The End of Innocence

I hate myself. For once, the Slytherins are right. This time it is my fault.

I clasp my hands around my knees and stare out the window. Just like I did my first night at Hogwarts, almost four years ago. Gosh, it's only been four years? It seems like much longer.

What was I like four years ago, back when I started at Hogwarts? I'll have to think about that.

Scared. I was scared, just like I am now. Except back then I was just scared that I'd get lost on the way to breakfast or to class or something. Now I know what it really means to be scared.

Sometimes I envy my friends. This is one of those times. No, I don't envy them their parents, or their talent. I envy their innocence.

Oh, very young, what will you leave us this time?

You're only dancin' on this earth for a short while.

True, no one is innocent now. But at the age of eleven, at the tender age of five or six or seven, people are expected to be innocent--at least they used to be. I never was. I grew up in an environment where I was slapped hard if something as little as Dudley shaking the ceiling when he walked too heavily happened, and that was fairly common. I grew up sleeping in a dark cupboard full of spiders, without any of the love or attention any small child needs. I grew up having to watch all the other children wear new clothes and play with shiny toys, not knowing why all I had to wear was Dudley's old cast-offs or all I had to play with were the rocks and twigs I found on the playground. And I wasn't allowed to ask. Any questions earned me--you guessed it--a slap so hard I was knocked back against the wall. After awhile I just learned to deal with it.

And though your dreams may toss and turn you now,

I can't listen to the others talk about when they were young. It just brings back thoughts of the childhood I never had, and never will. There's no way I could have it now. Even if my parents could just magically come back to life, even if they or Sirius or Lupin came to the Dursleys' house and just took me away, I could never have it. I have seen too much to have any hope of innocence.

These past four years, Hogwarts has been like the home I always wanted. It's the only place I was ever happy. It was the only place I was ever safe.

I know most people wouldn't call almost getting eaten by a three-headed dog twice, nearly getting strangled by a plant, facing giant ruthless chess pieces, and barely escaping from Voldemort with my life very safe--and that was only my first year! But it's true. Quite honestly, nearly dying has become pretty common to me. I almost don't notice it.

Funny, but when I was little, I used to lie in bed every night wishing that my uncle would just kill me and get it over with, instead of torturing me so much. Now I lie in bed every night with the grim realisation that I might not live to see another day, and I pray that I do. Live, I mean. So many people are counting on me. I'm not ready to die yet.

They will vanish away like your dad's best jeans

Denim blue fadin' up to the sky.

And though you want them to last forever you know they never will,

You know they never will,

Hogwarts itself may be my home, but all the students and teachers--yes, even the Slytherins and Snape--have been the family I never had. They've played an important role in my life.

And now I'm responsible for the death of one of my family.

And the patches make the goodbye harder still.

Cedric was always a good kid. Even when he beat us at Quiddich, fair and square, he tried to call a rematch because I'd just fallen. Fred and George never exactly forgave him for beating us. I bet they've forgiven him now.

Oh, very young, what will you leave us this time?

There'll never be a better chance to change your mind.

I should've listened to him. I should've just taken the cup and gone alone. But I didn't. I was just as stubborn as he was. He got there first, for crying out loud! But if he had listened to me, he would have gone alone, and things could've been much worse. Voldemort would've simply killed him and gone after me, probably taking the lives of many more innocents who got in his way.

Now, though, he's back. Hogwarts may not be safe anymore. Not while I'm here. I'm a danger to my friends, and even my enemies. Voldemort's back and he'll stop at nothing to get to me.

I have to stop now. I have to go to a meeting with Professor Dumbledore. I hope he doesn't want me to tell my story to someone else. It's easy to tell you. You aren't going to go gossiping in the hallways, or chatting in the Three Broomsticks. But it's also that I don't want to tell someone else how responsible I am.

