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I wrote a very sad thing :(

I'm still crying. And imagine that I don't even like him that much... but I can't stop.

I was reading a thread on FAP, which discussed about the Dementor's kiss. You can find it here: The Dementor's Kiss. I wrote a reply to it, and when I pushed the reply button, I had a bunny jumping from my head. I had to shut the Internet connection down, and start writing. It took to me few hours, but I finished it... and started to cry.

I titled the ficlet "Let him go", it's analysing the feeling of a girl who had the boy she loved affected by a Dementor's kiss. I'm looking for a beta, right now, because you all know that I'm foreigner and that I need someone who correct my grammar, my phrase building and everything. I hope to find someone soon.

Anyway, since I want an opinion about it, I paste it here on the b-log. Call it "public beta" if you want. You can read the fic, give me opinion and correct misspellings, grammar, everything you want. I'll be glad to read everything you want to write. Of course, I'd like to know if it told you anything, if it made you think, or if it made you cry. I'd like also to know if you got who the person was until the end.

Sorry for this awful and sad reading...

Let Him Go

He had received a Dementor’s kiss. You couldn’t believe it. You can’t believe it even now, after all those years that he had laid on that bed, hardly breathing and kept alive by that... ‘machine’.

You and your friends were fighting against Dementors and Death Eaters; the Dark Lord had been defeated, but his followers were still trying to fight, and to escape.

Few seconds before, he was alive, fighting the Dementor and telling you that ‘Everything would have finished well’. Few seconds after, he was only a shell, he was ‘gone’, as someone had told you. His beautiful eyes, that often had looked at you with anger, with love, with friendship, with amusement... had became empty, fixed, as if he was turned blind. His body, that until few seconds before had fought and tried to protect you, his body which was so alive, so strong... was now still, able only to breathe and swallow. His voice, that had often consoled you, yelled at you... never uttered a word again.

You had cried, implored, you had started to shake that doll-looking body that once was the boy you loved; pray him to come back, to look at you again, to smile again...

Someone had grabbed you at your shoulder; you didn’t know who the someone was, at the moment, and even now you can’t remember who he was. You were too shocked to have fair memories.

“Let him go! Don’t you understand? He’s gone, you can’t do anything to bring him back!” he had said, hugging you. But you had fought with all your strength to tear yourself from the hug.

“NO! He’s not gone, you see? He’s still alive... he can breathe... he’s not gone! He’s not gone... ” you had started to repeat, as if it was a sort of nursery-rhyme. You had started to cry, to yell, to scream. Your face had turned red, your hands had fought against the ones of the person who wanted to calm you down.

The last Dementor, the one that had stolen the soul of the most important person in the world, for you, had been trapped. All the Death Eaters had been captured. There were dead bodies all around, blood, people crying on the corpses as you were crying on his body... with the only difference that he wasn’t a corpse. He was still alive... he breathed, blinked, swallowed... his blood ran into his veins, his heart still beat. But he was gone. He was fucking gone... why? It wasn’t fair...

You tore again from the hug of the person who was trying to console you—as if it could have been possible, console you—and felt to your knees, hugging the breathing and living body of the boy you loved. You didn’t want to let him down...

You had brought him at home. He had stood up and walked straight, following you who were giving him your hand, and carrying him, giving him directions. He had sat down on the living room, had drank the water you had brought to him and swallowed the food you had tried to let him eat, his fixed eyes still blinked, his chest still moving up and down, to breathe.

You knew that he was only a living doll, that his soul... his soul was now having the worst of the punishments, trapped forever into that evil being, suffering a pain that he wasn’t worthy to endure. He, who had already suffered so much in his short life... now was condemned to suffer again, for the whole eternity: was it fair?

No, your voice had screamed into your head, it’s not fair at all.

You knew that it wasn’t fair, you knew, also, that there was nothing you could do about it. But you didn’t care... until you would’ve seen his chest rising to take a breath, his eyes blinking... you would have done everything in your possibilities to keep him alive. He didn’t have a soul any more... but he was alive.

Then, few days after the final fight, he had started to scream. You were knitting, trying to finish a jumper you wanted him to wear, but had let the work fell from your hands and ran to his seat. He was screaming, and having convulsions... his body was shaking. You had thought that it was the end. You had started prey that God who you didn’t even know, and never had cared, if existed; you had started to yell, begging for help, begging someone, anyone to help you. Hermione had ran to your side, who knew from where. She had tried to part you from his shaking body;

“He’s dieing. You can’t do anything to save him... I had seen that he was breathing always slower today. You can’t do anything to save him, let him go.”

