The End of All Things
I'd like to dedicate this story to my good friend, Aly Bazzle, who was kind enough to dedicate one of her stories to me. Love you, Aly. For fate hath no forgiveness. (and we do like to party)
If you like the morbid-ness of my stories, please take the time to read ShadowMoony's work. She is much better than I am, and will make you cry for her characters if you let her get inside your heart. She is truly gifted, and deserves your support.
So here I am at the end of all things. But I'm not sad, really. I cried, and for a long time too I'll admit, but the tears have long since dried, and I've long since moved on.
But the memories will stay forever, for even though some odd years have past since that fateful night, I still remember clearly the pain and grief of those horrible hours as if it were yesterday. I also remember the good times, but they have faded a little, and are fuzzy to me sometimes. They say that the most important things stay with you, but I don't think that night was all that important. Not to me at least. I was just a puppet, a role in a prophecy long forgotten. It's odd, reading about that night, in history books. They never get it just right, and always drain the emotion out of it. It's strictly political in those books, but the real way it happened, the really important elements of that horrible time, was the emotions of those present.
I had felt anger, hatred, love, remorse, and forgiveness all at once that night. The night of my final battle.
I hated the man called Voldemort, hated him for what he did to me and those close to me. He had so much blood on his filthy hands, it made me sick to be in his presence. I fought long and hard, and not just with him, but his legions of Deatheaters as well. I was no alone though. Dumbledor's army raged by my side, and we fought together, kids against adults. Looking back now, I see how unfair the fight really was, but I didn't care then. I wanted him dead and done with.
Murder or be murdered.
I was angry with myself, for letting so much bad happen. No one else there that night deserved what they got. Not even the Deatheaters should have died that night, but soon, I noticed, only me and him were left standing. I'll never forget the look in his eyes as he told me in that icy voice that he would enjoy killing me at last, and how I smirked at him, saying it would be his end, not mine. And I was his end.
Murder or be murdered.
I had him on the ground, kneeling in front of me, begging for his life. He pled with me as I held both my wand and his in his face. I repeated his own words back to him as he sat there looking pathetic. "I will enjoy killing you at last, Voldemort. Die knowing that I take your life in return for the lives of those that you have destroyed. May you burn in Hell for it."
I said those forbidden words that night, and wished that I hadn't. He may have been a murderer, but he was still human, and all humans make mistakes. His mistakes were just bigger than most. I found that I wanted to forgive him, even though the memory of growing up in the Dursley's home rather than my own wouldn't let me.
They say it ended that night, and I guess, for most people it did. I was the only one that survived that night, and I thanked God that I had stupefied Ron and Hermione before I left for battle. At least they would live to see a happy ending, or so I thought. Not all the Deatheaters stayed on the battlefield that night. Voldemort had noticed that my two friends were not there, and had sent some of his men to find them and kill them. At least they didn't feel any pain before they died.
I'm standing on her gravesite now. Hermione Granger, the girl who knew everything, who was beautiful, even in death. My heart still yearns to touch her, hold her one last time. When the muggles at the hospital checked her body, they found nothing wrong, just as the bodies of those hit by that unforgivable curse are found, but they did find that she was not the only one that died that night. She, and my unborn son, died together. I had no idea she was pregnant, but had I known, I still would have stupefied her to keep her safe. I loved her, and thought how ironic it was that, like my own father, I would never get to raise my son with the woman I gave my heart and soul to.
I put my red rose and prayer rock on her tombstone, before making my way to another grave, the second on my list to visit. Ron Weasley, beloved friend, brother and son, who would risk everything for those he loved, and paid the ultimate price for his fierce loyalty. How those words didn't even come close to describing my friend, my brother. Yes, we had had our share of fights and arguments, but he never forgot his friend in times of need, and was always there for me when I truly needed him. I regret that I wasn't there for him in his last hours, but I'm sure he understands now that I had to do what I did. I put a white rose on his grave, trying to symbolize how pure our friendship was.
The last graves I went to visit were side by side, forever bound to each other. These graves share a tombstone, each side showing the same years for both people. The beloved Lily and James Potter here lie, Together in death, forever side by side. They wanted to show the world their love and kindness, But fate, it seems, hath no forgiveness. Their friends will carry their memories on and on, Even though their task on earth is done. I looked at the years on the grave, noticing how small the dashes between the years seemed to be. I wish that the dashes could have been longer, the years farther apart. It wasn't fair that they had died so young, that so many had died so young, but like the gravestone said, fate, it seems, hath no forgiveness.
So here I am, at the end of all things. But I'm not sad, really. I cried, and for a long time too I'll admit, but the tears have long since dried, and I'm running out of time. Some would say it's the coward's way out, some may even call it a sin, but to a man who's lost every thing he has to live for, he is simply going home. The boy that lived will no longer walk this earth soon, but live forever with his parents and friends and lover. I have no regrets, only that I waited this long to leave. It's your world now; do with it what you may. Good-bye, to all.
Harry Potter
Harry Potter...
