Dirge

Chapter Eight: Harry

He doesn't miss the war, doesn't miss Voldemort, doesn't miss all those years of violence and paranoia and panic and loss. He doesn't miss it, he doesn't. But still, in the hours and days and weeks after the battle, he can't help but think (though he won't say it, he won't be that selfish, that callous):

What the fuck is he supposed to do with his life now?

It turns out he is that selfish, though by eighteen he has learned a little tact: a few months later he voices the thought to Ginny, and she laughs at him and says, "That's what it's like for the rest of us, Harry. That's what it means to be just out of Hogwarts. Do you think any of us has any idea what we're doing with the rest of our lives?"

He knows he always said he wanted to be normal, but he can't help but wish that Trelawney would make another prophecy about him, give his life a new, clear, plainly stated purpose. All this freedom, this uncertainty, is more frightening than any Death Eater ever was.

Sometimes he thinks he should have extended the Horcrux hunt by, oh, eighty years or so.

Sometimes he wishes (not daydreams, not imagines, not wonders what life would be like if, but actually, knowingly, deliberately wishes) that Voldemort would come back.

He won't tell Ginny (but maybe, in the coming months or years, he will).

(He hopes that when he does, she'll laugh).


A/N: Because I have no idea what I am doing with the rest of my life.

This is the best I'm going to get for Harry; sorry, but I find it really hard to write him! I'm working on a few longer chapters that I'm excited about so I figured I'd stick Harry in now to break it up a little.

Oh yeah, and please review.