Chapter 2
It began at the beginning, at the tender age of eleven. He was invited to what seemed to be a perfect world, and it was very close. There was just a few shards of glass lodged into his skin, nothing a pair of tweezers couldn't handle.
The seven years in his only home were riddled with death and hidden truths. Every step to the downfall of The Dark Lord was another piece of glass extracted from his flesh.
But as the glass was pulled from each wound, the blood flowed out with a flurry of questions.
How have they stayed hidden for so long
Why did no one help me?
Why am I so special?
Why does it hurt so much
The pain of knowing there was something else...something hidden in plain sight that would destroy everything.
No it wasn't the "prophecy" or the "horcrux" or whatever mumbo jumbo was written in the stars. Nothing that Harry would know until the final day..until the end.
Harry lay on his bed seventy years after Voldemort fell. His family stood around and watched intently as the Boy-Who-Lived died. His final breath was even and strong, the make of a true warrior.
And for the last time Harry Potter saw his perfect world.