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Sometimes I Wish

Prompt: Evil

Secret:

Sometimes I wish I had been born on the dark side; because wouldn't it be easier to be indifferent to all those dropping dead around you?

Lying on his bed still wearing the same clothes from the night before, Harry stared up at the ceiling of the boys' dormitory. The curtains of his four-poster-bed were closed around him in order to block out the sun.

There had been no need of course. The sun had stayed hidden this morning, behind the clouds, as if it too knew what had happened. As if it too felt the burden of the headmaster's death and did not want to go on with its life.

Why would it? The same tedious routine of rising every morning only to watch people die all over the world, only to set again leaving darkness to hide many more horrid deaths.

Death.

That was the word that was at the front of Harry's mind as he lay there, R.A.B's fake locket clenched in his right hand.

Dumbledore wasn't supposed to die. He couldn't. How could Harry possibly defeat Voldemort without his help? He barely knew what he was doing when Dumbledore was still–

But he knew that he'd continue. He'd have to. He owed the headmaster that much. But sometimes he wished it wasn't him that had to do it. He didn't want to be under this heavy burden.

He wasn't ashamed of this wish. It's not like it was his fault he was the one in this situation. Voldemort had for whatever reason chosen to try and kill Harry and not Neville. That's just the way it was. There was nothing wrong with wishing it could have gone differently.

What Harry was ashamed of was his other wish. When it came to mind he told himself that he didn't mean it. But if he didn't mean it, why would he keep thinking it?

Sometimes, he wished he had been born on the dark side.

Because then, maybe, he'd be raised to not care about others.

Harry knew that even if he hadn't been chosen by Voldemort, Dumbledore would still have died. And his parents might have been in the situation Neville's were in now. And Sirius– who knows what would have happened with him?

All he knew is that there would still be deaths. People would die every day. And these deaths, so many and so cruel, were eating away at Harry, leaving him feeling completely alone. Because who did he have?

Wouldn't it just be easier to be indifferent to all those dropping dead around you? To be able to go on with your life, without feeling the pain of losing those you loved? That pain was worse than anything else Harry had ever been forced to endure. And he hated it.

Sometimes he wished he could live a life in which that pain was non-existent: a life free of misery, regrets, numbness, and loneliness.

But Harry knew in his heart that this wasn't possible, and that even if it was he couldn't turn his back on all those that he loved.

But still, sometimes he wished.


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