Umm…don't kill me? I know I haven't updated in AGES, but…well, everyone knows what a pain school can be in playing havoc with writing time. Anyhoo, here's just a wee story that I thought of to keep everyone from slaying me – hee, only kidding. I felt like writing something new, so here it is. Enjoy.
Harry sat. Alone. Cold. Hungry. Tired. Detesting the mere thought of company, warmth, food or sleep. No, this was how it was supposed to be. This was his destiny. He was the One. The only One. It was his job to kill Voldemort. His and only his.
It was the summer of Harry's sixth year, and he was more than painfully aware of just how his life had been turned thoroughly upside down. First, with Sirius' death came the death of his hope of being free of the Dursley's. With his death came the end of the one member of family Harry had ever really had. And then the Prophecy. To kill or be killed. His destiny. His fate. Not much of a choice, really. But could he really do it? Could he kill someone, even if that someone was Voldemort? Murder was wrong, was it not? But then, surely killing Voldemort was justifiable? But it was still murder. It seemed that nothing seemed clear-cut anymore. Where once everything had been simple black and white, greyscale now reigned. He thought of his friends – Ron, Gryffindor to the bone: loyal, brave and strong. Rash and often quick to condemn. Hermione, the clever one: smart, knowledgeable and level-headed. Rule abiding and sometimes narrow-minded. Both lived in worlds of black and white. But Harry was different. How could they understand? They couldn't. They wouldn't. He wasn't sure he wanted them to.
Kill or be killed.
Standing, Harry made his way out of his room. He wasn't entirely sure where it was he was going, choosing to let his feet take him wherever. He ended up heading out of Privet Drive completely. He found himself stopping at the top of a hill. It was still dark, and he was the only one around. Just him. Only him. Alone. Always. He stared out at the town that lay sprawled beneath him. The lives of so many were in his hands. If Voldemort won…all of those people would die. Hitler had nothing on Voldemort, though the two thought in the same way. One wanted to kill an entire race – one wanted to kill an entire species. Harry knew that, when it came down to it, he couldn't sentence all those Muggles to death – he didn't want them to find out that the world could possess a bigger, more threatening evil than Hitler. They were oblivious to their peril, and he wanted to keep it that way. Let them worry about the mundane – let them have their happiness while they could get it.
The sun rose while Harry stood, keeping watch over the sleeping town. Red, pink, orange and gold lit up the sky in a riot of colour. Warmth spread through Harry as the sun shined on him. Maybe life wasn't all greyscale – maybe the colour was what made it worth fighting for. There was always hope – after all, at least there was a way of defeating Voldemort. He would be that way. No matter what it took, he would protect those colours. He would make sure that the world didn't sink into monochrome. He would be their hope.
Because he was the only one that could.
That's it, everyone. The end. At least, I think so. There may another chapter, though I'm not promising anything. If you want me to continue, tell me so in a review. If you want me to leave it at a one-shot, tell me that in a review. If you don't care, then…fair enough.
Luv Lolly
xxx