Title: Liberation
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters. All characters are creations of Joanne K. Rowling.
Rating: M (just to be safe)
Warnings: vague mentions of child abuse
Pairings: Harry/OC
Harry was running. Behind him he could sense his persecutor even if he could neither hear nor see him. He know he was there.
He had been running for quite some time already and he knew that his pursuer could have caught him at any time. But for the being following him it seemed to be no more than a game.
Harry was not even sure why he was running away from this being.
What did he really have to lose if it came down to it.
He did not much care about his life if it could even be called that.
All he had ever know was hate and disgust from his relatives and the fickle adoration of the wizarding population who put him on a podest one moment only to condemn him as the Voldemort's supposed successor without so much as taking another breath.
Of course, he had his friends.
But even with Ron and Hermione he was not sure if they really were his friends because they genuinely liked him or if this relationship, too, was rooted in him being the "Boy-who-lived".
And although they had known each other now for almost 6 years he did not think they really knew him. They had no idea what went on at the Dursley's, knew nothing of the emotional and physical pain he experienced and they made no attempt to find out even though there had been many clues in the past. Maybe he was being unfair, maybe they were simply to innocent to even consider the abuse he was dealt, but that just proved his point: he could never rely on them fully, they were - though 16 years old, same as him - still children. He however had never had a childhood.
And so, what was there really in this world to give him a reason to live on?
The prophecy? Why should he care about the words of a fraud? Oh, he knew that the prophecy was not false, he had after all seen her second prophecy come true. But prophecies depended on the decisions of the individual.
If Voldemort had not decided to act on the words spoken all those years ago nothing would have come of it. He, of course, had acted and set it into motion.
That did not, however, mean that Harry had to oblige and fulfil the prophecy.
Britain's wizards and witches could just take care themselves of the mess they had cooked up by letting their society stagnate the way it did.
Who did they think gave them the right to put a sixteen year old boy at the front lines of this war and hide behind him? Harry could not think of anyone. He certainly had not volunteered.
Was there even one person in this whole world who cared about him? Just him, Harry, and not the bloody "Boy-who-lived"?
Every person he thought of had some ulterior motivation for interacting with him.
Even Sirius who Harry knew had loved him was not able to see Harry just for himself but had mixed him up with James Potter. But that did not matter now anyway; Sirius was long dead and gone.
Harry slowed downed. He could not remember why he had been running. Was it that terrible to let go of the life he lived?
What he could remember now, however, was the want he had seen in the crimson eyes of his pursuer earlier this evening when he had seen the dark and beautiful being for the first time.
Not that he had not known that he had been stalked for the best part of the last half a year. But he had not done anything about it then. Harry had to admit to himself that he had a serious problem with flirting with danger. Maybe that was why he had left the castle this evening and come to the Forbidden Forest.
But all these contemplations lost there importance when he looked up to see those glowing red eyes again and in them he saw desire, not simple lust, but a raw desire for Harry, every aspect of him.
And when his pursuer's arms encircled him and his teeth pierced his throat Harry let himself be freed from all that bound him and lost himself in bliss.