“NO! I know that he’s still alive! There must be a way to keep him alive, Hermione... I don’t want him to die. Please! Please, help me!” you had yelled, trying to part from Hermione’s hug and keeping hugging the shaking body of the boy you loved. But Hermione didn’t let you go and kept, stubborn, hugging you. In the end, you had to give up, and hugged Hermione back; you had started to cry. You didn’t want to, but tears had started to fall from your eyes, and you weren’t able to stop them. “I don’t want that he leaves me alone...” you had muttered into Hermione’s ear.

“But you’re not alone... we’re with you, you know,” Hermione had tried to say. But you didn’t want to hear her words; it wasn’t the same thing... you loved them with all your strength, but it wasn’t the same thing, damn!

Hermione had tried to convince you for a moment that had seemed infinite to you, then she had tore from the hug and had stared into your eyes.

“If you really don’t want him to die, I know that there’s a way to keep him breathing. But... it’s not fair,” she said. Your heart lost a beat at these words: there really was a way to keep him breathing? And why the heck didn’t she tell it before?

“I don’t care! Tell me, what should I do?” you ask. Hermione’s frown turned blank.

“Wait for me, I’ll be right back,” she said, and Disapparated, leaving you alone. Where was she gone? You were alone with that screaming body, hoping that he would keep screaming and shaking... because until he screamed, he’d been alive. You were alone for a time you felt eternal... but in reality the hands of the clock in the living room said that only few minutes had passed.

Hermione Apparated back.

“I went to a Muggle telephone-kiosk. I called an ambulance, they will be here in minutes,” she said. Somehow, you had calmed down a bit. You hugged the screaming boy and tried to cuddle him, to make him feel your love. “But there’s something you must know. The Muggles will think that he’s in coma. They will plug him to a machine... something that will keep him alive controlling his vital functions and give him what it’s necessary for him to live. But it won’t ever be the same thing... he will lie on a Muggle hospital bed, he will breath and maybe have his eyes open... but he won’t be alive. He’s gone... you must understand this. He’s gone... ” she had said.

In a small part of your brain, you knew that she was right. You knew that you should have let him go... but you... you just couldn’t.

“I know, Hermione. Thank you for your help,” you muttered, as the sound of a siren came closer and a strange car stopped in front of your house.

Hermione touched your cheek with her hand, in a soft caress, and stood up. Three men dressed in white came into your house and ran to your living room. They approached the screaming body and started to work frantically on it. After few seconds, they had finished, the body was lied down on something similar to a bed, into that strange machine that had stopped in front of your garden.

You sat down at the right side of the small bed, with Hermione sitting close to you. The people in white kept talking between them, saying things you didn’t understand. They put a sort of mask on his face and they put a needle into his arm, linking him to a sort of bottle, put upside down. They linked him even with other strange threads, a machine on the other side of the thing Hermione had called “ambulance” was uttering a strange and regular beep. Hermione, on your left side, explained to you that it was his heartbeat.

After a trip that seemed eternal to you—it seemed that everything was eternal for you, that day—the car stopped. The men in white stood up, and you stood up as well, followed by Hermione. They opened the doors of the machine and moved the strange bed on which he was lying, carrying it into the hospital. You followed the bed, and the doctors; Hermione was holding your waist with her arm and was trying to give you some hugs of comfort.

You waited on a white corridor, walking up and down on the shining white floor, for the doctors to tell you something. You didn’t need, actually, to know anything. You already knew what they would’ve said. After some time had passed, you saw a doctor exiting the room where they had came in before, with him. You stood up from your chair, Hermione approached from the window where she was staring outside and once again hold your waist with her arm.

“You’re a relative of him?” the doctor asked. You nodded yes; you were not, actually, but it was as if you were. “Unfortunately, he’s in coma. We have tried everything to wake him up, but it seems like that it’s irreversible. His brain doesn’t work...” You didn’t know what all of this meant. But you knew what he was trying to tell you—that it was better if he died. You stared at him, with your eyes widened.

“No, please, don’t let him die,” you begged.

Three years are passed by now. Years on which you had came here every day, Apparating few distant from the Hospital and then coming into it as a normal Muggle, to stay with him all the day long. Years on which you have asked a Muggle phone to be installed into your house, to be kept updated on his conditions... even if you knew well that no news would’ve came from him. Years on which you had sat down on this chair, next to his bed, holding his hand and moving your thumb over its back.

Even now, his body is still warm, the machine to which he’s linked always beeps, regularly. The nurse arrives every two hours to change the upside-down bottle and to check the mask that keeps him alive. But you know... you know that he’s only a shell.

The doctor comes in, as every day, greeting to you and checking his conditions. As every day, he approaches to you and whispers into your ear,

“What shall we do with him?”

“Keep that bloody machine working,” you whisper in reply, your fists shaking with the rage you’re feeling.

The man glances at you, pity can clearly be seen on his frown. But he doesn’t dare say anything, and nods yes in reply. He goes away, and closes the door after him. Few moments ago, the door opens back, and someone comes into the room, approaching you and sitting at your left. Your eyes are filled with tears, and you can’t see who it is, at first. You clean your eyes with your sleeve and glance again at the person. It’s Hermione.

