I had never intended it to go this far.

As I writhed in agony in the middle of the vast network of moving staircases, I could clearly see the faces of the people who had done this to me, in my mind. As my malnourished frame twisted and bones cracked, I thought of all the people I had trusted, all the promises of love and friendship that had ended up turning me into this shell of a person, this walking corpse I had been since the untimely death of Cedric Diggory. The black leather body suit I wore, torn and stained dark crimson, my limbs twisted at inhuman angles. Not my blood, the blood of another, of a person I had slaughtered. The blood of a victim of a magical war. How did it get like this? When did my life climax into a scene of violence and torture? Was this the spiral downwards? When did I cease being the victim, and become the type of person that had tormented me as a child? I felt my spine break and re-set itself, a cry of agony escaping my chapped lips. I wanted to call out to them. Any of them. I wanted them to take me in their arms, and tell me I was going to be okay. That this was going to be okay. No one was coming for me. I was alone now. Abandoned. I deserved this.

I had been left to die here by the very people who had promised to protect me, who had even loved me, or at least I had thought they did. Mad Eye was gone. Snape was gone. Bella, gone. Devices of a war we couldn't hope to win. A bittersweet war that would leave the wizarding world damaged beyond repair. I was alone now, surrounded by empty paintings, the loneliness mocking my final minutes of life. Whispering that I was always meant to die alone.

I thought of them. I thought of the blur of red hair, the Burrow, and the ugly knit sweaters that I had grown to love so much. I thought of the brave book worm, the lighting scar, the laughing, the dragons, the wedding, how beautiful Fleur must have looked. I thought of Molly's face when she found out I was sexually interested in a Slitherin, and laughed weakly, visualizing her face of disgust. I thought of Narcissa's kindness, Snape's rare moments of affection, even Lucius when he came back from Azkaban and cried in Cissa's arms. Hagrid's creatures, MacGonagall's protection, Dumbledore's face as he fell from the tower after being struck with the killing curse. Snape slowly unraveling before my eyes. Draco unraveling before my eyes. Death. Sadness. Loneliness. The loss of hope. The loss of innocence. I thought of the good times, Hogsmede, shy Neville, eclectic Luna, Seamus blowing himself up, Crabbe's sarcasm, Goyle's nerdy glasses, perverted Blaise, hating, then learning to love Pansy. The wonder on the faces of first years as they were placed in their houses, me trying to launch the sorting hat across the room when it started talking. Wet streaks washed the blood from underneath my eyes as I realized I would never see any of them again. I would never experience that kind of love, again. I would never experience the utter magic of it all, of this life I had been cast into. Not where I was going. I choked back a sob as another bone broke, my ribcage narrowing, transforming itself. Lying on my back, across the staircase, I stared up through the glass ceiling blankly, at the stars. There were so many, yet even they seemed to dim as my breathing slowed.

I thought of him. I thought of the heated arguments, the passion, the hatred, and the broken promises that our relationship had spawned. Had we even ever had a relationship? I guess I'll never know. I like to believe that he really loved me. I like to believe that I was as important to him as he was to me. That he would remember me, even when I had rotted and burned. I wanted him to mourn my ashes. Because then at least I would know, that maybe he had loved me, even a little. That I hadn't died in vain, that I had died to protect someone so precious, I would have set fire to the world if he asked me to. I want to believe that he knew he was the only thing keeping me from crumbling into nothing this whole year. That I would not have been able to make it without him. That my flame still burned only for him.

I wanted him to know how much I had loved him. How deeply I had been in love with him, in the end.

My crooked, broken body had reassembled itself so many times, something terrible was happening inside of me. Something not human. Something evil. I must have looked like a bloody freak show.

I realize now that my whole life was a freak show.

I had made so many mistakes. Hurt so many people, and for what? Because and old fool had told me it was "the right thing to do"? Because I would help put an end to the carnage and blood shed, even if that meant completely losing myself, my loved ones, and my sanity. That I would be so psychologically crippled, even if I did survive, I would probably end up killing myself the old fashion way – the muggle way – in the long run.

In that moment, I felt something new taking hold of my fragile psyche. Something I had been trying to repress for the last 3 years. Something vicious, something my father would have loved. I can feel her taking over, the last person in this world that can protect me, that can love me, even when I can't love myself. I can feel her lopsided grin, see her mismatched eyes. I can feel her pulling me on like a glove, making my disfigured body her home, telling me she loves me, that she will ALWAYS protect me, even when the people I loved would not.

And at that moment, I realize what I had wanted this whole time. I remembered being pulled out of that hole in the ground by Hagrid, a bloody, abused mess. Crying into his shoulder and whispering what should have been my purpose for coming to Hogwarts, for choosing to go with the three outlanders that had rescued me all those years to go. What I had wanted all along.

And as crimson eyes that weren't my own shot open, foreign hands clawing at the banisters of the staircase, splintering the wood, I realized why I had chosen to stop fighting the inevitable, and let this hateful void consume me.

I wanted to live.

I chose to live.