Title: Some Days Are Just Too Much
Author: Diamondflame
Disclaimer: if only I had the talent of JKR..*sighs wistfully*
A/N: my second HP fic (although the first was really just my own ranting about Sirius' death.*tear*) I'm more of an original fiction writer.but anyway.
This is a little.weird, but it was just one of those plot bunnies that wouldn't go away, you know? I kind of lost track of the storyline as it went along.but I figured I'd post it anyway. Basically, it's the end of his sixth year. To clear up some confusion, Harry has admitted himself to St. Mungo's, after some deaths that he couldn't handle, that made him want to give up. I'm sorry if it doesn't make much sense.
Please read and review! =)
Some Days Are Just Too Much
The walls are so white here.so pristine, so innocent.
So deceitful, because nothing in this world is truly that pure. Even a wall has hidden, devious depths.
And particularly this wall. This wall, so white, so clean, was in truth covered in invisible layers of dust.the dust of the people whose bodies, whose minds, whose lives it had imprisoned.the dust of a tortured people.
People who WERE innocent.
He would take on this wall himself then - he would make it see its wrong! How dare it poison people with such vulgarity! People who had done nothing wrong.who it should have only saved, not destroyed.He ran forward, swinging his arm back, and slamming it onto the filth.and collided only with hard, painted-over brick.
The pain wasn't that bad - he barely even felt it, but he collapsed onto the floor anyway. Hot tears ran down his face; he was struggling to breath, struggling to get away, to break free of the bonds that strangled him, holding him down.
Memories clouded his brain.a flash of green light, blinding him.a battered giant wavering as he fought his last battle.a head of red-hair disappearing from his sight, forever.a man falling.galling through a black veil.a veil that spoke! Its voices echoing in his mind.his mother, his father, his godfather, his friends.he couldn't bear it any longer, he had to somehow escape, but the walls were closing in on him, imprisoning him within his own mind.
"Let me go!" he screamed, writing in pain, clutching his head. His words fell on empty space.but he knew that with them he had left his own stain on the oh-so-white walls.
~ * ~
"Potter, Harry." Seconds or centuries could have passed before he heard the voice; he didn't know; he didn't care.
He just wanted it all to end.
.forever.
"Harry, come out." He followed the voice - to the door - he had not before noticed the door.a man waited there, arms outstretched to him. Behind him was a normal room, but Harry only saw it as a blur.
He dared not look the man in the face.
"Mr. Potter, you came here, to St. Mungo's, wishing for permanent solitude, for reasons - and I quote - 'to dwell forever in regretful, painful memory, which is no less than I deserve.' Well, we have presented your request to the Ministry.we cannot allow you to. Mr. Potter, you still have a mission, one which you alone can accomplish, one upon which rests the fate of the world.
"Mr. Potter," the man hesitated, "you can't abandon that mission; you can't abandon us. You just can't. You don't know what time were like when He was in power.you don't know the pain he caused.death was the kindest of his punishments. You don't know how it.how it feels to walk home and find every- everyone you love.dead." His voice was thick with unshed tears. Harry looked up at him in a cold stare, meeting the man's eyes without blinking, with only hatred.
"Don't I?" The silence was resounding, and Harry's gaze never faltered.
"No.I mean, I'm sorry, sir.I didn't mean to-" he broke off, taking a few steps back involuntarily. "Listen.Dumbledore sent this to you. He sent a note along with it.I'll leave you alone for a bit so you can read it." He placed a bowl before Harry's feet, an envelope beside it. Looking at the heavy parchment etched with green ink, Harry felt himself slip back six years in time.to when he had first heard of Hogwarts.before.before all this.
*The day he had met Hagrid he had always remembered as the best in his life.he could not remember ever feeling so happy, so hopeful.*
Who was he kidding? He didn't even remember the feeling of happiness, of hope.
*He used to be able to depend on that memory when fighting the dementors.now it just depressed him even further.*
When he looked up again, the man was gone.
He knelt before the objects, opening the letter first.
My Dearest Harry,
I will not again make the mistake of saying I understand how you are feeling. No one can, and no one ever will. I have never borne such a burden as you now bear, though I wish with all my heart that I could carry it for you.
