This Too Shall Pass
I'm leaving him, today. It's probably past time, but these have been dark months. Most wouldn't say that; most people feel that the storm has passed, the danger is gone, and the sun has broken through. For us, no. Sure, we triumphed, and the world is safe again for wizardkind – but it's not our world. I feel anchor-less, adrift; in short, redundant. The three of us were shaped by the battle – it was all he ever knew, and all we could imagine. Without something to fight, I don't feel real. I can't tell I'm alive.
I miss you. Maybe, if you were here we could survive this. After all this time, I don't think any of us knew how to breathe alone. I know you felt you were the least important, the most easily replaced, the one of us who had the least to offer. If only you were here to see how wrong you are. You were our heart. You always mocked your fear, said it was cowardice, but you were our sanity, our commonsense. Evil can be brave, or brilliant, but you kept us honest, even when reality came crumbling down around our ears. You knew what was right, every time. We are lost without you.
The world has no need of a hero now. He has served his purpose. We need people to show us how to rebuild. This was your calling. You were meant to come through, so we could lead the world gently into a shining future, graciously sad for our losses. On our dark days none of us thought we'd survive, but I think we always expected him to die. The Great Sacrifice. Our Champion… perfect for plaques and bronze statues. In the end, when there were no secrets between us, you and I had already grieved for him, and he was proud and strong, ready to meet his fate. The martyr, courageous to the end. But Fate laughed at us.
I think I can leave him now. He was like a sleepwalker in the beginning, but he appears to be enjoying the new job. I guess Anti-Terrorism is something even the Savior of the World can sink his teeth into. He'll never be the same – well, none of us will, but I think some of his soul died with you. He always loved you most. He could survive that love not being returned measure for measure, or said he could. Though I guess we'll never know. You never spoke of love at all. To be truthful, we both loved you best, and even the memory of your lion heart could not keep us together forever.
The child is not his. We haven't been forced to discuss our private lives yet, but the media's beginning to wind up to a frenzy pitch since that Skeeter woman left St Mungo's (is there no justice?) and broke the news of the pregnancy. The truth won't keep for long.
I'll name her Ginny, I think. Your sister's memory should be preserved. The memory of our innocence, my memory of you, Harry's memory of the woman who loved him best. Perhaps she will have red hair. I hope it's not bushy.
This is not how I pictured it. I did not imagine that the bright sunlight of the future would make my eyes water. That we would survive. That none of us would come through whole. That the scars would hurt so.
That our dreams would die with you.
That your last gift to us would be hope. And this shadow, too, shall pass.
