A/N: I've decided to upload all my fics into a single account. eye of the beholder until let the walls break down were originally only uploaded to my AO3 account, callingthequits. Then I went back to my roots and thought, "Hey, why not post it on Fanfiction too?" so here I am.
Yes, the title is from Titanium by David Guetta ft. Sia. I know, I know.
He bites his lip, watches the shadows of the forest play with each other, and perhaps, he regrets he never really had much of a chance for that. He wishes he could have, at the same time he's happy he didn't. It's easier like this; with no childhood innocence holding him back. It's easier like this.
All work, no play; that should've made him Dull Boy Jack. Oh no, instead, he's Boy Who Lived Harry Potter, and nobody ever thinks about Quidditch Player Potter, or Too Curious Harry. He's always Harry Potter, Harry Potter, Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived, Chosen One, The Boy Who Never Got A Chance To Be. It makes his heart beat faster, his feet almost stumble, and his blood pound. It makes him stop, for a moment, and he thinks about staying here. Hide in the forest. Try to forget. Let them believe he was dead, because he's as good as anyway.
His father puts a ghostly hand on his shoulder, making him shiver. He smiles at him, and weakly, Harry tries to do the same.
James Potter looks sad as he nods his head and falls back behind. He wonders why that is.
With an air of conviction, Harry stares ahead and ploughs on. No sense trying to prolong the inevitable.
And quietly, a small part of thinks of going back. Back to Ron, to Hermione, to Ginny, to Hogwarts; and suddenly he can't see very well. What he supposes as mist wells up in his eyes, and he tears up. All he wants to do, by this point, is to go home. Where he belongs.
He closes his eyes and continues walking, blindly following his instincts. Was this how it was meant to end, then? To start, and end, with Voldemort pointing a wand at him, saying the same two words, with the same flash of green light? Despite himself, he snorts. How fitting.
But he wonders, if sometime, in a different life, one with peace and no Voldemort to worry about, what would've been happening now. He would've been in Hogwarts, surely, but would Ron and Hermione still be there? Would Ginny? Stubbornly, Harry thinks that it's better this way. Even if he dies, a seventeen year old too young for everything he's been through, he at least got the chance to spend his years with them by his side.
Similarily, he wonders if, sometime, they'll remember Harry, the Boy Who Was Their Friend. He likes to think so, anyhow, and in a way, it makes him dying okay.