Don't you understand, Harry? You were chosen for this for a reason. You alone have the power inside you, the true courage, the true morality, the substance of which even the brightest minds in the Department of Mysteries cannot understand. And this is why you cannot give up on us. It is unfair, yes, but the world is depending on you. And though it is your task, you will not, nor will you ever be alone in your struggle.
Harry.listen to me, and pray believe me when I tell you: their deaths were not your fault. The only person to blame is Voldemort; the cause is his doing alone. You did everything you could to save them, but some things are predestined; some things you can do nothing about. They died protecting the future of the world; they will be forever remembered as heroes of our time. Let that be your condolence, if nothing else.
I give you this Pensieve now; use it wisely. As an old man, I understand that you may sometimes feel.overwhelmed by your memories, shall we say. They can sometimes be too much to bear; this may help. However, keep in mind.your soul is, in essence, the combination of your memories; even painful ones should not be tossed away lightly.
Harry, understand that no matter what trauma you face in your life, I will always be there for you, as your Professor, and as your friend.
Professor Dumbledore
Harry stared at the bowl of motionless liquid. So this was what it was to come down to.there was no way of escaping his pain and remaining himself.to be free, he would have to make sacrifices.
But then.who didn't?
In that case.first to go would be all memories of his parents.of Sirius.of Hagrid.of Ron.he choked at the latter, the pain renewing its siege over him in crushing waves. Ron.
But this was his chance, his chance to rid himself of such anguish! He had only to - what was it he had so often seen Dumbledore doing - tap his wand to his head, recall the memory.and poof. Just like magic. No more Ron.no more sadness.
Why not start at the beginning? The freckle-faced, red-haired boy at the train station, the boy with the spot on his nose that refused to go away.the Ron he had first met.the Ron he had grown to -
No! he commanded himself silently. No more of that.
He pressed the tip of his wand to his forehead.
*So that's it?* A voice spoke, familiar and distant at the same time, as if in a dream. *You would forget me that easily? Abandon my memory, in order to lighten your own pain? * He scoffed. *Some friend.*
Harry jumped, startled. Ron.? Could he have come back as a ghost? Where was he?? But the room remained silent.though the phantom's voice echoed in his head.
Forget.
Erase.
Abandon.
He let himself imagine, for a moment, that he had never met Ron in the first place; that he had already accomplished what, with the help of the Pensieve, what he was about to do now. And the life he imagined was.bleak.gray.empty. There were no laughs, no poking fun at Quirrel's stuttering, no companions in Quidditch, no bizarre Divination predictions.
Maybe it really was better to have loved and lost, then never to have loved at all.
As corny as it sounded.
And Harry began to realize.without Ron.there would be no Harry.
He began to realize.that the grief brought to him by those memories.by the death of his parents, of Sirius, of Hagrid, of Ron, by the burden of being the only person with the ability to defeat Voldemort.the grief that was slowly driving him insane.such reminiscences made Harry.Harry. All throughout their lives, those people had passed on lessons of life, of love, without which Harry would not be who he was today.
From his parents: courage, inspiration, role models, life.vengeance.
From Sirius: love of adventure, bravery, faithfulness, perseverance.a father.
From Hagrid: loyalty, wisdom, acceptance, integrity, bravery.a friend.
From Ron: .there were truly no words powerful enough...a companion.
From all of them.love. The love that lived on in him, that they had poured into him, that in dying for him, they had ensured as a part of him. The love that made him Voldemort's true opponent.the only one who could defeat him.
He was dragged out of his memories eventually, and left staring at the Pensieve. But he knew now.he couldn't give up his past, despite the angst it left him in now. They were a part of him, whether he liked it or not.
And in the end, they would make him stronger.
And as for Voldemort.well, he couldn't have let his family - for Sirius, Hagrid, and Ron were as much family as were his parents - die in vain. They had died for the protection of the world; a world which he must now stand up and defend, even in the face of death.
With a look of grim determination on his face, Harry stood. He had, as the man had said, a mission, a mission which he could not leave unfulfilled. And he was at last prepared.
And he would carry on tirelessly, with no concern for himself, until he succeeded.
And he knew he would succeed.
All the while with their faces in his head.motivating him.
For once it was over.he could rejoin them.rejoin them at long last.it was as Luna had said.the ones you love, never truly leave you.he would see them again someday.
And when the man returned, Harry had an answer for him.an answer that upon hearing caused the man to break into a wide smile.
