My Own Prison

lillyfan16

Rating: PG13
Genres: Angst, Drama
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 4
Published: 24/06/2009
Last Updated: 18/05/2010
Status: in_progress

Now, all this has landed me here. In front of the Wizengambot. Stating I have no defense. But I do. I have one. But I won’t tarnish his memory. I will take whatever punishment they give me as long as it means his memory will never reflect to anyone his weakness. He hated showing that. Except to me. So with me it will stay.

Chapters

1. My Own Prison

2. Hate Me Today

3. Weathered

1. My Own Prison

Hey Everyone! Wow, I can't believe I'm posting something….am I even allowed to? It hasn't been MONTHS AND MONTHS since my last post for PVGR (like only last month I think or something) so maybe I should wait awhile…haha. No, this obviously isn't a new PVGR chapter, but it's still something AWESOME! Kidding. I've never read anything like this before, and so naturally, I had to write it. I was cruising in my car, listening to Creed the other day, and this story popped into my head. I've had it on my mind for a few weeks now, and decided there was no time like 2 in the AM to finish it! Well, I hope you enjoy it…and please, read with an open-ish mind!!! This will be a 2-shot. The next chapter will not be very lengthy at all. Thanks!

By the way, yeah, like I said, I did just update The Potter Vs. Granger Rivalry not too long ago—like seriously, it hasn't been that long so if you are following that, DEFINITELY check into it. I haven't gotten much of a response from it, so either a.) Not too many know about it/or did not decide to review it, or b.) I've lost my touch as an author, I suck, and should just shrivel up and die……perhaps I should to a heads-or-tails kind of thing….? Ha. Well, ENJOY!!!

My Own Prison

A court is in session
A verdict is in
No appeal on the docket today
Just my own sin
The walls are cold and pale
The cage made of steel
Screams fill the room
Alone I drop and kneel
Silence now the sound
My breath the only motion around
Demons cluttering around
My face showing no emotion
Shackled by my sentence
Expecting no return
Here there is no penance
My skin begins to burn

“My Own Prison” CREED

When I was a teenager, I volunteered at an art class for children over the summer and we made plaques with our handprint and an animal we felt presented us. A bull, for strength and warning. A zebra for alertness and being family-oriented. I chose the steer skull: silent testimony. I wasn't sure why I chose it, but when I read that, I got this gut feeling. I had the desire for such words to describe me and vowed to one day illustrate it. The plaque hung on my wall for years, and the meaning behind the painted steer skull slipped my mind.

Now, as I face my peers and the Wizengambot, the highest court of the Wizarding law in Britain in a bare room with a tall ceiling and cement floor, the steer skull and its meaning slowly comes back to me.

Most despise me for it. No one really understands—not that I've bothered to explain myself. I haven't. I'm not giving a silent testimony because I told myself I would do it someday. No, that has nothing to do with it. I'm doing it out of dignity, respect, pride, loyalty…so many other things. Even love. But not for myself. For him.

I take back saying no one really understands. He understood. He was the only one who would, who could.

The chamber is silent. It has been silent ever since I made my way in here minutes ago. I was escorted by two wizards, as if I was going to try to run away. They placed me in a cold, metal chair in the middle of the room, and once I sat, chains sprung to life with noisy rattles and bound themselves around my numb body. They were secured so tight it was painful. But I still held my head up and gave no inclination I was in any discomfort at all. I stared hard straightforward, at no one in particular. My gaze never wavered. I felt hundreds of pairs of eyes on my, glaring full of hate and loathing. Despite my hard stare and how I refused to give them the satisfaction of having my eyes roam over their faces foolishly, I did see many familiar faces as I walked in. I calculated who they were in mere nano-seconds. That's what the War did to you. You didn't have time to assess a situation in even a timely manner. You had a split second to evaluate and decide who in the room was on your side, and who wasn't. Right now, I was the lone warrior. No one was on my side.

A voice suddenly rings out from the crowd in a skin-crawling shriek. “YOU MURDERER!”

My gaze remained strong and for a moment, I refuse to look at the source of the noise. I recognized the voice immediately. Another trade the War taught you. No matter how alike two people sounded, deciphering their identity from just a few words was a must. Finally, I lift my gaze to the culprit, none other than Ginny Weasley, with Ron right beside her. Her body is positively shaking and sobs escape her throat in loud cries. Weak. She never could mask herself very well. Always had her whole person on her sleeve, not just her heart. I'm surprised she even made it through the War. She sees me looking at her and shrieks once again. “YOU KILLED HIM YOU MUDBLOOD MURDERER!!!”

