Title: Harry Potter and the Approaching End
Summary; Its Harry Potter seventh year, his last year in Hogwarts School of wizards and witchcraft.
Expect for answers, friendship, battles, sorrows and love. It's soon the end, but of what?
Lord Voldermorts growing power, or the boy who lived? How will it end, whose lives will be
Sacrificed, whose lives will be mourned?
Rated: PG 13
AU: OK, this is a new story from me. Please forgive me from not ending my story " A new feeling; from Friendship to love", but as I said I never really liked that fic. Those who liked that story should read this, a better story but with the same main characters as that story. Of course, Harry and Hermione.
I wanted to thank everyone who reviewed my latest stories, YOU ARE GREAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
And another thing.read this story.
: All Characters belong to the wonderful J.K Rolling who I admire.
"Memories"
Light electrifying thunders developed the dark sky. No stars could be seen as ominous grey clouds hid them. It rained, like big tears dropped from the sky, whipping the cement ground. Summer was soon to end as trees were covered with red and brown leaves.
It was nearly midnight. Another thunder crashed loudly. The whole street in Privet Drive was silent as a tomb. No one was a wake, except for Harry.
He lay on his bed, looking at the ceiling's difficult pattern of several squares, counting.
"One Thousand, two thousand, three..."
Another crash interrupted him making the light formed scar to sting. His green eyes observed the dark room when the thunder made it lit up. He turned over, looking outside the window at the terrible weather. His hand went up to the burning scar, but he didn't mind the pain, he was too used to it. Though he knew what it meant.
He went to look out at the window as he saw a multiply of thunders strike somewhere in the middle of the city of London. From the room at his left, which was Aunt Petunias and Uncle Vernon's room, he could hear Vernon's loud snoring, competing with Dudley's louder ones from across the hall. But he avoided listening to them; instead he concentrated on the rains fast rhythm. "
" tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap..."
Making no noise he opened the window, letting the rain come in into his room, but he didn't care. He wanted to listen to notice the message that he was meant to understand.
He felt cold as the rain soaked him, but he remained positioned at the windowsill, looking at the dark grey sky. His thoughts dwelled from the disturbing weather to the dream. The same dream he had dreamt over and over again this summer. The one that made him wake up in the middle of the night.
At first he hadn't understood the dream. It was so strange at the beginning, but now they were much more clearer.
The dream always began with him, standing alone in a dark path. He doesn't have his glasses in his dream. He would hear someone call for him, a girl's voice. He would start to run as fast as he could towards that voice. But the voice would become distant, he couldn't reach where the voice was coming from and he would start to panic, then his scar would start to burn. He would reach for the scar with his left hand, but he couldn't feel the zigzag pattern of a thunder on his forehead, it was gone. He would start to tremble and that's when he sees it. The Icon. Its white wings are cut off, so it can't reach him. The long black hair hangs loose over it's shoulder, covering the white naked body. Its hands are at its sides brushing the pale skin. Golden branches cover the feet. The angelic face looks at him and whispers a word; the same word as always with a shrill voice much alike a siren.
"Muertisa´limo Livida"
Then it bends its head and Harry start's to run towards it, screaming to it that he must see its eyes, those deep green eyes. But no matter what he couldn't reach it. His legs would buckle and he would fall into the hard ground, wiping away tears that had coursed down his cheeks.
He would find the Icon raised its head, but its eyes were no longer green in colour, instead they turned crimson red like blood.
His fast breath stops. He finally recognises those eyes. He would stand up and run towards the Icon, though he knew he could never defeat it. His rage overcomes his doubts.
He would stop in front of the creature, but just as he is about to take up his wand from his pocket the creature lets out a row. It bends it short stumped wings and bends so much forward that it's black head touches the ground. The arms melt against the legs and becomes one. The now long wings are attached to the skin that has become feathers, red feathers. From the head a long beak and black round eyes stare at Harry. The phoenix bird.
