Flower Petals

-51-

It's a little depressing, the level at which Harry struggled to move under his sisters curse.

It was so clear what she intended to do. So crystal clear, that lying in Dumbledore's office, with his face on the marble floor, he began to hyperventilate.

How could he let this happen? Years of abuse and neglect to his flesh and blood? And all to sum up to the wrongful death of the person he loved most in the word.

Snape had made it clear to Voldemort the steps of victory.

1- Convince a Potter to murder the other, severing the Holcruxs connection

2- Murder the remaining sibling, there will be no use for them after the deed is done

All a lie, cleverly concocted for the purpose of saving there lives for as long as possible. Snape pushed it into the Dark Lord's head, over and over like a dark religion.

The truth?

If one of them died, (not by the hand of the other that is) there would be no hope for the Dark Lord to prevail, no hope for the child that was raised to die.

Alstroemeria.

Harry knew then more than ever the role that he was meant to play. He wasn't sure if he was truly the chosen one at all, was the he chosen because he was Harry Potter? Or was he just the lucky sibling, the profiteer of a 50/50 draw?

All the days he lay awake, holding the cupboard stairs closed with his foot to keep the Dursley's from her, every scrap of food he spared, every present sent to the burrow and letter to say 'I miss you little sister' brought a level of grief about him. It all came in waves, as if he was already attending her funeral and watching her casket lower into the ground.

She wanted to die for him.

Everybody died for him.

Harry thought about Hermione.

She had wit. There was a certain way she smiled when she knew she'd backed you into a corner with your own words. She was judgmental, but if Harry pushed aside his need to be kind, he found her quite funny. She was unapologetic.

And he loved her.

God how he loved her

But not more than Alstroemeria.

He struggled to beat the curse, but as Al receded into the forest so did the power of her magic. He slowly regained the ability to move. A vision came to the forefront of his mind, tickling at his eyebrows until he shrieked in pain and viewed what he feared the most in the world.

Alstroemeria was dead.

But he still felt her- still felt her half of the dark lord swirling, he was not absent of it. And so she breathed, she must, which meant he still had a chance.

Draco's mother was leaning over her, pausing for a moment, and then shouting to the dark lord...dead...dead...dead....

"Then I prevail.." Voldemort hissed. "There is nothing left to do but take the fort, let the weak surrender and join their lord, or die."

Nagini slithered at his feet, moving before he had taken his first step to the sure of her feast. The last hollcrux. The last to made, the last to stand.