mouth. I shot him a glare and he closed it. "Honestly, it's not even that big of a deal," Harry said, Ginny by his side. I shook my head frantically, feeling hot tears beginning to spill over my eyes.

It was a big deal. All seven of my recent poems had gone missing twenty minutes ago.

The day had started by like any other for the past week: I'd gone to work, talked with Diana and Ginny, worked some more at home, wrote a poem if I felt inspired - and that happened a lot - and went to sleep. Only this time, when I'd reached for my quill, there'd been no pieces of parchment. No hastily written words of ink.

I'd Apparated immediately to the Ministry of Magic, running up to my office. I always brought my poems to work with me and then to home. Perhaps I'd left them here?

But I'd searched in vain - they weren't there. They weren't at home.

I seethed silently, resisting the urge to pull my hair. That wouldn't do; I'd put it up on a neat bun and didn't want to ruin it. But it was already messed up - tendrils of hair had escaped the hairdo and now framed my wild face. What more did the universe want from me? I couldn't take this any longer. No one could help me from that pit of despair; only my poems did. No one in the world could save me from severe depression. I laughed to myself as I came to a stop in front of them.

"Sorry for the fuss," I said quickly, backing away. "I think I left it in my bedroom." Ginny shot me a dubious look which I ignored.

"Oh, okay," Harry replied, looking bemused. "If you still want help, then - "

I'd already left the house and Apparated before he could finish.

My hands scrabbled for a spare piece of parchment and a ruffled quill before sitting down. Nothing came up.

My mind was empty.

"No, no," I whispered, waiting for the storm of emotions. Nothing came. Just... Emptiness.

It was as if when the papers left, they'd carried and taken away all my feelings with them. I tried to feel relief but there was only a dead hollowness to my stomach. I pressed the tip harder onto the paper, willing something into existence.

Nothing.

"No!" I shrieked, the tears spilling out.

With the papers had gone everything else in my life.

Ron's love, which I'd thought I'd have forever was a blip in the grand scheme of things. So too it seemed, was I.

"No!"

My hands covered the face when I suddenly had a feeling of deja vu.

"Ron!" I cried, running out. I'd cast my spell too well; it'd taken me over a minute to get rid of the shield. But no matter how fast I ran, no matter how loud I shouted, it couldn't change one fact.

He was gone.

I called his name for over ten minutes, moving farther and farther away from the tent, until I had to admit it to myself: he was well and truly gone. Ron had Apparated and left Harry and I. Left me.

"No," I said numbly.

No.

I turned in a daze and began to walk back to the tent, where Harry silently lay on his bed. Without another word, I turned off the light and huddled in my sleeping bag.

Maybe if I concentrated hard enough, hoped enough, he'd come back.

A trail of silent tears made its way down my face to the pillow.