Her cold words cut through the air, trying to hurt me. But they don't sting. Her words held no lie, not even the Mudblood part. I knew she only used that word get at me, and really she had nothing against Muggle-borns. But her words can't hurt me.

By this time, the whole lot in front of me broke out in loud murmurs. Finally, the Chief Warlock waves his wand and it emits a loud bang, silencing everyone. The trial is in session.

“Hermione Granger, you have been brought forth in front of the Wizengambot and your peers under the charges of murdering Harry Potter. Do you understand the strict nature of the consequences of these charges? His voice boomed as he glared at me.

I stare back and say nothing.

Harry Potter's possible death during the War was not far from everyone's minds. But once he survived and Voldemort was slain, no one would even dream the biggest celebrity in Wizarding history would face death anytime soon. And he could certainly not be met with it as a result of his own lovely wife.

“Hermione Granger,” The Chief Warlock began again, angrier this time, “I asked you if you understood the nature of the consequences of the charges held against you. Answer the question!”

Once again, I say nothing. I watch as the members of the high court exchange worried glances.

More obscenities were yelled in my direction from my peers during this small silence, but still, I held my head up high. Hatred was burning within for the people before me. And that's where it stayed—within. They wanted to see me hate them. See me hate myself. They wanted to see me show my feelings and break down. They wanted me to shout how sorry I was so they could laugh at my foolishness and sentence me anyway. But they would not see any remorse on my part. No, I would not cave. I was giving my silent testimony. For him.

“Miss Granger,” the Chief Warlock addressed me again, “You have been charged for the murder of one Harry Potter. Do you deny these charges? Or do you plead guilty?”

I let my eyes wander over the crowd now, taking them all in. Old school mates I used to call friends glared at me with distaste. Many people were in tears. Co-workers from the Ministry also looked at me with contempt in their eyes. Ginny was still sobbing. Ron. I stared at Ron, but he refused to look at me. Poor Ron. He would never understand. I stole the life of his best friend. Molly. She was sitting on the other side of Ginny, tear-stricken. Harry was like a son to her. She had always wished for Harry to choose Ginny as his love. Always. When she found out Harry and Hermione had been together, Hermione could still remember the sadness in her eyes she had seen. Maybe she had been the only one to see it.

My parents. My mother had tears sliding quietly down her cheeks while my father's strong arms held onto her. A pang of guilt shot through me. Being the parents of a “murderer” must be difficult.

My eyes met Dumbledore's. The twinkle in his eyes was gone. Maybe he would understand. Maybe he wouldn't.

“Miss Granger, do you deny the charges held against you?” I was asked again.

I looked at the Chief Warlock, a pudgy man with graying hair in deep plum robes. “No,” I say, my face showing no emotion.

“So I am correct in saying that you plead guilty for the murder of Harry Potter?” He asked, leaning forward.

The entire room was silent, waiting on my answer.

I look up at all the people condemning me. Murder? There was no malice. No brutality. But she did take his life unlawfully. However, no matter how she looked at it, she couldn't call what she had done murder. It was salvation if anything.

“I premeditatedly ended his life.”

There was a sharp intake of breath from most of the room at my admission.

“Once again, so I am correct in saying you are pleading guilty in the murder of Harry Potter?” The man asked again, standing up this time.

“I will plead guilty to ending his life. But I don't see it as murder.”

The man's face had turned a bright red at this moment. “You killed him, Miss Granger! You killed your husband in cold blood! THAT IS MURDER” He roared, and I could see his knuckles turning white from his grip on the edge of the table.

I began to repeat what I had just admitted to. “I will plead guilty to ending his life. But I don't see—“

He interrupted me with another roar. “What do you think ending his life means?!”

I remained silent. Once again, they wouldn't understand. And I would never do that to Harry's memory.

The Chief Warlock calmed himself and took his seat again. He put on his square spectacles and began to rummage through papers in front of him, though I knew it was just a façade so he could regain his composure.

“Miss Granger, unless you have a withstanding defense, you are being charged for the murder of Harry Potter. Do you have a defense?” He asked smoothly, taking his glasses off to look at me intently.