And if you want this world to see better days,

It wasn't what he wanted after all. He just wanted to discuss this summer. Ron and Hermione--my best friends--and I aren't allowed to tell anyone our plans. I can tell you, though. We have to go to America. It's the only place that speaks English and is safe from Voldemort. All three of us are going. It's well known that Ron is my best friend, and besides, his family is really into Muggle relations. Hermione and I--well, we're a little more than friends now. We're thinking about dating this summer. Less important to me, but equally or more so to Voldemort, is the fact that she's Muggle-born.

Will you carry the words of love with you 'til you ride

The great white burnin' together.

That meeting, to me, did more than discuss our summer plans for safety. It brought back into the light the realisation that while I am alive, I pose a danger to everyone around me. The teachers--once again, including Snape--are risking their lives to get my friends and me to safety. Even there, Voldemort might find us, and then where would we be? Alone, stranded thousands of miles and several time zones away from anyone who could help us, weak and defenceless. We wouldn't survive.

And though you want to last forever you know you never will,

You know you never will,

No, no, I shouldn't be thinking like that. He won't find us. He'll be turning Europe upside down to find us, and by the time he realises that we're in America, we'll be halfway to Hogwarts. That's what Dumbledore said.

Great. I was just looking at that. How wonderful. To save my arse, and my only real friends, the rest of Europe has to experience brutal slaughter. It makes no sense, I tell you.

What I'm about to tell you may shock you, but I've been thinking it for a lot longer than since I got back from that meeting. Maybe I should just turn myself in to Voldemort. Maybe if he gets what he wants--me--he'll leave Hogwarts and my friends alone. It would be better than living with all this pain.

And the goodbye makes the journey harder still.

No, I'm being stupid. (And in other late-breaking news...) If Voldemort got me, he'd be even more ruthless to everyone else. I know this sounds conceited, but it's what Dumbledore told me: I'm the only one who can stop Voldemort. At the moment, I'm his prime target. And he'll do anything to get to me, especially if it means killing the people I care about. I guess he knows that if that happened, I might just follow them. Or I might make their deaths count. I might turn grief from the loss of my friends into power and drive a sledgehammer into his head or something non-magical like that that he wouldn't be expecting. I don't know. And I never will know, because no one is going to die.

There's something else, too. I stopped talking to everyone but the teachers and my best friends. Most people probably think it's trauma, considering what I've been through, even though they don't know. But it isn't. The truth is, we've been meeting with Dumbledore a lot. In one of those meetings, he told us that there were some Death Eaters who were not Slytherins. Pettigrew, for one--he was a Gryffindor. But two of them have children at the school--we don't know which ones, or what house they're in--and one of the children is already a Death Eater. We have to be careful. If we say the wrong thing to the wrong person, we could wind up dead.

Will you carry the word of love with you?

With all this stress in my life, I know most people would think I'm suicidal. But how could I be suicidal with all these preparations for my safety? I don't want to die. People are counting on me. I need to stay alive. It's not just about keeping myself alive. It's about all the other people that would die off faster than rabbits breed if I died.

Do you know, when I was little, I used to lie in bed every night wishing that I could wake up and see a beautiful sunrise outside my bedroom window, a dream I never thought would come true. But now, I see it every morning, even at home. Six years ago I would have never been happier. I actually haven't seen one in forever. Even when I did wake up in the middle of the night, it's either raining or I go back to sleep. Today I think I might see it.

The reason I mention it is because until I was eleven, I'd never seen a sunrise. And now that I'm almost fifteen, I know I might never see one again. In the past few weeks I've learned to appreciate so many things I'd never seen before. Like how beautiful the lake is on a sunny day, sparkling like a thousand diamonds, or the bright colours of the wildflowers that spring up in April, or how soft and green the grass is. Tiny little things that no one else would really notice, but I do.

Will you cry? (Will you cry?) (Will you cry?)

I don't think Ron is asleep. Listening carefully, I don't think Neville is either. I can't hear his snores, and Ron, sad to say, sleeps like an eggbeater. But his bed is silent.

