There are two men I know, and in some way they were connected. They shared something that made them the same. That kept one living, and they didn’t even know that they were sharing a bit of a soul. That they held a connection, that something, something they both shared was holding them together.
They’re different men. They’re different in every way possible. It confuses me how they were ever put together. There are other people, other people who aren’t close to the way one man acts, but closer than the ways I’ve seen the other.
One man is evil, one is hateful. One has no love inside of him. He is torn, but he tore his own world. He could have done better, but he was ruined by greed, by hunger for power. He couldn’t control himself. It seemed as though he hated the world for abandoning him, and he wanted to make everyone pay.
He didn’t love anyone. He didn’t care about anyone, even the people who wanted to help him, who wanted to help him on his mission to gain power, even those people he never cared about. He never held any love inside. His love was buried in power, and that was all he held. This man is known to me as Tom Riddle.
The other loves. The other makes you happy, the other is normal. The other makes you feel like life is filled with color. The other is kind. The other makes my world feel wonderful. The other makes me smile, laugh, and enjoy just being around him. The other is happiness.
The other doesn’t feel like the world owes him, even though he does whatever he can for it. The other doesn’t like being a hero. He doesn’t like the greed for power. He doesn’t like to hurt, to laugh at the hurt ones. He is grateful to the people who help. The other is noble, but is modest. The other is a hero to the world, but to me he is just someone I love. This man is known as Harry Potter.
I hate Tom Riddle. I hate the fact that every time I think of his name I think of the day I could have died. I think of the day he tried to kill me. I think of walking down the cold tunnel, walking to my death. I think of lying there on the cold floor, of him taunting me, until I couldn’t feel anymore.
I hate thinking about what he did to my brother, about the whole family we once had. I hate thinking about him, him making my mother cry, my father cry, my brothers lost and broken not knowing what we would do without Fred, the brother who made us laugh.
What about my friends? What he did to them, where we became scared of doing anything in the places that were our second homes. Where first years or even classmates screams of pain rang through our dreams, of Colin gone, of Lavender hurt, of all those things he told his people to do.
Of Harry limp in Hagrid’s arms because he let Tom kill him. Harry gone forever because he let Tom kill him. Harry killed by the person who made me feel hate.
Then there is Harry, who I love. Who makes me happy, who understands my weird obsessions and loves me for it. He wants to build sand castles and hunt for sand crabs with me. When he holds my hand, he makes me feel like I’m walking on air. When he kisses me, it’s like I’m made of snow and melting on the sun. When he tells me he loves me, it’s like I’m reaching the highest point.
Who makes me so happy. Who is everything to me. Who tells me that I’m the one that makes him happy, that I’m the one who is everything to him. That I’m the only girl he could ever dream for. That I’m the only girl that he’s ever had the pleasure of splitting a treacle tart with.
One I hate with every inch of me. One I love with every speck of me. One brought me into the dark, and the other saved me from it. One gave me nightmares, the other took them away.
There is the one who hurt me because he had no love inside, and hurt me for his own happiness. Then there is the other who made me sad because he left, but he left so he could fight for me. So I could have that chance of living, so I didn’t have to worry about dying.
One wanted to kill me, and I wanted to kill him. The other loves me, and I love him. One creates my battles, while the other fights them. One makes me cry, while the other moves my tears away.
One gives me wounds, and makes me think about painful things. The other takes away the pain, and makes everything feel so much better and so real than it was before. One tries to hurt me. The other one protects me, and becomes my shelter.
I glance back at Harry, our hands holding onto each other. Our backs are on the carpet, our eyes on the ceiling, but what he said says something, he’s scared, he was scared of turning into something he never was, and that he never could be.
I roll over and rest my chin on his chest. He smiles. “Hello, beautiful,” he whispers, brushing my hair back.
“You are not like him. You are not even close. I know you, and I know him. You are nothing like him,” I say, looking into Harry’s eyes.
“What if I once was?” asks Harry, he looks broken by the idea.
“You never were,” I whisper. “You never were like him.”
“How do you know?” he asks. He’s not trying to challenge me; he just wants to know.
“Because I have always loved you, because I have loved you with every inch, every bit, every speck of me. To me you are my happiness, and he is my hate. I will always hate him in ways I could never hate you.”
Harry looks at me and smiles. He smiles the kind of smile that I get every time I see him. He smiles the way I know him to smile. “I love you, Ginny,” he whispers.
I curl up next to him. He puts his arms around me, and it feels so wonderful, and it’s so simple. It’s the same way we spent the day, laying on the floor talking about different things. It wasn’t anything special, but it is to me. With him, everything is wonderful.