Harry trembled, dropping his wand on the ground; he took a step closer to it and leaned on the huge wings, which protectively covered his shoulders.
" Is it time yet?" he whispered, but the bird doesn't respond.
" Please help me to forget and to bind my time, help me..." Harry closes his eyes, tears running along his warm cheeks" He is here and I'm alone, he is stronger and I'm weaker, is it fair? Help me..."Then his voice dies out and there's where he always wake's up.
Harry takes a strong grip on the now wrinkled curtains; he closes his eyes as he thinks about his dream over and over again. It's true, it's all true.
He lets his memories take control of his mind, memories from the past two years. So much has changed, since he turned fourteen.
He remembers Cedrik Diggories death and the waking of Lord Voldermort in his fourth year. He also remembered the panic of death that chased every living soul in his fifth year and the guilt that always washed over that memory, the death of Colin. He had wanted to help Harry, to let him now that he one day, he too could become someone like him. Harry can still remember the words he told Colin two days before his death.
" Colin I really appreciate that you think me as a hero, I'm really flattered. But I'm not, I never was and never will I'm just an ordinary boy who happens to have a bloody scar as a sign that will always be a curse over me, so leave me alone!
Colin had kept silent but his eyes were solemn.
" I just wanted to say to you that I still admire you Harry. I don't care what they say, that you are the one who let him die, the one who let you- know-who's Destroyers Hermits to escape from the security charm from Dumbledore's hands. I don't believe them Harry! I still believe in you, and so do Hermione and Ron and many others! You just can't shut all off them off because you think that they will be saved when you distanced yourself from others!
Harry gritted his teeth.
" Get out of my sight Colin, I don't want to see any of you! I'm tired living up to my name, cause the Harry Potter that you think I am doesn't exist! Find another "hero", or why don't you become one your self..."
There it was again, the overwhelming guilt. His thoughts dwelled to the body; the lifeless body that held a golden branch, holding it tight for dear life, even when his life already had slipped away. Colin.
Harry shut his eyes; he didn't want to cry, not again. He closed the window. The sky was becoming somewhat clearer, the grey clouds drifting away.
Harry scanned across the room. His books were on the small brown desk that uncle Vernon had intended to through out, but didn't cause Harry had "intentionally" said that it was an ugly old table. So it was installed in Harry's room.
He had five books on the table, one that Hermione had sent him for summer- reading (though he hadn't even read the first page) and the other four books were about Quidditch, his favourite sport. A special book about "How to become a perfect seeker" was open and the picture of him flying around in that page made him remember Ron's face, when he saw the books cover. To think about how his face fell upon seeing Harry's face all over the book, made Harry smile. But the strangest thing was that it was even Ron who bought book and gave it eventually to Harry. That had been in his sixth year at Hogwart School.
His eyes went to his wardrobe where all his overgrown clothes were. He opened it to look at the mirror inside.
Just when he was about to open the closet, the glass suddenly started to crack into pieces.
He jumped back; too choke to even let a sound out. He blinked, thinking that he was hallucinating, but when his green eyes observed the former blank, smooth mirror he saw that he wasn't. Harry remained still. Uncle Vernon might heard the noise and woke up, but fortunately the snoring continued. He wasn't awake.
Harry felt the cold pieces, attached to the wardrobe door, beneath his finger. His eyes traced from the pieces to his reflection. The black mop of hair, high length and deep, green eyes. Those eyes which
he had inherited from his muggle-born, dead mother.
He had changed. They had said that he looked so much alike his father, except from the green eyes. They said that those eyes gave him his personality, that it was those eyes that gave him his name, Harry.
By "they", Harry meant the icons. The ones that had rescued him from death in his sixth year and the same ones who had killed him, Colin. The ones that occupied his dreams every night.
But this was not the time to remember the dream, not now. He looked once again at his reflection, he was no longer the boy who lived, but the young man who is still a live.
