Chapter 13 “Curtain Call”

Yes, I fell. I fell, but with both eyes open, and not on account of some conveniently watered-down Crucio curse.

I saved his life. I saved Harry. Whatever else, I can look back and smile because of that, with no thoughts or regrets. Well, except one: that I missed the battle. I bet it was a fantastic fight.

And in the end, he was still the Boy Who Lived. Thanks in part to me.

Harry will live on and love and thrive because any alternative would be unacceptable. Unthinkable.  I can only hope he’ll come to realize that. Maybe even laugh at my oft misguided attempts in making sure it came about.

And I’ll never admit this to anyone else (well obviously), but I was wrong. Wrong about Sirious anyway. He hadn’t died for some great cause like defeating Voldemort or defending the rights of the Muggle-born or for helping house elfs or for any unnamable, untouchable dream.   He fought for Harry. Like I did. I wasn’t ready to die at the hands of a troll in first year, or by some Basilisk, or in the Department of Mysteries.  But when it came to a clear-cut choice between Harry’s life and my own… I didn’t have a second thought.

And of course I’ll miss him. I’ll miss his hands and his voice and his lovely eyes. I’ll miss his moods and his smile and everything and anything that was Harry. Gods I can even see him now. I can even smell him, all clover and ink and rain. I can  hear him. I loved that voice, a lovely tenor…and, wait, I really can hear him…he’s talking to Pomfrey…

…and what’s Pomfrey doing here?

Oh.

Apparently, I’m in the hospital ward.