This story is a bit strange. But I like it anyway. I guess that's what you get when you write at 1:30 in the morning.
I sit here. Watching, waiting. She knew better then to trust that sniveling little rat. She knew better. Of course James didn't listen, or rather; he wouldn't believe what was right in front of his eyes. When it came down to it, she wanted to protect her son; she wanted him to be the Boy who Lived. I became his secret keeper, hiding his life for a precious ten years without the world knowing.
On vacations, and special holidays of his relatives, he would trudge over to my house and play with my cats. As he got older, I would tell him stories of my cats to try and entertain him. Not so much for him as it was for me. I held onto every word he said, every movement. He was just like his father, so brave. He faced the world alone, not knowing of his past, not knowing what his future held. So many times I wanted to tell him just who he was, why he had to keep on, why he had a wonderful future awaiting him. But I didn't. She wouldn't have wanted that.
Every time he looked up at me, those brilliant green eyes, a living reminder of what her last wish to me was. I couldn't have ever said no to her. We had been the best of friends, her and I, I couldn't have said no.
The year he turned eleven; the year his life would change forever, and he would leave his tormented childhood, I fed him cake instead of my usual cat stories. That's the age that I had met James, and he had never stopped eating. I decided Harry might be a little like that. I later found out the milk I used in it was sour, making it taste a bit funny. No matter, I still got to see the son of my best friend, and carry out her wish.
I didn't see him as much after that year, just the occasional drop-by during the summer. He seemed happier, and full of life. It made me think of my own Hogwarts days. How fun they had been. I never thought they would end. When they did, I kept expecting someone to shout out, 'Stop! Rewind! Back to the beginning!' But no one ever did.
The summer he turned fourteen, he turned into a rather handsome young man. Just like his father had. The Dark Mark was raised that very summer, at the Quidditch World Cup, in fact. I was there of course. There was hardly a time when Harry went out that I didn't know about. It's what she would have wanted. Once again, he took a page out of his father's book and was in the middle of all of the trouble.
At the end of the year, I received an owl from Professor Dumbledore. Several times after I had graduated he had insisted upon me calling him by his name, Albus. I couldn't bring myself to do it. It was like he was a demi-god to any student that he had ever taught. Even the Marauders respected more than anything in the world, even though they were in his office every week for another stunt they had pulled off.
The post, which turned out to be more of a novel to the horror of the poor owl, explained the full contents of what had gone on during Harry's fourth year. He had done so every year before, describing how Harry had somehow managed to get himself and several close friends of his into serious scrapes, but managed to feign heroism, and pull them through. Voldermort had risen again, supposed to be even more horrendous, and more feared than his previous reign. He told me it was my choice on whether or not to let Harry go to the Burrow as he had in the previous summers.
I knew Harry wanted to see them, and I knew she wanted him to be safe. The Dursleys, as terrible as they were, had a home where Harry could never get hurt. I was there to protect him. He could be forever young and unscarred by the hurtful world that was out there. Just as she wanted. I could keep him safe, and keep his secret for all of time. I would protect him, for her. But that day, when he was outside lying on his lawn, I saw just how sheltered he was, and how it could scar him forever if he didn't find out the whole truth soon.
Not a scar like the one crossing his forehead. A scar like the one she had left him in his heart and soul, but more painful. I had to let him spread his wings.
He was now fifteen, and the world was closing around him quickly. I realized this was his one last summer, before the stars and the universe's plan turned against him. He was the Boy who Lived, and so the wizarding world would expect him to be so, and save them all. We had all been treating him like boy, but expected him to be a man. Even the Minister of Magic hadn't told him the story of Sirius. I admit, I myself only found out the whole thing when Remus came to visit me, and recruit for the coming war.
Harry had to know everything, and decide for himself what his course of action was to be. Not just to be some pawn of his elders anymore. I owled Professor Dumbledore immediately. He obviously agreed with me, for a few days later he showed up on the doorstep of Number Four Privet Drive, and I heard his words to Harry. He told all the things that he should have been told long ago, things we tried to keep secret, for his sake.
So now, I sit here, watching and waiting, wondering what hell will be unleashed upon the world, and why the fates saw fit to through this young man into their own little whims and twists. I wonder if I've done the right thing. In the whole scheme of things, this decision could change everything. I wonder if Harry will forgive us for not telling him sooner. I wonder if he'll know what to do, and where to go in this time of unrest.
But most of all I wonder if she'll forgive me. I did the worst thing to her that could ever happen to a mother. I let her little boy grow up. I let him grow into the man that his father was, a man that would make the world proud, a man that no longer needed my constant watch.
She told me to watch him, to make sure his life went well, and that he never had to see the horrors that she did, and I didn't. For fourteen years I attempted to do so, sheltering him by not letting him know. But now, he knows, and I can no longer be his guard.
I'll content myself with simply thinking of the days past, when I met her, and the rest of my childhood friends. The days when my respect for Professor Dumbledore was founded, and the following days as it grew. I think of our graduation, and of the love that blossomed soon after. I think of the day Harry was born, and how happy his parents were. I think of the little boy that came over to escape his life, having no light at the end of the tunnel, so young and hopeless, and staring up at me with those brilliant green eyes of his. But most of all, I think of what's left to come, and what will come of us all.
And then it hits me. There was no need for her last wish. No need at all. She fulfilled it herself, far better than any other person could have. Her loved saved him so he could live, and have a life ten times better than her short one. She couldn't have known this, and I didn't know it until now. He, alone, guided his way in a dreary world, because she loved him, and that's when my life became complete.
My best friend of the whole world, had her last wish fulfilled.
This is my first fic that is anything like this, and I would really like reviews to tell me how well written and carried out it was. Constructive Flames are welcome.