Fic; Harry Potter; Zacharias/Daphne
Title: Waiting
Author: black_goose
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Zacharias/Daphne
Word count: 548
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Zacharias sits and waits.
Maybe, it was never meant to be.
Maybe, love is just another way of torturing yourself, another way to cause pain, another thing to chip away at you until you're nothing more than love.
Maybe, love is just something we say to protect ourselves from the harsh reality. Something to hide behind, something that sounds sweet and happy, but which is cruel and vile.
Maybe, he'll never stop loving her.
He's counted the minutes since she's been gone. Currently, it's 1,576,860 minutes. Three years. He's lived so long without her, but it isn't really living, isn't really breathing. It's just...existing. It's eating when he needs to, breathing when he needs to, sleeping when he needs to. It's like waiting until he's released, it's waiting for her, it's waiting until he doesn't have to wait any longer. It's just waiting.
Sometimes, when it's like this, when he's at the spots where they used to go, like maybe on a waterside street, or on a gondala, he almost feels he can feel her. He can feel the brush of her hand slipping into his, the whisper of her hair on his shoulder, the sweetness of her lips pressing against his. It's a feeling, an illusion, but it doesn't make it any less real, so there's a few seconds when he can forget. He can forget the heartache, he can forget that she left him, he can forget that there was anything wrong with his life at all. But only for a few seconds.
It's when he away that he thinks. It's a boat- their boat, a cheap speedboat they bought when they were happy, when it was the months after war and they'd ran away. Who'd known back then what would happen the day after, so they bought it and ran away to sea, three weeks spent sunbathing and talking and "sleeping". It's when he lies in bed, their bed, that he thinks about her, feels her, knows she out there somewhere, just outside his reach. Just outside of him. Just outside.
He opens the hatch. He always expects her. Always. She's just outside. Just there. And in those seconds when he knows she there, just out of sight, he can feel her. Feel her leaning into his chest like she used to, admiring the view, like she was made to do, while he admired her.
It's strange, isn't it, that marriage is something so happy, so joyous, so reeking of new life, that it's strange that such a "wonderful" thing ruined him, ruined his life. He had to sit there, while she was married off to Marcus Flint, watch as he flaunted his new "wife" in front of, treating her like the piece of arm candy like she was raised by her parents to be. He knows what goes on behind the doors that have been closed to him. He hears the whispers of the people around her, hears of unexplained bruises, of slaps and punches in broad daylight. He doesn't love her. He doesn't want her. All Marcus Flint wants is another victim to bully, another person to humiliate, and it burns, burns to his very centre that he can't do anything.
So he sits and waits for love to chip and break him.
He waits.
1,576,890 minutes.
Author: black_goose
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Zacharias/Daphne
Word count: 548
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Zacharias sits and waits.
Maybe, it was never meant to be.
Maybe, love is just another way of torturing yourself, another way to cause pain, another thing to chip away at you until you're nothing more than love.
Maybe, love is just something we say to protect ourselves from the harsh reality. Something to hide behind, something that sounds sweet and happy, but which is cruel and vile.
Maybe, he'll never stop loving her.
He's counted the minutes since she's been gone. Currently, it's 1,576,860 minutes. Three years. He's lived so long without her, but it isn't really living, isn't really breathing. It's just...existing. It's eating when he needs to, breathing when he needs to, sleeping when he needs to. It's like waiting until he's released, it's waiting for her, it's waiting until he doesn't have to wait any longer. It's just waiting.
Sometimes, when it's like this, when he's at the spots where they used to go, like maybe on a waterside street, or on a gondala, he almost feels he can feel her. He can feel the brush of her hand slipping into his, the whisper of her hair on his shoulder, the sweetness of her lips pressing against his. It's a feeling, an illusion, but it doesn't make it any less real, so there's a few seconds when he can forget. He can forget the heartache, he can forget that she left him, he can forget that there was anything wrong with his life at all. But only for a few seconds.
It's when he away that he thinks. It's a boat- their boat, a cheap speedboat they bought when they were happy, when it was the months after war and they'd ran away. Who'd known back then what would happen the day after, so they bought it and ran away to sea, three weeks spent sunbathing and talking and "sleeping". It's when he lies in bed, their bed, that he thinks about her, feels her, knows she out there somewhere, just outside his reach. Just outside of him. Just outside.
He opens the hatch. He always expects her. Always. She's just outside. Just there. And in those seconds when he knows she there, just out of sight, he can feel her. Feel her leaning into his chest like she used to, admiring the view, like she was made to do, while he admired her.
It's strange, isn't it, that marriage is something so happy, so joyous, so reeking of new life, that it's strange that such a "wonderful" thing ruined him, ruined his life. He had to sit there, while she was married off to Marcus Flint, watch as he flaunted his new "wife" in front of, treating her like the piece of arm candy like she was raised by her parents to be. He knows what goes on behind the doors that have been closed to him. He hears the whispers of the people around her, hears of unexplained bruises, of slaps and punches in broad daylight. He doesn't love her. He doesn't want her. All Marcus Flint wants is another victim to bully, another person to humiliate, and it burns, burns to his very centre that he can't do anything.
So he sits and waits for love to chip and break him.
He waits.
1,576,890 minutes.