Everyone was leaving Hogwarts this Christmas to go home for the Holidays. Everyone, Hermione, the Weasley clan, Cho, you name it, they were leaving. They felt that is was good for them to spend time with their parents, Voldemort's rising power had sent chills fear down though everyone, including me. Some families had died, and it made it more important for everyone to go home to their families for the holidays. It reminded me even more of what I never had. What I lost at such a young age, a sacrifice to save me. Me, little me. Little Harry Potter, little lonely Harry.
I wonder what they were like. How my father would have taught me, what would have been diffrent. Would I have been smarter? Would I know a lot more? What would have changed? What was my mother like ? So many questions, so many possibilities, and all I have is a couple pictures for their Hogwarts days, and one picture of us together. One. I keep it on the inside of my trunk, and every time you open it, you see it. It is the only thing I have left of them. No memories, nothing... I want...
It is times like these, I wonder what it is like for someone to wipe your tears away, and to tell you everything is all right. What it is like to come home during the summer, and have a welcoming pair of arms waiting for you, and wanting to know what happened that year. Someone to send you chocolates in the middle of the year because they miss you. Someone to look forward to seeing. I wonder what it is like to live in the wizzarding world, I wonder if I would be diffrent if things had happened differently. I wonder if my mother's eyes are really like mine, and what color my father's eyes were. I want to hear my father's laugh, I want to have at least known they were real.
All I have is a few photographs, and one horrifying memory of their deaths, and even then I can only hear them.
It is times like these I get scared.
It's times like these I wonder what I'm really fighting for.
It's times like these I remember the look into the Mr. and Mrs. Diggory's eyes. I wonder if my parents had that look. Or knew that loss. I wonder if my eyes hold the same thing.
It's times like these, when I start to tremble and want to cry. But I cannot.
It's times like these I need to remind myself to be strong, because somehow, someway, I'm it.
It's times like these I wonder how I'm going to survive, but I have to. So I can live for what they died for, so I can make my parents proud.
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