Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
Do you know how much easier it would be to just let go. When you wake up in the morning and the light hits your eyes don't you cower away from its glory. Don't you seek out the darkness, a respite from the pain? Do you know how much easier it would be for me to just let go? To become apathetic? How easy it would be close my eyes and not care as I see corpses of countless people behind my eyelids? It would be so easy. So easy it's scary.
He's in my head right now, you know. Telling me to kill myself. To take the pain away. A jump from the roof should do it, or I'm sure I can find a few doxies around. Of course if I want to be dramatic and go out with a bang I could always wait until night comes, then creep quietly out of my bed and get a knife. They have such nice silverware here. Then I would go to the bathroom… or better yet Sirius' room and drag the knife across my skin letting my blood paint the floor a different colour. Perhaps carve a deep, meaningful message in my arm to let you see just how strong I am.
But no, I can't leave. I have to kill him first. Isn't that what you were going to say Dumbledore? That I must learn occlumency so that I can keep him out of my mind and save the world one more time before I die. I have to be that Gryffindor golden boy that never shows how much he's hurting inside. I have to bear the burden of deaths that happened long before I was born. There was never anyone to save them.
Am I supposed to cry because I wasn't born earlier? Do I mourn the deaths of my parents even though in the big picture their deaths were the catalyst to the fall of a dark lord? Do I ignore the threstrals and move on with my life because that's what Cedric would want me to do? What Sirius would want? You know I always wondered how they knew what the dead wanted, I figured once someone close to me died I'd have that sense that knowing. But I don't. And I find I don't care.
So easy, Dumbledore. So easy to just let go. To hell with everyone else. I can be selfish too. I can damn everyone to death if I wanted. And I do want. And then I ask myself why I don't? A whisper from the back of my head tells me it's because Sirius would have wanted me to persevere. Sometimes I think that it's just Voldemort toying with me. Sometimes I hope that it's just Voldemort toying with me so that if there is an afterlife Sirius won't be disappointed in me for being weak.
And then your damn eyes will twinkle and tell me I have to live so that everyone I love can live too. And I want to leap across the table and gorge your eyes out, squeeze the life out of you. I want to shake you to make you see the small picture. My picture. But I'm not important. Harry's not important at all. Harry Potter maybe. Definitely the boy who lived. But not Harry. And so now I see the answer. I can let go. Harry can die as long as your Gryffindor golden boy stays breathing.
I'll just leave a shell behind and you'll have a perfectly moldable weapon ready to become anything you want. And maybe when my eyes dim you'll wonder where you went wrong, tears will drip down into your white beard as you mourn the loss of another innocent. Or perhaps you'll secretly be pleased that everything is going according to plan and you will win the war with minimal casualties and no difficulty from your trump card.
Perhaps