We do what we can to survive. It's human nature. Everyone does it differently. Some people run and hide. Some people mask their hurt and their pain and their fear. Some fight hard, to protect what the have left. Some forget the past, and look to the future. And some find solace in others.
None of the above are classified as the wrong way to survive, as there is no right or wrong way to survive. Each person survives in a way that is easiest to them. The technical definition for Survival is: 'The state or fact of continuing to live or exist, typically in spite of an accident, ordeal, or difficult circumstances.'
I use a combination of the above to survive.
I run and hide from my friends when things get too much for me.
I mask my hurt and my pain everyday. Both my physical and my emotional pain.
I fight. I fight hard to stop the forces that are threatening to overtake me each and every day of my existence and I fight to protect my mind.
I block out the past, because that is the cause of all my hurt and pain.
And I have found solace. Solace in someone who I shouldn't have.
It all started so innocently. I remember the day it started, whatever you label it as.
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I was sat at Gryffindor, eating my lunch and minding my own business, when it happened. Ron sat down beside me and started to shovel the food into his mouth like there was nothing wrong. But then, there never was for him.
He wasn't grieving. He wasn't even acting like had participated in the war. It was all water off his back, and that really pissed me off.
How could he sit there and act like nothing had ever happened? Like we weren't eating in a hall where hundreds of people had been murdered? It sickened me to my core.
But then, maybe that's my problem. I see things people don't. I still see the bodies of every single person who died in this hall. I see exactly where they fell, exactly where their blood was spilled, exactly where their soul left their body, and it haunts me. Every single night. It haunts me.
And I know it haunts Harry. It's hard to spot, but it's there. You can see there isn't as much light in his eyes as their used to be, like the fire has gone. His hand jerks to his scar occasionally, like he's remembering the past, and he hesitates sometimes before entering the hall.
I notice all these things, but some people don't. He puts on a brave face when people come up and ask him about the war. But he's got Ginny, and thank god he does. I have no one. I tried to turn to Ron, but he left. They always do, so now, I suffer in silence. And alone.
It was particularly bad today. I don't know why, but I think Harry sensed it too. He seemed more on edge and was even flinching to Ginny's light touches.
"Harry" I whispered. He looked at me with a distant expression in his eyes. I jerked my head to the door lightly and he looked to it then back to me before nodding.
I got up, as he did, ignoring the queries from Ginny and Ron and we headed out.
"Are you OK?" I asked.
"I don't know. There's something wrong today" He said.
"I feel it too. It's like there's something in the hall and it's pushing out it's magic" I croaked.
"I'm sure we're just being paranoid" He rationalized. I nodded and we headed back in.
We were sitting back down when something brushed past my neck, like a whisper of wind. I looked behind me, but there was nothing. Must have just been a draft.