Once again, the whole chamber went silent. This is what they were here for. Me being accused for the murder of Harry had been splashed all over the news. Everyone already knew I was guilty. No one knew my reasoning. And they were dying to know.

“I have no defense.” I lied unblinkingly. I picked my parents out from the crowd. My mother was crying desperately and my father was clutching her. I'm sorry! I wanted to cry to them, but remained silent.

No one could understand why I killed Harry. To them, the War was over. The streets were safe. Most of the remaining Death Eaters were captured. However, to me, to us, the War waged forever-on in our home.

Harry was a tortured soul. Yet, as “caring” as the Wizarding World was, no one ever bothered to really ask or care about his well-being. No one took the time to look passed his charade of a smile and read his eyes.

Except me.

If Harry was a tortured soul living in a tortured world, then I may as well have been the atmosphere surrounding him, shielding him from the rest of the universe.

The War had really taken its toll on him. Harry did not harvest the hate for Evil that it took to be the Hero he was forced to become. He was too soft. Too innocent. He had to watch so many friends and members of the Order die at his side. By the time Voldemort was destroyed, so was most of Harry.

Yet, no one knew. No one could hear his suicidal thoughts. No one could see just how much the War had affected him. He won. He should live happily ever after.

We deserved it. Or so one would think.

Harry never could look at it that way. Instead, he always saw it as him taking people's lives. If someone on our side died, we may as well have killed them because we did not save them. If someone against us died, then he would eventually cry in remorse for taking someone's life—he never wanted such blood on his hands. Never asked for it. He always said it was not his duty to decide whether or not someone deserved to die, despite their sins. His words never made much since to me, yet really, I did see what he meant.

I always tried to convince him otherwise. I told him the Death Eaters and Voldemort all deserved to die. Unlike him, I was hardened by the War. I could kill without a second thought. Maybe that's why I found it so easy to take his life. I doubt it though.

I think it's because I understood. I knew what he had to go through. During the War, I created my own form of Legilmency. Ordinarily, the person whose mind is penetrated is aware of the penetration to some level—whether they are conscious or unconscious. If they are unconscious, it may seem as if it is a dream. If they are conscious, then they can obviously feel the attack and defend their mind using Occlumency. I mastered the art of using Legilmency without making the attackee aware of my antics. It because very useful in the War as it let us know who really was on our side.

Prying into someone's mind is a very powerful weapon. You can find out just about anything and really get to see exactly who a person is. Their inner-most thoughts and desires. Their secrets. Their regrets.

Part of Harry had always been a mystery to me. I needed to solve that mystery. I couldn't help it. It was tearing him apart.

So I tapped into his mind. I would spend hours just listening to his thoughts. Some thoughts embarrassed me. Some thrilled me. Some made me sad. Some caused a giggle. Most terrified me. He couldn't let go. I was ready to move on with life. We got married. Discussed children. A future.

He was still rutted in the past, and his mind made it clear he help no hope for a future. Even in his secret thoughts, he begged for death.

I answered his silent prayers. I knew there was no amount of time, or therapy, or love that could ever make Harry Potter whole again.

I spent months debating my options. Near the end, it seemed that's all he was ever saying in his thoughts. Death. Suicide. Remorse. Trauma. It was always there, hanging over him like a cloud. He could fake happiness for awhile. He would attend parties and galas and hang out with friends—and everyone was none the wiser. But I would always catch it. From across the room, our eyes would meet and I would see that tortured look. That look that screamed he needed to get away. Now. And he needed me.

So I would stop in the middle of conversation with even the Minister of Magic and run to his side, inconspicuously escorting him somewhere private so he could let it out, whatever emotion it was the time, whether it be anger, regret, remorse, sadness…they all made their way to him.

He couldn't show the Wizarding World t his weak side. No. They were ready to move on. He understood that. He needed to show that he was rebuilding his life as well. He needed to show hope so the rest would follow suit. No one could see him fall apart. Except me.

I remember when I first realized we were not going to have a future together. When I gave in to Fate. When I realized our marriage was not a new beginning, but rather, just another façade for the Wizarding World. Yes, he loved me. Yes, he wanted nothing more than to be my husband and have children and build a life together.

But he couldn't. He couldn't forgive himself. Maybe he couldn't forgive me either. Or anyone else. For kilillng. For not saving those on our side who died.

