Lost

LOST

Penned By

DoubleEdgedSword

I tried to forget about him. Really, I did.

He just made it so god-damn hard with those eyes of his...

I wanted those eyes to look at me all day, every day. Jade boring into brown, like leaves and branches. And that would have been enough.

I could never tell him, though. It's going to sound crazy, but it would be as if I ran into the Great Hall bare butt-naked, singing "The Wizard's Staff Has A Knob On The End" and doing the Macarena.

It would have that kind of reaction! Shock, horror, mass embarrassment, humiliation...and worst of all...amusement. He'd laugh at me if I told him.

Ron kept on at me about it though, saying, 'He's perfect for you! I think you two are made for each other!'

But the Boy Who Lived never had much time for me. When he started dating Cho Chang, I felt as if my chance had slipped away forever.

Ron told me that Cho had been bitching at Harry. Saying that I fancied him. Cow! Apparently Harry told her not to be so paranoid, and then she said (and I quote!):

'She's going to steal you from me. I just know it!'

I wish now that I had tried to steal him away.

Then again, I've always believed that things are stolen, but people can only be stolen if they want to be.

And that's true. No matter how much you wish something, no matter how many stars you beg for wishes from and no matter how often you pray, and pray and pray...you can never change how someone feels.

I read the legends of Tristan and Isolde, Hellelil and Hildebrand and Dermot and Gráinne...doing mad things like dying for love, dying of love, and killing for love, only to die in the end.

Tristan and Isolde fell in love with each other after accidentally taking a love potion. For years, they tried to hide their love from their spouses, but were found out. Tristan was mortally wounded, and Isolde was the only one who could save him. Tristan's wife lied, and told him that Isolde was not coming to help him, and he died of sorrow. When Isolde saw his corpse, she flung herself upon him and died of grief. Hellelil and Hildebrand fell in love, but her brothers thought him to be beneath her. He battled them all for her love, but was killed by her youngest brother. And Dermot and Gráinne? Gráinne belonged to someone else, but she fell in love with Dermot. And when she did, she bound him to her with ancient spells to follow her wherever she w. Eventually, he fell in love with her too, and died because he would not follow her advice.

For me, I died inside when I would not follow everyone else's advice and tell him, and then something tragic happened. I saw it coming all along, but I had myself fooled. I kidded myself; said it would never happen. And everyone else knew, and...I'm getting ahead of myself.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is a love story like you've never known.

This is the only love story where love is not a happy ending.

This is the only love story where cowardice destroys the pivotal character's only chance of happiness.

There's no steamy sex scenes (unfortunately) and there's no witty repartee between the two lovers.

This is just honest, and I guess it's a warning to us all that leaving things until the last minute can very well be leaving things too late.

Believe me, there's nothing like the feeling of guilt. I felt as though I had just been caught selling speed to a dozen five-year-olds in a church, that was the extent of my shame.

I had failed him.

'What's with the sad face?' he once asked me.

'What's it to you?' I snapped.

His emerald eyes blinked in surprise, reminding me of a stunned rabbit in headlights.

'Nothing really...I just wondered if you were okay.'

He shrugged and walked off.

God, I wanted him.

Draco Malfoy realised it, and teased me incessantly.

True, Draco is quite gorgeous, but he hadn't a scratch on Harry. Not physically, mind you, but there was something of his personality that shone through, something so pure and good that it lit him up like an angel.

Harry was angelic in form and feature, with a graceful movements I always attributed to his flying ability. His hair was constantly ranging between sparrow's nest and tumbled hay, only as dark as the night sky. His eyes provided a stark contrast--the exact shade of the summer grass, but twice as vivid and alive, framed with thick eyelashes.

Beautiful? Oh yes, I have no doubt about that.

But it was a certain kind of beauty--beauty that doesn't need big muscles or glass-cutter cheekbones and a (naturally) hairless chest. Harry had all of these things (although I never saw his bare chest), but once you knew him...you kind of forgot about them. Just to be near him, to hear him laugh or see him smile made me feel like an empress.

I wanted him to view me on an intellectual level. I can't explain why. When he looked at me, I instantly forgot how worried or troubled or annoyed I was, and I relaxed. I relaxed as completely as though I was basking in sunlight streaming in through my bedroom window.

Funny, he didn't have that effect on everyone.

If he did, the world would have been a perfect place. He and Voldemort would have been having tea parties and swapping robes.

I'm not glorifying him, or idealising him because he's dead. Believe me, he had his ratty moments like the time Cho started blitzing him with owls. She started to act creepy and obsessive, and eventually Harry told her that he would rather lick a Dementor than spend a minute in her company while she acted like a stalker.

That's another thing I loved about him--the independence that verged on complete detachment from the rest of the human race.

Harry soon found out another reason why he was unique--he was prophesised to be the one who had the power to defeat Voldemort. And then Sirius died.

Sirius...the only person ever to be like a father to Harry. We all loved Sirius. He was funny, smart and talented, just like Harry.

Sirius' death changed him. He was never the same again. He lost his happy-go-lucky demeanour, lost his joie de vivre and lost himself, in a way.

He distanced himself from us, forced himself away. It was as if he was preparing himself for the worst, and trying to make us think badly of him so the pain would be less.

If anything it made me love him more. He was being so noble, and self-sacrificing! I admired his courage.

At least, I admire it now.

When he told me, I despised him for it. He was hardly to know how much I felt for him after all. I wanted time to be with him, and now time was everything we didn't have.

Voldemort came for him soon. And it happened in my house, of all places!

Harry came to visit during the holidays after sixth year, and Ron was so worried, saying that Voldemort could be lurking anywhere.

Harry smiled sadly and shook his head, saying, 'Voldemort wouldn't risk coming here. All of the Order of the Phoenix are guarding me, after all.'

And then Ron...oh, I'll never forget it. I glanced at the clock...and Ron's hand was pointing at 'Dead'. Like everyone else's hands...except mine. It was pointing to 'Mortal Peril'.

It took a second or two to sink in...and then I realised that this was not my brother. This WAS NOT MY FAMILY.0

I screamed and screamed and screamed so hard that my throat bled.

Ron's face transfigured into Wormtail's, and Bill, Charlie, Fred and George all became Death Eaters. Mum's face morphed into Voldemort's. That was the worst, the absolute worst.

Harry barely had time to blink before Voldemort used a severing charm to snap both our wands, rendering them useless.

Terrified, Harry shoved me behind him and faced Voldemort.

'Let her go, you bastard!' he snarled.

Voldemort laughed, and used the same charm to slice through Harry's wrists.

It was the ultimate in cruelty, and the ultimate in cowardice. He had to disarm us both in order to make it look like Harry committed suicide.

He cut off my hands, leaving me sobbing in combined rage, despair and horror.

Ignoring my own blood, I fled to Harry. He was still screaming at Voldemort, and sparks flew off him. Voldemort lifted his wand and shoved it deep into Harry's wounds.

His Death Eaters were battling off the Order, and I knelt on the floor sobbing.

Harry collapsed.

Voldemort ran his bony fingers through the blood on Harry's wrists and licked it, cat-like. I vomited all over the floor.

'Lick that, you mother fucking bastard!' I growled.

Voldemort shoved my face in it, and cackled.

'Sweet dreams, Harry. She'll die first, and you know it.'

With that, he Disapparated with a sickening little *pop*.

I turned to Harry, and I couldn't believe the amount of blood!

He looked at me, his pupils dilated crazily.

'I love you, Ginny.' He mumbled, and fell to the ground.

'Please...tell me you love me...it's all...that's...keeping me...' he whispered, his voice raspy and hushed.

'I...I can't...' I whispered, cradling his head with my stumps.

One tear fell from his eyes as they closed, and he relaxed in my arms.

Cowardice is the one trait that we all despise when we read some book.

Now I have a new person to hate--me. This is my penance for my sin; this is my cross to bear.

Love is the best feeling in the world if you're in love.

But although love can drive us to noble self-sacrifice, it can also torture us and force us to an early grave.

Don't miss out on love because you were too cowardly like me. Don't let the "what-if" and the "I should have" scenarios torment you like they have done me.

Don't look back and say "I lost my chance!"

Live your life, enjoy the world and live in it with the knowledge that you had love at least once, and that that love is all you will ever need to keep you warm and happy at night.

I love you, Harry, I always will!

And I am sorry.

I always will be.

But it will never be enough.

Please forgive me for this. I can't live without you here...and so, I'm going to do this the old-fashioned way. The Muggle way. I have a car, and here's how it's going to end - one hundred miles an hour on the motorway with gallons of gasoline in the back, and another gallon soaking into my robes.

When I hit, they'll see the explosion from Pluto.

This is my last goodbye. I'm taking a short cut to my own grave.

I lost myself the day I lost you.

And let this be my epitaph: I am not sorry for me, but I am sorry for Harry.

Goodbye, everyone.

And Harry, hopefully I'll see you soon.

My love always, even beyond death,

Ginny Weasley.