FicWad

*A/N: I read another story on another site and in many ways it inspired me to write this. It is just a new angle to view the ending of the seventh book. Some may not agree, but I believe that it is completely plausible. I hope you enjoy it and, as always, please comment! *

Fallen Idols

When I first saw him, I had no idea who he was. I almost mocked his disheveled hair and baggy clothes. Then I learned of his story, his fame, and his loss. When I was young, I put him on a pedestal where he could not be touched. I worshiped him as if he was an immortal god, and I was nothing more than a mouse in the midst of his greatness. He saved my life once, so I built him a taller pedestal and loved him more. But he was older, and was much more than I could ever hope to be.

Eventually, I moved on, but I left half my heart behind in the process. I dated, flirted, kissed, and, in some incomplete way, I loved again. No one would ever be good enough; they would never measure up to his greatness. I had long since let go, but still I hung on desperately trying to cling to the threads of what could be. I saw him struggle and I watched as others picked him up off of the ground. Every time I saw him fall, I wished to be the person by his side. But he would never see me in that way; I would never be able to measure up. My brother was his best mate and therefore, I saw him constantly. Caught in a bitter tug of war, I was split down the center. One half wished to move on from the “boy who lived” but the other clung desperately to an eleven-year-old’s dream.

I watched my brother and my idol go on gallant adventures to defeat those that threatened the good of mankind. I was desperate to tag along on those adventures, thinking it would be the highlight of my life. I finally got my chance in my fourth year. He desperately tried to stop me from coming. In some brotherly way, he was trying to keep me safe and alive. I despised the gesture; he thought that I was too weak and unable to fight. But no, no, he did not think that! He merely cared for my safety. That night I proved myself, I fought alongside him and hurt those who hurt others, but still it wasn’t enough to open his eyes. But he suffered again, losing more of those he loved. I couldn’t help but believe that, he too, was losing me, someone who loved him, but it would go unnoticed.

I had a boyfriend; it was time for me to move on, to grow up. Of course, each guy I dated I believed would bring me somehow closer to him. I became indifferent but still friendly, I acted like a human being, not a shy little girl, and he took notice. I dated his classmate and I saw him squirm in frustration. I saw what I was doing and I kept on doing it. We talked more, laughed more, and we spent more time together, but he still sat on that throne I had built for him so many years previous. He liked me and I saw it, but it was the love that one has for their sister; because he could not love me. No, never me, the daughter of a poor and infamous blood traitor.

Near the end of my fifth year, the pedestal sank slightly back into the ground. I was able to reach; standing on the tips of my toes I pulled him off the pedestal and made him mine, or so I thought. Until one terrible night when he lost yet more of the things he loved. I then picked him off the ground and lead him inside a once warm castle. He was changed and I knew he would never be the same again. He was lost and in pain and no one could fix it for him, not even me. I knew it was coming, but I did not admit its presence. I refused to see that after everything we had been through he would still break my heart. On the saddest day of Hogwarts history, we buried the greatest headmaster that had ever lived. Lying beside that man laid the love I once held dear, his death ended so many of the wonderful things in my life, but I did not blame him. With great sadness, I accepted my love’s final words as he walked away, unable to bear looking at my face. I loved him, and even if he had never said it to me I knew he felt the same.

For his coming of age, I gave him a kiss. The kind of kiss you choose to remember on your death bed. The kind filled with so much passion, pain, care, and love that it overflows onto the floor. I did not cry when I watched him leave because I knew that he must. It would be selfish of me to ask him to stay, so once again I played that cruel game. My words bid him goodbye, but my broken heart held on until the connection was severed. But I was so young, not nearly old enough to have these feelings.

I went back to school that Fall, all alone. I did not hear his laugh or see his face. If my heart was not broken before, it now lay in sharp and dangerous pieces scattered on the ground. While I waited for news of his certain death, I fought for the same things he was fighting for. I fought until I was punished and even then I continued to fight. I forgot his name, his face, our love, and I took on his fight and put every tear and pain into what I did. I did it all for him, hoping that if we were to ever see each other again I would deserve him.

