Glorified Failure

By Lily M.

Summery: A dark romance of Lily and James, told by James through 5th, 6th and 7th year. James Never wants to die, but now because of what happened the summer of 4th year he is faced with one choice: Achieve Glory and never really die. Through his painful last years and his fateful choices, James reconnects with his friend from the past. But by doing so, his path at glory seems to falter as hers begins.

Disclaimer: All rights to Harry Potter and most mentioned characters belong to JK Rowling and many other companies/people

Prologue

When I was young, around seven or eight, I endured a brush with death that made me who I was. I blatantly ignored my mother's warning and wondered off during a family outing in the park. I realize this is probably a normal story you hear, a little kid lost in the wilderness and getting chased by a bear or something. Those stories are clichéd, yes, but that doesn't make it any less terrifying or unworthy. I had wondered so far off and skipped along joyful with the outdoors and freedom of my parent's watchful eyes that I had gone too far into the forest and I went too comfortably. It was around that time, when you felt like you were young ,and you suddenly realize that stealing that pack of gum was wrong, and all you wish you could do was run and put it back with out being punished, that I stepped into a muggle hunting trap.

It had hurt really badly. I had screamed and cried, but I was in a condensed area of wood, and the leaves seemed to throw the words and cries back at me. My leg was nearly chopped of by one of those steel jaws planted in the under brush. I could feel the metal sinking into my calf; I could feel the blood soaking into my pants. Like most kids, I decided that if I didn't look at it, then it couldn't be there. But like trouble causing kids, I didn't listen and looked at it. I might not have been a doctor or even a 1st year, but I knew it wasn't good. My pants were almost completely red and soaking heavy. My mother was going to kill me for ruining them. That's what set off some eight year old mentality for me and I started screaming bloody hell. It didn't occur to me that I was losing so much blood that I might be dying. All that I thought was my mum was going to kill me if she saw me.

I screamed and screamed until my vision started to become as fuzzy as the animal that belonged in the trap. My throat hurt and my heart was flooding my head with its labored beats, trying to pump blood to make up for the lost. But I kept calling and crying long after my screams stopped. I could barely tell by this point if it was dark or not. At that age I was still terrified of the dark. I still believed in the boggy man under the bed and monsters in the closet. I realize that that's probably alright for a magical child who knows that there are worse monsters in the world then the boggy man, but it didn't change the fact that it was inevitably going to become night time. Being trapped and crying in a dark forest was not something any eight year old wants to achieve. When the last light started to leave the leaves and the shadows became indistinguishable, I started to scream again, sobbing and yelling, shrieking for any one to come get me before my mother and the boggy man came. Then I felt my heart hammer out its last painful beats and felt myself slip into a lullabied void.

But I soon awoke to a room full of light and bustling people. I couldn't feel the pain, or the sticky blood, or the cold forest floor any more. I still had a pounding head-ach and a fear of death by mum and wild beasts, but I knew I was probably fine. So I let my self sleep some more and then get coddled by a worried set of parents. I learned later that soon after I had passed out from blood loss, that the owner of the trap had come and found me. He then radioed to a ranger and found my parents and a hospital. I was soon healed by muggle doctors, spending three days in the ER. My parents were furious with me for wondering off, with the hunter for his part in it, and with the doctors for leaving a scar that they couldn't get rid of. My parents decided though to let me keep the scar. They said it would remind me of an important lesson. To me that lesson translated to don't die.

I learned from watching TV and sports and reading many books on famous wizards and super heroes, that the only way not to die was to live on in the hearts of the world and in stories. I remember a TV anchor talking about a brave rescue of a child from a wrecked car. He said how the rescuer would never be forgotten, because he had earned his glory. I then went and asked my parents what glory meant. I expected them to say a stopper for death or a big award, but that's not at all what I was told. They told me that glory meant magnificence, ever giving rewards, perfect bliss, heavenly beauty, none of which could ever be forgotten.

"Glory is to live forever," When you achieve glory people remember you and praise what you have done. You are never forgotten, that was what my father explained. I had asked if spider-man had glory (I was very into muggle comics and cartoons) and surprisingly he told me no, that spider man and all the other comic book hero's were just that, Heroes. They were stories and rescuers, they may be remembered for many years but they were not glorified. He used examples like Jesus, Caesar, Shakespeare, and Queen Elizabeth. I knew very little of these people, but I knew I wanted glory, so I made it my job to find out.