To be continue
Summary; Its Harry Potter seventh year, his last year in Hogwarts School of wizards and witchcraft.
Expect for answers, friendship, battles, sorrows and love. It's soon the end, but of what?
Lord Voldermorts growing power, or the boy who lived? How will it end, whose lives will be
Sacrificed, whose lives will be mourned?
Rated: PG 13
AU: OK, this is a new story from me. Please forgive me from not ending my story " A new feeling; from Friendship to love", but as I said I never really liked that fic. Those who liked that story should read this, a better story but with the same main characters as that story. Of course, Harry and Hermione.
I wanted to thank everyone who reviewed my latest stories, YOU ARE GREAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
And another thing.read this story.
: All Characters belong to the wonderful J.K Rolling who I admire.
"Memories"
Light electrifying thunders developed the dark sky. No stars could be seen as ominous grey clouds hid them. It rained, like big tears dropped from the sky, whipping the cement ground. Summer was soon to end as trees were covered with red and brown leaves.
It was nearly midnight. Another thunder crashed loudly. The whole street in Privet Drive was silent as a tomb. No one was a wake, except for Harry.
He lay on his bed, looking at the ceiling's difficult pattern of several squares, counting.
"One Thousand, two thousand, three..."
Another crash interrupted him making the light formed scar to sting. His green eyes observed the dark room when the thunder made it lit up. He turned over, looking outside the window at the terrible weather. His hand went up to the burning scar, but he didn't mind the pain, he was too used to it. Though he knew what it meant.
He went to look out at the window as he saw a multiply of thunders strike somewhere in the middle of the city of London. From the room at his left, which was Aunt Petunias and Uncle Vernon's room, he could hear Vernon's loud snoring, competing with Dudley's louder ones from across the hall. But he avoided listening to them; instead he concentrated on the rains fast rhythm. "
" tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap..."
Making no noise he opened the window, letting the rain come in into his room, but he didn't care. He wanted to listen to notice the message that he was meant to understand.
He felt cold as the rain soaked him, but he remained positioned at the windowsill, looking at the dark grey sky. His thoughts dwelled from the disturbing weather to the dream. The same dream he had dreamt over and over again this summer. The one that made him wake up in the middle of the night.
At first he hadn't understood the dream. It was so strange at the beginning, but now they were much more clearer.
The dream always began with him, standing alone in a dark path. He doesn't have his glasses in his dream. He would hear someone call for him, a girl's voice. He would start to run as fast as he could towards that voice. But the voice would become distant, he couldn't reach where the voice was coming from and he would start to panic, then his scar would start to burn. He would reach for the scar with his left hand, but he couldn't feel the zigzag pattern of a thunder on his forehead, it was gone. He would start to tremble and that's when he sees it. The Icon. Its white wings are cut off, so it can't reach him. The long black hair hangs loose over it's shoulder, covering the white naked body. Its hands are at its sides brushing the pale skin. Golden branches cover the feet. The angelic face looks at him and whispers a word; the same word as always with a shrill voice much alike a siren.
"Muertisa´limo Livida"
Then it bends its head and Harry start's to run towards it, screaming to it that he must see its eyes, those deep green eyes. But no matter what he couldn't reach it. His legs would buckle and he would fall into the hard ground, wiping away tears that had coursed down his cheeks.
He would find the Icon raised its head, but its eyes were no longer green in colour, instead they turned crimson red like blood.
His fast breath stops. He finally recognises those eyes. He would stand up and run towards the Icon, though he knew he could never defeat it. His rage overcomes his doubts.
He would stop in front of the creature, but just as he is about to take up his wand from his pocket the creature lets out a row. It bends it short stumped wings and bends so much forward that it's black head touches the ground. The arms melt against the legs and becomes one. The now long wings are attached to the skin that has become feathers, red feathers. From the head a long beak and black round eyes stare at Harry. The phoenix bird.