Like I said, I only gave him what he wanted. What he needed. He couldn't be happy. There was no way. And he was too selfish to ever commit suicide. He couldn't leave the world and break down in one act the lives everyone had tried to put together. He needed someone strong enough to do it for him. Someone who loved him enough to let him go and set him free.

He never told me this verbally of course. But he knew I knew what he was thinking. And he knew what I was planning.

I remember everything about that day. I planned it all out perfectly, though honestly, there wasn't much planning. I couldn't get too elaborate—I was plotting the death of not only my husband, but my soul-mate, my best friend. No, it needed to be quick and easy.

Poison was the best option. It was a Monday. We spent a great weekend together. I knew it was the last I would ever have with him. It had been so great, that he even called in to work on Monday and asked for the day off. He knew it was his last day. We made the most of it. I even let him take me for a ride on his Firebolt. Poisoning him was easy. I simply put a few drops in our food. I had an antidote for myself. I chose to poison myself as well. If my antidote worked, then I was meant to live another day and suffer for my actions. If it didn't, then I got what was coming to me. I made it off pure memory, as if to tempt Fate. We ate in silence for the most part, then curled up on the couch to watch a movie. An odd thing to do when you know it is your last night with someone forever, just to sit there and watch a movie. You would think you would talk about anything and everything. Confessions and “I love you's” and love making would fill the evening. But no. We watched a movie and just enjoyed each other's presence.

The poison would kick in once we fell asleep. We hugged each other tightly for hours it felt like that night before he finally drifted off to sleep. I watched him all night. I had a vile that contained the antidote to the poison stashed away for me to drink. After only ten minutes of his sleeping, I took a swig of the antidote then smashed the vile on the bathroom sink, cutting my hand. I knew that as long as I had it left, I would use it on him. Finally, I fell asleep in the wee hours of the morning.

My consequence for killing Harry was waking up the next morning. When I woke, rays of sunshine tried to fight their way into our bedroom through the dark blinds and curtains. As I stretched and glanced over beside me, the night before rushed back to mind. I didn't panic. I didn't do anything. I was emotionless. I was gripped by a fear I had never experienced. I was too scared to try to wake him. I was afraid of not being able to. Finally, I gently allowed a hand to stray down and slowly graze his cheek. I bent down and kissed him on the mouth. I held if for a few seconds before drawing back. I placed my head on his bare chest. No heartbeat. A lone tear slid down my cheek. A tear of remorse. Of relief. Of fear. Of sadness. I never knew a tear could hold so much emotion. I stood dizzily and donned on my house coat so I could make a trip to the kitchen for a glass of water. I found a piece of paper in the pocket. I unfolded it and found that it was a note from my beloved. In Harry's untidy scrawl, was the message: Thank you. I always knew you would be my Savoir. P.S. You aren't the only one who knows a special branch of Legilmency. For a second, I was puzzled. Then I realized he didn't even sign it or tell me he loved me. But I already knew he did. And with us, words weren't always needed. I smiled. Closure. For the rest of the day, I only laid there clutching him. Feeling despair and nothing else. My regret was gone. I knew I did the right thing.

The next morning, I mechanically got up and dressed myself as well as Harry. I called a funeral service and booked a funeral. I called the Dursleys first. I knew no one else would call them, and once I turned myself in, I would not be able to handle anything else. I did this all without emotion. Finally, I was ready. I talked to Harry's lifeless body. I confessed every sin I could think of. I expressed my guilt. I even told him I was pregnant with is child. I did what most would have done instead of watching a movie. I looked through albums. I allowed myself to mourn. I knew this was the only time I would allow it. I would not be able to go to his funeral. I won't be able to say good-bye then. So I say it now. No regrets.

I placed his body in the living room before Apparating to the Ministry. I turned myself in. I remember the looks I received when I confessed to killing Harry Potter. At first they thought it was a joke until I took them to my home.

Now, all this has landed me here. In front of the Wizengambot. Stating I have no defense. But I do. I have one. But I won't tarnish his memory. I will take whatever punishment they give me as long as it means his memory will never reflect to anyone his weakness. He hated showing that. Except to me. So with me it will stay.

I cry out to God

Seeking only His decision

Gabriel standing confirms

I've created my own prison

“My Own Prison” CREED

So, what did you think?! PLEASE review!!! Like I said, there should be one more chapter. It will deal mainly with Hermione and Harry's child and the aftermath of Hermione's trial. It should be up super soon!

