Goodnight, My Someone

It wasn't supposed to end like this.

It wasn't your turn. It was mine. Why did you jump in front of me like that? If you hadn't, I'd be here, and you'd be--somewhere else. I can't believe you'd do something like that--for me.

If only there was a way--some way to bring you back. But no, Dumbledore said that no spell can reawaken the dead, and Dumbledore is never wrong.

Except for when he said that You-Know-Who would never come back, if we kept fighting him. We fought him, and he still came back. He's gone now, but so are you. Why?

I guess, now, that maybe I did like you a little. Okay, I liked you a lot. It's just that I liked Harry so much, I didn't let my feelings for you come out. Can you ever forgive me?

I remember the first time I ever saw you, that day on the train. I was looking for Harry and Ron, and I asked you if you'd seen them. Do you remember? Probably not, I didn't talk to you very much.

You had the biggest, bluest eyes I'd ever seen in my short little life. They reminded me of the night skies. I guess they still do, right? They just aren't open.

I feel so bad for you. You never even got to live your dream of playing in a Quiddich match with Harry. The Beaters are leaving this year--it's their last. You might have had a shot, since you were always so handy on a broomstick. I can't believe that I never even got to tell you how I feel. You died not knowing.

Maybe, if I try really hard, I can wake myself up from this horrible nightmare. Maybe when I wake up, you'll be standing beside me like nothing had ever happened. Maybe...

No, no, I'm only fooling myself. That isn't possible. If this were a dream, it wouldn't hurt as much. I would be free of pain. Instead, I have the biggest heartache in the history of Hogwarts.

The one line on your gravestone that makes me feel the worst is the dates. You were only fourteen. You died a little over a month before your fifteenth birthday. You'll never live to see your Sweet Sixteenth, either.

Your little brother, Dennis--how is he going to cope with this? You meant the world to him. I saw him at your funeral. He was crying so hard that everyone thought he was going to drain himself dry. I felt, then, that I had no right to be there. I had no right to be there, among the people so close to you, when I had never told you how I felt.

Ron doesn't understand. He thinks I'm upset because you sat next to me in Charms, and we were friends. That's why I was so upset when you were attacked, our first year--remember that? He never once asked me the real reason I was crying so hard.

Harry doesn't understand either. He thinks I'm upset because I feel bad about something mean I'd said to you, because you died on bad terms with me.

Only Hermione understands. She knows how I really feel-how you saved my life and selflessly sacrificed your own, how I loved you and never told you. Even when I had the chance, when I held your dying body, I didn't have the courage to tell you how I felt.

About those attacks--God, I'm sorry. It was I, not Harry. I know it looked like Harry--Mrs. Norris was attacked right after Harry had a run-in with Filch; you kind of annoyed him at that Quiddich match when he was in the mud, and you were attacked that night; he could speak Parseltongue, and all that, but it was me. It wasn't my fault--Tom Riddle possessed me--but it was I. Honestly, I'm sorry.

I'm only fourteen (for a couple days at least) and I feel like my life is ending. I know there's a reason you saved me, a good reason why I'm still here and you're not, but I don't know what it is. I won't know until I come join you forever.

It's getting dark. I have to leave soon. I have no right to tell you I love you now, but I can someday.

Until then, Colin, goodnight.