Harry Potter was in love with Ginny Weasley.
Yet love seemed like such a silly childish notion when the wave of a wand can stop a mans heart.
Her deep chocolate coloured eyes, the soft bright sound of her childish laugh. Harry loved the soft curve of her neck as she bent over her books, the fire in her eyes when she sticks up for her friends, her soft but firm hands, pale and lightly freckled.
Harry Potter was afraid, everything he fought against came down against the people he loved. He was so scared, the girl he loved, the only one in the world he wanted to hold to love, and it was he who was putting her in danger. If he hadn't showed up, if he had chosen to go with Draco she would be safe, she was pureblood, the deatheaters wouldn't hurt her, not as much as if she were with him. He was just so scared, so terribly afraid of losing the last speck of light. He couldn't afford to lose her, not his Ginny... moments like that it was easy to forget that he already had...
Why? Why did it have to be him, of all people. It could have been anyone else, but no it had to be him, he could have been born normal, why couldn't he have been normal? Oh how he dreamed what it might have been like if he was born into someone elses body, or if the title of the boy-who-lived fell onto someone else. What would life be like if he wasn't carrying the weight of the free world on his shoulders every day? It could have been "Boring average Harry Potter, oh did you hear about Neville the boy who lived? The chosen Longbottom." No Harry Potter lived a life of loneliness, pushing away everyone he cared about to try to protect them, but it never seemed to work. Harry potter the curse, Harry Potter the infection. His infectious death was spreading fast. Growing on society like the great big tumor of the wizard world. The boy-who-lived was always surrounded by death.
Ironic?
It was something Harry couldn't laugh at anymore, he would have but that would mean he was laughing at his life, his world was dark all the time. Ginny could never be his, he could never hold her, love her, marry her. Theirs was a family that simply could not be, because the only end to this journey he could imagine was his death. Oh please! Harry Potter only knew he was a wizard for six years, Voldemort had decades to prepare, to learn, to fight, to kill. But the only people Harry seemed to kill were his friends, his family, his loved ones.
Harry was tired. The infamous Harry Potter was weary in every sense of the word. Another day of searching for horcrux's had ended in nothing. The trio had trudged home, cold, dejected and all they wanted to do was to crawl into their beds and hide from the darkness of the world. Ron was sourer than usual, like he was tired hungry and angry all in one, which was probably correct. With a world of worries tumbling through his head Harry was tired. Of fighting, of running, of trying to be a hero when all he felt like was a tired child who missed his school friends. Harry was tired. So he did the only thing that was left to do, he curled into a ball and wept.