“How is he?” she asks. You move your head and nod her to look at him. She knows, as you know yourself, that he’s always there, always in the same conditions, always breathing and kept alive by that machine. Hermione sighs and glances at him for a long moment, melancholic. Then, her face turns to you, and her gloomy stare turns into a frown. “Don’t you think that you’ve kept him here enough?” she asks.

You shake your head, saying no, unable to utter a word; there was the need to call Hermione? You told every day to the doctor that you didn’t want him to be killed. You told the doctor that you wanted him to keep breathing... even if the coma was irreversible, as he said. The doctor had always accepted your words... for years long. Why did he want to call Hermione, today?

Hermione sighs again and stands up, leaving the room. After few minutes, on which you’re fighting against bursting into tears, the doctor comes back and approaches.

“I know how you feel,” he says.

No, you think, you can’t know how I feel. Nobody can know how I feel...

“I know that it’s hard... but it’s time to let him go. You can’t do anything for him... in truth, he’s clinically dead since the day you brought him here. Only this machine keeps him alive... don’t you think that he’s worthy to rest?” he says.

No, you think. You can’t understand. Even if these machines are stopped, even if his heart stops beating... he won’t rest. His soul won’t rest... his soul is trapped into an horrid being, condemned to be alive forever. Nobody can make him rest... even if he’s ‘clinically dead’, until his heart beats, he’s with me. “I don’t want him to leave me alone...” you say.

“You know, I shouldn’t be the one to talk this way to you. But... until you don’t let him go, you’ll be trapped into his memory. You’re keeping yourself alone, trapping yourself with him. Let him go, let him rest...” he sits down next to you and puts a hand over your shoulder. You shrug it away, and address him with a glare.

“Yes, you’re not the one who can tell me this. You don’t know what has happened... how could you, anyway. So... shut up and go away!” you yell. The doctor sighs and stands up.

“As you wish, miss. But... there’s a child who’s arrived today in the hospital. We don’t have any free machine, and her brain is still alive. She’s in coma... and we can’t plug her to a machine, we don’t have one available...” he says, and then leaves.

Your heart is thumping madly in your chest. You stare at the door, your eyes wide, blood drains completely from your face. You stand up, and give a last glance at his body, lying on the hospital bed. You approach the door, and go out, looking for the toilet. You’re feeling a pain at your stomach, and you don’t want to vomit on his room.

As you approach the toilet’s door, you see a couple of Muggles, crying. The doctor who talked to you has just left them... you cross them on your way, and hear them whisper,

“It’s the end!”

Your heart thumbs even more madly into your chest as you reach the toilet. You approach the lavabo, and stare at your reflection in the mirror. The world around you is moving, you feel a big headache and the eyes of the woman staring at you from the mirror are accusing you... you are sick of yourself.

You come out the toilet, the world still moving and turning around you. You waver around until you reach the room in front of which the couple is still sniffing and staring inside. Your stare follows their, and you see her... a small child, she can be four, or five maybe. Her face is covered by a mask similar to the one you stare at every day, her arm is linked to an upside down bottle, similar to the one that keeps him alive. But no sound is beeping, no machine with strange instruments and lights is in the room. You heart sinks.

“She’s my daughter,” says the woman who the man was hugging few moments ago. “She has fallen from a tree trying to make her cat go down. The doctors...” The woman’s voice cracks, and your heart sinks even more deeply. “The doctors have said that there are no free machines to plug her to. They are trying to find another hospital where to bring her, but it can be too late...” The woman starts to cry again, and her husband hugs her. You starts to cry as well, and move to go away. You come back into the room where you had almost lived for three years by now, and stare at his face, again. He’s still as always, the mask still covers his face, his breath is still regular, the beep of the machine is still regular as well, telling you that his heart is still beating.

What would he have done? In this situation... what would he have wanted you to do? You stare at his relaxed face, under the mask. You pass your hand through his untidy hair, and keep your caress, touching his warm face; his eyes, open and blinking, are staring at the ceiling since the day you brought him here. Your fingers reach his cheek, then they go down through his jaw...

You know. You know what he would’ve done. You know that he never would’ve wanted...

You leave the room, and walk straight to the doctor who had talked to you few moments before. You stare at him, tears falling from your eyes. He stares at you and you nod yes. His face brightens with joy and his eyes say to you more than what he had dared tell you before. You know that it’s the best thing you could do...

The doctor walks straight to the couple still staring at the window, and a joyful yell comes from the woman’s throat; the doctor shows you with his hand, the couple glances at you, somehow surprised to know that it was you they had to thank. The woman stares at you and smiles, still crying for the joy; you nod yes and smile, but your heart hurts.

Then, the doctor walks straight to his room, and comes in. You come in as well, following him.

