Beyond the End
by tearsofphoenix
Standard Disclaimer applies - it's all JKR's.
Again, despite the difficulty of these last days, Whitehound found the time to help with the language. Thank you Claire, as ever and from the heart… fingers crossed!
The idea of writing these drabbles, each of which is exactly 100 words, came to my mind not only because of the constant need to keep up morale in these days, but also after reading a beautiful comment about the independent life of these people that we love so much (SK is not speaking about DH, he isn't that lucky, but his words work the same…):
"I'm having a day of mixed feelings: happy because I'm reading the manuscript of a novel that's full of magic, mystery, and monsters; sad because it will be finished tomorrow and on my shelf, with all its secrets told and its surviving characters set free to live their own lives (if characters have lives beyond the end of a novel — I've always felt they do)". Stephen King
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I've always felt strange, among the children of my age; and not only in the Muggle world, where there was a reason for my oddities, as I discovered at eleven. Searching to understand them, and to help those that needed my advice, I found the greatest adventure and the best friends. She told my story and gave me a soul mate, whom I've always loved and with whom I've often quarrelled or laughed…
She doesn't know about the other one, younger than he first seemed, and truly worthy of all the help, understanding and love that I can give him.
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I've always felt youngest among my siblings, even the little one, and nearer my greatest friend, despite my height. I don't have an easy character, but often I'm able to hide my worries through jokes or silly comments. They laugh, and she chose to write about me because I reminded her of a friend who helped her this way. Sometimes my temper wins, and when the girl I love is in danger, or when someone speaks ill of her, I can't hide my feelings. But I'm the one that most often makes her cry… I wonder… is this real love?
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I've always felt clumsy, since everyone reminds me of my failings. Many love me, even so. I was born so close to the Chosen, with my fate so linked to his… I've fought at his side, forging the most beautiful friendship while fighting. She writes of me fondly, I don't regret how she portrays my life… except for one moment, when my fear was exposed and turned into a bad joke. I've suffered so many jokes that it wasn't a good thing to direct that prank against the only one who endured more jokes than I did, in his life.
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I've always felt doomed, from the day when my parents gave me my name, which is that of a beautiful queen… so I couldn't help but fall in love with the white knight. She writes of me like a beauty, she gave me some features which are so similar to those of his mother… Now that the end of her tale is forthcoming I'm hoping that we will not repeat the destiny of that couple, that we will have our deserved happy ending… we have had far too little time until now, and many would be so sad for us…
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I've always felt good when alone. I lost my mum so early that I learnt to live this way. I don't mind many things that make most other people angry. They say I'm loony, and they consider me strange even in a world of oddities; I don't mind this, either. I've found true friends, lately, and this has been a big novelty in my life. I think that I have been able to help them, too.
She writes of me with fun, and perhaps she puts into my scenes a bit of her enchanted way of looking at the world…
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I've always felt alone: in front of my huge task; in the cupboard; alone despite my two best friends; alone after every death of a friend. And alone leaving my girlfriend. I will be alone, that day. I found, however, through the shining of a powerful stag, that I'm not alone, I never have been.
She writes of me as of a loved son, she cried on saying her farewell to what she has written of my life, to me… and I'm sure this was the true reason for her crying, the only one, since I'm here, alive, living forever.
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I've always felt alone: alone as a boy among my schoolfellows; alone in front of my wrong choice and of its aftermath; alone despite the trust of my only friend; alone after every death I witnessed. Alone doing my duty. And alone leaving the castle.
She writes of me without sparing me anything, she said that I'm the incarnation of a horrible person she met. She lies: she wrote for me the most powerful, heartbreaking moment of her story, so she will do justice to me, at the end of her tale.
Perhaps, then, I will no longer feel alone.