Consequences - When We Fell

Consequences - When We Fell

She's staring at me.

Again.

She's been doing that for hours. Since I woke up, she's been sitting next to me and staring at me. Her looking at me is starting to scare me. She stares, she scares... damned alliteration.

"I was worried," she says, resting a hand on my shoulder. "We... were worried."

I look away. We...? The blank walls by my side don't really help me to clear my thoughts and when I look at her again she's sobbing. I can't think very well seeing her cry, either. When she cries, she doesn't go around yelling about it... in fact, she hates to cry. Of course, when she's crying, sobbing and gulping, like now, I know that she never cries for nothing. She's strong, she always has been, since our school days. And the worst part is that I know why she's crying now.

"He's dead, isn't he?" My voice comes out as a mere whisper, but she still hears me. Looking up into my eyes, she searches for something with her gaze... and finds nothing. Her eyes have always been beautiful, full of life... maybe I would have fallen in love with her if he hadn't got to her first. Well, you always respect your best friend, don't you?

She has stopped sobbing; only to hold my hand firmly and nod, looking away from me.

"Yes," is all she can say by now.

...

A long silence falls on the hospital room - yes, it's a hospital, with such white walls and blank silence - before I speak again.

"Herm..." My voice is still lower than I expected. She looks up at me, waiting for something. When I say nothing, she sighs.

"It's over. Voldemort's gone," she starts, and there is a long pause before she continues, "and so is he."

I'm living in the wrong world, I know it. Because things shouldn't have gone this way... I was the one who was supposed to die, the Boy Who Lived Only To Die a Few Years Later, and yet...

He's dead and I'm not. I let my best friend die in front of my eyes, doing nothing but watch as he turned dead in mid-air, falling as a victim, one of the pawns of fate.

He was Ron Weasley, my very best friend. And I did nothing to save him. In fact, he was the one to save me. He had always complained about the dangers I was around, and in the end he was the one to die by the hand of fate. It's just so ironic it hurts.

Hermione has been our best friend for years, and has loved my best friend since we were fourteen. She has loved him since we were innocent. And she remained with us when the masks of childhood fell apart.

That's why I have always loved her.

Of course, I loved Ron more and would never have done anything at all to disrespect him. Call me crazy, I don't care anymore.

And now she watches over me.

"It shouldn't be this way, should it?" Hermione whispers under her breath. "He shouldn't be dead, should he?"

"Of course not. He was our hero. At the very end, he proved his value over the Boy Who Lived..." I look at the garden outside the window... it's beautiful, very beautiful. So beautiful it hurts. And it's strange, such a pretty thing lost in our never-to-be-found paradise...

"Of course. He was so much more than just the Boy Who Lived... he was our best friend," she says after a moment. She's looking through me, searching again... and I know that she still won't find a thing. As I look through the window and try to focus on the painted letters on the other side of the garden, she shakes her head and wipes away a tear. "I always knew that things would probably end this way, but I never wanted to believe it..."

"I..." The words are running away from me, and I have to try very hard to catch them. "I... should have been the one to die, shouldn't I?"

"No," she says, shaking her head. "None of us should have died... and yet, he's dead. There's nothing we can do about it."

"Maybe," I say, the word coming out before I can think about it. "Maybe."

"Maybe?!" Hermione shrieks. I nearly smile... to think I've lived to hear her shrieking again... "You've never read the Bible, have you? Ashes to ashes, dust to dust... death is certain, only the time is uncertain. He's dead, and there's absolutely nothing we can do about it!" She pauses, looking away. "Grow up, boy! I loved him as much as you did, but I know there's nothing that can bring him back!"

"It's just so sad to hear such a thing from the smartest witch I've ever known." I don't recognize my voice any more as these words are coming from deep down in my conscience. "And what about philosophy? It's all about the world we build for ourselves. I can't live in a world where my best friend does not exist, and so I must construct a new world. A world where both my best friends are alive." Hermione's eyes are enormous by now, not believing in me. Somehow I manage to hold back my last words... even if that costs my own life.

