Well, for starters, this was my first shot at a Harry Potter fic. Yes, I've tried a few crossovers (everything and anything crosses over with Harry Potter), but you won't see any of them up... and this was my first attempt at a flat-out, straight-up Harry Potter fic.
Though I would like to be known as the next J.K. Rowling, I am, sadly, not her, and therefore do not own Harry Potter.
Hmm... oh, yes, I should mention that I support Harry-Hermoine. The pairing's implied/one-sided.
Yeah. So this was just some sort little emo thing I dreamed up. Yeah.
I'm rambling. Time to shut up now. Hope you enjoy "The Fourth Unforgivable Curse"! I'd like some reviews so I can know how I did...
Everyone knows about the three unforgivable curses. The killing curse, the mind-control curse, and the torture curse. All three of these curses are unforgivable because they alter a person's life completely and forever – especially the killing curse. But no one ever bothers to recognize the fourth unforgivable curse. And no one knows about this curse better than me.
The fourth – and worst – unforgivable curse is love.
When you love someone, you change their lives forever. You alter their world. And then you leave, and they're left alone in despair, trying desperately to find someone else to love. They need someone else to fill that hole in their lives. But no one's ever good enough. Even if you find someone else to love, you're never quite satisfied, and you can never completely forget the ones that came before.
Almost everyone I've ever loved has died. And a lot of them have died because of me.
My parents died when I was barely a year old; I hardly remember them. The only memory I have of my parents is my father screaming, "Lily, take Harry and run!" I can remember my mother's arms around me. Then she screams and there's a flash of green light.
I can't remember if I loved them, since that's all that I remember of them. But every time I think about them, I feel a pang in my stomach. It's like there's something missing.
And whenever I meet someone new, our conversations go something like this:
"Harry Potter! The Boy who Lived – the boy who put an end to the Dark Age! I feel so honored to meet you! Let me – let me shake your hand! Oh, and may I see your scar? Your scar, your lightning bolt-shaped scar, left as a reminder that you survived the killing curse and defied You-Know-Who as just a boy? Ooh! May I touch it? And can I take a picture with you? And say, you look just like your father, James, except for your eyes – they're Lily's eyes. But they'd be so proud of you, my boy! So proud! It's a shame they aren't here to see you now! I knew them quite well, you know. They were so talented; destined to be great, really great! It's a shame, really. Let's have a cup of tea or something together, old boy. And I can tell you some fascinating stories about those two, like the time when…"
They always speak so fast, I can barely get a word in edgewise. And they talk on and on about my parents, telling me the same stories I've heard at least a dozen other times from all the other random strangers.
And each time, I'm reminded that I'm Harry Potter, the orphan boy who lives with his Uncle Vernon, his Aunt Petunia, and his horrid pig-like cousin Dudley. The boy who grew up never knowing who he was, never knowing he was special or different, never knowing he was magic. I'm reminded of when I first learned about my world – how overwhelmed I felt, how stupid I felt when I didn't know about the simple things they take for granted here. I still feel stupid, actually. There are still so many things about magic I still don't know.
I know I would have gotten to love them, really love them, if I got the chance. All I ever wanted was to have parents and be in a loving family.
That's right – the mirror showed my parents, the mirror that shows your heart's deepest desire. The Mirror of Erised.
I miss them. I always have. There's a whole part of me missing. And that wound gets torn open again and again every time a stranger stops to chat with me about Lily and James Potter.
My mother was what saved me – her love for me, anyway. Love is stronger than magic. Her love protected me.
Her love cursed me.
Her love allowed me to survive in this world alone. I'm cursed to forever be the Boy who Lived, and to live alone.
Love follows you like a curse. When it's gone, you're forever changed for the worst.
My godfather, Sirius Black, was the closest thing I ever had to a real father. He wasn't in my life until my third year at Hogwarts, when he escaped from Azkaban. I felt more whole with him around – he was able to remind me of my parents without making me sad or miss them. It always felt like they weren't dead at all, but that they were still around. And when I was suffering the summers away with the Dursleys, he'd send me letters and sometimes gifts – even though he was in hiding and communicating with me might get him caught. He reminded me that I wasn't the scum of the Earth, like my aunt, uncle, and cousin wanted me to believe. I had worth. I was loved.
