'But there IT was like decadent sunshine and IT was good but IT was also a lie.'
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Like all things in my life I thought... I don't know, maybe, everything could be explained. That everything happened for a reason. Maybe it was a shity reason but at least it was there.
Chaos seemed horrible. It was the worse thing, to never know whether the person you trust today will suddenly fail you tomorrow. Or that the place that you feel the safest turns out to be a den of vipers and the place you hate the most is the only place where no one can touch you. Chaos was not welcome to me. I wanted reason. Only it was not chaos that I lay with in bed that clawed at me for release.
That was reason. With its bright shiny finish and its logical connections that when, you see them, seem so clear until evidence comes to refute your efforts.
Reason is the thing. Chaos is unquantifiable, but it is also forgivable. No one watches a man walk onto a sidewalk and get flatten by a piano, only to think, 'Well the dumb bastard should have seen it coming.' Reason is what destroys that blameless safety. Chaos makes it ok to be human, to mess up and take the fall. Without some asshole coming along and pointing out, from hindsight, how you should have FUCKING seen it coming.
Like watching monkeys come and fling shit at a carcass. You know that's not going to make the dead lion move but it does make the monkeys happy. Doesn't it? Who's to blame for this chaos; who zipped when they should have zinged? Who do we pin the weight of responsibility for this situation?
Could it have been avoided?
What wonderful questions to ask the dead. When I think of my parents' final moments, when I hear their cries, I can no more ask those questions then tear out what's left of my heart.
So I think of chaos, instead of blame. And I wonder how far my head is under the sand. And how long I can avoid my feelings.
How sad would it make them? If they knew I blamed myself.
Reason hurts me. Much like irony. Voldemort the most powerful wizard in centuries, the Dark Lord whom terrorized the whole wizard society, only to be destroyed by a baby. By me, Harry Potter. How can someone so powerful who is able to destroy even Voldemort not able save his own parents?
Only I know it wasn't my own power that destroyed him. It wasn't MY ability to be saved or not to save. It was Voldemort's own failings. His flaws and of course, chaos, because there is no reason for this situation, no solution to this puzzle. All common sense screams that the weakest person is the most vulnerable. Two powerful wizards, who knew how to take care of themselves, should not have died to leave a small child to destroy a great evil.
Am I being too morose about all of this, thinking too much of life and death? I'm watching my friends and all I can think of is locking them away and keeping them safe.
But instead I hold them dear to my battered heart. Letting them run free, letting them risk their lives. For me? It's always me.
The Dark Lord is coming for me. That I'm sure of. So far I have lived, so far others have died instead. But still reason comes to me at night and creeps into my bed, to question me with questions I can never ask the dead.
I believe in chaos because it is all I can do. All I can do to stay sane, to move on with life, to hold those dear to me close but not too close. It's all I can do to be myself and not a shell. Sometimes I even feel like I am winning.
For in the night I'm asking the questions. And in the day I'm trying to feel the decadent sunshine through the clouds of my soul.
Hoping the storm will pass soon.
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Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. (it's true)