"I'm ready."
Author: Diamondflame
Disclaimer: if only I had the talent of JKR..*sighs wistfully*
A/N: my second HP fic (although the first was really just my own ranting about Sirius' death.*tear*) I'm more of an original fiction writer.but anyway.
This is a little.weird, but it was just one of those plot bunnies that wouldn't go away, you know? I kind of lost track of the storyline as it went along.but I figured I'd post it anyway. Basically, it's the end of his sixth year. To clear up some confusion, Harry has admitted himself to St. Mungo's, after some deaths that he couldn't handle, that made him want to give up. I'm sorry if it doesn't make much sense.
Please read and review! =)
Some Days Are Just Too Much
The walls are so white here.so pristine, so innocent.
So deceitful, because nothing in this world is truly that pure. Even a wall has hidden, devious depths.
And particularly this wall. This wall, so white, so clean, was in truth covered in invisible layers of dust.the dust of the people whose bodies, whose minds, whose lives it had imprisoned.the dust of a tortured people.
People who WERE innocent.
He would take on this wall himself then - he would make it see its wrong! How dare it poison people with such vulgarity! People who had done nothing wrong.who it should have only saved, not destroyed.He ran forward, swinging his arm back, and slamming it onto the filth.and collided only with hard, painted-over brick.
The pain wasn't that bad - he barely even felt it, but he collapsed onto the floor anyway. Hot tears ran down his face; he was struggling to breath, struggling to get away, to break free of the bonds that strangled him, holding him down.
Memories clouded his brain.a flash of green light, blinding him.a battered giant wavering as he fought his last battle.a head of red-hair disappearing from his sight, forever.a man falling.galling through a black veil.a veil that spoke! Its voices echoing in his mind.his mother, his father, his godfather, his friends.he couldn't bear it any longer, he had to somehow escape, but the walls were closing in on him, imprisoning him within his own mind.
"Let me go!" he screamed, writing in pain, clutching his head. His words fell on empty space.but he knew that with them he had left his own stain on the oh-so-white walls.
~ * ~
"Potter, Harry." Seconds or centuries could have passed before he heard the voice; he didn't know; he didn't care.
He just wanted it all to end.
.forever.
"Harry, come out." He followed the voice - to the door - he had not before noticed the door.a man waited there, arms outstretched to him. Behind him was a normal room, but Harry only saw it as a blur.
He dared not look the man in the face.
"Mr. Potter, you came here, to St. Mungo's, wishing for permanent solitude, for reasons - and I quote - 'to dwell forever in regretful, painful memory, which is no less than I deserve.' Well, we have presented your request to the Ministry.we cannot allow you to. Mr. Potter, you still have a mission, one which you alone can accomplish, one upon which rests the fate of the world.
"Mr. Potter," the man hesitated, "you can't abandon that mission; you can't abandon us. You just can't. You don't know what time were like when He was in power.you don't know the pain he caused.death was the kindest of his punishments. You don't know how it.how it feels to walk home and find every- everyone you love.dead." His voice was thick with unshed tears. Harry looked up at him in a cold stare, meeting the man's eyes without blinking, with only hatred.
"Don't I?" The silence was resounding, and Harry's gaze never faltered.
"No.I mean, I'm sorry, sir.I didn't mean to-" he broke off, taking a few steps back involuntarily. "Listen.Dumbledore sent this to you. He sent a note along with it.I'll leave you alone for a bit so you can read it." He placed a bowl before Harry's feet, an envelope beside it. Looking at the heavy parchment etched with green ink, Harry felt himself slip back six years in time.to when he had first heard of Hogwarts.before.before all this.
*The day he had met Hagrid he had always remembered as the best in his life.he could not remember ever feeling so happy, so hopeful.*
Who was he kidding? He didn't even remember the feeling of happiness, of hope.
*He used to be able to depend on that memory when fighting the dementors.now it just depressed him even further.*
When he looked up again, the man was gone.
He knelt before the objects, opening the letter first.
My Dearest Harry,
I will not again make the mistake of saying I understand how you are feeling. No one can, and no one ever will. I have never borne such a burden as you now bear, though I wish with all my heart that I could carry it for you.
