Roses

I love roses, my favourite flower; and I don't care how cliché it sounds, but a bunch of red roses will always melt my heart. I'm a closet romantic, though my best friends have no idea. I'd give up diamonds and wealth in a second, for a lifetime of love and roses and candlelit dinners. I don't care that people think that stuff is boring and old fashioned. I love the sappy romance that only ever happens in the movies these days. Though I'm loathe to admit it, I love that film, A Cinderella Story, just for the dancing on that beautiful platform; candles and vines and roses; all cream and dark green and olden day love.

Call me sad, but I wish we could have a masquerade ball, beautiful ball gowns and suits with tails, and ornate masks. I wish I could do that; live in a fairytale, if only for one night; to dance and smile and feel special and feminine.

Harry reminds me of a rose, sometimes, all old fashioned manners and beauty, strong and romantic, but with that hint of pain; the thorns; I think, sometimes, that they are the reason I love roses most. They look so amazing, perfect and simple, but they come with that touch of reality to wake you from your fantasies.

I remember, last summer, when my parents took me to Barbados on holiday. And every single night I would watch the sun set over the wide empty ocean, and then I would walk, barefoot on the beach, staring at the stars and thinking of them. Some nights it was Ron, my dear, sweet, Ron. Brave and loyal, handsome and strong; but his temper was too powerful, his fuse too short; and other nights it was Harry. Sweet, innocent, trusting, brave, beautiful, passionate, Harry. He never does things by half, but then, neither does Ron, not really; he either goes for something full steam ahead, or he doesn't even look at it. And I love them both so much sometimes it hurts.

I remember a line from a film, about changing your stars; and I think that Harry, if anyone, would be able to change his. And I think, deep down, that he already has changed them. His fate seemed so set in stone at the start of all this, but now, oh now I don't think anyone can guess the outcome of this war. Each side seems to be taking one step forward and three steps back right now. The Ministry appears to finally be cooperating with the Order, but I don't know how deep that alliance really goes, or how much pressure it will take before it breaks.

I remember walking on that beach, the infinite expanse of space spread out above me, and the still-warm sand beneath my bare feet. I could hear the deep baseline of music from the hotel restaurant, and the gentle whooshing of waves breaking just metres from my feet; I can still smell that indefinable scent of beaches and summer and paradise. And I remember, as I stood there, seeing flashes from films I had seen long before; flickers of emotions; happy, angry, sad, accepting. Bittersweet. That's what it felt like. Every good feeling and thought was countered by something bitter and hurtful and dark. And again I see a rose. Always the roses in my mind. To me, I think, roses signify life. Nothing completely good or completely bad, no clearly defined black or white; everything is a muted shade of grey.

And in that moment, I realised. The war wasn't between good and evil, only at the simplest level. But both sides were both good and evil. Harry's side, my side, fought for freedom and peace; such a stupid thing; fighting for peace. We fought for the right to live and be who were born to be. We fought for what was *right* But the other side; they fought for what was right too. They fought for the protection of their way of life; for their right to be safe and obey their traditions without pollution from other worlds. Both sides were fighting for what was right, but no-one can sit on the fence in a war. Everyone must choose a side, and it was impossible to make. How could you choose one side over the other? Both had a cause to fight for, and both used sickening methods to reach their goals. Our side condemned the other for murdering innocent people, torturing them and killing them, and forcing them to do unspeakable things. But our side; our side had put a boy, a scared, lost little boy, up on a pedestal to fight a war he should never have been part of. A whole world piled all their hopes and expectations on this boy; and though their methods were different, they too had tortured an innocent child. They had put him in the position to do unspeakable things that no child, nobody should have to do.

So in that moment, I think a part of me lost hope. Part of me gave up, and wished for it all to be over, one way or another. Part of me died, and I think Harry saw it in my eyes. And it didn't make him lose courage, or anything anyone else would have; no, it gave him more conviction to fight. He grew too fast and fought too hard, and we all thought he would break. And in a way he did. He lost a part of himself, as I had lost a part of me; and I saw the fire burning in his eyes, even as the fire in everyone else was doused by fear and tears.

I love roses, as I love Harry, and as I love life. But roses fade and die, and maybe that's why I love them so much; because perfection can never last.