The flames crawl along my body, licking their way over my burning flesh. I stand there in the midst of it all and let the pain wash over me; this pain is better than the other. I don't scream, I don't utter any sound. Sixteen years of withholding emotions has finally ended; I have nothing to live for now. I know I'm going to die and the thought comforts me, I won't have to live with the awful pain.
Shadows move in the flickering light and in my last moments of consciousness I see gloved hands reaching for my falling broken body, a mouth moving, forming words I can't make any sense of. Black washes over me and I feel at peace.
Ginny Weasley turns to her mother, Molly and asks, "Is he going to be okay mum?" Tears drip down her face to join the growing collection at her breast.
Molly Weasley sighs. "Even if he recovers he's not going to be Harry, I'm sorry darling."
Harry Potters friends stand around the hospital bed that contains said boy and say their good byes as his chest moves up and down. The teenage boy they loved has left. The pressure of being The-Boy-Who-Lived finally breaking him.
As the last Weasley leaves the room, Harry James Potter takes his last breath.