Thanks for reading!

*~Archie~*

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2. Hate Me Today

Here is my next installment! It's not much, just a bit of closure. I know I said I would have it out sooner, but I just got my internet back.

Hate Me Today

I have to block out thoughts of you, so I don't lose my head
They crawl in like a cockroach leaving babies in my bed
Dropping little reels of tape to remind me that I'm alone
Playing movies in my head that make a porno feel like home
There's a burning in my pride, a nervous bleeding in my brain
An ounce of peace is all I want for you, Will you never call again?
And will you never say that you loved me just to put it in my face
And will you never try to reach me, it is I that wanted space

Hate me today.
Hate me tomorrow.
Hate me for all the things i didn't do for you.
Hate me in ways, yeah ways hard to swallow.
Hate me so you can finally see what's good for you.

“Hate Me Today” BLUE OCTOBER

I'm seventeen today. I finally get to be given that special box. The box that holds all of my past in it. I've always been curious what the contents of it were. But I never allowed finding out. But today is different. Today, I am Of Age.

I don't know if that's a good thing or not. The contents of that one special box terrifies me. It is what my parents left me. Or parent. My mother. I know don't much about them. I know my father is Harry Potter. I know his story better than any other. And my mother is Hermione Potter, and once went by the name Hermione Granger. They were both in Gryffindor. They were best friends. I know my mother killed my father. I don't know why—no one does. It's been difficult, knowing all this. And having to live with it. I am the offspring of a hero and a nutcase woman who evidently decided to go on a killing spree in her own house. Luckily, there was only one other in the house.

This is what I've been told. My Uncle Ron has told me stories of how the three of them used to be such great friends. He hates her. I think I hate her too. She robbed me of my parents. But I've also been told her of intelligence and how she helped the Wizarding World. So while people tell me she must have went crazy…I can't help but think there must have been something else there. Something…no one knew. Did he beat her? Maybe he threatened to kill her. Maybe…maybe…that's all I've ever known.

Now, I have the box that could tell me everything. It could also tell me nothing. The box was charmed by my mother so I'm the only person who could ever open it, and only once I turned seventeen.

I take a deep breath and slowly creaked open the tarnished box.

Inside are pictures. I recognize the people in most of them. I have her hair. I have his eyes. But her nose and smile. And his ears and forehead. They were both beautiful people. They looked great together. Tears come to my eyes, and once again, I think I hate her. It is her fault. All her fault. It's her fault I've been raised by my Uncle Ron and Aunt Luna. They took me in after she gave birth to me. She was sentenced to death, but they had to wait until she had her child before they could kill her. So they imprisoned her for eight months before carrying out her sentence.

I continue to sift through the box. It's appears to be bottomless. Magical, no doubt. Finally, I come upon an envelope. It has my name on the front. With shaking hands I open it and pull out a letter. I glance down at the signature and see that it is from her. Before I can help myself, I crumble it up and throw the wad of paper across my room and nailed a Quiddtich poster on my wall. I sit there in silence for several minutes before finally getting up and picking up the wad and flattening it back out. I began to read:

My Dearest Lily,

I can't imagine what you must be feeling right now. I guess I will start with the formalities. Happy Birthday! I am going to guess you are opening this the day you turn seventeen. Being our daughter, I know you must have one hell of a dose of curiosity! Be careful, that can get you in a lot of trouble! I know it got your father and me in quite a bit during school.

Tears began to form in my emerald eyes as so many emotions tugged at me.

I know you must be angry with me. I know you blame me for everything. Perhaps you should. After all, I'm not going to lie to you. Yes, I did kill your father. I poisoned him. It was quick and painless. I'm sure you must be wondering why I could ever do such a thing. And I am going to tell you. I'm going to tell you a story of a boy and a girl and the life they tried to make together. I'm sure Ron has told you many stories of our childhood, but I know there are a few he never will be able to tell. I've left a journal in this box. During my time in prison, you occupied most of my thoughts. I decided to keep a journal during the duration of my waiting time, as well as tell you of your parents. Sides of them you will never know. I will not ask you to forgive me. I never could ask that of you. But I will ask you for understanding. No one will love you more than I do. You were so beautiful that day in the hospital. I cried myself to sleep many nights, thinking about how I knew I would have to give you up. But I had to save him. I had to save your father. I loved him too much. I would do anything for him. I have always stood by his side. And when he needed something, something he couldn't do himself, I put him first and did it for him. It's all in the journal. I just hope you will begin to understand I did what I had to do. What he wanted me to do.