I know Ron is nervous about going so far from home this summer without his parents. He's never been that far away from home alone before. The other thing that upsets him is why we're going. He probably blames me. My blood brought Voldemort back. But he doesn't realise why I'm responsible.

Last year, when Sirius Black escaped and we met him, I stopped him and Lupin from killing Pettigrew. Pettigrew went back to Voldemort and served him. Now Voldemort's back, for real this time, and it's my fault.

Neville--well, the reason he's upset is my fault too. I told Ron this afternoon, right before dinner when I didn't think anyone could hear, what happened to me the night Cedric was killed. I upset Ron, I know that--I even upset myself. But what upset Neville was that he was in earshot, even though I didn't realise it at the time. He heard that Voldemort had used the Crutacious Curse on me, and that's what cost him his parents, even if they aren't dead.

Ahhh (ahhh) (ahhh)

Oh, look. Here comes the sunrise. Wow. It's beautiful. It's more stunning and captivating than the first one I saw, all those years ago. Look at those colours. They all remind me of something. Give me a minute to think and I'll tell you what.

I'll start with the first colour I see. Higher up, where the sun hasn't touched yet, the sky is still a deep, dusky blue. It reminds me of the colour of Ron's eyes. I don't know why they were the first things I noticed when I first saw him, but that colour sticks in my mind. Ron has been my friend through most of my tough and trying times.

Just below that is a kind of periwinkle blue, where the light hits the sky just enough to pale it up a little. That colour reminds me of the dress Hermione wore to the Yule Ball. Man, she looked good in those robes. Hermione's been my friend ever since Ron and I saved her from that troll on Halloween our first year. She's always been there for me, always. She didn't even let the constant fights she was having with Ron, or the one fight I had with him, come between us.

After the periwinkle is a kind of light orange. It reminds me of the flame of a candle. Yes, that's it. It reminds me of the anti-dementor lessons I was having with Professor Lupin in the History of Magic classroom. The candles went out every time I did, but Lupin always lit them again. It gave me a kind of welcoming glow.

There are a few clouds out there too. This is always my favourite part of sunrises. The clouds are so beautiful! They're pink with a bright purple lining. They say that every cloud has a silver lining, and maybe they do during the rest of the day, but at sunrise the linings are always purple.

Under the clouds is a bright orange. That is so neat! It reminds me of the day Hermione bought Crookshanks. He had jumped on Ron's head in the Magical Menagerie when Ron was buying rat tonic for Scabbers. We chased Scabbers all down the street, and Hermione bought Crookshanks instead of an owl. Her parents had given her money for an early birthday present.

The sun is peeking above the horizon. It's bright red, and I mean red. It reminds me of--well, I know it's morbid to be thinking about this under the circumstances, but it reminds me of my own blood. I've seen it many times. Even before Voldemort used my blood to come back, I'd seen it. Voldemort's sixteen-year-old self tried to kill me. I had just killed the basilisk, and one fang accidentally punctured my arm. All the way through. I pulled it out, but the poison was spreading and I was losing blood fast. Then Fawkes cried on the wound. His tears saved my life.

I know what it was those colours made me think of at first! All of those colours remind me of a phoenix. I wonder if this is how a new phoenix is created--from the sunrise. Dumbledore said that phoenixes don't lay eggs.

Oh, very young, what will you leave us this time?

You're only dancin' on this earth for a short while.

There is a song called "Who will buy?" from a play called "Oliver". The gist of this song is that people are on the street under Oliver's window selling their wares. He notices the sky and wishes that he could tie it up and box it up, to look at when things go wrong. He is basically asking, as the title suggests, who will buy it. That's how I feel this morning. I have a feeling that things will be going wrong very, very soon. When they do, I'd like to have this sunrise to look back at, but I'll have to settle for thinking about it.

Oh, very young, what will you leave us this time?

I'd better go. Everyone else is going to be up in a minute. Before I do, though, there's one more thing I'd like to add to anyone who may pick this up and read it.

This is not the journal of a madman. This is the journal of a scared little boy named Harry Potter.