In those final days, I waited with bated breath for the news that was inevitably going to come. I was convinced that I was never going to say the words that had been imprinted on my heart since my first year. Then the final battle began; the greatest evil the world had ever seen against a handful of professors and school children. But there he was, alive, leading the way, putting himself in the frontline ready to fight. He told me to stay put, he told me that I could not fight. I was angry, after all this time he still didn’t trust me. I still wasn’t strong enough to stand by his side. My friends told me he did it because he loved me, that he couldn’t bear to see me die. I scoffed at their words; it had always been this way. If he had truly loved me, he would have let me fight.

Later on that night I would learn that he had walked out of the castle to sacrifice himself for the good of mankind. He didn’t say goodbye, it seemed selfish to say out loud so I said it in my head instead. He left me, he went to die and he could not even face the girl who had given him all those years.

My head battled on, “BUT HE LOVES YOU!”

If he truly loved me, he would have faced me before he went to give up his life, he would have explained that he was breaking my heart to save others. I could never forgive him. His pedestal was cracked and the throne in pieces. He would never be the same person.

“BUT HE LOVES YOU AND HE WAS BEING BRAVE!”

No, being brave means facing those things you struggle with, not running from them. He was willing to give up his own life without any idea of what it would do to the ones that loved him, what it would do to me!

Weeks later he claimed, “I DID IT FOR YOU!”

I never asked for that! I never asked to observe his body slumped and dead on the ground in front of me. I never asked for the heartache that comes with losing the one you love. It was that pain that went beyond heartache; it was a pain that ripped my soul in two. I lost more in his death than I would ever gain in my own life.

“BUT I HAD TO!” he screamed.

I knew he had to, but he did not have to face it on his own. After all these years, you would think he would want comfort or maybe a hand to hold, but no, he is the “Boy who Lived” he had to be stronger than the rest. He had to be more than a man; he had to be a savior. He had to sacrifice himself, my heart, to save everyone else.

“BUT I LOVE YOU, IT WAS FOR YOU,” he said dejectedly.

No! It wasn’t for me; it was for everyone but me. If it had been for me, you would have taken me with you; you would have given me that chance to fight. But no, you thought me too weak. You put me in a safe corner thinking that all I needed was my life in order to survive, but I needed so much more than air to live. You had become one with me, without you I could never be whole, I would never heal. You left, my heart broke, my world shattered. If I did not die while fighting, I would have died from the heartbreak.

“Can’t you forgive me?” he pleaded.

He doesn’t want my forgiveness, just like he didn’t want my permission. Anyway, what is the forgiveness of a poor blood traitor in comparison to the greatness of a war hero? The great teen that defeated the greatest and most evil man of a time could not honestly seek the forgiveness of someone who was hidden in a corner. He did not want the forgiveness of someone who did not even deserve one last good bye or explanation.

“BUT HE LOVES YOU,” my friends continued to say.

How could I love a man who would forget me so easily? How could I relearn to love someone who ignored me for so long? How could I love a man who thought me so weak he asked me to hide? How could I go back to someone so willing to give up his own life? How could I not go back to him?

He loved me once, but I held him so high I could not reach. Now, he stands so tall that few are worthy. He hurt me to the point of physical death. I saw my life come full circle when I was in his arms. I watched him lying dead, as all the blood in my body ran cold.

“How could I forgive him?”
“But he deserves it,” I told myself.
I can never forgive, I can never forget!

Tears sliding down my cheeks, I said the words I had been denying my lips for nearly a year. The words were so powerful that they could change everything that had occurred. But was I worthy of his greatness? Had I finally earned his love. How could I possibly forget?

“HOW CAN I FORGIVE HIM?” my soul screamed.

“BECAUSE I LOVE HIM,” I screamed the words on the tops of my lungs. I was released from a prison that I had been trapped in for so long. The tears rolled down my face as I kissed his lips.

I did not want to forgive, b-but I loved him.

* So that’s it, the end of another one-shot story. I really hope you enjoyed it, because I loved to write it! Please comment! The more positive reviews, the greater likelihood that I will start posting longer stories. XOXO – Elizabeth *