Disclaimer: The fact that this is here should be enough.
Warning: For those who read my other stuff, this is much darker compared to my usual fluff. Just a heads up.
Maybe taking one's own life wasn't as horrid an act as people made it out to be. In death, there's hope of something better, something much more promising than this hellhole you're stuck in. Currently, you're doomed to a life- nay, an existence. Nothing about this... thing could classify as life- of relentless moral turmoil and insatiable grief. What even is life? Have you forgotten its very meaning?
Death cannot be the worst thing out there, not when there is the state of bottomless regret in which you find yourself immersed. After this... agony, death may as well be your favorite dessert. Those who dine on death ought to feel a satisfaction unmatched by any worldly cuisine, which could, if it must, be compared to a succulent sweet following a merely mediocre meal.
Yes, there very well should be worse things than Death. Life is a persistent being, adamant on inflicting pain and suffering on his ephemeral victims, and Death, merciful Death, takes pity on us mortals and offers us our salvation from the terrors of living. Life, see, is a bully, much similar to the one you once were, while Death is an indiscriminate upstander, the savior of all victims. Death is a hero.
There are worse things than Death. Why have you, of all people, been subjected to a sampler of nearly every single one? Surely it is one of those questions that aren't meant to be answered definitively. Death, doubtlessly, is watching out for you, much like a mother watches out for her child. The mother doesn't wish for harm to befall her child any more than Death itches for misfortune to come knocking at your door. So, both the mother and Death scold their children, warn them of possible evil, and teach them about a safe way to exist. This array of tribulations is assuredly Death's cautionary tale. He is looking after you.
Why must he keep an eye on you? Why should you be separated from your guardian angel? It would be so simple, so easy to finally become acquainted with the only one who has your best interests at heart...
"Don't do it."
You raise your gaze from the bleak stone floor to seek the voice who'd interrupted your musings. What you see surprises you, but you haven't the energy to show it. You haven't any energy to do anything besides meeting magnanimous Death. Yet, you feel obligated to answer.
"Why shouldn't I?"
"Because you're stronger than that."
"Well, I'm not the boy I once was, am I? Why try to pretend like you know me? You don't."
"Actually I do. I know you better than you know yourself."
Spite rises quickly within you. You feel it burning, and it lays a scathing remark upon your tongue.
"Oh, yeah? If you know me so damn well, why the hell did you leave? You have to have known how much it would hurt, how I'd crumble immediately! I'm not strong, James, not anymore! Not since you broke me!" You're standing now, roaring accusations at a wall as bleak as the stone beneath your feet where, a moment ago, you could've sworn you saw the face of your best mate.
"Things happened the way they were meant to."
You spin around at the sound of the voice again, the voice you've missed so terribly. "No, they didn't," you refuse, in a voice much quieter, much more solemn. "You were never meant to die."
"Yes, I was. The war is over, and I made my crucial contribution. The ends justified the means."
"NO!" You're yelling again. "THE ENDS SURE AS HELL DIDN'T JUSTIFY THE MEANS!" Seething, you silently await his retort.
"Merlin, Padfoot," he chuckles after a brief pause. The bastard is chuckling, "you must've changed. Who knew you've become a bloody bird?"
You glare at him, but your efforts are fruitless, and you crack a small grin. You may have altered completely, but he is certainly no different. You remain in companionable silence for a spell until he speaks, his tone pensive.
"We don't blame you, Lily and I. Never have, never will."
"Thanks, mate," you reply. After a pause, you continue, "I'll never forgive you, you know. For dying."
"Wouldn't expect you to," he agrees with a smile. "I don't forgive myself, either."
You simply stare at him, mesmerized. He's exactly as you remember him: his face young and full of laughter; his body of a tall and healthy build; and an unceasing glint of mischief twinkling in his eyes, behind round, wire-rimmed glasses. It seems impossible that, despite all the time that has transpired and the earth-shattering events that have left your life in ruins, he hasn't changed in the slightest. "At risk of further sounding like a bird," you begin, "I've really missed you, Prongs."
"There's no need to miss me, mate. I'm right here. Always will be."
And though there are a billion things worse than death, you know that there are even more reasons to keep living.
A/N: As said above, way different than what I usually write. Let me know what you think!
Much love, Sadie