Spiraled Thoughts
This is written for @drarrymicrofic 's prompt: Sally's Song CW: Implied Bad Things, Visions of Blood and Death, Open Ending and Angst The future was ever changing. Every action and choice was an unraveling spiral. Nothing was ever certain and his visions were never clear. They gave him only mere glimpses of what could be. The images fractured and changed with every day, with every decision.
Trying to control the future was a fruitless endeavor. Nothing good ever came of it and more often then not, it only led him to what he was trying to avoid. It was a cruel gift. He was cursed to see every possible outcome, every possible way his loved ones could die, with no way to avoid it. Seeing himself die was a constant; he had grown used to it. He was meant to be hit by a bus this morning. His spilt eggs had saved him. Mother had never understood why he was such a cautious child. He had never understood why everyone else wasn't. It had taken him far too long to realize that his visions were not a common occurrence. It had taken him far too long to find the words. He no longer payed any mind to the cryptic warnings; he would either be hit by a bus or he wouldn't. For if he had tried to skip breakfast, tried to outrun the bus, he would have rushed right into his own demise. But his recent visions were never changing. It was the same every time, as if they were set in stone. They only grew clearer every day, showing him more and more blood spilling over the floor, more broken bodies. Potter was always at the center of it. He couldn't make sense of it. The images were still too sporadic and unreliable to understand. Potter had always been in his visions, of course. He'd seen his lifeless body in the forest, seen him triumph over the Dark Lord, before any of it had happened. Potter always plagued his thoughts, he was inescapable. Even now, he found himself worrying about him. Being such a public figure, his face was always plastered all over The Daily Prophet. Their futures had been intertwined for so long, always weaving together, but now it was as if they'd been severed, and all he could see was blood. There had been a time when he had wished he would see glimpses of them together, as something more than rivals, but it never came to be. They were childish thoughts, really. The differences between them were too vast to mend. Still, sometimes he found himself wishing that things had been different, that he had been different. Would there be hope now, if he hadn't made so many wrong choices? Would Potter even listen to him if he tried to change things now? Or would he think he was mad? He had once thought himself mad, so he wouldn't blame him. He could feel that the bloodshed would happen soon, and he felt as if he were meant to do something. But what could he possibly do? Would it even be wise to try? Still, he found his feet leading him towards the Ministry. Towards Potter, and he didn't try to stop them.