Then, he was killed at the Department of Mysteries all because I was stupid and pig-headed.
And because I loved him. That was why I went – I thought he was in danger.
Even when I barely knew him, I felt the need to protect him. I loved him even then. I nearly got us both killed trying to protect us from the swarm of Dementors.
He went out of my life permanently as quickly and suddenly as he'd come into it. And another person I loved was gone.
Cedric died because of me, too – not that I loved him. We were friends in a friendly-rival sort of way. But he haunted my dreams like the others haunt my waking hours. And he was the only one to ever haunt my dreams.
Albus Dumbledore was the second-closest thing I had to a father. He was my father-figure before I met Sirius, and afterward – even after he'd passed on – he never returned to that status. He became more like a highly trusted guardian/mentor.
He taught me a lot of things I needed to know, and he looked out for me. He was always close – except that fifth year, when he was distant because he thought Voldemort might possess me.
My sixth year at Hogwarts, he was killed defending me. He was killed by Severus Snape. I cried at his funeral, which was held on the grounds of the place that had become my home. That place now meant nothing to me – the man who had been for me the spirit of that place, was gone.
In what would have been my seventh year at Hogwarts, everything went wrong. So many people died, in a pointless war over me. Hedwig, my constant companion, died – she wasn't human, but I loved her all the same. Dobby died – I barely knew him, but I did like him, at least. And he died in this pointless war over me. Lupin died – and like Sirius, he reminded me of my parents without making me sad. He was my friend, and another of my father figures.
George Weasley died, too – or was it Fred? I can't remember which… and it doesn't matter; the living twin answers to either name. But he was so young, with a full life ahead of him.
The Weasley twins were very well-known at Hogwarts for their pranks. And, like me, they weren't known by name. I'm the Boy who Lived, and they were the Weasley twins.
This is Bill, and that's Charlie. This one is Percy, that one's Ron, the little girl is Ginny, and those two are Fred and George, the Weasley twins.
That's Harry Potter, the Boy who Lived.
They never really had identities of their own. They weren't two different people; they were two parts of a pair, two halves of a whole. Not even their own mother or any of their siblings could tell them apart.
This is Fred, and that's George.
Mum! I'm Fred and he's George!
And now one is dead – there's only one of the pair, half of the whole. The other twin has to be alone when before he always had company.
Love had cursed the Weasley twins, too.
And then, finally, the true love of my life left me for him. That's not to say that I'm not happy with Ginny – I wouldn't have married her if I wasn't. I am Harry Potter, after all; I could marry anyone I please. Part of it might be because I feel I owe her family after everything we've been through; part of it was to have an excuse to be close to her. But I do love Ginny, though not nearly as much as I loved Hermoine.
I love Ginny, but not as much as I love Hermoine.
She was always the smart one in our band of three. She was a Muggle, but she was magical. She lived in the Muggle world – knew the Muggle world best, like I did. And most importantly, she hung around me for who I was personality-wise – not because I was Harry Potter, the Boy who Lived. She'd never even heard my name until the day she met me.
I don't think she ever knew how I felt about her – almost eleven years of living in a closet under the stairs and being mistreated and abused by your adopted family teaches you to hide your emotions. But when she started going out with Ron, I was devastated. But I wouldn't tell her. I loved her too much, to ruin her happiness. She's happy with Ron.
The unforgivable curses change a person's life so drastically – that's why they're unforgivable. Everyone knows about the three unforgivable curses, but no one remembers the fourth. Love is the fourth unforgivable curse. They say better to have loves and lost than to never have loved at all, but that isn't the truth. The opposite is true.
Because when you love and then lose it, your life is changed for the worst. There is nothing that can fill that hole of emptiness that is left behind. And the more you love, and the more you lose, the bigger that hole gets.
To love someone is the fourth unforgivable curse, because when you love someone and then leave them, you kill a part of them. You leave them in grief, and in a despair that can never be lifted.
You ruin their life by leaving them with a hole that can never be filled, and a hunger that can never be satisfied.
And that is truly the most unforgivable thing.
- Kuramastrass -