I never told him about you. I knew it would kill him. He knew he could not be a father or a husband. He knew what was coming. If I would have told him, I knew it would have only caused him even more remorse. Just know that he would have loved you. So very much.

And I love you, my beautiful baby girl. I love you so much. Just remember, you are a Potter. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Your father was so Great. You should feel honored to have his name. You are named after his mother, did you know that? I'm sure you've been told that several times.

At this point, I nod through my tears and let out a sob before continuing to read:

I have to go now. They will be coming for me soon. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry. But I did what I had to do. You would be strong enough. I knew you would be. After all, you have your father's blood running through your veins.

Goodbye, my Lily.

Love,

Your Mother

P.S. Please understand. It doesn't have to be right away. But please, eventually, when you are ready, try to understand. I love you.

I re-read the letter several times before picking up the box once more and shuffling through its contents. I find a leather-bound book. I undo the latch and open it. As if flip through the pages, I recognize it to be filled with the same handwriting from the letter. The very last page has a piece of paper, a note, in a different handwriting. It's scribbled. I read the words softly allowed in a whisper: “Thank you. I always knew you would be my Savoir. P.S. You aren't the only one who knows a special branch of Legilmency.” I have a good guess whose writing this is. Once again, I think about how my mother is known as a crazy person and a nutcase. I re-read my father's note. Maybe she wasn't . Maybe instead, she was strong and was the only one who could do this for him. Something he needed. Right now, I don't understand why. I don't understand how she could give up a life with me. I don't understand how he would want to give up making a life with her. I eye her journal. But I plan on finding out.

Confusion and so many other feelings are racing through me as I lay down in my bed and open the book. But one thought is clearer than all others—maybe, just maybe, I don't hate her as much as I thought I did.

I began to read.

So, what did you think? I know this isn't much, but you can still share your thoughts!!!! I believe I will have one more chapter. I know a lot of people say this is OOC and would never happen, but I plan on addressing this in an A/N after the next chapter. Or if you feel that way at all, someone probably mentioned it in a review, and I have replied to most of this so far so you can look into that. Well, review!

Thanks for reading! REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!!!

Until next time…BYE!

*~Archie~*

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3. Weathered

Chapter 3: Weathered

Tell `em all I'm on vacation,
Say I went to visit friends,
That you ain't heard or seen from me in quite a while,
When they ask you where I've been,
Tell `em I'm out on the west coast where it don't ever rain,
And that I'm probably doing fine,

Just don't tell `em I've gone crazy,
That I'm still strung out over you,
Tell `em anything you want to,
Just don't tell `em all the truth,
Yeah don't tell `em all the truth

“The Truth” JASON ALDEAN

Serenity. Something I haven't felt in a long time. It's an odd feeling, serenity. It's an especially odd feeling to have right now, at this very moment. I feel a strange calmness wash over me as I lay here, dying. I've thought about death on several occasions, but never with such…well, serenity. I almost can't even wrap my head around it. I could never imagine such a peaceful death. Laying here in my bed with my amazing wife, my dearest Hermione, in my arms, breathing ever so softly. I wonder what she is thinking. I can pry, but I don't think I will. For once, I am going to let it be—partly because I can already guess what is going through her mind and I want to spare myself the guilt, and partly because I just don't want to. I don't want to ruin this moment because I don't know how long it will last.

I know this is my last night with Hermione. I know that at this very moment, poison is coursing through my veins, ready to make a lethal attack. And I know it is coursing through Hermione's as well. But she has an antidote. I pray she doesn't fall asleep before she takes it. She needs to live—for herself, for our baby. I know about the baby. I know why she never told me; she didn't have to.

When I found out, I thought—for a moment—I was saved. But it was fleeting. It was similar to the moment after I killed Voldemort. The moment when Hermione and I got married. And bought a house together. And a puppy. And a new job. When Ron and Luna got married. Each new little adventure in my life has given me that fleeting moment of salvation. I thought it would be a beginning. But I was wrong. The night terrors remained, worse than ever. The guilt came back. The terrible thoughts began to cloud my mind once more. I needed help. But nothing would work. Hermione did her best. She did more than I could ever hope for. She always understood. She deserves better. A better partner, a better life. Her baby deserves a better father. Someone who knows what they're doing and isn't a wreck.

