I can't breathe.
I can't breathe.
I don't want to breathe.
I will never want to draw breath again if it meant that I don't… feel this way.
He can't be gone.
It wasn't supposed to happen this way. He wasn't supposed to… We were supposed to have happily-ever-after, even if it was with different people, even if wasn't exactly right. We were supposed to be a part of each other's lives until we were old and telling stories to our grandchildren about "the war" that they wouldn't believe if it weren't for the history books.
He was supposed to be great, to live as long as Dumbledore did, to be a legend and the very symbol of the light side. He was supposed to be the best Auror in recorded history, or the first Defense professor to break the curse on the job and then become Headmaster, or even the bloody Minister of Magic.
Even if the rest of us did die, he should have been the one to go on, and be the ever-suffering hero.
That's how stories should end. The bad guy dies; the good guy goes on. And if all of his allies and friends died in the conflict, the hero found some purpose, something that kept him living and eventually made him happy.
Funny. Out of every story, this is the one I ended up living. This is the only result that could tear me completely apart. Out of every variation, this was the way it happened. I half-think I would take another twenty years of Voldemort just so long as Harry would live. It's selfish and immature and I still, in a way, would rather it happened that way. Actually, I really wish just Voldemort were still here. Harry's method of destruction was far too tame. I'd do it the right way.
He was an amazing person. Harry, that is. After everything, he was still civil to Voldemort. After that wanker went and took nearly everything from him, he gave him a painless and quick death. I suspect that if old Voldie were to apologize, truly apologize, Harry would have forgiven him.
Harry was the only soul who could capture my heart so. I believe he'll always be the only one. It's scary when someone has you like that. You know that no matter how much willpower you have, no matter how strong you are, you would do anything for their sake. If it would bring them some small measure of happiness and even if it meant saving the world or condemning it, it was worth it, for them. You don't understand the term "your wish is my command" until you've loved that way. Until you've been through the love that can bring about the most wonderful and the most agonizing emotions.
You'll never be happier or more miserable in your life if you experience that kind of affection. There is truly nothing like it. And at one point, I thought it could do anything.
But it cannot pass beyond the gates of the grave, not the way you want it to. You can keep on loving them, yes, and maybe they can keep loving you from whatever afterlife there is. But every stupid, naïve, optimistic person knows, no matter how hard you want to believe it so, it's not the same.
Nothing, or at least nothing I can imagine, is more horrifying than watching the person you love the most die, slowly, painfully. What breaks you apart, though, is with their dying breath they say that they love you.
You would rather they told you that they never loved you and that they're glad that they're dying just so they won't have to see you ever again. At least then you could hate them. At least then, it wouldn't hurt so much. At least then… you wouldn't live with their last words ringing in your ears until you part from these walks of life too.
He shouldn't have been the one to die.
And that shouldn't have been the last time he said,
"Love you, Gin, always."