Goodbye

Breathe goodbye

and always be alone again, oh

feel goodbye

and never have him take me in and in and oh

what a sweet pain it is to weep these tears

on his beauty

knowing that they're all because of

soft goodbyes...

GOODBYE

It was not the way he said it that scared Harry; it was the word itself. The voice was a familiar voice, low, firm, kind, knowing how much Harry treasured being able to hear it, being gentle with him. But Harry hated that voice saying goodbye. He hated to think of being alone again, of being left to sit on the couch and stare into space.

The wall would begin to seem to form words and pictures if Harry would stare at it long enough, if he was left alone forever, having lost the owner of that voice he thought he would never lose. The goodbye wrenched at his heart, tearing viciously like a wild animal at its prey, threatening to make him collapse by fulfilling his darkest nightmares.

Harry was used to losing things, to losing people, to not being able to take anything for granted because things were always lost or taken away from him. Everyone he trusted and loved he eventually lost. He did not mean to be so sad, so serious, to hold onto them all so tightly, but he was afraid.

Yes, Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived to see the enemy of the Wizarding World die at his hands, by his wand, was afraid. Harry had learned to only rely on himself, because things got difficult, and if he asked for help, he had more of a chance of losing those people. He did not want to lose any more that he loved than he already had, you see. So he pulled away, curled himself into a ball and let the tears slide, and when there were no more tears he would stare blankly and hug himself, because no one was there to hug him. But that was okay because even though he was alone, the ones he loved were alive. By pulling away from them, by being alone, he was keeping them safe.

He would sit there, head to one side, thinking about their safety, about them sitting in their houses at their tables, safe. They would brush the hair from their spouse's brows, brush the crumbs from their children's chins, sit and clasp their hands and maybe pray for him because he was shutting himself away from them again. They did not understand why he pulled away and why he seemed to almost smile even as he shut them out.

Harry smiled because in shutting them out, he was giving them the sunlight and himself the cold. Even if he was cold, it would mean no screams of loss. He wanted to avoid ever falling to his knees and screaming for a moment of eternity because of who or what he had lost. He did not want to experience that again, to feel the sobs choking his breath, the tears blurring his vision, although he knew he would open his eyes to hell, anyway. He would close his eyes shut because there was no breath, no life, nothing worth seeing and no use keeping silent, trying to hold in the scream, because if he had lost another one then he had all the more reason to scream. He swore that if he lost, if he had to say goodbye to someone one more time, the next scream would last forever.

Then, a few days later, he would emerge from his hell, his misery, and open the door, and greet those who were left to him with a smile, and say hello a million times because he was so relieved he did not have to say goodbye again. No more goodbyes until he lost someone else dear to him. Harry hated goodbyes.

Now, his world of shutting and opening the door and saying goodbye and then hello was being flipped upside down. The rage at being so betrayed had flown and surged inside Harry moments ago. He had wanted to reach out, to tear at that hair and pound and scream because now, instead of others being lost or gone to him forever, Harry was being left. He was being left alone, and now he was not saying goodbye, but being said goodbye to.

Why leave him? Why did the person who had grown to be the most important to Harry want to leave? Did he actually want to leave? Harry saw those tears, recognized the warmth of affection in that voice, even as he looked back at Harry, looked back in bittersweet farewell. Harry knew those eyes told him how proud they were of him, how his opening of that door and saying hello to that unexpected guest, and years later staying for Harry's sake, being able to love Harry, how much that had meant. It meant even more to Harry, for this was the first person who had stayed with him the longest, who he had not lost and had to say goodbye to in some form. He was always with Harry.

Now, he was leaving, and Harry did not know what to do. Should he scream, showing him how much he meant to Harry, how much Harry would do to not hear that voice say goodbye once more as it left Harry forever? Harry begged, he lay prostrate on the floor, he pulled, he whimpered, he shook and trembled with the exhaustion from all the joy he had shared with him and the prospect of now having the source of that joy leave him.

