Disclaimer: Story's mine, characters aren't. They all belong to J.K. Rowling, along with a few other things in-between.
Author's Note: Harry's POV, once again. "You" is referring to Hermione. The "we" in the first paragraph refers to Harry and Hermione, the "we" later on at the middle and end of the story refers to Voldemort and Harry.
This takes place in 7th year - Harry and Hermione are together in this fic.
Thanks to Jennifer for betaing this (how could you stand it? :P) and for being such a great friend/support. Much thanks also to Christine, Romy and Nielle for giving me their opinion on this and for being, well, Wonky. ;) This goes out to all of them.
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I can still remember as if it were yesterday. The day where I had to leave everything I knew behind me - and forget it. I had to forget you, the sole fixture in my life and the one person who kept me sane. I had to forget you when I needed you the most. I had to forget that I loved you, that you loved me, that we were best friends and lovers to the very end. I had to forget everything I knew about and of you. If I didn't, it would only make everything more difficult for the both of us. I couldn't let my sentiment and longing for everything and everyone I had left behind get to me. Especially now, when I was supposed to feel nothing and know nothing. Everything and everyone I knew would only be used against me - a twisted way of letting anything get to me - emotionally or physically. And that, I know, would cause my defenses to break down. Not a good thing to happen when I'm fighting against the most powerful wizard there ever was - next to Dumbledore. Anything could be used against me - if I broke down and my defenses were weakened. If that happened . . he would have an advantage over me. And he would definitely use that to his benefit. If I was weakened, he could easily defeat me.
I wonder if I should even use `he' - sure, he might've been a male - but now he's only a thing. A shadow of his former self, enshrouded in darkness and malice. An it. Something not to be personified as a he. Or maybe I'm just being too heartless.
That's strange to think of. I have a heart, but it won't be of any use out there, on whatever battlefield we're on. If we're even on a battlefield - we could just be in the air. Since I won't know anything but blood and sweat and tears and the never-ending fighting going on all around me, the only things that I would know and hear and feel, what's the use of having a heart? Especially out there, wherever I'm going? I'm not even sure if I'm going anywhere - I'm only wandering aimlessly, with no sense of direction and not knowing where to go. Having a heart wouldn't be useful at all when I'm there killing people - it doesn't matter whether it's with my bare hands or with something else. I would only be labeled as a righteous person - not a killer. Why righteous? I killed people who were bad, who were threatening both the Muggle world and the wizarding world. But then I also killed people who are good, yet were corrupted. They were tempted with power, and greed played that temptation perfectly into its hands. I'm righteous for killing people who had caused the world to suffer. That doesn't make me feel good about everything. Everything that's happened, everything that I've done so far, has come to nothing. I'm not proud of it. Why would I be proud for endless killings of humans? I'm not saying that the bad people are actually good, nor are the good people actually bad . . call it a sense of disgust. No matter how many killings there are, it won't help anything. Nothing would come of it.
Much like this war going on right now. In the end only one will emerge a winner, a phoenix rising from the ashes. I don't know how it's going to end . . who's going to win, if one of us is even going to win. Because in this war, there are no winners. There are no losers. Everyone's not equal, either. As much as I want everyone to be equal - that just can't happen. Even now. Not every person's going to be treated equally, as much as they want to be.
All this I have learned, and I've had to use it to my advantage - or rather an opportunity to just kill another person. It will never end, Hermione. Sometimes I think this is all hopeless, all this fighting, all this constant killing and brutality. It will never achieve anything. Nothing can be achieved from this - good or bad. The only thought of you is what snaps me back to reality - if there's even a reality out here - and my will to end all of this is rekindled, as if a fire's been relit in me. I can continue fighting on with you in my thoughts. It's the only thing that's making me go on, to keep fighting.
You are the only reason why I keep on killing, why I still am in battle. As cliché as it sounds, you're the sole person who's keeping me going. Something inside me has changed. I've learned not to mope, to keep up a mask of stoicness. There's no point in wallowing in despair when it's all around me. Just seeing the looks on my comrades' faces is enough. More than enough. There aren't any words needed to express how they feel about the war, everything about it. All I need is to look at their faces and eyes, and I know. After months of fighting with them, I've come to know who they are, how they act, what they like and what they don't like . . their identities, their fears, their doubts . . everything inside and out of them. We've known each other so long now, after being together for that long period of time, that we've come to see each other as brothers - kindred spirits, almost.
It's comforting to know that there are people here who feel and think the same way I do - they understand me. Not so deeply as you know me, for you know all and everything of me, while they know only the pain, frustration, and anguish being away from home and fighting brings. So do I. And I don't blame them at all for feeling that way; fighting is the last thing we want - and need - to do. The last thing the world and all of us needs is a war. Right now though all we can do is fight to the very end . . we want this to be over. All of us want and need for it to be over. It's already gone longer than it should have. Let's finish it now. Once and for all . . this long awaited war has caused so much death and pain that it's to the point where we're all sick and tired of it, where we can't endure it anymore. But we have to. Not only for mankind, not only for ourselves - for everything and everyone this war has done endless grief and pain to.
So I've vowed to myself not to leave until this damn war, this endless pursuit with him is over. Only then will there be a real ending for us, for this. If I die in the process, my death will help end all of this sooner. It will help something or someone. If it comes down to where he kills me, I'll be ready for it. After all, I would've done my duty. What else more could I ever do?
Now I've got to remind myself to forget the pain, to forget everything else - and go out there and win this. This is my fight now - I might as well end it.
Don't cry, Hermione. If it all comes down to me sacrificing my life, I would gladly do so. My death won't cause suffering, I hope. The exact opposite of suffering, although it's not going to seem that way to some people. Instead of crying when I die, celebrate. For it's only one step closer until all the fighting, all the killing, all the endless waiting is over. And you want that - all of us want that. There's nothing else more that we want. Other than that - that's the only thing we want.
Let this be our memento of our love for each other, Hermione.
Harry
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