Darkness seemingly was his only companion and that was how he wanted it at the moment. He needed time to think. He needed thoughts, ideas—anything. At the moment this eighteen-year-old was desperate. Who wouldn't be if you were his position? The place that many once considered glorious was now losing its bright gleam. This dark man knew his life had to end. When and how? Those were just complications that he would have to deal with soon enough.
His solemn green eyes scanned the pages of an ancient book, the words and letters that only two people could read at the moment. The language of parsel tongue. This book was special, written by Salazar Slytherin himself. A book of great power. A book that Harry Potter needed to complete his task.
This green bound book had been found in Dumbledor's old office when Harry had been sneaking about in the night. He had soon discovered he was the only would could actually decipher it. But these spells had helped him along the way. Over the past year or two he had used them to help him. But now he was searching for a whole new type of spell. A spell that would kill both the victim and the user at the same time. Questions were rampaging in his mind and he did everything to ignore them but it was harder than it sounded.
Why did this have to happen to him? Was this really supposed to happen to him? But the main question was 'Why did Voldemort have to make the last horcrux?' Yep, Voldemort had reached a new low. Harry Potter, the-boy-who-lived, The Chosen One was the last horcrux. How it happened? No one was actually sure. For all they knew it could have even been an accident. Something that had been an interesting but horrible after-effect of the rebounding killing curse.
The meeting he had just held with his friends and almost family hadn't gone that well. Harry could still hear the gasps, and tears. But the worst thing of all the biting and awkward silence among some. Almost everyone in the room seemed to break down and well…Harry couldn't exactly handle it. He didn't know what to say.
He didn't know what to do and he was afraid to admit it. This was one of those times when Harry wished Dumbledor was still here. So the old man could help him in defeating the Dark Lord. But he wasn't. And so Harry Potter had slipped out of the now chaotic Great Hall of Hogwarts into a deserted and dark classroom to think of strategies and possibilities. But turning every page was an effort for him. After all he was searching for a spell to kill himself and not people in the right mind would do so.
But if you were to look through his miserable and determined expression you would see the same Harry James Potter that he had been when he was younger. The only differences? Now his tongue was sharper, his thoughts and actions bolder, his magic stronger and dare he admit he was not quite a handsome young at the moment his black hair fell loosely in front of his same circled-shaped glasses and green eyes. His scar was hidden by his bangs but was the use? No one was actually around, but it had become a habit to hide it. His back was hunched over as his book was cradled in his lap.
His movements were dreamlike as he gazed towards an open window where moonlight was streaming through give light for a silver it seemed almost selfish he needed this for himself despite the visible danger. Harry Potter was going to finish the Wizarding World and no one could stop him from doing so.