Not Yet
by Bil!
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his wonderful world definitely don't belong to me, and I'm making no money at all off of this.
A/N: My one and only Harry Potter fic. Don't expect any more. Trust me, you won't *want* any more ; )
Content Warning: short, dark and depressing. Also rather out-of-character.
Not Yet
I sit on the hilltop in the dark, ignoring the chill wind tugging at my hair. At my feet, the world stretches before me out to the horizon, where shadow-dark land meets shadow-dark sky. The lights of a town glisten off to one side. Beautiful. Enchanting. Deadly.
*He* is out there somewhere in the darkness, searching, hunting. He will find me. Soon it will end. Soon. But not yet.
The full moon takes advantage of a gap in the dark, wind-swept clouds to glare down at me, silently accusing, merciless and unforgiving. Waiting for me to die. Daring me to finally end this. And all I can think is not yet.
Not yet.
I'm so tired. Tired of running, tired of hiding. Tired of fighting. Just tired. I'm *glad* it's nearly over. But not yet. Not yet.
How long have we been doing this? Hiding, running, hunting, fighting. How long? Years, decades. My entire life. All my lives. Once, I was a boy, full of hope and naive courage. Now, now I am tired. I miss that boy. I miss him, but he is dead, he is long gone. It has been so long. I haven't slept in a house in forever. Too dangerous. Too easy to be trapped, cornered like an animal. Too easy to get others hurt. Too easy to get them killed. Like my friends.
So I live in the wild places, and we duel in the mountains and the fields, in the sun, the snow, the rain. He follows me where ever I go, and I lead him away from the others. But soon this will be over. Soon, but not yet.
He's coming for me now, I can feel him. Soon it will all be over. I'll be able to rest. Sleep, like King Arthur, for thousands of years until my world needs me again. And then it will happen all over again.
We have always done this, he and I, since time began. Always played out the cycles of life and death, good and evil. Each time we both lose. Soon this cycle will end. I can feel it drawing to a close. One of us will die and the other one will follow. And I will rest for a while. I'm so tired.
Why do we do this? Repeat the same actions over and over again? Even once our memories of our former lives return we still follow the same paths, driven by some odd, nameless impulse to reinact the events that always bring us back to our downfall. Every time. Why do we do this? Who is it who is in charge of this game? Who moves us like chessmen, not allowing us a say in our own lives?
Soon, soon I can rest. Soon. But not yet.
Movement. I see him. Slowly he walks up the hill, corpse-pale in the fickle moonlight. He is as tired as I am. We are both living on not yet, waiting tiredly for the game to end, for our unseen puppet-master to pronounce himself content and throw us away. We are both waiting for the end, and for the blessed rest to take us, however briefly. And now the time has come.
I don't move, just sit there, watching him. He stops, looking back at me. I see the tiredness in his eyes, gleaming darkly in the night, and it urges me to stand. To end this, not just for my sake, but for his too.
It is time. One of us will die and the other one will follow. And then we can rest. We both know it.
I sigh and pull myself to my feet. We face off, going through the motions. Not yet. Not yet, but soon. So soon.
He nods to me. "Harry Potter."
I nod back. "Voldemort."
And so we begin, as we always have, as we always will.
Soon. Soon I can rest.
But not yet.
Fin
Copyright 2001
