Title: To Build a Home

Fandom: Harry Potter

Notes: I was listening to the song "To Build a Home" present in one of the most beautiful videos I've ever had the chance to see and was really crap when I started writing this and every word seemed strangely calm down.

Really, Harry Potter is the most magical story of the world.

I'm really sorry for any mistakes, but my English is total crap. Anyway, I hope that at least has not been a total mess in fanfic.

~HP~

Harry Potter never had a home. Was never allowed him to have a chance to know how it would have one.

He did not know what was waking up Sunday morning to the smell of scrambled eggs in the air and receive the warm smile of her mother once she entered the kitchen, young Harry could not imagine listening to her father tell her of his adventures in time Hogwarts, much less how it would be the feeling when he divide secrets with him. No matter how many hours he lost trying to imagine how it would feel Lily's fingers through his hair or how it would be the scent of her perfume as she embraced everything Harry had was a faint feeling that made him even more frustrated and lonely

When the rain did the house of his uncles drop small creaks and he woke up scared in the middle of the night he always tried to imagine what would be the voice of his father telling him that everything was fine, that he had just had a bad dream and he was not alone and even the voice in his mind was weak and he could not actually feel the warm embrace that both wanted this faint image could calm his heart and he went back to sleep soundly until the next rain or the next nightmare.

Harry Potter just lived with his uncles and despite having a roof over your hair of a thousand tips he had no home, had no place to run if everything went wrong. He had only the house of his uncles, but they had not and knew very well.

In the eleven years he lived dumped in a cupboard on the stairs young Harry had gotten used to it. For him it was normal to live under the stairs, even if it was not good.

The first time he saw a real home was in a home with fewer rooms and other redheads and it was only when Molly Weasley put extra helpings of pudding on his plate he realized how much it was needed for him.

He always felt a slight pain, but bearable that froze his senses in natal and certain Sundays of the year, but it was so common that went unnoticed for him. Only when he fled from the house of his uncles on a flying Ford Clay was that he had the notion that old feeling really meant.

The House of the Weasleys was home altogether. Was made less mess rooms and more, was made of smiles and loud voices, but it was made purely for love and complicity. He knew what love was and always felt it that hugged his friends and was with them, but seeing the way that Molly smiled at his children he wondered how he would have that smile directed at him, but by his own mother.

He knew how Lily's face and knew the color of her eyes only because they saw in the mirror every day and had discovered that his hair was redder than Ginny, but he did not know how his voice was much less as were their loving smiles. All he had in his mind were old photos and memories of an old mirror, but as he saw the smile of Molly that he wondered if he had seen in his first year was really a smile of a mother. If it was the smile of his mother.

In time he was too busy to worry about it and the feeling returned to his place. That cold feeling, but passing on Sunday mornings and returned home to take the place already booked in the heart of the young Harry and he was too busy to bother with it.

He met other people and among them those that divided the youth with his parents. Knew the secrets involving one of whom inherited the hair of a thousand tips and strangely it seemed to lessen the cold feeling, but old who lived in his heart.

With a war in front he had no time to think, much less missing something but as he ended the old prophecy that took him to the life he wanted more than anything to have a home to hide. For a home run because it was too bad to bear alone.

He wanted to feel the arms of her mother while she told him that it had all been just a bad dream and could smell her perfume prove to him that it had all been a dream, just a dream. He wanted to look at his father and see his warm smile, but as Harry looked at the deaths and destruction around him he just wanted to have a home.

A home with hardwood floors and a garden, a home where her bed was next to the window and his room was filled with posters of the Chudley Cannons, but when its the same as Lily's green eyes focused on semi-destroyed castle he felt his chest calm down and a tired smile, but quiet care for your lips.

Hogwarts was his home.

Could not be the caresses of his mother, much less the words of comfort and courage from his father, but Hogwarts had divided everything with him.

It was an old castle with so many memories and accept the losses that seemed like the arms of a mother and her comfort as the words of a parent, and although the walls do not have the smell of scrambled eggs and Sunday or any pleasant scent Harry felt If quiet when leaving destruction behind and go home and rest.

Rest until he was in sufficient strength to choose which would be the wall colors of your own home.