For Him

Hey, this is something I just whipped up in about a half hour. Nothing special and not at all what I expected it to be. However, I would still like to know what you think.

I like to think that, in the most fundamental ways, I’m just like other girls. I have goals and dreams, I want to be loved, I want to be someone’s everything; someday I want to marry the man of my dreams and maybe even have children. I have days when I can’t stand to be around anyone and I have days when I can’t seem to stop smiling. I have days when I feel like I could just curl up and cry for no real reason, just because I feel like I’m overflowing with emotions. I have days, especially around a particular time of the month, when the simplest thing, sad or just touching, can bring tears to my eyes and sometimes a couple will even escape and roll down my cheeks. I’m just eighteen and already I’ve been lucky enough to find someone who, on those emotional days, will tug me onto his lap and just hold me tightly against his chest and comfort me, no questions asked, until I’m ready to talk about what has got me so emotional and, if I’m crying for no reason, he pretends to understand that I just needed a good cry even though he doesn’t understand at all. I don’t have the words to describe how it feels to know that I can turn to Harry and not worry about seeming foolish for crying.

I close the door to my room and fall back against it, bracing myself against it as I let my chin fall to my chest and the tears that I’ve been valiantly fighting for the last hour fall. Tonight I don’t turn to Harry for comfort. Tonight I cry alone.

He told me about the prophecy tonight. I sat there on the couch beside him and watched him stare into the fire as he said that he had something that he needed to tell me, something that I needed to know, something that would help me to understand why I couldn’t be there with him when he faced Voldemort. He had seemed so detached, like he was reciting everything from memory without really thinking about it, like he’d memorized something written on a piece of paper so he wouldn’t have to think about what he was saying. He was so strong, so calm as he told me that he has to fight Voldemort, that, while others can help in the battle, it can be no one but him who faces Voldemort in the most important duel of this century. None other than Harry Potter can end Voldemort’s reign of terror. He told me that neither he nor Voldemort can survive in a world in which the other exists. He told me that if, for whatever reason, he can’t defeat Voldemort, then Voldemort will defeat him.

I wanted to cry. I wanted to crawl onto his lap and hold him to me so tightly that he would never be able to get free, never be able to leave me. I wanted to promise him that everything would be okay, that he would get through this. I wanted to tell him that he had to win, that there was no other option because I just couldn’t live without him in my life. I wanted to yell at him and shake him and make him see that it was simply impossible for him to lose to Voldemort. I wanted to take his hands in mine and tell him that he had to defeat Voldemort because someday I was going to marry him, the man of my dreams, and I couldn’t do that if he wasn’t around. But I didn’t. I didn’t do any of that because I knew that the last thing he needed at that moment was a hysterical best friend telling him that, while he had never shown any romantic interest in me other than occasionally telling me that I’m pretty and comforting me when I was crying and I had never let onto any feelings beyond friendship, I do intend to marry him in the not too distant future. That was not what he needed at all. So, I held his hand in mine and quietly reassured him, told him that I would help him in anyway I could, that thousands of people would be fighting that final battle, helping him break through the ranks of Death Eaters and supporting him in every possible way while he fought for their future. I told him that he was an amazing wizard and that he would defeat Voldemort if only because he was doing it for all the right reasons while Voldemort was doing it for all the wrong. I told him that fate was on his side. And, with everything I had, I silently prayed to a God I’d never really believed in to give Harry whatever he needed to win that battle, I prayed with all I could that what I was telling Harry was true, that he would win.

Now, in my room, locked away from Harry and the rest of the world, I cry when I want to scream. He’s only seventeen, not even a man in the eyes of the world, still just a boy and yet he has never been just a boy. Harry lost his innocence before he even understood what innocence was. He was forced into being an adult before he even started grade school. From the time he was tall enough to reach the stove, the Dursleys had him cooking every meal. I’ve never truly hated anyone in my life. I strongly dislike Draco Malfoy, but can’t help but feel that he’s just a product of his upbringing. I despise the Dursleys for what they did to Harry, but I can’t find it in myself to hate them because, as much as I hate to even think it, Harry would not be the person he is if they had treated him differently. The feelings that I’ve had for Voldemort since I first learned who he was and what role he played in our lives I have always been unable to classify, but tonight… tonight I hate him. He has taken everything from Harry and he threatens to take even more. Harry who has lost so much and received so little, Harry who has never harmed anyone in his life, who has never so much as spoken a harsh word to anyone who didn’t deserve much worse, Harry who has often gone out of his way to protect people he doesn’t even know. Harry who has the weight of the world on his shoulders and the lives of hundreds in his care. Harry who is the most amazing person whom I have ever met.

Tonight I can’t go to Harry with my tears because tonight it is for him that I cry. Harry has shed very few tears in his seventeen years and never once have they been for himself, so I cry for him.

Two years Harry has carried the burden of that prophecy. Two years he has known his destiny and been unable to talk to anyone about it. He’s never made mention of it to me or to Ron, so far as I know, he’s never even slipped up and accidentally referenced it in any way. For two years he’s carried that worry alone, I highly doubt that he’s breathed a word of it to anyone, with the possible exception of the spirit of his godfather. I can’t imagine the pressure that Harry has been under, I can’t imagine what he must have been feeling for the past two years, scared to tell anyone about the prophecy, scared to even think about it and all it’s implications. Life has never been fair to Harry, but this far surpasses everything else that has been thrown at him. To be expected to fight and defeat a wizard with decades more experience and not only knowledge of the dark arts but the power and emotions to be able to employ them at any time, I can’t begin to understand what Harry must have been thinking and feeling for the past two years.

I wish I could help him. If I could trade anything, give anything, do anything, to be able to help Harry in anyway, to be able to lift at least a portion of the burden that he carries I would do it without a second thought. But there is nothing for me to do, I can’t fight for him, only with him, I can’t remove the worries from his mind, only take his mind off them. The best that I can do is to be strong for him, to be his best friend and stand by him and support him and that is exactly what I will do. He doesn’t need to see my weakness. He doesn’t need to see how scared I am for him; he doesn’t need to know how much that damn prophecy has affected me.

A sob escapes my throat and I quickly find my wand and manage to murmur the silencing charm so that, down in the common room, Harry can’t hear me cry because I know that he’ll come up here to comfort me and tonight I just want to be alone in the comfort of the Head Girl room where I can freely cry for my best friend.