I don't have my life together—despite how together I look. I'm thirty-one. I have an amazing wife. A nice cozy house. A great job. The best friends. A black Labrador. Even a baby on the way. Most would say a dream come true. But I still can't shake this…this…whatever it is that has taken hold of me. It has somehow burrowed itself into my very being, and shows no signs of leaving. I fake it well enough for the Wizarding World. Even my best mate doesn't realize his best friend is a mess inside.

All my life, I've had these expectations from everyone. The Dursleys expected me to act normal, despite there being an obvious abnormality that surrounded me. When I first stepped into the Wizarding World, everyone expected me to be The Boy Who Lived—someone I didn't even know. How was I supposed to live up to the fame, when I couldn't even remember what had triggered it in the first place? Who wants to have the legacy of living when Voldemort slaughtered your parents at such a young age? No eleven-year-old should be expected to live up to that.

As I grew older, I was expected to be a hero. Such an impossible task. I never could please everyone. At first, I was crazy. I was a liar. Attention-seeking. Then I was the only hope. Then I was the Savior. Finally, I was a role model for the Wizarding World to follow. How could someone like me be a role model? I can barely push myself everyday to get through the day, let alone try to be a leader. I never could quite accept this life. I have been so grateful for Hermione's discretion. Nobody wants to see the magician rig his tricks behind the curtain. No, they want to see the show. The good. The positive. If they knew the secrets, then the show would be for nothing. If the Wizarding World knew my secrets, the last ten years of rebuilding the broken communities and establishing new-found hope may also have been for nothing.

Such high expectations. Even from Hermione—almost. She expected a normal life. But I couldn't give that to her. How could I, with so much blood on my hands? From allies, from enemies. From the sinful to the innocent.

I couldn't. After years of living a half-life, Hermione knew nothing was going to change.

I'm selfish. I love her more than anything, but she deserves someone so much better. Someone who can offer her a better life. But I'm too selfish to leave her. It would kill her. But it's what she needs, what she deserves. I know this. She knows this. I can't make it happen. She can.

And she did.

Will it work out? I don't know. And that worries me. What will happen to Hermione? To the baby? A voice in my head tells me this is robbing our baby of a father—something I had to face growing up—but another voice tells me this is giving the baby a chance to have a father who isn't screwed up like I am. As much as I want that baby and this life, I'm afraid I won't be able to do it. I need to save them from an empty life with me.

Because that's what Hermione and I do. We save each other. I want to save her a life of Hell with me. She wants to save my tortured soul from a life of Hell with myself. It's a win-win situation, right?

She's strong. She'll move on.

I sigh softly as I look down at the woman in my arms. Her eyes flutter open, and for a moment, we both just stare at each other. I try to put as much love and thanks and adoration I can in this one last look before I lean down and place a gentle kiss on her forehead.

This is the right thing, I tell myself before any panic of what I just gave up can envelop and drag me into a dark abyss.

I love her, and this is the right thing.

Good-bye.

I lie awake on a long dark night
I can't seem to tame my mind
Slings and arrows are killin' me inside
Maybe I can't accept the life that's mine
No, maybe I can't accept the life that's mine

Simple livin' is my desperate cry
Been tradin' love with indifference
An', yeah, it suits me just fine
I try to hold on but I'm calloused to the bone
Maybe that's why I feel alone, yeah
Maybe that's why I feel so alone

'Cause me, I'm rusted and weathered
Barely holdin' together
I'm covered with skin that peels
And it just won't heal

I am rusted and weathered
Barely holdin' together
I'm covered with skin that peels
And it just won't heal
No, it just won't heal, no, no, no

The sun shines and I can't avoid the light
I think I'm holdin' on to life too tight
Ashes to ashes and dust to dust
Sometimes I feel like givin' up, yeah
I said, sometimes I feel like givin' up

“Weathered” CREED

Obviously I had issues with a good song/name for this chapter. Haha. And that is the final OFFICIAL chapter for this story. I will try my best as making one more with Lily, after she has read the journal. No promises, but who knows. So I guess I'll see you guys next time. FYI: I'm getting ready to work on PVGR, so keep a look out for a new chapter soon!

Toodles!

*~Archie~*

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