Hopeless

Viopathartic

This is…an experiment. I'm trying something different, but I'm not sure if it's different. I don't know; you tell me!

This was inspired by Hopeless, a fanart by tui nui.

The link is here: gallery./galleryView.php?viewEntry1494&id1494&randomkIoE856m81J2Mg0FcwwM7Kp3toE3emP62jN7XSaX5x2Jw6oF7xL6wv472rxV8htf

I've never interfered with anyone's affairs. I'm the type to sit back and clamp my mouth shut. I partly do this because sometimes I don't really care. I don't like to direct attention to myself. Other times it is because I don't think I should be the one to stop someone from getting hurt or to stop fate from happening.

But now, more than anything, I wish I had the will to say stop.

I'm standing in the corner, holding a butterbeer. I'm smiling a smile that is not mine, I'm laughing a laugh that is not mine, and I'm watching something that I try to never watch.

He just proposed. My best friend just proposed to my best friend.

No, he didn't propose to himself, if anyone is thinking that.

The room is loud, filled with laughter and excited squeals that were mainly from the girls. I hear claps of congratulation and words of rapture and surprise. I think I even hear myself join them.

They don't know that I'm trying not to give in to my screams, that I'm trying my best to be a good friend. They don't see the way I'm grasping the bottle of my beverage as if I'm trying to squeeze the life out of it. They don't notice that my laugh is not my laugh, that my eyes were not sparkling with happiness as everyone else is.

Funny. These people have known me since I was twelve, but they could not even detect a lie from me. That's alright, I suppose.

It keeps my secret hidden. I will never be exposed as long as I act the way I am acting right now.

I think everything in my life is going okay. Just okay. Not spectacular. Not magnificent. Okay.

I know that people think my life is spectacular! Magnificent! Perrrr-fect!

They think, so naively, "Oh, he defeated You-Know-Who so he must be SO happy!"

I want to tell them that they're wrong, but I know that the media will just continue to ask me, "Why, Mr. Potter, are you not happy?" I know that my friends will ask the same.

I'm not ready for that. I will never reveal my secrets to the world, to anyone. I've heard people say that it's unhealthy to keep things inside. They say it'll eventually lead to suicide or to a certain breaking point where you do something that you will always regret.

I've learned the art of keeping my feelings a secret. I'm sure I can do it for as long as possible.

I promised myself that I would do it ever since I first saw her lying in the Hospital Wing with him hold her hand.

Yeah, I can do it because I do it every single day of my life. I do it every time I'm here at the Burrow. I do it every time when I see HER face and remember our times when we were young.

But promises are sometimes broken, purposely or subconsciously.

 I'm battling with my own as I watch him as he kneels down and puts an ear against her belly. He smiles a smile of pure content and joy. I can't help but feel a sudden pain in my heart, as if it was suddenly shot, as if it was no longer there.

I want to scream and cry when I see his soon-to-be wife smile and ruffle his hair with the hand that now wears a ring.

I think my ears are going bad on me because I no longer can hear noises. As I look around the room, I then realize that everyone around me is watching what I'm watching, eyes wide and expressions shocked.

Suddenly, a loud and sharp wave of clamor sweeps through the room. The noise increases by a tenfold, and I just want to put my hands over my ears.

They're saying, "I can't believe it! Congratulations--"

I don't want to hear it, I don't want to hear it, I don't want to hear...anything.

I see his mum, my second mum, smile and clap her hands together. She's happy, of course. Her husband stands behind her and puts his hands on her shoulders. He watches his son with a proud gleam in his eyes.

I can tell from the eyes that Mr. Weasley wants to scream, "My boy is going to be a father!" or "I'm going to have a grandson!"

I suddenly feel horrible because I don't feel the same way.

You know what stinks?

One minute ago, I found out that I'm going to be the best man at their wedding. Now, I'm going to be the godfather of their child.

The child that I wish to be mine. The child that I want to belong to me and Hermione, not to Ron and Hermione.

I'm an outsider as I stand in the room filled with all of those who love me. I take a glass that someone—at least someone with red hair—hands to me and I raise it up to the couple who stood at the center of the room. I say something, we all do, and everyone drinks a small sip from their glasses.

I don't know what it is, but I down it in one gulp. The taste is somehow missing. The whole room claps again and I do the same. I think I'm clapping louder than anyone else.  I'm surrounded by people who are happy for the couple. They're all my friends and they are all family.

The couple smiles at each other.

I can't help but feel so alone.