Crosses

Maybe it was selfish. Maybe it was wrong. Maybe it was nasty and cruel, horrible and cold. At this point, he didn't really care. He'd lived his whole life in what he had thought was an inescapable hell. Then one day it hit him; there was a way out, if he could go through with it.

The hard part was finding what sort of creature could grant a wish. Genies grant wishes, but he wasn't sure whether there even was such a thing. Besides, he only needed one wish, not three. It was Hermione, as always, who solved the problem, however unknowingly she did it.

They were sitting in front of the fire, and she was reading her book for Care of Magical Creatures. She'd read an excerpt here or there, anything she found interesting, even though Ron and Harry couldn't care less. At least until she mentioned the Bean Nighe. Harry was only listening because she mentioned it was something Muggles saw too.

"The Bean Nighe, or Washer at the Fords, is the spirit of a woman who died while giving birth. She's forced to wash the bloody laundry of those about to die, until the day she would have died normally," Hermione said. "I read a story about that when I was a girl. Fascinating. Oh, but there's more. She'll grant you a wish. I didn't know that. I wonder how..."

She went on, telling him everything he needed to know. All he had to do was feign a little interest and she'd talk for hours. She was even helpful enough to mention how she'd gone on vacation to Scotland once and stayed in a village that claimed to have one living by a river in the woods.

Harry was glad he didn't have to ask more. She'd be horrified if she knew what he was going to do.

That was one of the things he hated most. Everyone expected him to be the perfect hero, and it was so bloody unfair. He didn't want to be the hero. He didn't want this cross to bear; it didn't even have to be his. All he wanted was to live. Thanks to Voldemort, he couldn't live, not real life. The only thing he could cling to was this shadow of an existence, this flicker of a being. He was the hero, and that was all. This life consumed him.

So, he snuck one night to Scotland, creeping with his broom down hallways, and taking off from the top of the astronomy tower. He found that river. And there was the Bean Nighe, where they said she would be, washing scrubbing at bloody clothes that never came clean. The blood flowed into the river, but stains remained. The sight was disturbing, the smell disgusting. He stumbled into the bushes as the sour taste of vomit rose in his throat. A few deep breaths, and he continued.

***

At first his mind was twisted sorted. It was as though he had two sets of memories, one his real life, and the other a horrible dream, filled with death and pain, fear and loneliness. Then he started to forget.

In the other life he was happy. His parents were alive, and he was loved. He had a house that was a home, and Sirius was alive. Sirius was alive! He'd never thought about that, but two days after he woke up in his bed at Hogwarts to find everything changed, he got a letter. A letter from Sirius! Harry had recognized the handwriting, and stared in shock. Uncle Sirius, the end had said. Uncle! His father and Sirius were like brothers, so it was only fitting. It was Uncle Remus too, he later learned. Everything was changed.

There had once been an Uncle Peter too, but he was killed by Death Eaters. At first Harry hadn't cared, had been glad, but after a while he couldn't remember why. A bitter sorrow replaced his former grim satisfaction.

So Harry went on with his life, a better life, and enjoyed what he thought he deserved. Except like everything else, eventually he wasn't sure why he deserved it. He had no memory of what had once been, only what now was.

His memories of first year didn't involve attacking trolls and fighting You-Know-Who. The most exciting thing that had happened to him was that he met Neville Longbottom. Everyone knew him, Ron's sister was practically in love with him. Of course, he wasn't allowed to ask him endless questions about his scar, or how he defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named when he was only one year old. His parents had died then, and it might bring up unpleasant memories.

He did feel bad for Neville. Everyone did. Still, Harry couldn't help thinking how exciting Neville's life must be. He was famous, and he and his friends were always getting into something exciting and dangerous. The funny thing was, while he was envious and sympathetic, he also felt guilty, which was ridiculous, because it wasn't his fault. He hadn't chosen to have Neville be targeted by Voldemort. And yet... There was a voice in the back of his mind saying he had. Like all the other funny thoughts that occasionally popped into his head, he learned to ignore it.

Once in a fit of courage, he asked Neville what it was like, to be a hero. Neville simply gave a small smile.

"It's a cross to bear," he said.