Harry trembled, dropping his wand on the ground; he took a step closer to it and leaned on the huge wings, which protectively covered his shoulders.
" Is it time yet?" he whispered, but the bird doesn't respond.
" Please help me to forget and to bind my time, help me..." Harry closes his eyes, tears running along his warm cheeks" He is here and I'm alone, he is stronger and I'm weaker, is it fair? Help me..."Then his voice dies out and there's where he always wake's up.
Harry takes a strong grip on the now wrinkled curtains; he closes his eyes as he thinks about his dream over and over again. It's true, it's all true.
He lets his memories take control of his mind, memories from the past two years. So much has changed, since he turned fourteen.
He remembers Cedrik Diggories death and the waking of Lord Voldermort in his fourth year. He also remembered the panic of death that chased every living soul in his fifth year and the guilt that always washed over that memory, the death of Colin. He had wanted to help Harry, to let him now that he one day, he too could become someone like him. Harry can still remember the words he told Colin two days before his death.
" Colin I really appreciate that you think me as a hero, I'm really flattered. But I'm not, I never was and never will I'm just an ordinary boy who happens to have a bloody scar as a sign that will always be a curse over me, so leave me alone!
Colin had kept silent but his eyes were solemn.
" I just wanted to say to you that I still admire you Harry. I don't care what they say, that you are the one who let him die, the one who let you- know-who's Destroyers Hermits to escape from the security charm from Dumbledore's hands. I don't believe them Harry! I still believe in you, and so do Hermione and Ron and many others! You just can't shut all off them off because you think that they will be saved when you distanced yourself from others!
Harry gritted his teeth.
" Get out of my sight Colin, I don't want to see any of you! I'm tired living up to my name, cause the Harry Potter that you think I am doesn't exist! Find another "hero", or why don't you become one your self..."
There it was again, the overwhelming guilt. His thoughts dwelled to the body; the lifeless body that held a golden branch, holding it tight for dear life, even when his life already had slipped away. Colin.
Harry shut his eyes; he didn't want to cry, not again. He closed the window. The sky was becoming somewhat clearer, the grey clouds drifting away.
Harry scanned across the room. His books were on the small brown desk that uncle Vernon had intended to through out, but didn't cause Harry had "intentionally" said that it was an ugly old table. So it was installed in Harry's room.
He had five books on the table, one that Hermione had sent him for summer- reading (though he hadn't even read the first page) and the other four books were about Quidditch, his favourite sport. A special book about "How to become a perfect seeker" was open and the picture of him flying around in that page made him remember Ron's face, when he saw the books cover. To think about how his face fell upon seeing Harry's face all over the book, made Harry smile. But the strangest thing was that it was even Ron who bought book and gave it eventually to Harry. That had been in his sixth year at Hogwart School.
His eyes went to his wardrobe where all his overgrown clothes were. He opened it to look at the mirror inside.
Just when he was about to open the closet, the glass suddenly started to crack into pieces.
He jumped back; too choke to even let a sound out. He blinked, thinking that he was hallucinating, but when his green eyes observed the former blank, smooth mirror he saw that he wasn't. Harry remained still. Uncle Vernon might heard the noise and woke up, but fortunately the snoring continued. He wasn't awake.
Harry felt the cold pieces, attached to the wardrobe door, beneath his finger. His eyes traced from the pieces to his reflection. The black mop of hair, high length and deep, green eyes. Those eyes which
he had inherited from his muggle-born, dead mother.
He had changed. They had said that he looked so much alike his father, except from the green eyes. They said that those eyes gave him his personality, that it was those eyes that gave him his name, Harry.
By "they", Harry meant the icons. The ones that had rescued him from death in his sixth year and the same ones who had killed him, Colin. The ones that occupied his dreams every night.
But this was not the time to remember the dream, not now. He looked once again at his reflection, he was no longer the boy who lived, but the young man who is still a live.
To be continue
