Something that would not leave me alone. The speaker could be anyone, really, since I didn't have a particular person in mind.
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter and all that jazz.
She was tired. She was sick of running and hiding. Her only consolation was that it would all be over soon. She wouldn't have to be the helper that no one could know about, smoothing the way without anyone suspecting the path had been harder, all on nothing more than the off chance that maybe it would be enough for the right people to survive until it could end properly. She'd get caught eventually. She'd die. It was an inevitability that she took as comfort; she'd be among friends and enemies, no longer alone with the only sound being a ticking clock. And she finally would have done something with herself, even if they didn't know it.
There's the saying that ''it's more difficult than it sounds.'' Well, her job sounded difficult and was still harder than that. She barely got any sleep. She was exhausted all of the time but rest was a luxury and things had to be done. She had to clear the obstacles only to the point that no one would get suspicious about it being far too simple. Because her job was more than helping others survive—she had to be invisible about it. And making sure no one got to thinking that something was off meant that she had to know how they all thought. Which meant that she was constantly second guessing herself and trying to think differently than she normally did, but it was so hard to think when your brain only had space for the image of a bed and closed eyes. She'd almost been caught twice, both times because fatigue had dulled her senses, making her miss things she would have normally noticed.
She'd gone to save Snape, the last person who knew almost everything about her, enough to care whether she lived or died. She'd gone to save him because she there was this knowing pit that had invaded her stomach and she couldn't stand the thought of being all alone. He understood.
But then he died and she had to watch without movement or noise, hidden in shadow as always, watch as Potter appeared in the nick of time. She half wished that Potter had never made it, so that she could finally reveal herself and be free. But it was better this way.
Potter never went back for him. It made her burn, seethe inside. The man who had risked everything for him when he didn't even like the boy. Potter didn't so much as go back to think about a burial. He didn't care.
She did. She cleaned the blood and closed his eyes. She was so tired but soon it would all be over; she needed to be awake for only a little while more.
They had buried Dumbledore at Hogwarts, saying that no headmaster had ever done more for the school. She disagreed. That honor belonged to Snape, who had died to save everything. Dumbledore would not have succeeded without him.
She buried him. It was sloppily done and she hated herself for that but at least he was buried. Yet, she had made a proper, if inelegant, marker and that was consolation enough for her to finally sleep.
To give everything is to be forgotten.