This is kind of an odd fic for me, but I had to write it, you know? Inspiration took over, and I'm not gonna re-read what I've written to revise it, so if ya hate it, blame inspiration.
"Why did I do it?" I whispered, hating myself for what I'd done, and yet knowing without a shadow of a doubt that, given the same situation, I'd still do the exact same thing.
My weakness was undeniable, my fears those of a trapped animal. But I lacked the strength--no, that wasn't it. I didn't lack the strength, I lacked the will. I was not the person I had been, that was one of the few things I knew for certain. Voldemort had made sure of that.
Because the monster my friends and I called Voldemort was the reason I had betrayed everything I used to hold dear. Hermione - gone. Ron - worse than gone. There had been a time when I still had the will to fight, the will to do what I knew was right. But those days were gone, never to return.
Voldemort had captured me, that was true, and subjected me to the worst torture he knew how to inflict. It was not pain, though, that had broken me. It was fear. Yes. I did not fear Voldemort for who he was. I feared myself.
I was not the person I thought I was. I had believed everything he had told me. I was a fool.
Dumbledore had fallen early in this war. I had been barely nineteen when the person I needed with me more than anything had left, never to return. Ron had turned on us shortly after that. Hermione was dead. I didn't know how, or why, but the certainty of it was astonishing. Ginny had gone into hiding, and since she was a pureblood, and not actively fighting, Voldemort had left her in peace. Neville had escaped too, to where I didn't know.
But it was me, the famous Harry Potter, that had been the downfall of our world. Voldemort had captured me two years ago, soon after my twenty-first birthday. I had stood up to him for weeks, I comforted myself with that thought. Yet Voldemort had won, and it was through me that he found the knowledge he needed to conquer the world I had once held dear.
I had known too much, been trusted with too much. And even I had never known or realized the insecurities that made me such a sickeningly easy target. I had fallen, and the world had fallen with me. If I had held up longer, if I had fought him. . .
Even I knew that with me gone, the others had lacked the hope they'd treasured for so long. If I could fall, why were they immune to the Dark Side's irresistible power?
For I had finally turned to the Darkness I had fought for so long. It had taken Voldemort's Imperius Curse to give me the excuse I needed, but I could have fought it. I could have . . .
I could have done more. That was it. That was the image that haunted my nightmares. I could have fought, I could have refused to surrender to the Darkness that sought to control me. I could have found the strength to beat him.
I had not. I had surrendered to Voldemort, and now that retribution was impossible, why not sink deeper into Darkness? Why not cease hurting myself like this, why not stop inflicting on myself a torture that was beyond even Voldemort's terrible powers?
Why not forgive the one thing that could not be changed?
Because for me forgiveness was impossible. I had lacked the strength, and because of my weakness, my world had fallen to the control of the person Lily Potter had died to protect me from.
I had the will, now, to finish what my parents had started so long ago. I had the will to fight him, and he would fall. I would die as well, I knew that, but that no longer mattered. Nothing mattered.
Nothing save doing what I had to, what destiny itself had demanded from me. I remembered suddenly a line from a song Hermione had sung often.
'When destiny calls you, you must be strong I may not be with you, but you got to hold on.'
Yes. They're with me, and I'll hold on long enough to let destiny had its way. To let myself fulfill a prophecy as old as time itself, when Light will forever conquer Darkness, when love will forever conquer hatred. When a single soul can save a world too many have forsaken.
And destiny calls. . . .
"Why did I do it?" I whispered, hating myself for what I'd done, and yet knowing without a shadow of a doubt that, given the same situation, I'd still do the exact same thing.
My weakness was undeniable, my fears those of a trapped animal. But I lacked the strength--no, that wasn't it. I didn't lack the strength, I lacked the will. I was not the person I had been, that was one of the few things I knew for certain. Voldemort had made sure of that.
Because the monster my friends and I called Voldemort was the reason I had betrayed everything I used to hold dear. Hermione - gone. Ron - worse than gone. There had been a time when I still had the will to fight, the will to do what I knew was right. But those days were gone, never to return.
Voldemort had captured me, that was true, and subjected me to the worst torture he knew how to inflict. It was not pain, though, that had broken me. It was fear. Yes. I did not fear Voldemort for who he was. I feared myself.
I was not the person I thought I was. I had believed everything he had told me. I was a fool.
Dumbledore had fallen early in this war. I had been barely nineteen when the person I needed with me more than anything had left, never to return. Ron had turned on us shortly after that. Hermione was dead. I didn't know how, or why, but the certainty of it was astonishing. Ginny had gone into hiding, and since she was a pureblood, and not actively fighting, Voldemort had left her in peace. Neville had escaped too, to where I didn't know.
But it was me, the famous Harry Potter, that had been the downfall of our world. Voldemort had captured me two years ago, soon after my twenty-first birthday. I had stood up to him for weeks, I comforted myself with that thought. Yet Voldemort had won, and it was through me that he found the knowledge he needed to conquer the world I had once held dear.
I had known too much, been trusted with too much. And even I had never known or realized the insecurities that made me such a sickeningly easy target. I had fallen, and the world had fallen with me. If I had held up longer, if I had fought him. . .
Even I knew that with me gone, the others had lacked the hope they'd treasured for so long. If I could fall, why were they immune to the Dark Side's irresistible power?
For I had finally turned to the Darkness I had fought for so long. It had taken Voldemort's Imperius Curse to give me the excuse I needed, but I could have fought it. I could have . . .
I could have done more. That was it. That was the image that haunted my nightmares. I could have fought, I could have refused to surrender to the Darkness that sought to control me. I could have found the strength to beat him.
I had not. I had surrendered to Voldemort, and now that retribution was impossible, why not sink deeper into Darkness? Why not cease hurting myself like this, why not stop inflicting on myself a torture that was beyond even Voldemort's terrible powers?
Why not forgive the one thing that could not be changed?
Because for me forgiveness was impossible. I had lacked the strength, and because of my weakness, my world had fallen to the control of the person Lily Potter had died to protect me from.
I had the will, now, to finish what my parents had started so long ago. I had the will to fight him, and he would fall. I would die as well, I knew that, but that no longer mattered. Nothing mattered.
Nothing save doing what I had to, what destiny itself had demanded from me. I remembered suddenly a line from a song Hermione had sung often.
'When destiny calls you, you must be strong I may not be with you, but you got to hold on.'
Yes. They're with me, and I'll hold on long enough to let destiny had its way. To let myself fulfill a prophecy as old as time itself, when Light will forever conquer Darkness, when love will forever conquer hatred. When a single soul can save a world too many have forsaken.
And destiny calls. . . .