Lover of the Light

The Way the Story Ends

[AN: So here we have the final chapter! Not to worry, my lovelies! There is an epilogue on the way. But, I just wanted to say my thanks for all the beautiful comments you all have left me. You are all amazing! Also, a huge thanks to Theuncreativehijabi for the cover. :D ]

Lover of the Light

Chapter Twenty-Four: The Way the Story Ends

It was not uncommon for her to feel left out in a crowd. It mattered not if she walked with her head held high, holier-than-thou attitude, strutting along with expensive clothes and shoes, or if she sulked with her head down, the collar of her coat turned up, blending in with the grey and gloomy shades of the typical British weather. There was a time in her life when she went full-speed to make sure that everyone saw her, that everyone knew who she was, how much better and exquisite she was, but that had changed three years ago. The reality was that she was lost in the crowd, drowning in the shadows, and no one stopped along their merry paths to help her.

Typically, Pansy did perfectly well surviving the crowd. She was an excellent swimmer, equipped to keep herself from completely sinking down into the well-known depths of despair by just splashing about, not making a single noise for help to avoid the judging eyes of people. Today, on this specific day, however, she found that the ocean of people was pulling her down. She was looking for an anchor—her very own protective anchor, made from her own blood and flesh—but it wasn't there. She scouted and scouted, splashing hysterically, swallowing water, eyes stinging, bones cramping up, cries crawling their way up her throat at the same time the waves of people started pushing her towards the dark, deep end.

This time, she knew, she was going to drown if she didn't act fast.

Pansy swam with whatever strength she had left and barely managed to make it to the nearest lavatory. She had no time to inspect it, to make sure that she was alone, that there weren't anymore treacherous waves of people that would end up destroying her. She closed the door behind her, fell to the floor, exhausted, and began gasping for air. Soon enough, that desperate inhaling turned into distraught sobbing.

Misery, abandonment, fury, fear, inferiority, shame, and outrage mixed together in a perfect emotional explosion. Tears rushed out of her eyes, tracing down her cheeks like waterfalls and collecting like small ponds on the floor. All those emotions, all those she practiced to keep hidden, were scratching and cutting her from the inside out with vengeance. They were taking their revenge for all the submerging she did, for all those times that she needed to confront them, but instead chose to evade and ignore them when they we demanding attention.

No one can run from reality; not even Slytherin witches with all their years of training to not feel anything at all. Sooner or later, they feel. And they feel it all; intensely and unforgivingly.

"Parkinson?"

Carefully and quietly, a brunette peeked her head in from outside of the lavatory. It took her less than a second to spot the dark-haired witch, and it took her absolutely no time at all to approach her.

"Parkinson, are you—"

Hermione Granger's voice was replaced within the wall of the girls lavatory when the deafening, heartbreaking cries of Pansy Parkinson echoed off with a force that knocked the Gryffindor down onto her knees and palms.

How did Hermione Granger have it all? How was it fair that the Gryffindor Princess, the righteous and bloody know-it-all, had absolutely everything? Was it karma? Was Granger really that loyal, that sweet, that noble that the world decided to pay her in kind? Even when things seemed terrible for her, Granger rose up mightier than ever. But what about her? Was Pansy really that much of a horrible, conniving, cowardly person that she had nothing at all? That she deserved nothing at all? Was there no chance of redemption, did she not get a chance to work for a better life?