I don't own this, so don't sue me. I'm poor. You can give me money, though!
We all know JK Rowling owns Harry Potter. I am not JK Rowling.
June of 2002
FLASHBACK
It was winter and there was snow all around. They were in a clearing that contained a few trees. Mostly just small ones, but there was a huge one in the middle. The snow had piled up on the right side of the tree and left the other side bare. What a good hiding spot. Harry crept around the tree after being hit with a curse. He didn't know what it was, but it hurt. Dumbledore was standing next to a body crumpled on the ground. From his distance he couldn't see exactly who it was. Even if he was close enough it was doubtful he could see. The curse had knocked him back about thirty feet, and Harry's vision was blurred.
He walked to Dumbledore calling, "What happened? Who is that?" As the old wizard turned around, Harry knew something bad had just happened. "My boy, here lies the body of a powerful wizard. He has brought death and destruction to everyone unlucky enough crossed his path. However, as you walk towards me I see an even more powerful wizard- a wizard who has saved the world. I see Harry Potter: The-Man-Who-Killed-Voldemort."
Well, that wasn't what I was expecting, Harry thought. What had he been expecting? He didn't exactly know, but it definitely wasn't Voldemort's body crumpled on the ground in an indignant manner. How had he killed Voldemort? How did he manage to survive? Why did he survive when so many others had died?
END OF FLASHBACK
Not many people are out walking at 2 o'clock in the morning, but this morning it was a great comfort for me. I had spent most of the day thinking about the evening of December 30, 1999. It has been more than two years and still no one can tell me just how I killed Voldemort. That was the thing bothered me most today. Of course there were feasts, parades, and parties. Awards were bestowed upon me. None of these things were what I wanted. I just wanted to know how I did it.
"I'll never feel complete until I know how. I want the death of the many friends I lost to make sense," I whispered. "I can't think. I can't think about this. Thinking is deadly."
Indeed, but who can stop thinking? Not me. Not the famous Harry Potter. Slouching against a wall with ones head resting on their knees does not lend to a clear mind. I thought of Dean's death. I thought of Neville's death. They were unlikely heroes. Hadn't they done as much as me? Had they not fought? Of course they did. They fought bravely and heroically. Why aren't they being honored? Only because they weren't in The Prophecy. They deserve so much more than to be cast aside and forgotten. Everyone who fought deserves so much more.
Ron's death was the most painful. We were just out of Hogwarts and had our whole lives ahead of us. We were just starting our lives. Neither one of use thought he would be attacked by death eaters. He was, though. And he's dead.
"Stop thinking, idiot. Why do you keep doing this to yourself? Get up and go home. Your bed calls your name." I winced as I said that just now. Why? Because I keep talking to myself. It's become a habit since that fateful night. I carry on conversations with myself. I think it makes me feel better. You know? Sort of like a therapy, I guess.
[AN: no longer in Harry's point of view.]
Harry did go home and go to bed. He didn't have the same kind of nightmares anymore. Now they were about his past: the things that happened during the war. Voldemort's visions no longer played in his dreams. He no longer woke up scared and screaming. He woke up drenched in sweat and crying. Crying for his dead friends. Crying for the world who will never remember Dean Thomas, Neville Longbottom, Ron Weasley, and the countless other individuals he considered heroes.
***
How'd I do? Please review. I would really appreciate it. I'm thinking of writing a story about Harry and Hermione trying to cope with all of these things. What do you think? Yes or no?
June of 2002
FLASHBACK
It was winter and there was snow all around. They were in a clearing that contained a few trees. Mostly just small ones, but there was a huge one in the middle. The snow had piled up on the right side of the tree and left the other side bare. What a good hiding spot. Harry crept around the tree after being hit with a curse. He didn't know what it was, but it hurt. Dumbledore was standing next to a body crumpled on the ground. From his distance he couldn't see exactly who it was. Even if he was close enough it was doubtful he could see. The curse had knocked him back about thirty feet, and Harry's vision was blurred.
He walked to Dumbledore calling, "What happened? Who is that?" As the old wizard turned around, Harry knew something bad had just happened. "My boy, here lies the body of a powerful wizard. He has brought death and destruction to everyone unlucky enough crossed his path. However, as you walk towards me I see an even more powerful wizard- a wizard who has saved the world. I see Harry Potter: The-Man-Who-Killed-Voldemort."
Well, that wasn't what I was expecting, Harry thought. What had he been expecting? He didn't exactly know, but it definitely wasn't Voldemort's body crumpled on the ground in an indignant manner. How had he killed Voldemort? How did he manage to survive? Why did he survive when so many others had died?
END OF FLASHBACK
Not many people are out walking at 2 o'clock in the morning, but this morning it was a great comfort for me. I had spent most of the day thinking about the evening of December 30, 1999. It has been more than two years and still no one can tell me just how I killed Voldemort. That was the thing bothered me most today. Of course there were feasts, parades, and parties. Awards were bestowed upon me. None of these things were what I wanted. I just wanted to know how I did it.
"I'll never feel complete until I know how. I want the death of the many friends I lost to make sense," I whispered. "I can't think. I can't think about this. Thinking is deadly."
Indeed, but who can stop thinking? Not me. Not the famous Harry Potter. Slouching against a wall with ones head resting on their knees does not lend to a clear mind. I thought of Dean's death. I thought of Neville's death. They were unlikely heroes. Hadn't they done as much as me? Had they not fought? Of course they did. They fought bravely and heroically. Why aren't they being honored? Only because they weren't in The Prophecy. They deserve so much more than to be cast aside and forgotten. Everyone who fought deserves so much more.
Ron's death was the most painful. We were just out of Hogwarts and had our whole lives ahead of us. We were just starting our lives. Neither one of use thought he would be attacked by death eaters. He was, though. And he's dead.
"Stop thinking, idiot. Why do you keep doing this to yourself? Get up and go home. Your bed calls your name." I winced as I said that just now. Why? Because I keep talking to myself. It's become a habit since that fateful night. I carry on conversations with myself. I think it makes me feel better. You know? Sort of like a therapy, I guess.
[AN: no longer in Harry's point of view.]
Harry did go home and go to bed. He didn't have the same kind of nightmares anymore. Now they were about his past: the things that happened during the war. Voldemort's visions no longer played in his dreams. He no longer woke up scared and screaming. He woke up drenched in sweat and crying. Crying for his dead friends. Crying for the world who will never remember Dean Thomas, Neville Longbottom, Ron Weasley, and the countless other individuals he considered heroes.
***
How'd I do? Please review. I would really appreciate it. I'm thinking of writing a story about Harry and Hermione trying to cope with all of these things. What do you think? Yes or no?