Cry

There isn't a lot of things that make you cry, which is why you're shocked at the stinging sensation in your eyes. Your vision is obscured, and suddenly his features are obscured. You don't want him to see you cry. But your too proud to quickly wipe the telltale tears away, either, and instead you allow them to fall.

You can't help but become fascinated while you watch him, illuminated by the moonlight ahead. In spite of the situation, you can't help but find him devastatingly handsome. You wince, because you don't want to feel so powerless. You want to break the hold he has over you. It hurts, because you know he wants to break it too. You wince because of the pain he's inflicting upon you, by his presence alone. You wince because of what will always torment you.

And you want to say something; you will the words to form themselves and salvage everything. You wish

that words could make it better, when you knew deep down, somewhere inside, that they won't. Words will never suffice; not when the way he makes you feel is so indescribable He's unreachable, so far-away while he stands so close. Close enough to touch, but ever so distant. You want to close the gap, and embrace him; embrace him so that together you merge into one, so you no longer have to feel this agony.

Oh, your fingers itch, wanting to touch his cheekbones, his lips, his face, his hands. You want to weave your fingers between his and hold on tight, as nothing you've ever experienced has ever given you such a feeling of safety, of acceptance. But you don't. You don't move, and what remains unspoken tortures you more than any pain you've ever endured. You falter. You resent being so vulnerable, but you falter anyway. It was always hard to compose yourself with him as your audience. It's an impossibility to recover now.

Splintered to pieces, you wish for redemption. Something you have never craved, but long for now. You want to apologize for a thousand crimes and become something magnificent; something those cold, bitter eyes would look at with amazement. You don't want to sit in the shadows, watching him watch somebody else. You want to become something great, of remarkable beauty, something he can't help but become mesmerized by. But, sweetheart, your humanity is twisted into a grotesque imitation of a person. You will never change.

You watch him leave, as you silently beg him to stay. It hurts having him glare at you with such resentment, such disappointment. Yet, you can't help but feel impossibly complete, no matter the circumstances. He is love, and he is hate, and he is also pain. The moment when he disappears is the moment when you find yourself falling, breaking, being dragged underneath the surface. Your legs give way, and you fall onto the frozen forest floor. There you lie, with no intention to ever find the strength to get up once more.

There isn't a lot of things that make you cry, which is you're shocked that Lucius Malfoy would be one of them.

I had five minutes, so I wrote this. Something I got an idea for, because I kind of like this pairing. It's nice writing a Bellatrix Lestrange with actual emotions! Reviews? (: