Release

Release

I have failed.

Failure seems to be the path that my life is fated to take.

Twenty years ago to the day, the Dark Lord killed her. I fought so hard to get there in time, to save her, but I did not arrive quickly enough.

By the time I arrived, her body lay sprawled across the floor; her husband's lay nearby, amongst the rubble that was all that remained of the house where they had lived for the two fateful years of their marriage. There was nothing I could do but cry for my loss, the world's loss, but most of all, for Harry's loss.

My own childhood had been a traumatic one. My Squib father, terrified that I too would not have magic, devoted years to violence in an attempt to force some magic out of me. The abuse became habit, even once I had learned to defend myself. My mother endured years of violence and rape before she took her own life on her thirty-second birthday, during my first year at Hogwarts. I was left to face the world, friendless and alone.

Even in comparison to mine, Harry's life would be awful, I knew. He had been fortunate to have a year of love and compassion, yet I knew that his future was doomed to become as loveless as mine had been. I devoted my life to him as I had devoted it to Lily. While I had failed her, he would live. I had heard about the Prophecy, I knew what danger lay in his path, yet I was certain that I could help him.

For eleven years I could not help but fear for him. I always dared to hope that he would be safe, yet my heart always knew what his fate would be. Finally he arrived at Hogwarts, a healthy eleven year old boy who looked no different from his peers apart from the infamous scar. I was relieved: so far, he was flourishing. That first night after his arrival, she visited me in my dreams and asked me to protect him. More than ever, I was determined that I would do so. I would not fail her. I could not fail her.

His first year at Hogwarts went by, followed by his second. I watched him suffer greatly, but I also witnessed his power and watched his nobility. He had Lily's courage and talent, but more than that, he was as good and untainted as his mother. He had James's looks, but he had all of her good qualities. If only I could have told him so. If only I had been able to tell her. I failed.

In his fourth year, I began to see the first signs that he was suffering, and yet he still managed to survive. I watched as he stood and duelled with the Dark Lord himself - that day he proved his power. Finally, I saw her again, although it was just a ghost of her body, a ghost of what she could have become. She concentrated on Harry, but I like to believe that she saw me as well. I was powerless to help him, but yet again Lily saved him herself. I cannot describe the relief.

It was in his fifth year that we all saw Harry change, when he began to show signs of strain. It was during that year that he began to alienate his friends, that year that he began to embrace the lure of the Dark. We remained ignorant but could not have helped him if we had known. Yet still I was forced to maintain my disguise, to watch over him from afar. For three years I watched until finally the moment came, as I had known that it must. On Hallowe'en, Voldemort struck the school. Although the battle wounded so many, the number of deaths could be counted on one hand. But yet again, I had failed. Harry killed Voldemort, but in doing so, he sacrificed himself.

Throughout the short time that I knew her, I always wished that she could have been mine, although it is probably fortunate that I was always too shy to ask her. I had devoted my life to protecting her and then her son; now that I have failed, there is nothing left for me on this earth. I only hope that beyond the veil, I can find something more. I hope that she can forgive me, although I can never forgive myself.

The potion sits before me on my desk. I have named it "Release".