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It was fitting, he supposed, for it all to end like this; after all, this was how it all began, was it not? Well it was for him anyways. His first experience with this situation had been when he was only a babe. He alone had survived, where many others had failed. He alone had survived the killing curse. For that reason, and that reason alone, he had been hailed by the wizarding world as The-Boy-Who-Lived.
It had begun with him surviving where others died.
That was the point of it all.
Well that and the fact that he watched as those he loved were killed in front of him. He had watched then, unable to do a thing to stop it. And he was watching now...doing nothing.
Why? Because the wonderful Boy-Who-Lived was afraid of death. Oh sure, when he had thought about death, in the eventual "it will happen to me because it happens to everybody in some far off, distant future" sort of way, but when faced up front with death, to put it plainly, Harry Potter was a coward.
Voldemort had given him the choice, to live or to die. It had been a one time, nonnegotiable offer. He had chosen life. He had chosen life over death, thinking that it was preferable. He could only lament now about how wrong he had been.
His reward had been permitted to stand by, watching, as his loved ones suffered from the most horrible tortures imaginable, while he, their golden boy, sat there, in relative comfort, doing nothing. He watched them all pass by, and eventually pass on, with a tortured look in their eyes when they looked at him. Betrayed and grief stricken, they didn't even protest their torture. How could they, when their "savior" sat there, overseeing their agony, as if he had decreed it himself?
It was fitting, he supposed, for it to end like this. Where everyone else had succeeded, he had failed. In the beginning, he had fought to save the world, in the end, he had surrendered to save himself…and for his pains, he had lost not only himself, but also the world.
It was therefore, only fitting that he too should die. He had not foreseen that only a creature as demented as Lord Voldemort should rob him of this one opportunity for redemption. How fitting, how apt that he should have this one opportunity for freedom robbed from him, by becoming immortal, with a soul.
How apt.
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A/N: Sorry for all the repetition, it just kind of wrote itself that way. This purpose of this fic (hopefully) is to get me over the "I can't post anything because I just don't know where to start" phase.
Any reviews would greatly be appreciated.