All Alone

These wounds won't seem to heal

This pain is just too real,

There's just too much that time cannot erase...

When you cried, I'd wipe away all of your tears

When you'd scream, I'd fight away all of your fears,

I held your hand through all of these years,

But you still have

All of me...

You are so quiet now.

Do you remember our first year? You were so curious and enthusiastic then. You wanted to know about everything, you couldn't wait to learn more spells and charms, you were so...so alive.

Now you lie in that cold bed, so metallic and lifeless with its starched, white sheets and gray, dull blankets pulled over you as if you are some sort of corpse.

Your slender, ivory hands lie still by your hips, occasionally twitching as if you're suffocating in a pool of pain with no lifeguard to pull you out. When your hand moves, your scarlet lips tighten as if you're fighting against the need to cry out in pain, to howl in agony.

You are dressed in an ugly, green hospital gown tied around your back, and clashes horribly with your emerald eyes when they flicker open every so often.

God, your eyes were gorgeous. Such an intense hue of green, I could see into the very depths of your soul whenever I was fortunate enough to gaze into them. They were sparkling diamonds, filled to the brim with laughter and bravery.

Now when you occasionally unlock them, they're dull like a mirror that hasn't been cleaned in years. Your gemstone eyes are now an olive green, slowly blurring over with the whiteness of the mad.

Why are you in this hospital? I pray it's not because you're a coward...but I know...

Because of you, one of my best friends (besides you), was killed.

I can remember that day so clearly, as if it happened yesterday instead of 5 years ago...

You were in the final face off between the Dark Lord. If you didn't kill him then, you would be brutally murdered and evil would prevail over good, the world would become a dark place...

The Dark Lord's slit like nostrils flared, and his vermilion, cold eyes widened as he opened his white hole of a mouth, and began to yell, "Av-"

And you grabbed your best friend's blue, hand-me-down robes and shoved him in front of your body, a mortal shield only to be used once that fell swiftly with a flash of green light. His body lay on the ground, his red hair smoking like flames being smoldered out.

Oh god, I never want to see that look on your face again when you realized what you had done and what you had to do. Distorted with shock, fear, and bravery, I could see a glimpse of satisfaction, as if that had been your aim all along, to have a hand in your best friend's murder. Most of all, there was such terror in your eyes, it still makes chills run up my spine.

Then you yelled the very same curse that had just killed your closet friend in the world, and the Dark Lord's life vanished with a flash of lime light.

Oh god, why did you push Ron in front? Why didn't you just move out of the way?

I can't forgive, you know that, don't you? Had it been me standing there, would you have laid your hands on my robes and pushed me forward as you did Ron? Did it matter who was hit with the Killing Curse as long as it wasn't you, is that true? That you only cared about yourself?

Of course, Dumbledore covered it up as he always did, saying Ron had been in the way. He destroyed Ron's dignity so he could save your fucking, precious face. I can't forgive Dumbledore either, goddamn bastard. Being the greatest wizard in the world doesn't make you the greatest human being.

After that fatal day, you went to our house and, packing your things, said you'd be back.

You weren't.

I was walking in the woods and looking for some toadstools later that week, just trying to keep my mind off of your strange disappearance when -

I stumbled across you.

You were just lying there, barely breathing, clutching a picture of Ron to your chest, and oh god...

I have never been so frightened in my life. Not when Lord Voldemort was about to kill you, not when you came back in fourth year dragging Cedric's body along.

I knew you were dead then, Harry. Not physically, your heart still pumps crimson blood, you still inhale the sweet air of life but...

You're empty.

You're like a box that was once filled with souvenirs, broomsticks and memories, and now someone's dumped it all into a fireplace. Your essence has gone up in flames, Harry, and your body's just waiting for the day when it can say, "I've had enough, I'm gone..."

The doctors said you tried to kill yourself by shooting yourself in the head.

I hadn't even realized you had been lying in a pool of blood until I was sitting in the waiting room, leafing through Magical Parenting, roiling it with your blood...

I went home to an empty house that day. I went home to an empty house from work every single day for nine months until our daughter was born.

I named her after your mother, Lily. Had she been a boy I would have named her Harry or James. I don't know.

You're a father, Harry! Can you believe it? You would have made such a great dad, playing with her all the time, teaching her cute little magic tricks and how to ride on her broom...

Instead of being taught, she comes into your hospital room and stares at you for a few minutes before asking, "Mommy, when is Daddy going to wake up?

Oh god, my heart aches whenever she says that, Harry, I wish you would wake up, I wish with all my heart that when your eyes flicker open that they'd stay open and that'd you lean over say, "Hi cutie! What's your name?"

I can only wish, Harry, I can only wish.

So I take Lily to her kindergarten classes in the morning and I go to work at the Ministry of Magic. I'm working my way up to Minister of Magic, Harry, can you imagine it? Me! Minister of Magic! I can hardly wait! I pick up Lily and bring her home and we play games together, and Lily shrieks with delight when I lean over and start tickling her...but then a lump forms in my throat, and I have to put her down, inhale deeply and make sure my tears don't overflow.

I can't be a good mother without you, Harry. I look at her, and I see your face. Oh god, Harry, it haunts me everywhere. Same emerald eyes, same dark brown hair except bushy like mine, and when I look at her, it takes me a second to get my breath back, to remind myself it's not you. That you're lying in a hospital bed far away, and that you won't ever be of sane mind again. Or competant mind. That is, if you ever woke up for more than a few mere seconds.

I miss you so much, Harry. Every night when I lie alone in my bed, I think, Maybe someday Harry will be lying here, but you won't. I know you won't. Everybody knows you won't.

I'm all alone, Harry, and it's all because of you. I'm worse off than alone for you're here, but you're not. And Ron's gone, Harry, and you two were my closest friends...

If you had been killed and Ron hadn't been, would we had ended up together? Would Lily call Ron "Daddy?" I don't know, Harry, but I wish we had gotten married before that fateful battle.

I wince every time a person says "Miss Granger." It should be Mrs. Potter, Harry! It should be.

It should be so much, Harry, but it is so little. I don't know how much longer I can go on living like this, pretending to myself that someday you're going to come home and I'll have a family. I don't know how much longer I can pray to God asking Him to make you wake up. I don't know how much longer I'll be able to lie to Lily and tell her that you're going to come home soon. I don't know, Harry, I just don't know.

It would be easier if you were dead.