“Are you sure it’s what you really want, miss Weasley?” the doctor asks. You nod yes, as it’s impossible for you to utter a word. The doctor takes from his pocket some papers, and asks you to sign them. You can’t read well, the tears are falling from your eyes and avoid you to see, but you know that they are the authorization to let him die. You feel horrible signing the papers, but you know. You know that he’d signed them as well.

The doctor takes the papers and stares at you, grateful. “You did the right thing,” he says, and then orders his helpers to stop the machine. Few seconds, then no more sound resounds on the room. No more lights enlighten the various displays on the wall; only the regular beep makes you know that his heart is still beating, going always slower.

You approach his body, which is still breathing, but you know that, in few seconds, it will stop. You lean to his face and give a kiss on his forehead, covered with his jet-black hair.

“Goodbye, Harry,” you whisper into his ear, as the sound of his breath fades and his chest stops moving. The beep of the machine becomes long, and fixed. The doctor glances at his clock and writes on his paper: ‘Hour of death: 11:35 AM’.

You glance at his dead body one more time; your eyes fill with tears of frustration and pain when you notice it. It’s not fair... You can’t stand it any more, you walk straight to the door and go out, closing it after you. Hermione and Ron are outside, and you sink into their embrace. It’s not fair, you think. It’s not bloody fair...

The doctors had removed the mask from his face, and by doing this, they also let something show; the most painful detail of all. On his forehead, now that he was dead, there was no more sign of his scar.

Feedback is highly appreciated even about the rating... do you think PG is enough?


( 13 comments — Leave a comment )
Oct. 8th, 2003 06:31 pm (UTC)
omg, that is so sad!! You're bringing me to tears, you really are. I was enraptured, I couldn't stop reading it.

The way you had those little details, the time and effort you put into it, it's amazing. It's definitely one of the most powerful fics I have read.
Oct. 9th, 2003 10:11 am (UTC)
I'm happy that you liked it so much. And I'm happy that it gave you something, that it made you feel something. Thank you for the compliment! One of the bes compliment I've received is that you can't stop reading the story after having started. It means that it really makes you see the same thing I was watching when I wrote it.

Oct. 8th, 2003 06:57 pm (UTC)
hey its the girl who doesnt know how she got your screen name.
thats really good and sad. but i dont mind it being sad. you did a good job and i cant find anything wrong.

Oct. 9th, 2003 10:11 am (UTC)
Re: hey its the girl who doesnt know how she got your screen name.
Thank you :)

I'm happy that you liked it!
Oct. 9th, 2003 02:36 am (UTC)
That was an excellent fic. It wasn't who I thought it was at first, but then I figured it out, and when it got to the end, I was crying so hard. This was extremely sad, but kudos to you for such a good read.

Oct. 9th, 2003 10:14 am (UTC)
I'm happy to know that you didn't understand who it was at first. It was exactly what I wanted, because if you don't understand who it is, when you finally get it, it's a shock.

I know that it was sad :( I also cried when I was writing it... but my Muse was a killer yesterday ^^; I couldn't help but write this.

Thank you for your feedback!
Oct. 9th, 2003 09:52 am (UTC)
That fic ROCKS!!
NO COMMENT!! *looks annoyed*

:'-( SO SAADDD!! I cried at the first paragraph!
Oct. 9th, 2003 10:17 am (UTC)
Re: Well
O_o you hate me? O.O that's what you get for killing the main character... ;)

Anyway I thank you for the compliment and for the nice review, it made me smile. I'm happy that it made you feel something, and that this something was what I wanted the reader to feel.

Thank you for the compliments, too *^^* *blushes*
(no subject) - teawithvoldy - Oct. 10th, 2003 04:26 am (UTC) - Expand
Mar. 24th, 2004 09:29 am (UTC)
^_^; I didn't notice your review here! Thanks ... I know it's sad :(
Mar. 24th, 2004 12:27 am (UTC)
Oh....it's pretty good...very good characterization. It's sad, and you can't help but feel bad for Ginny, but in the end. It would be the best for Harry in that situation.
Mar. 24th, 2004 09:32 am (UTC)
Thank you for your review! I'm happy that you appreciated it :)

PS: I've friended you. Do you mind friending me back?
Mar. 24th, 2004 01:44 pm (UTC)
Okay, I friended you, but just warning you. I'm usally writing on LJ because this is a place where no one in my rl knows of this place and the entries I write are mostly protected ones. That's kind of depressing in content.

Let's see...if you want to know more about who I am...

Most of these other sites are places that I write in, and my rl friends know who I am. For privacy issues, I turned to lj in order of sometimes writing my rants or depression, but on my xanga. I write about interested stuff. Pita has the sites that I visit..as well as an occasional posting of random stuff. Does that help, explain me as a person to you?

( 13 comments — Leave a comment )