Don't you understand, Harry? You were chosen for this for a reason. You alone have the power inside you, the true courage, the true morality, the substance of which even the brightest minds in the Department of Mysteries cannot understand. And this is why you cannot give up on us. It is unfair, yes, but the world is depending on you. And though it is your task, you will not, nor will you ever be alone in your struggle.
Harry.listen to me, and pray believe me when I tell you: their deaths were not your fault. The only person to blame is Voldemort; the cause is his doing alone. You did everything you could to save them, but some things are predestined; some things you can do nothing about. They died protecting the future of the world; they will be forever remembered as heroes of our time. Let that be your condolence, if nothing else.
I give you this Pensieve now; use it wisely. As an old man, I understand that you may sometimes feel.overwhelmed by your memories, shall we say. They can sometimes be too much to bear; this may help. However, keep in mind.your soul is, in essence, the combination of your memories; even painful ones should not be tossed away lightly.
Harry, understand that no matter what trauma you face in your life, I will always be there for you, as your Professor, and as your friend.
Professor Dumbledore
Harry stared at the bowl of motionless liquid. So this was what it was to come down to.there was no way of escaping his pain and remaining himself.to be free, he would have to make sacrifices.
But then.who didn't?
In that case.first to go would be all memories of his parents.of Sirius.of Hagrid.of Ron.he choked at the latter, the pain renewing its siege over him in crushing waves. Ron.
But this was his chance, his chance to rid himself of such anguish! He had only to - what was it he had so often seen Dumbledore doing - tap his wand to his head, recall the memory.and poof. Just like magic. No more Ron.no more sadness.
Why not start at the beginning? The freckle-faced, red-haired boy at the train station, the boy with the spot on his nose that refused to go away.the Ron he had first met.the Ron he had grown to -
No! he commanded himself silently. No more of that.
He pressed the tip of his wand to his forehead.
*So that's it?* A voice spoke, familiar and distant at the same time, as if in a dream. *You would forget me that easily? Abandon my memory, in order to lighten your own pain? * He scoffed. *Some friend.*
Harry jumped, startled. Ron.? Could he have come back as a ghost? Where was he?? But the room remained silent.though the phantom's voice echoed in his head.
Forget.
Erase.
Abandon.
He let himself imagine, for a moment, that he had never met Ron in the first place; that he had already accomplished what, with the help of the Pensieve, what he was about to do now. And the life he imagined was.bleak.gray.empty. There were no laughs, no poking fun at Quirrel's stuttering, no companions in Quidditch, no bizarre Divination predictions.
Maybe it really was better to have loved and lost, then never to have loved at all.
As corny as it sounded.
And Harry began to realize.without Ron.there would be no Harry.
He began to realize.that the grief brought to him by those memories.by the death of his parents, of Sirius, of Hagrid, of Ron, by the burden of being the only person with the ability to defeat Voldemort.the grief that was slowly driving him insane.such reminiscences made Harry.Harry. All throughout their lives, those people had passed on lessons of life, of love, without which Harry would not be who he was today.
From his parents: courage, inspiration, role models, life.vengeance.
From Sirius: love of adventure, bravery, faithfulness, perseverance.a father.
From Hagrid: loyalty, wisdom, acceptance, integrity, bravery.a friend.
From Ron: .there were truly no words powerful enough...a companion.
From all of them.love. The love that lived on in him, that they had poured into him, that in dying for him, they had ensured as a part of him. The love that made him Voldemort's true opponent.the only one who could defeat him.
He was dragged out of his memories eventually, and left staring at the Pensieve. But he knew now.he couldn't give up his past, despite the angst it left him in now. They were a part of him, whether he liked it or not.
And in the end, they would make him stronger.
And as for Voldemort.well, he couldn't have let his family - for Sirius, Hagrid, and Ron were as much family as were his parents - die in vain. They had died for the protection of the world; a world which he must now stand up and defend, even in the face of death.
With a look of grim determination on his face, Harry stood. He had, as the man had said, a mission, a mission which he could not leave unfulfilled. And he was at last prepared.
And he would carry on tirelessly, with no concern for himself, until he succeeded.
And he knew he would succeed.
All the while with their faces in his head.motivating him.
For once it was over.he could rejoin them.rejoin them at long last.it was as Luna had said.the ones you love, never truly leave you.he would see them again someday.
And when the man returned, Harry had an answer for him.an answer that upon hearing caused the man to break into a wide smile.
"I'm ready."