Disclaimer: This is for amusement and no gains, monetary or otherwise are being amassed from it, excluding the comfort of writing, of course!
Author's Notes-
Harry has been running. From all that makes him The Chosen One. It has all been much for this 11 year old boy. How long can be run untill it is too much?
Harry looked forward. It was a long way ahead. The others had started already but he didn't have the energy to run. Again. Since the time he learned to walk, he was running. First from his being of who he was, then his identity of a freak. By the time he was five he understood that in times of emergency, flight was always the better option. Fleeing from his fame, his burning scar, his connection with Voldemort, his insecurity and fear, his pain, his loneliness… It was a fight he was still fighting, for that alone exausted him such that he did not have to think of running. Again. But here he is. Standing in the middle of the Quidditch pitch. With Fleur and Krum and Cedric. All seventh years. Armed with spells and charms he never thought about. And he, a fourth year. With an excuse of an accio spell as a shield. Sure, Hermione nagged him for studying more, sat with him till late at night and left him with useful tips. Ron was being a bit sensible. Not stuffing his mouth and instead listening attentively to his problems for once. But he had had enough! Just enough for a lifetime!(or maybe two? He didn't know but he was still a horcrux) All this running, this fearing, this memorising! He was a boy for Merlin's sake! And didn't they ever thought of how much they asked of him when he had to smile when a tear still lurked precariously at the corner of his eyes. His fame amounted to nothing more than a scar. So what if it symbolised something powerful and unheard. Voldemort gave him the scar when he was but a child! A child he still is with no better understanding of the events around him. A child who never got a mother's love. A child whose mother would rather die and leave him to misery than live and flee with him to some place safe. She talked of loyalty? It was stupidity to leave her child amidst war than to leave the Order! Harry! Poor Harry! Whom no one thought of as plain simple Harry. But The Harry or The Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. Lived to Die a Million Days with no one at his side. Even now with the threat of Voldemort looming large, they still wanted to push him in the tournament! How…..expected! How…..them! He was never bothered by any alternatives. It was too late to hope otherwise. To even hope at all. He was doomed. If not at the hands of Voldemort then by those cheering for him. Probably celebrating his demise. Let the boy die. After all, did he stand a chance?
Author's Ramblings-
To be continued...
This was a fic close to my heart, something I've wanted to write since a long time. To me, Harry was just a little boy who did not deserve to be pushed into such circumstances. He deserved to have a happy joyous childhood.
Do review!
I totally appreciate them...😍