- Rating:
- PG-13
- House:
- The Dark Arts
- Characters:
- Harry Potter
- Genres:
- Angst Drama
- Era:
- Multiple Eras
- Spoilers:
- Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire
- Stats:
-
Published: 06/10/2002Updated: 06/10/2002Words: 1,638Chapters: 1Hits: 501
- Posted:
- 06/10/2002
- Hits:
- 501
- Author's Note:
- Angst-ridden fic. Try to enjoy, anyhow. Dedicated to anyone who can identify with the character (who you can imagine to be whomever you want) in this story.
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Rain, rain on my face
It hasn't stopped raining for days
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The quill shakes in my hand as I scratch it across the rough surface of the parchment. I don't care any longer to hold back my tears, so now they fall in hot, salty cascades down my face, landing freely on the parchment and smearing the already-dry ink. The loud dry sobs that I had wretched earlier that day were nothing in comparison to ear-splitting roaring within my head now as the silent tears fell. Closure was what my mother had said I needed, so here I sit, writing a final farewell. The funeral wasn't enough as it was, apparently. I had to have more.
Stone was how I had set myself after he died. I realized all that I had left unsaid that I now regretted, as it would rot away in the chambers of my mind forever would never come out. I couldn't let it out to him when he was alive, so how was I going to admit it to anyone now that he was gone? And make myself look like a fool? Not likely.
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My world is a flood
Slowly I become one with the mud
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I had always taken it for granted, his friendship. I had always craved for more. Which was, of course, so like me. The only good thing that's come of this, I figure, is that I found out that I'm selfish. I had always been selfish, even if I didn't realize it. Even when I was helping him with his tasks along the way, it was being selfish, because all I was doing was tagging along with him and dragging him down even further. If it weren't for me, I figure, he wouldn't have died. Now that's selfish. He died for every one of his loved ones and friends, and I count myself in that number.
I'm writing this in the letter, by the way.
A huge empty void is what I feel now that he's not here. Our friendship, the three of us, had always been a treasury. But again I say, I wanted more. I wanted it so badly at times that it hurt. And I knew that I would never have it. So we're back to the selfish thing.
I dip my quill in the ink bottle and knock it over in my haste. I swear loudly, attempting to mop it up with a rag beside my desk. A little too late, I realize that this rag is one of his old shirts. The one that he gave to me when the three of us were sitting out on the lawn one night, watching the stars, and I was cold.
I lay my head down on the desk, the cool ink that lay on the parchment, already curved into words, printing on my cheek. The tears have stopped, and I'm left with nothingness.
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But if I can't swim after forty days
and my mind is crushed by the thrashing waves
Lift me up so high that I cannot fall
Lift me up
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I miss him so much at this point that it's like a constant ache, ripping at my chest. I stare around my room, all the little mementos and tokens lying around reminding me of him. I had dismounted the pictures of the three of us from my wall, as they were just too painful to look at, but many other small things remained.
I pick up the quill and hastily begin to write my letter in a tidy scrawl. I tell him, in this letter, of all my regrets. Of never telling him how much he meant to me as a friend, or as more than a friend. I tell him how much he is missed, and how much he has saved with his death, and how unlike me, how unselfish his sacrifice was. I list everyone that had attended his funeral (a very long list indeed), and I bid him goodbye.
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Lift me up - when I'm falling
Lift me up - I'm weak and I'm dying
Lift me up - I need you to hold me
Lift me up - Keep me from drowning again
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I fold up the parchment and slip it into an envelope, sealing it with hot wax and the Hogwarts seal that he had bought me for my sixteenth birthday. On the front of the envelope, I address his name in fine print, and I tuck the envelope into my desk. Oddly enough, I feel no closure. I have told him all that I wish to tell him, but there is no closure.
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Downpour on my soul
Splashing in the ocean, I'm losing control
Dark sky all around
I can't feel my feet touching the ground
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Maybe there is more
, I remind myself. Maybe you secretly wish to tell him more. And I know I do. I just can't bring myself to write it. I feel as though I'm being selfish as I pull out a fresh roll of parchment, and start off the letter by scrawling these words:You never realize how much you actually need someone until they're gone.
I scan these words several times over, until I'm finally satisfied. I continue on.
It's funny how things like that work, isn't it? I, of course, always knew to some degree that the three of us depended on each other, but I didn't know to what degree until now. My mother says that I need closure. I need to realize that you're gone. Well, of course I realize that you're gone. It feels as though a large chunk of me has been ripped out and I will never see it again. Consciously, I know that I won't ever see that part of me again. I know that it lies buried deep beneath soil and is now marked with an extravagant marble headstone. Yes, marble. It was easy enough, dipping into a small fraction of your fortune to purchase that marble, but the gravestone maker insisted upon giving it to us for free. Perhaps even he knew of the great things you did to stop evil from coming.
But even now, I can't get the memories of you cold, dead body lying on the ground. Your eyes were still open, but they were lifeless and hard. I touched your pale skin, and it was cold and clammy. Even your unruly hair fell limp. I cried atop your body. I put your arms around me and cried. Loud, wrenching sobs filled the air that night. I held you, wishing with all my heart and soul that you would hold me back. I wanted so badly for you to hold me, to lift me up and say that you weren't really dead. Of course, then I didn't feel selfish for this. But now I do. I realize that what you did was not in vain, so I should accept it and move on with my life.
But I can't.
I'll always remember your last words to me. They drum around in my mind tonight, driving me to the break of insanity. At any other given time, those three words would have absolutely filled me with joy. I would've been ecstatic. But I knew that night that those were your dying words. As you laid there, your best friends by your side, I held your hand and brushed the blood off your brow, and you softly said those three words to me, I cried inside. I had always wanted to hear those three words come from you, even if I hadn't realized it before.
And when you said those words, a whole new world would bloom. All because of you. Yes, one filled with sorrow at your departure, but you did so much to save us. I couldn't let you go.
Then you were gone. It was too late for you to hear my reply. But still, I whispered it into the chilling night air. Your words were still floating around up there, and mine went to join them, unheard by a single soul. Well, maybe your soul did hear them. On its assent to heaven.
I kissed your lips. I knew that you wouldn't kiss back, but I still kissed them. I stroked your cheek, lined with stubble. I ran my fingers through your hair. I held you. I cried atop you. I tried to say my goodbye then, but nothing would come. And lastly, I looked upon the scar. The one that started it all. I was so angry at that scar; the passion burning inside of me was unreal. I never knew I could feel hate for an intimate object.
Obviously, I can. And now I must end my letter. Really, I have said all I wanted to say and revealed almost everything that my memory has locked away in a safe labeled as something that I would never tell anyone. My arm aches from scratching out this letter, and my heart aches from revealing to you what I know you can't see.
So goodbye, Harry Potter. And just in case you didn't hear the words the first time, here they again:
I love you, too.
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Calm the storms that drench my eyes
Dry the streams still flowing
Cast down all the waves of sin
And guilt that overthrow me
But if I can't swim after forty days
and my mind is crushed by the thrashing waves
Lift me up so high that I cannot fall
Lift me up
Lift me up - when I'm falling
Lift me up - I'm weak and I'm dying
Lift me up - I need you to hold me
Lift me up - Keep me from drowning again
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Closure.