Disclaimer: If I wrote Harry Potter, you wouldn't like it as much, I assure you.

What I didn't die for
Xielle

" "I'm alive? I'm alive, aren't I? I'm alive." And he laughed.
He laughed, and then, broke down and cried."

"There is an optical illusion about every person we meet."
– Ralph Waldo Emerson

- - -

I don't remember when it started, or how it ended.

I don't know where it all began and where it ends – if it even has an end.

It's all so confusing, and everything's so blurred and uncertain.

It's like the world keeps on spinning so fast – and I have nothing to hold on to; I'm spinning, I'm falling, and I'm floating, all at the same time.

I feel so dead. I've never felt so dead – yet I'm alive. I'm alive.

And they're all so happy – my friends, Wizarding Britain in general, - and thankful, and triumphant, and proud. They're so proud of themselves, of each other, and proud of me.

They're so proud of me – proud of what I didn't die for.

So I play my part well; I smile, I blush, and I nod under their praises and well wishes.

I act bashful, glad – I have won, after all – and so very proud – I'm alive, and proud of what I didn't die for – of myself, and of everyone around me.

I had mourned our dead and helped heal our sick – faces, people – all of whom with no importance to me.

I had played my part well.

But I didn't care. I stopped caring – but I was supposed to, wasn't I? So I worried.

I told him this. But he smiled sadly and told me, "It's all right. You're alive."

I was confused. But he smiled, kissed me, said, "You'll understand," and then did more than kiss me.

And after, I still didn't – understand, that is – but it was from him, so I smiled, agreed and kissed him.

But he frowned. And he just looked so sad as he said, "You're alive, Harry. It's going to be all right, so stop dreaming – this isn't what you didn't die for. You're alive."

And his eyes just looked so sad and lonely, and suddenly, red.

His eyes were such a unique color of red – and then, I remembered.

"You're not alive," I said simply.

"No, Harry."

"But I'm alive? I'm alive, aren't I? I'm alive."

Tom looked sad and lonely – and eyes red, still – but he smiled, and nodded.

I live, and he doesn't because he died.

He died so I could have what I have now – that which I didn't die for. Because he was the one who died for it.

And I laughed. I laughed, and then, broke down and cried.

- - -

2.22.2008 – 2.22.2008

11:05 a.m. – 12:05 p.m.

Because our English time is beyond stupid.

Sorry if there's any mistakes. It hasn't been gone over by my beta. But I posted it anyway, for sentimentality's sake.