Balance

I used to be scared of you, you know. The only thing that occasionally scares me now is the love I can see in your eyes when you look at me. How could this precious gift possibly be directed towards me? In those moments, I feel guilty about how lucky I am.

I feel guilty in the same way that I felt guilty that day I came to you for help. It took all my courage to come to you, the man that had haunted my early teens, the man that could shatter what little self-confidence I had with a single word, a single glare.

Yet, I felt guilty for coming to you. Guilty because if you accepted, there would be help for me. I felt like a traitor for having found help for myself when there was none for so many of my friends.

I thought about brilliant Hermione who is now no more than a drooling idiot. About exuberant Fred, whose eyes lost their fire the day George died, and who is now bound to a wheel chair. About good-natured Seamus who spends his life in eternal darkness and silence. About all those countless others that were marked by a horrible war that should never have been theirs to fight.

I tried not to think about all those we had to bury: above all Harry, but also Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall and Hooch, Arthur, Bill, Charlie, George, Ron and Ginny Weasley, Dean, Parvati, Lavender, Terry. I have to stop myself, or the guilt I feel will overwhelm me again. Guilt for being alive. Guilt for being healed. Guilt for having you.

I know you keep telling me that I couldn't have saved a single one of them. That I have nothing to feel guilty about. Yet I can't quell these doubts. Maybe they are the price I have to pay.

I can hear you laugh at me, but so far I have paid for everything I achieved. I went through an entire war but only killed one single person. I avenged my parents by killing Bellatrix Lestrange but the price was my innocence.

I survived the Death Eater's torture but the price was my health. At first, they were only occasional tremors running through my body, my hands shaking a little when I picked up things. Then it got worse. My hands were trembling constantly, I could barely write or hold a cup. The tremors turned into fits during which I completely lost control. Later, I would be unable to remember any of it.

There was nothing the healers could do. I still remember mediwizard Zabini's cold "We'll make sure you get a bed next to your parents" when they told me how it would end.

Then I found the cure myself. I discovered the plant that might make the fits go away. But it was poisonous and I would need the help of a Potions Master to transform it into a remedy.

That was when I decided to come to you. Oh, it wasn't an easy decision. I hadn't seen you since the end of the war, since the funerals. I still feared you as the teacher who had made my life hell back at school. Yet the fear of my condition, the fear of ending up in a bed next to my parents prevailed, and so I came to you for help.

The moment you opened the door, I almost ran away. I was trembling so uncontrollably that I feared I might go into a fit at any moment. But at the same time, the hope that you could help me, the hope that there might be a cure made me force myself to stay.

Your greeting was cold but not hostile. You invited me in and heard me out. You didn't laugh at me. You were surprised that I had managed to come up with this idea. The scientist in you was challenged by the problem. You agreed to give it a try. As if you would ever just try anything. You would have gone on until the end of your days if necessary, only to prove that you could find a solution.

At first, you refused any help on my part. However, you understood that I wanted to stay close by, but couldn't manage constant trips to Hogwarts. You agreed to let me stay at the school and watch.

After a while, we started to talk. Suddenly, you'd ask for my opinion on things. Then you'd let me help. Oh, of course you would never ever let me near a cauldron. Not that I would want to. We both know better than that. But you made me feel useful, and I learned to appreciate your company, your dedication to your work, your dry, witty sense of humour, your brilliant mind that never rests.

Finally, we did it. We created the potion that might not completely cure me, but would at least stop the progress of my condition and ease the symptoms. When I first drank it, I could barely believe my luck. I wanted to scream from happiness. For a very short moment, I forgot all those who were not as lucky as I was. I was free to go, free to live a normal life. I shared my joy with you. I didn't even notice the sad look in your eyes.

"So this is it," you said. "You are free to go wherever you want, to do whatever you want. Let me know when you run out of potion so I can replenish your stock." I barely registered your resigned tone. My mind was racing with all the possibilities that were now open to me. But as I asked myself where I actually wanted to go, I realised that I already was where I wanted to be. I wanted to be with you.

I looked at you and when our eyes met, I knew that you didn't want me to leave. So I stayed. We were the most unlikely people to find each other in the world, and yet our happiness is evident to anyone who watches us closely enough.

I know I shouldn't feel guilty but the feeling is such an integral part of my life by now that I don't think it will ever go away. The love we share is the counterpart that keeps me from falling into darkness. I can live with that balance. As long as you are by my side. Forever, you promised me. I believe you. Because the alternative is unthinkable.