Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine.
Dear Harry,
How do you write a letter? How, when you know more than most anyone alive, do you find the words? How, when you have lived so long, speak of death of those who died too young? How do you comfort a child who does not yet understand the words? How do you find the strength to pick up a quill?
Who has the right to claim it is for a greater good? Who can tell a child there was goodness in his parents' deaths? Who can tell a boy who will grow up in the dark of a closet that he brought light to the world? Who can tell a baby that has such tragedy in his past will face darkness beyond imagine in the future? Who can tell a boy that he must face death countless times again, not knowing whether he will live?
What words do you use when you write to an infant? What do you say to a boy whose parents died before his first memory? What do you say to a boy who will live eleven years without love? What do you say?
Why does this duty fall to him? Why does a teacher have to see the death of two students? Why does a man have to see those he loves as children and grandchildren fall? Why does a man have to face so much evil? Why do people seek evil and darkness? Why do people deny the humanity of those around them?
When will there be peace? When will the letters to parents and children carried by impersonal owls stop their flights? When will a child be able to grow up with no fear of death, destruction, and darkness?
Where will it end? As he begins the letter, he knows he will not see the end. Despite all his questions, he knows it will end. On a day in the future, this little boy will end it. This boy in a basket with a blanket and scar will answer all questions. As the man with the long beard tucked the letter next to the infant, he knew there would be time for answering questions, teaching, healing, and new questions. There would be a time when his knowledge would be insufficient. There will be a time when this boy will face fate with much less innocence. There will be a time with doubt and questions. There will be a time for mistrust and fear. There will be a time for action and haste. There will be a time for recovery, restoration, redemption. There will be a time. This is not that time. For now, he looked at the babe, now was a time for simple words.
"Good luck, Harry Potter."
He walked down the street.
Where will it end?