consecration

consecration

She always loved you more.

There's something about you, Harry, that demands adoration. I see it in myself, observe it in those around me. When you speak, people turn to watch you, absorbing each wave of a hand or flicker of an eyebrow. Your words are valued more than most, your gestures magnified and echoed in the forms surrounding you. When I first met you, I wanted nothing more than to be near you. As I grew older, I wished to step inside your skin, becoming your persona and stealing their admiration. And now? Now I want to shatter you.

Things change, Harry. You're not the only one with power these days. It's funny what a blackened wrist and the right connections can do for a guy's self esteem. Because there are people out there who don't love you, people like me whom you long since left behind. There are plots that you wouldn't believe, slanders that would burn and bubble if they ever reached your ears. You're not invincible any more. There is safety in numbers, but your disciples are weak. And He grows ever stronger.

Do you remember when we met? I ached to be near you, a primitive, cloying desperation that guided my every move. I believe you cared for me then. Not the patronising sympathy that glistens in your eyes when you see me now, nor the coiled frustration that once sliced edges to your words. Once, we were friends. But in becoming the chief priest to the cult of you, I became just another fan. You grew to expect the idolatry, as though you truly deserved it. Most people believe you do.

Winter in our seventh year brought snow and war to Hogwarts. You rose to the heroic status long awarded you by our peers, while I waited in the shadows and watched your fame explode. Back then, Hermione floated between us, divided by loyalty and promise. When I kissed her, the wind tugging at the windowpanes and driving snow against the walls, she spoke of eternal friendship and patted me on the arm. And in a way I understood, even when my breath froze tight within my chest. Because I remember what it was like to grasp a glimmer of your star, Harry. It's so long ago now... but it still haunts me all the same.

And so the miles stretched wide between us, although I saw you every day. The call grew forever stronger as the whispers slowly overwhelmed my dreams. Sometimes I saw you watching, your eyes clear and unsuspicious, but I dismissed you with a smile that lost its colour years before. Holly and mistletoe appeared in the halls and one morning I awoke to know I hated you, as though it had been so all along.

You laughed when I told you I loved her, brushed your fringe from your glasses and covered me in platitudes. I mimicked your smile. Later, she couldn't meet my eye, shrugging from my light embrace, and I knew that you had told her. Because you wanted her too, not to love but to be loved. You craved her adoration, saw her as an infallible admirer who would be with you until the end. And now the end draws closer. I feel it in every muscle, but you're too famous now to see.

Carols remind me of the moment, Harry. Tonight, I present her to you as He sings within my veins, and I offer benediction from knees too cold to bend. She's beautiful as she lies here, her blood a festive shadow against her skin, her lashes long and dark now that they're pressed against her cheeks. Her heart is yours forever now, still and icy in the evening night. Love her in death as I did in life... and remember me now that I'm gone.

Merry Christmas, Harry. She always loved you more.