One blaze of glory was all I asked for. Out of anything, I wanted something that rang true. I wished to be remembered. I didn't wish to be a hero. I used to believe that I did, but I learned early on after my father's explanation, that the only thing people wished from heroes was to see them fail. A hero's glory was to do a job. Hero's time will die eventually. I didn't want to die. I realize that I was afraid of what would happen after I died. I didn't wish to find out. To me the only way to not die was to achieve glory. Not a hero's glory: just truth. I stopped reading stories of fictional heroes and turned my sight to the glorified past. Bach, Alexander the Great, the guy who discovered germs even. As I got older, I started sports and daring activities that I hoped to achieve me glory. I wished to leave something behind, no matter when I left. I know now that that will be soon

DAMNIT! When I became a teenager I realized that magic, like love, isn't something that should be important. Do you wish to know why it's not important? Because when you need it the most, when it's suppose to hold the answer, it never does. Love can not and will not conquer all. I've made the mistake of thinking it would twice, one leading to the others down fall. That's all I got was down fall, for falling. No, not in love, I don't believe in love, or God, or triumph, or pure light, happiness. I fell in lust when I was fourteen.

I won't even try and recount the events that lead to my demise, because those are not important. All that you need to know about this girl that caused my whole world to fall is that she was beautiful. It was this classic back-and-white movies type of beauty. The type that reminds you what beauty used to mean. She was unworldly to me, older and had so much more experience on everything. When she first started to get sick, I tried with all my might, all my love, all my knowledge and witty remarks to help her. But I was too angry. I was angry at the world for being so mean to us, I was angry at God for doing this to our relationship, I was angry at myself for not holding the answer, but mostly I was angry at her. I can't be mad at her though, it's not fair. I can't be mad even though....

She was muggle, and it was a muggle disease. There is no known cure for it, in the world of muggles or of magic. It's deadly; there are potions and treatments, to slow it down. To slow down death! How morbid. This is really all she told me about the disease. No information packet, no doctors name, nothing. She actually started to pull away, like she had a secret or hated me. Was it possible for me to have given the disease to her? I didn't even know if it was contagious. How could I when she refused to talk to me? I didn't see her often, when it did it was halted. Then she had to leave, she had to go get muggle treatment. When she left, I told her to get better, and to come back to me. She did neither.

I believe I interrupted myself earlier. Even though I knew that she had given it to me. I hadn't known if it was contagious, no one really knew, or if they did they didn't inform me. Not that I could tell, but I was starting to get sick as well. Through our lust, I got a deadly disease. I fell in lust and then fell ill, and it was all her fault.

NO!! It was mine, all mine, I could have helped her, I could have been careful. There's nothing that happened that I couldn't have been prevented. I don't want to blame the dead, so this statistic can't be her fault, and I can't be angry at her. The point is, I'm sick. I'm dying, and rather slowly thanks to modern medicine. But before I go I want to leave a memoir of how I tried, and how I still wish to achieve glory.

Some people will say that people die ca not die with glory. They die sobbing at they're murders feet, or flung from a drunk drivers car. Some die peacefully in their sleep, but maybe they were in a nightmare, and is dying in your sleep really glory? Isn't it the same as lying back and letting some one shoot you? It doesn't matter, though, because they are wrong. You can die with glory. You could die saving the ones you love, or fighting for your life or beliefs. You can die with people missing you and with people envious of your life, your stories and your amazing deeds. This is all I wanted. If I must die then I don't want to be forgotten like a memory. I don't want the flowers on my grave to die and never be replanted. I've lived and done too much. I've seen too much. I've seen people live through and teach me too many things for everything to be forgotten once the dirt on my grave grows cold.

This memoir is not about my downfalls, but the consequences of them. It's a book about everything that happened after, about everything that changes me, and about the people around me. It's about me unburying the pieces of all the mistakes and all the people I discovered, rediscovered, or even hurt. It's about me learning of glory, but never first hand. I'm still going to try though. Maybe, just maybe, through these pages, through the truth and my words, I will achieve a tiny hope of glory in your eyes, the eyes of a young girl; from the pretty boy front man that I was when this started.