The scream was stuck in Harry's throat; he could not get it out for fear that screaming would seal his fate of having been left and said goodbye to. He wanted to scream so much and yet he could not, for those eyes gazed down at him with love, and as long as those eyes looked at him Harry felt almost as if that voice had never said goodbye, that face had never looked away with shame, with sadness, with fear, desperation, and the knowing that, for some reason, he had to leave Harry.

Why did he have to leave Harry? Why could he not explain? Why did he stand there in the doorway, looking back at Harry, tormenting Harry further after his first goodbye, the thunder before the storm of the second goodbye? Why? Misery and memories of others lost and previous goodbyes were etched in Harry's mind, fragile pieces of glass that, if it weren't for them, the window would not exist, Harry would not exist, and yet it was them, these memories, that were so fragile, so dangerous, to the window, the window that Harry was. He had been able to look through Harry, the window of his soul, for as long as they had known each other. Now he was leaving. The thought jarred Harry, another scar upon him, its wrongness threatening to throttle him even more fiercely than the misery did now.

Suddenly, he turned back. Harry stood frozen still, breath coming in gasps, the odor of sweat and tears and anger and sorrow surrounding him, suffocating him, the prospect of the second goodbye, the last and permanent one, making him dizzy. Goodbye meant he would be left alone forever, that he would never see again the one who knew his heart the best and was of kindred spirit. Goodbye was forever, and Harry did not want any type of forever, unless it meant a world forever without goodbyes.

Stumbling forward, hand reaching out, Harry managed to choke out a last, desperate plea of, "Don't go...I can't, I, I'm not..." Then all breath left his lungs a moment and he collapsed as if dead, his figure a darker shadow in the dimly lit room. Those eyes, death in them even as the brain shut down from too much pain, shut. Moonlight shone to brush a sympathetic hand over that soft cheek. Harry was a weak and pitiful pile, made of shattered dreams, the scars of too much grief, and childish beliefs that were all that anchored him to life and reality. Despair clutched at him desperately, breathing memories and weakness into Harry so that She could keep him for her stash of bewildered, lonely children that cried in the dark and had no one.

Then came the thump of luggage falling from gripping fingers, of a coat sliding from a shoulder, of a sigh escaping from regretful parted lips. Slowly, the figure leaned, and brushed gentle fingers across Harry's face. Those eyes, that stunning emerald green that had long ago lost their glint and then regained it in his presence, opened. Harry sat up, and wrapping his arms around the other, his eyes were shut with the most excruciating, hurtful pain, and yet he still managed to whisper, "Please...don't leave me............no more...goodbyes..."

There was a moment of hesitance, a movement that denied Harry's flicker of hope and seemed like a hand was going to reach again for luggage. But then, collapsing, he, too, wept, beside the now vacant-eyed Harry, cursing himself that he had not the ability to leave Harry, because Harry was too alone and miserable. He could not leave.

He stood up, and then leaning down brushed his lips against Harry's forehead. It was a gesture of hope, of love, of promise. That voice chuckled, the sound lifting Harry's spirits.

Picked up once more was the luggage, the coat, but this time not also the light that flickered inside Harry and kept him going, the strength which had left Harry moments ago when he thought all was lost. The absence of a second goodbye left Harry staring in wonderment, his heart beating fast in glee, the misery and hopelessness and fear dissipated.

Then, he turned around, and gave Harry a smile that was slow to creep upon his face but once there it seemed to be sticking itself solidly and undyingly. Regardless of seeing this act of leaving, strangely, Harry felt no pain, although the things being taken away from him, and the person taking them, were most dearest to him.

"Alright Harry. No goodbyes. Just a promise."

Breath was held. The inner death that had been in Harry's eyes slunk away.

"Harry, there's only one thing I can say, only one thing that I hope will keep you going without me: I promise you'll never hear me say goodbye again."

That said, he turned around, and left Harry. But Harry knew he would be back, soon. A return to Harry had been implied.

There had been no need for goodbyes.