I don't own HP. Wish I did, but I don't.
XXX
The words were on my lips a million times every day, but I could never get them out.
Every day, since I was eleven years old, I'd wished to utter them.
Words, so many words, poured forth when you were near, but none were the right ones.
Always the wrong ones.
First they were laden with my own sense of superiority. I was sure that I was better than you. Sure I was better than everyone, except maybe my father.
Never once had I had my hand rejected. No one had ever defied me.
Until you.
You disagreed with me on our first meeting. You defied me on the second.
And every time I tried to regain control, to prove my superiority, I failed.
Sometimes I even helped you.
Like during our first flying lesson.
And so the years passed.
We fell into a routine.
I did or said terrible things about you or your friends.
You continued to ignore or defy me.
I became obsessed.
Until it all ended.
My father was arrested and I was given a terrible, hopeless task.
I knew there was no turning back. That my path had been laid out long before I was born.
It was hopeless.
If was then that I knew the truth. I knew I wasn't the superior one. That I would never truly come out on top.
If I completed my task I would never again continue our rivalry, not without my murder of an old man twisting it into something unrecognizable.
Or I would fail and die.
When I was granted a third option I was in shock.
But then the darkness descended and I knew now was your time. You would either die or slay the man my parents worshipped. The man I had mistakenly sworn my life to.
If you won, I would go away for a very long time, if not forever.
And then, you appeared before me, in my own home.
For once, I said the right words.
"I don't know."
It delayed the summoning of the Dark Lord.
It kept you safe.
I knew what I was doing.
You had rejected and denied me at every turn, but I didn't want you dead.
Never that.
You, bloody Harry Potter, and my mixed bag of emotions towards you was the only constant in my life.
Looking at you, face swollen and scar hidden, I saw the same boy that had disagreed with me about Hagrid. The boy who had never ridden a broom before in his life, but defied me in order to rescue a friend's stupid toy.
If you could do that at eleven, what could you do at seventeen?
So, I lied.
I lied and saved us all.
And then you returned the favor.
You swooped down and chose to save me. You risked your life for me, your childhood rival.
And then my mother returned the favor. She saved you in the same method I did.
She lied.
Do you see the pattern?
And then you stood up at my trial and spoke the truth.
I rarely saw you after that.
We both married and had children.
Our lives drew us together at times, but we were adults. We were civil to each other, never returning to the way we were before.
I missed that time.
But I never tried to renew it.
We all have to grow up.
When I learned your second son was the same age as Scorpius I worried and wondered if they would follow in our footsteps.
Sometimes I wonder if we would have ended up like them if there had been no war. If we had been raised differently. Both of our boys come from loving homes.
Astoria and I may have separated after Scorpius went to Hogwarts, but he never doubted our love for him. He never feared what I would do if he disappointed me.
I don't need to explain how young Albus grew up differently than you.
We see each other a lot more often these days. What with our sons' marriage and your daughter carrying their children for them.
Hard to believe that we're grandparents.
We're always so civil, so adult.
That doesn't stop me from wanting to grab you and slam you against a wall before seeing exactly what you taste like.
But I've resisted for all these years.
I resisted at our sons' wedding.
I resisted when I saw our first grandchild.
I resisted at every single family dinner.
The only time I didn't have to resist was at your wife's funeral.
All I wanted to do then was take you in my arms and hold you. But all I could do was offer my condolences.
Never the right time to say the right words.
Until now.
Something changed after she died.
I found you on my doorstep at three in the morning a few months after the funeral. Your eyes were bloodshot and there were dark shadows under them.
You shoved me out of your way and planted yourself in my study - drinking my good brandy and walking me through scene after scene from our years at Hogwarts.
Every time I tried to speak you told me to shut up.
I finally fell asleep at my desk, listening to you.
When I awoke you were gone. The only evidence you'd been there at all was the empty brandy bottle.
This happened so many times I lost count.
So many words I wanted to say, but you never let me.
It was if you knew our relationship was undefinable, and you refused to let me change that.
When you did stop speaking I would find those remarkable eyes of yours boring into me. Telling me things I wanted very badly to be true.
The time you came and found no brandy was the last time.
You shouted and began to throw things, but you never brought magic into it.
I shouted right back and let the words come out. About how you were letting grief destroy you. That your grandchildren missed you. How your children were worried. You called me a liar when I let you know that your best friends had come to me for help.
Finally, I said all the words I'd been holding back.
And by uttering those words, I lost you.
It's been five years.
I hear from Scorpius and Albus that you've cleaned yourself up. That you're teaching at Hogwarts and writing a textbook that isn't worthless when it comes to defensive magic.
I'm happy for you.
I'm not writing this to make you feel like you need to do something. Rather, I want you to know that while those words are still true, I can't let them affect the lives of our sons and grandchildren.
They're tired of knowing that if I come to an event, you won't.
So, please, forgot those words I spoke. Do what we did for so many years.
Put the past in the past. Focus on the future. On our grandchildren.
Please.
I'm begging you.
Forgot the words.
Author's Note: So, when life gets stressful I write. And my writing tends to get a bit different. Hope you enjoy. Will post part 2 when I finish cleaning it up. Likely when I get the next chapter of Brightest Black up.
