"Harry," He said, his voice showing how tired he was, "soon we must face the choice between what is right…and what is easy."

What is easy, anyway? Easy and life shouldn't be in the same sentence. It should be outlawed. In fact, all dangers to life should be outlawed and therefore nonexistent. But, we, as humans, cannot do that. We have no such power over the universe. We are all mortal. And as mortals, we all succumb to mortal sins, and when we do, we create havoc and misery in the world.

One man did that. He was shadowed. He was lead into temptation because of who he is and was. He overshadowed the world, crushing it in his hands inch-by-inch, killing and breaking families as if they were nothing but weeds.

I look to my newborn daughter, so small and red from birth, and thank god he never made it this far. Yet, he did. My wife was taken as my daughter came into the world. His spell hit the spot, just below the shoulder. Nothing happened at first, but, slowly, she deteriorated. In pain. Always in pain. Some nights she would beg me to help her and I knew I couldn't. I would dream for the cure. Something for her pain. To kill it before it killed her. And it came; it came through our daughter.

I knew it then when we made love that night. Her pain was almost nonexistent as was my desire to hurt her if we did do it. After that night, there was no more pain. None. She lived happily in those short eight months. Then it began again, one night after dinner with her parents. The pain would slash through her heart, through her veins, through the tiniest tear.

They say a dream that really comes true cannot truly be called a dream. And they're right. It wasn't a dream. I can't even explain what it is. I don't really know myself.

They carted away my wife, her delicate face covered with a bloodied sheet. The doctors had grave faces, emotionless as they spoke to me. I couldn't, wouldn't hear them. I wanted to be alone, somewhere far away, far from the pressures of life her, my daughter. I couldn't look at her tiny green eyes, my eyes. Already she reminded me too much of her mother, of how she would look at me with that sparkle in the corner of her eye. And when I did look at her, I cried.

Why did Gin have to die? She did nothing wrong. She only stood by me when I needed it, loved me, too. Why couldn't the girl die? Or me? She's replaceable and I would die knowing I did something right. Ginny isn't.

My feet pounded against the cold hard floor, taking me away from my wailing daughter. I didn't care if she went hungry or choked herself with her cries. It didn't matter anymore; nothing did. I don't know what time it was when I stopped. But, I was alone. That was what mattered the most. It was silent, well almost. I was in a park. It was dark, the moon casting shadows over everything. I could only hear my feet click against the cobblestones and the crickets singing their dusk melody. The wooden bench creaked as I sat down, my elbows resting against my knees, my face buried in my calloused hands. It was only a few minutes before I was disturbed; heavy thumps of boots coming down the lane.

"Harry-"

It was Lupin.

"Harry, you shouldn't run off like that and leave your daughter behind."

I didn't say anything. I was thinking, almost in a meditative trance.

"Harry, I know you've gone through much tonight, but you need to get back to the hospital."

I shrugged, staying silent.

"Harry, be reasonable now."

I didn't need anything. I didn't need to do anything. I didn't need to be reasonable with anything. The world needed to be reasonable with me after all I did for it, for all I sacrificed for it. What I need is to die. I wanted to die. I wanted this since sixth, fifth year at the earliest.

I could hear him shout at me; rave, but I couldn't understand him. I didn't want to. Nor did I care. I drifted into myself, closing my mind to anything else. Quickly. I heard a whistle cut through the air and felt a hand grip my shoulder. The hand shook me roughly, my hands falling away from my face.

"Harry, listen to me. I know you're in pain. I know you hate this. But you have to be strong, for your daughter. She's all you got left. Take care of her."

He whispered harshly. His eyes met with mine, fierce with unrelenting anger.

"Think of Ginny. What would she say if she saw you now, here in this park ignoring your daughter? Her daughter."

That got me; hit me in the wound created by losing Gin. Tears of shame sprang from my eyes and spilled down my cheeks. I was pulled into a tight hug. My arms wound around his waist, shoulders shaking violently as I cried. I cried for Gin. I cried for my parents, Sirius, and the millions who perished in the two wars. I cried for myself. I don't know how long I cried for, but I could tell it was long because I was tired afterward. I was led back to the hospital, down the long darkened corridors, and into a room. My daughter was there; fast asleep in the arms of my best mate, Ron. I could see the anger in his eyes as I walked in. I gave him a meek smile, but he turned away from it.