I'd like to dedicate this story to my good friend, Aly Bazzle, who was kind enough to dedicate one of her stories to me. Love you, Aly. For fate hath no forgiveness. (and we do like to party)
If you like the morbid-ness of my stories, please take the time to read ShadowMoony's work. She is much better than I am, and will make you cry for her characters if you let her get inside your heart. She is truly gifted, and deserves your support.
So here I am at the end of all things. But I'm not sad, really. I cried, and for a long time too I'll admit, but the tears have long since dried, and I've long since moved on.
But the memories will stay forever, for even though some odd years have past since that fateful night, I still remember clearly the pain and grief of those horrible hours as if it were yesterday. I also remember the good times, but they have faded a little, and are fuzzy to me sometimes. They say that the most important things stay with you, but I don't think that night was all that important. Not to me at least. I was just a puppet, a role in a prophecy long forgotten. It's odd, reading about that night, in history books. They never get it just right, and always drain the emotion out of it. It's strictly political in those books, but the real way it happened, the really important elements of that horrible time, was the emotions of those present.
I had felt anger, hatred, love, remorse, and forgiveness all at once that night. The night of my final battle.
I hated the man called Voldemort, hated him for what he did to me and those close to me. He had so much blood on his filthy hands, it made me sick to be in his presence. I fought long and hard, and not just with him, but his legions of Deatheaters as well. I was no alone though. Dumbledor's army raged by my side, and we fought together, kids against adults. Looking back now, I see how unfair the fight really was, but I didn't care then. I wanted him dead and done with.
Murder or be murdered.
I was angry with myself, for letting so much bad happen. No one else there that night deserved what they got. Not even the Deatheaters should have died that night, but soon, I noticed, only me and him were left standing. I'll never forget the look in his eyes as he told me in that icy voice that he would enjoy killing me at last, and how I smirked at him, saying it would be his end, not mine. And I was his end.
Murder or be murdered.
I had him on the ground, kneeling in front of me, begging for his life. He pled with me as I held both my wand and his in his face. I repeated his own words back to him as he sat there looking pathetic. "I will enjoy killing you at last, Voldemort. Die knowing that I take your life in return for the lives of those that you have destroyed. May you burn in Hell for it."
I said those forbidden words that night, and wished that I hadn't. He may have been a murderer, but he was still human, and all humans make mistakes. His mistakes were just bigger than most. I found that I wanted to forgive him, even though the memory of growing up in the Dursley's home rather than my own wouldn't let me.
They say it ended that night, and I guess, for most people it did. I was the only one that survived that night, and I thanked God that I had stupefied Ron and Hermione before I left for battle. At least they would live to see a happy ending, or so I thought. Not all the Deatheaters stayed on the battlefield that night. Voldemort had noticed that my two friends were not there, and had sent some of his men to find them and kill them. At least they didn't feel any pain before they died.
I'm standing on her gravesite now. Hermione Granger, the girl who knew everything, who was beautiful, even in death. My heart still yearns to touch her, hold her one last time. When the muggles at the hospital checked her body, they found nothing wrong, just as the bodies of those hit by that unforgivable curse are found, but they did find that she was not the only one that died that night. She, and my unborn son, died together. I had no idea she was pregnant, but had I known, I still would have stupefied her to keep her safe. I loved her, and thought how ironic it was that, like my own father, I would never get to raise my son with the woman I gave my heart and soul to.
I put my red rose and prayer rock on her tombstone, before making my way to another grave, the second on my list to visit. Ron Weasley, beloved friend, brother and son, who would risk everything for those he loved, and paid the ultimate price for his fierce loyalty. How those words didn't even come close to describing my friend, my brother. Yes, we had had our share of fights and arguments, but he never forgot his friend in times of need, and was always there for me when I truly needed him. I regret that I wasn't there for him in his last hours, but I'm sure he understands now that I had to do what I did. I put a white rose on his grave, trying to symbolize how pure our friendship was.
The last graves I went to visit were side by side, forever bound to each other. These graves share a tombstone, each side showing the same years for both people. The beloved Lily and James Potter here lie, Together in death, forever side by side. They wanted to show the world their love and kindness, But fate, it seems, hath no forgiveness. Their friends will carry their memories on and on, Even though their task on earth is done. I looked at the years on the grave, noticing how small the dashes between the years seemed to be. I wish that the dashes could have been longer, the years farther apart. It wasn't fair that they had died so young, that so many had died so young, but like the gravestone said, fate, it seems, hath no forgiveness.
So here I am, at the end of all things. But I'm not sad, really. I cried, and for a long time too I'll admit, but the tears have long since dried, and I'm running out of time. Some would say it's the coward's way out, some may even call it a sin, but to a man who's lost every thing he has to live for, he is simply going home. The boy that lived will no longer walk this earth soon, but live forever with his parents and friends and lover. I have no regrets, only that I waited this long to leave. It's your world now; do with it what you may. Good-bye, to all.
Harry Potter
Harry Potter...