My Love,
My Oxygen
Written By Pi-Rho
Dedicated to my oxygen.
He was a brave one, my love. He did it all. You condemned him. You sent him straight to hell. And we thought we had lost him, for awhile there. But then you called him back. And he came. He fought hard. And he gave up love, and life, and laughter, just for you. He endured such pain, such torture, only to be ridiculed and excluded.
You can't even begin to fathom the amount of strength he needed. Because of you. Not only did he have to defeat the most terrifying dark figure ever, but he also had to overcome the terror that was you. You, the people, killed him. Voldemort started it, true, but where were you?
Where were you when his friends fell? Where were you when your leader needed you? Where were you hiding, when he– already weak and broken from countless battles– gathered up the courage to confront the Dark Lord and his followers? Where? I don't care. Because the point is not that you couldn't be there, or tried to be there. The point, good people, is that you were hiding. Hiding from Death, hiding from fate, hiding from the hate. Hiding. While he stood up, and fought alone.
He was always the recluse, set apart because of his fame. He had few close friends– and would have done anything in his power and more to protect them. Hell, he was such a genuine
person that he wouldn't let his old enemies die. And what does he have to show for it? He knew he would get nothing in return, and not once after this hell began did he complain. He was the epitome of good, of light. And he was held up not by a family, not by a unified world, but by his own determination. His own will to survive. To win.
And even today, after all is said and done, and you people rejoice, 'it is over.' Meanwhile, had he been alive at the commemoration ceremony, he would have had a right fit. He would have yelled and ranted about how he couldn't save everyone. How he was a failure, and would be unless everyone had survived. 'Stupid', you sneer? Well that's how he was. And even if he did stay quiet about his "failure", he would have most certainly gone off about how he didn't deserve to be honoured more than any other of the dead. If voldemort didn''t kill him, the thought of him being the glorified saviour may well have.
You repaid him with what? A statue? A plaque? A place in history as the revered Harry Potter? A place that will soon come to be a legend of old and just another essay on a History of Magic O.W.L? A great honour those things may be. But was that what the war was about? Honour?
Funny, honour meant nothing to me. Or Harry. We seemed to believe the thing was about love. It was about finding love, and it was about one man's life without love. And his vengeance on the world that never showed him love. And love was all Harry ever wanted, and ever needed. And it was the one thing he never got.
When he fell, I fell with him. That fatal blow he hit Voldemort with, the one that brought Harry down, too? I went down that night, too. As Harry hit the grass, I left myself.
And today, I take my life out of love. Yes, I loved Harry, and with out him, there is no point in continuing life on earth.
All I ask is that you remember him not as "Potter, Our Saviour." Remember him as he would want to be remembered. "Harry James Potter, Son of Lily and James Potter, True Gryffindor, and Friend to the end...a person that overcame obstacles with determination and wit...someone to put the world before himself."
I leave you today, to both make you feel guilty, and to set you free. I want– Harry wants– for you all to live life to the fullest, like every breath is your last, but to never forget. Never forget the ones that died for you, never forget the evil that can spring from one loveless seed. And remember that you stole those lives. You stole our love. And you stole Harry. You stole Harry...Harry, my love, my oxygen.
A/N's:
Well. Long awaited one shot. And you have no idea... the amount of one shots I totally killed before this disgustingly short one came. I mean, I work for weeks on a one chapter story, and it died on me. I gave up. But its amazing what being so-bored-of-math-class can do for your imagination. The mind tends to wander most when there's something important to do. There you go. A lovely quote by me. Okay, okay, I know it was ridiculously short, but someone once told me that it's the meaning not the length that counts. And I sincerely hope that you got some meaning out of it. (I was worried, when I thought of the title, that it would be a mushy
theta-esque piece of work. But luckily for the human race, I have spared you from reading another romance/romance fic.)
Right.
So. . .
See you in my soon-to-be-novel-length fan fiction "Stupid Kids".
Padfoot. Or Pi-Rho. Or Graecisswhore.