O.k. So this is for my book report. Sorry if there are any grammar mistakes. I'm a Hebrew-speaker so...
Hope you'd like it.
Please R&R! IT'S REALY IMPORTANT TO ME!
You'll get cookies from the Holy land!
No More Death
It was a cloudy night. Everything was dark. The moon was dark; the night was dark; his mood was dark and even the magic was dark. Actually, the magic was very dark.
Harry was sitting sadly in his room at Perivet Drive no.4. He was thinking about all the things that happened to him the last year. The new Defence-Against-the-Dark-Arts teacher was-surprisingly enough-Severus Snape, the potion master. After so many attempts to win this position, no wonder he felt very smug and was extraordinary malicious. During the year, his replacement as the potion professor was: Mr. Slughorn.
At the end of the year, after Harry was back from a mission with Dumbledore, Snape killed Dumbledore and ran away with Draco Malfoy alongside with other Death-Eater (Voldemort's followers).
Harry got-up from his sit by the window, and went-down to eat his dinner. His cousin, Dudley, was making harsh remarks, about Harry's clothes and other things he didn't even care to listen. 'Typical'- he thought to himself. Dudley was thinner now, due to the massive diet he has preformed. Harry sighed and rolled his eyes as he overheard him saying: "and what an awful lookin' black shirt he has, right mummy?"
"Right my sweet pumpkin"- aunt Petunia said with a sneer.
'Right'-he mocked her in his had. 'As if his shirt is better: a greenish-yellow horrible-looking shirt. Huh!'
An owl landed in front of Harry's half-emptied plate. Dudley screamed in panic and ran to his mother protective arms. Harry rolled his eyes again. Amused he scrolled the parchment that was tied to the cheery owl. It was Pigwidgen, Ron's owl. Ronald Weasley was one of Harry's best friends- apart of Hermione Granger. There, it was written, in Ron's most un-neat and messy, almost unreadable handwriting:
Harry
How are you doin'? Hope you're feelin' better. Mum said that you're envied to The Burrow. Hermione's here too. The wedding of Fleur and Bill is really close. You're comin', are'nt you? Sure you are! (You better come; otherwise mum'll be really mad!)
In any case, we're all waitin' for your answer.
Ron.
P.S. Again. Mum insists that you'll come!
R.W.
Harry smiled to himself. Of course he was coming!
"W…w…why do you have that s…s…s…stupid smile? Is that y…y…y…your stupid friend who w…w…w…wrote you that stupid l…l…l…l…letter?"- stuttered Dudley, still trembling.
"It's none of your business!"- Harry hissed trough clenched teeth.
All his good mood was about to disappear, when he saw the still spinning tiny owl, hovering in the room, waiting for an answer.
"Well, I'm leaving. This time-forever"- He smiled brightly.
His only relatives in the whole world look stunned.
"When?" asked uncle Vernon through narrowing eyes.
"I don't know the exact hour yet, but soon. It's a matter of days."- and he excused himself from the table.
Ron!
of course I'm coming!
Jast tell me when & where are you gonna fetch me from & I'll be there! can't wait.
Harry.
It was a cloudy day. Everything was dark. The sun was dark; the day dark, his mood was dark and even the magic was dark. Actually, the magic was very dark.
It was a week after the wedding of Bill and Fleur. The wedding was happy, almost as if all the people wanted to be happy for the last time before every spark of happiness would fade. There were rumors that Voldemort was very close. The people were afraid.
Right now, Harry was standing right in front of Voldemort. Green eyes boring red eyes. The lion facing the snake. Shaky raised hand against steady lifted one. They both holding wands. Wand-core from the very same phoenix.
And then, as if they where one, the deadly curse burst from their ho-so-different mouths. The one innocent, hesitating, the other filthy and certain: Avada Kedavra.
A jet of green light and everyone stopped fighting. They were gathering around the dead bodies of He-Who-Not-Anymore-Must-Not-Be-Named, and The-Boy-Who-No-Longer-Lived. . Evil facing goodness. Death Eaters facing the Order members. Now, they were all Death-Eaters. Eating with dead, sleeping with dead, even…even living with dead. How paradoxical. They have become accustomed to death.
'Was it all worth it?'- they thought with pain flickering in their bleary eyes. 'Was it all worth al the death, the pain, the bereavement, the sorrow?'
Only their glances answered the unspoken question with speechless plea: Please. No more war, no more pain, no more bereavement, no more sorrow. No more death.