The Other Potter: Book 7

The actual end of the series fuck

How much do you know about extraordinary witches?

Dumbledore had been calling me one for years, not really knowing why, but knowing it was true.

Extraordinary witches are born from the resurrection stone.

They have unusual powers that can surpass those of the greatest wizards.

Much of wizarding logic does not apply to them.

They are Extraordinary ‘Witches’ because this power was too special to be given to men. That’s sexism for you. 

The most peculiar thing about these ‘Extraordinary witches’ however, is that they are cursed with a gift, like me. They are cursed with death.

Death is their gift.

In my death, I give life.

And if that isn’t the most peculiar gift to give, then I don’t know what is.

Rest assured here, I am the only extraordinary witch, so I defined myself. Yo.

All this means is that all who have died in this battle: Fred, Lupin, Tonks, Harry, Hermione, Luna, Jane, everyone, everyone will live. Just this once.

Now, I don’t really know how it works exactly, but I know I’ll be erased, I won’t be remembered, and someone will find some way to turn this into a story about how Harry Potter saved the day. I feel childish for being jealous of that...

I also don’t know how well this will work. I could bring back just the people who died today, or maybe the wizards who’ve died this year – I might be able to save Moody. But maybe I might be able to bring back Sirius or Cedric, maybe even my parents for all I know.

I have no idea.

And I’ll never find out.

But I have to die.

That much is plain.

My legs swayed beneath me as I walked down the steps. My hands shook violently. I ambled out the doors of the entrance hall. Silent tears streaming down my cut and bruised face. I was going to die – no this was worse than death. I was going to be erased from history; memory; thought; existence. I was going to be gone from the universe.

How is it fair? I could do so much. I could have a life. I could be happy. I could do so much. I could be someone. I could have kids; a family; I could be with George...

But this is what I have to do.

Can I let you in on a secret? I might as well do it now. I’ll just tell you everything. All the little things I’ve been hiding for years.

Harry has a scar on his forehead – I have one too. Mine’s on my right butt cheek. I didn’t really tell anyone, because it’s not really something to bring into the conversation.

I am really good at reading expressions. Like, I know the exact truth written all over someone’s face.

The first thing I notice about people is what they’ve just said to me. I never really take in what people look like. I’ve got shit ass observational skills.

I stopped dead in my tracks as I saw something glowing on the ground. I picked it up. It was a little stone. My skin glowed where it was in contact with it.

I saw Harry. I saw Mum. I saw Dad. I saw Lupin. I saw Hermione. I saw Fred. I saw Jane. I could see everyone I’d known who’d passed away.

“You have to leave me.” I whispered to them. “I can’t do this with you all watching.”