A/N; Hi! Random one-shot :)
I don't like the idea of what i'm going to write, but oh well.
Many people say that the worst possible thing that JK Rowling could have done with the books was kill off Fred, Colin, Snape, Dumbledore, Ect..
But to be honest, this fanfic is what I think is the worst possible thing she could ever have done :)
DISCLAIMER; I do not own Harry Potter!
...'His scar had not pained him in nineteen years. All was well.'
Harry smiled as he woke from his dream. He looked around, expecting floods of letters and owls, a stern teacher in a pointed hat. But to his dismay, he realized that he was in his lonely cupboard under the stairs of number 4 Privet Drive, with only a stray spider for company.
His aunt Petunia woke him with a shout and he sighed as he got up.
From that day on, Harry continued life as normal, but he grew up always wishing, waiting to discover magic. He looked closely between traffic for the Knight Bus. He looked for people apparating out of thin air. He looked for people in strange coloured cloaks, but he never saw them.
Every night, Harry dreamed of Hogwarts, of his friends that never existed. Of the battles he had fought that had never been.
Harry grew old, unmarried and unhappy.
He never did get his letter to Hogwarts, he never cast any spells, and he never knew what it was to love or to hate.
Harry died at the age of seventy-three, knowing broken heartedly that magic did not exist.