Neither can live while the other survives…
Harry Potter lay on his bed at the Burrow thinking about what Dumbledore had told him the last time they met. It was about 10 in the morning, and Ron was in the shower.
He accepted the fact that he was supposed to fight Voldemort. He had accepted it a long time ago. The news that he actually wanted to do it, scared him. Did he really want to murder someone?
Dumbledore had said that it meant that when the time came, one of them was to die at the other's hand. That didn't make any sense whatsoever. At least Harry thought so. That meant it was either kill, or be killed. Did that mean that the only way they could die was at the hand of the other?
Harry considered this. It seemed to make sense. Did this mean he was immortal? He doubted it. Invincible? No, because then Voldemort wouldn't be able to kill him. What did it mean?
After much consideration, he decided that the only way he could die was if Voldemort killed him. He had to test his theory.
Getting up, he went outside and looked for a good spot. He walked up to the big birch tree in the Weasley's yard.
This seemed okay. With that, he climbed to the top. It wasn't easy, mind. When he thought he was high enough, he stood on the branch, and leaned forward, falling in a kind of belly-flopping way.
He hit the ground with a hard thud.
'Argh,' He groaned. Well, he was still alive. In pain, but alive. Did this mean his theory was true? He thought he ought to do another test, just to be sure.
He looked to the roof of the Burrow. That would be perfect. He got his Firebolt from upstairs, and then flew to the top.
Looking down, he took a deep breath and dove.
-xox-
Hermione Granger was in a panic. Nobody had seen Harry for over an hour. She ran outside, looking for a fourth time.
She looked by the chickens, by the birch tree and by the gnomes. He was nowhere in sight. Finally, she looked behind the dustbins and gasped in sight. Harry Potter was lying there crumpled, obviously killed.
-xox-
Two witches were walking past the Guardian Angel Cemetary on their way for some shopping. They passed ones that said things like Angela Pelletier, 1976 - 1993. Or, John Boid, 1988 – 2001. When they passed one tombstone in particular, one of the witches snorted.
Here Lies Harry Potter
Died Trying to fly without a broomstick from his best friend's roof.
1986 - 2003
'I always knew he was a crackpot.' She said wisely to her friend, who nodded in agreement.
-xox-
End! This was just something that popped into my head while reading Deathly Hallows. I don't know if it's any good or not, it was just an attempt at humour. Be kind, and please review?