"You can't live in an illusion forever!" She screams, clearly holding herself back from slapping me. "Someday, you're gonna fall from it! And it's gonna hurt!"

"If I stay in this world, it's gonna hurt from now on. If I can live in my own world, it may start to hurt later... but with a little bit of luck, I may die in the middle of the fall and feel no pain." Hermione is getting angrier at me, I can feel that. But, for once, she must listen to the Boy Who Lived.

"And won't you be lonely in this new world?" There's a hint of irony in her words, but I pretend not to hear it.

"I won't be lonely if you come with me." I close my eyes, waiting for an answer.

"I shall not live a lie, my dearest." Her voice is as strong as ever. I've never seen her this determined before. "I am alive, you're alive. He's not. He died for us. Are you going to throw that away?"

"No." She waits for me to elaborate, but my statement ends there.

"Then what?" There's no one else in the room, but she still seems to be ashamed to scream any more... not that she remembered that a few minutes ago, but that's beside the point to her.

"I'll honour him. There will be a world created just for him, so he may live again." My head hurts... it's been aching since I woke up, but now it's a burning pain. I look at the garden, letting my gaze rest on it.

"Even if it's an illusion?" Hermione follows my eyes and looks at the enormous garden. "Are you really prepared to live in an illusion?"

"Yes, I am." Butterflies, flowers, trees... all this fills my mind and the words come out without thinking.

"And there's nothing I can do about it?" I don't need to look at her face to see that she's desperate.

"No." Laconic.

"Then I shall leave you living in your lonely world." Her voice is low, and she gets up, making the chair fall to the floor. The loud thud makes me look at Hermione, who's staring blankly at the fallen chair. "So, everything falls. And it's all my fault."

"It's not." Laconic again.

"It doesn't matter anymore, does it?" Desperate.

She leaves.

It's been a while since Hermione left. As I walk through the garden, I can hear the other people talking to themselves. They're crazy. I don't know why I'm here with them.

Hermione was right... it's pretty lonely up here. But I'm not complaining about it. I got what I bargained for. I'm in a world where my best friends are alive... even if I'm not. I don't need to be. All the world needs is the One Who Lived, and that's what I'm giving them.

They keep on telling me I'm not the Boy Who Lived, and they're just so wrong... after all, I'm alive, aren't I? This makes me the boy who lived, doesn't it? Because, if I'm not who I think I am...

...Then, who am I?

They keep on telling me I'm Ronald Weasley, and what they don't understand is that there's no Ronald Weasley in this world. He died saving the Boy Who Should Live from Voldemort's last Avada Kedavra. Look, if I truly were this Ronald Weasley, I wouldn't even say Voldemort's name, saying He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named instead. Do they need any more proof than that?

Hermione should have been here with me, but at least I know she's alive somewhere. That's enough for me. And, in my world, my best friend is alive. That's more than enough for me, even if I'm not myself.

It's confusing? I don't think it is. I'm just smarter than the whole world that stays outside of these grounds. They live in a world without The Boy Who Lived A Lot. In mine, I'm Harry Potter. He's alive and kicking in my world.

How could I ask for anything more?

They call me crazy because I think different. I don't see the problem with that. Oh, they're calling me now. They're going to give me more medicine. What's this medicine supposed to do? Kill my best friend? They're jealous, because I have him and they don't. But I won't give in to them.

As I approach the doctors, I can now read the painted letters that I couldn't see some days ago. The beautiful irony of knowing only too late that I'm in this place, where I can't run to Hermione to reunite my two best friends, is sometimes too hard to handle.

St. Mungo's

And I laugh, despite the glances that I receive from these men in white. I laugh, because I know I live in a better world than theirs. I can only laugh at their pathetic world.

And deep down, I laugh to keep my tears away.