Because of the War
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, thanks for reminding me.
Enjoy! Or not, I don't care.
Harry Potter, covered in grim and dirt of all kinds, walked calmly and quietly through the battlefield.
He knew what was going to happen.
He was finally going to finish him off; Lord Voldemort.
Breathing lightly, he traveled over fallen trees and fires that burned the wood branches still attached to their trunks.
The whole forest looked depressing; an eerie fog settled over the land, spells flew about bent on striking whatever came into its way.
He stood momentarily.
He glanced once more at the broken bodies that lay on the ground around him.
Bodies were cast aside, some facing downwards and some facing up.
The faces were horrified, eyes opened to the whites, mouths still open to cast the spell last on their lips; it was horrifying.
Though, Harry walked calmly through it.
He closed his eyes and walked through once again.
Some of the faces he passed were other students he knew.
Seamus Finnegan, Tonks, Remus…
Even Collin Creevy, an innocent sixth year boy lay dead on the ground.
Their lives wasted away.
Feeling the magic around him, he toke the wand he had placed in his pocket and casually gave it a flick at the darkened woods.
He heard grunts of pain and a scream.
More Death Eaters were gone now.
But some were still coming.
Pausing at the end of the massacre of bodies, he took one look at the sky and prayed for the first time in his life.
Let me kill him. Let me avenge everyone who lost their lives for this.
In front of him stood Death Eaters, crowding around him like the first time he had been in the Leaky Cauldron and no one would stop shaking his hand.
He gave the Death Eaters no indication that he had cared about their appearance.
They attacked.
Curses he had never heard…
Avada Kedavra… Lots of them…
Carpe Retractum…
Bombarda…
Everte Statum…
Crucio… Lot of them, too
Defodio…
Expelliarmus…
So many spells, but none hit true.
He dodged and weaved through the trees, avoiding death and explosions.
He felt his heart tighten and almost burst.
Could he do this?
Yes, he could.
He hoped.
Charging through and cursing a bit of them himself, he broke through their ring of people and bolted towards where he knew Voldemort was.
He was sure of it.
He was being chased, he knew this.
They wouldn't get him, he also knew this.
Would he survive?
He didn't know this.
He heard the others.
Hermione and Ron…
Neville and Luna…
They were getting the Death Eaters.
Making his way easier and quicker than he ever wanted.
"Run Harry! RUN!"
He didn't know who had said it.
For the sake and honor of his friends, he ran faster.
He passed others.
Their bodies, not only broken, but disfigured and missing body parts.
Blood coated the ground and trees.
Creatures of almost every kind were even lying dead before him.
He pushed himself harder.
When he got through the trees, into the pasture where Voldemort stood, with Death Eaters surrounding, he felt nauseas.
He couldn't do this, but he had no choice.
He would not lose another person in his life.
His parents…
Cedric…
Sirius…
Dumbledore…
Snape…
Tonks…
Remus…
Everyone else in the battle…
He would not lose them.
Before the battle started, he remembered a time when he was worried about not getting in trouble because of his cousin, Dudley.
He remembered when he thought magic wasn't real.
He remembered being the innocent, abused child he was.
He remembered when that all changed.
Going to get the Sorcerer's Stone…
Meeting Tom Riddle…
Fighting the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets…
Thinking Sirius betrayed his parents…
Peter getting away…
The TriWizard Tournament…
Cedric Diggory dying…
Writing I must not tell lies…
Losing Dumbledore…
Harry closed his eyes and reopened them, seeing the faces of his loved ones.
He walked calmly to Voldemort, bowed and raised his wand.
Voldemort, surprisingly, did the same.
The battle began.
Lives were lost, some were saved.
Harry lived.
Voldemort died.
This happened because of the war.
And nothing could change anything.
Would Harry change anything?
He sometimes wished.
Could he?
No.
As Harry watched his last child and only daughter, Lily, go off and board the train.
He began to think.
She wouldn't have been here if not for that war.
He had lived on without having to try and not die every year because of that war.
Because of the war, he lived and so did many others.