"So you came back?" He asked sharply. I only nodded. "About damn time" He smiled; it was forced, filled with fake happiness. He held the tiny bundle towards me. Unsure what to do, I offered my arms. He placed the bundle into them. I almost dropped her then. She was so warm and lively. I could hear the door close behind me faintly. Silence ensued. Coating the entire room with its pureness. My daughter made a noise. I jumped about in inch, looking around me wildly until I figured out it was only her. Her brilliant green eyes were open, her tiny mouth twisted in discomfort. She mewled piteously.

"She's hungry."

I could vaguely hear the door open behind me. Clicking boots followed the doors creaking shut, and a soft voice called out: "Sir, it's time to feed-"

"I know." I cut whomever it was off sharply, and took the bottle away from their grasp. I saw tiny, pale fingers drop as I pulled the bottle away. My eyes traveled up that hand and arm, stopping at a face. It turned out to be a woman. A young mediwitch, in fact; maybe two, roughly three years younger than myself. Loose curls framed her heart-shaped face; brown eyes twinkled merrily behind thick bangs that fell, coming just a centimeter short of her pale lips. She hand wavered over my own, showing me how to hold the bottle, and showed me how to feed her, coaxing me to hold it higher every time I let the bottle drop too low. We, all three of us, sat in the strained silence until she coughed, glancing up from the spot of the floor she had watched so intently earlier.

"Sir, I'm Sarah. I was sent to stay with you until you got the hang of caring for your daughter." She spoke up after a long strained silence between us. I didn't say anything, I held my gaze with my daughter as if she hadn't spoke. "I know it must be hard to lose your wife like that, Sir. I lost my gran when I was six."

I snorted. That wasn't helping. This wasn't like loosing a favorite Gran, this was like having your heart wrenched out, having a chunk torn off, and sewed back in place with a rusty, diseased needle. She must have heard my snort because she snorted herself, pale lips turning downward in distaste. The tiny babe in my arms wiggled, telling me she was done with her bottle. The nurse- Sarah- took the bottle away and slipped out the door quietly, avoiding contact with my eyes. I moved her to my shoulder, patting her back awkwardly. I heard a tiny burp, a signal she was finally done. I stood there, her held against my shoulder, slumbering quietly. It seemed like minutes before the door opened again. It was Sarah; she was carrying two duffel bags, one I had brought earlier and another I couldn't identify. In her hands she held thick sheets of paper, a bottle of ink and an eagle feather quill.

"You do have to name her, you know." She drawled out quietly, eyeing the sleeping child on my shoulder.

"I know that."

"Then put her down, or give her to me." She whispered, setting the bags beside the bed and the papers on a desk a few yards from the bed. I looked from the tiny cradle to the bed, unsure of where to put her.

"The cradle perhaps?" She offered, seeing the uneasiness in my eyes. Lips pursed, I settled babe down in the mound of soft downy covers. She didn't take notice of the change and slept on. Fussing with the covers of the cradle, I tucked her in.

"She'll be fine, promise me. No child has died of freezing to death in my watch." Sarah whispered, looking over my shoulder with a grin about her pale lips.

"How…comforting." I muttered quietly, brushing past her as I walked to the desk.

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Yeah, okay, hi. Let's get this straight. I. Own. Nothing. But. The. Ramble. Crap. Miss Rowling owns everything you know of and Copyrighted by WB. Sarah belongs to my dear friend, Nicki, who resides somewhere else, but nonetheless, she owns Sarah like she owns my insanitywhich she, Jazz and Sasha caused. Hah, anyway, I do expect flames. I'd be extrememly shocked if no one flamed this. Really...who wouldn't want to bitch me out for this piece of crap? The mentally handicapped I tell you. And, you know, I don't care about flames. Every once in awhile I'll actually get a flame that helps me see whatI did wrong and how to fix it, not insult me. I like those, but what are the chances? I. Write. For. Myself.

Ah, and I might continue this. High school is hell, so time will tell.

Bye. 3