Humanitarian (Noun): Someone who helps others.
Dying Light, that's what Harry refered to as the Wizarding World. Second by second, he could feel an emotion running through him that the world he belonged in; thrived in; survived in, was about to crumble and fall to peices like a domino being knocked over. Harry was deep in thought laying on his bed in the middle of the night. The stars were still shining bright. People such as Dumbledore, Ron, or Hermione think that Harry is one of those new-born stars. A star takes millions upon millions of years to die, and it causes a supernova. A great and beautiful light that lasts even more years. But in reality, Harry was a black hole. Something that even the most advanced and efficient technology had trouble figuring out the truth behind it. He was just floating; drifting away in space, sucking the light out of those who thought he was once a bright shining star who turned into a beautiful and bright mass showering over others, but in reality, he always failed to achieve something. Just once, just once, did he want something to go right in his life. The star he just was, was dying out. There was nothing to support it, nothing to hold it up. He was falling endlessly through a long long void, were once he reached the end, there would be absolutely nothing. Not one single thing. Not an ounce of life, no trail. Just nothing. That's who Harry was. For the past 4 years of knowing he was wizard, every year he was on the very edge of cliff with no grip on it, no parachute, and soaring winds were hitting him. In his third year, he had fell, but he had saved himself, somehow. All Harry wanted to love, loyalty, devotion, and security. A safe place for him to hold dear. No, not parental affection. He meant true love. Someone barely older than him, his age, or someone younger that he could look up to when he was down, or have them look up to him when they were down. A girlfriend, or a wife. But the path he was taking, only one girl had supported him the whole way through. Her name was Hermione Granger. The most talented and beautiful girl Harry had ever met. The black hole, emptiness, and anxiety he was, she helped him through, vice versa. He had saved her during the second task and was planning on asking her to the Yule Ball, but it seems that she had her sights on someone else, or they had their sights on her. Who knows? Harry thought. Slowly he lifted himself out of bed (with a little bit of a struggle) and let the tears he had fought back for so damn long fall down his face. A crying river was what he was. A pitiful, useless, piece of trash, he was.Harry slammed his body back into his bed and forced himself to go to sleep.
Morning
It was nearing breakfast. Harry was down in the Gryffindor common room enjoying a nice and peaceful start to the day. "Hello, Harry." Said an awfully delighted voice to the left of him. He put his book down and saw a bushy haired, brown eyed angel standing in front of him. "Hello." He simply replied. Harry stood up and excused himself from the conversation to go to breakfast, Hermione in his trails. Breakfast was a smooth and nice part of the day, even that day. The day was off and he planned on asking Hermione to the Yule Ball later as it was only 3 days away. There were already teachers with hundreds of items ready for it. They day pressed on, nothing exciting nor peculiar happening. It was nearing sunset, the sun retiring into the sky to have a nice rest and occupy the other part of the world. Hermione was walking down the halls after a nice conversation in dinner and Harry quickly grabbed her hand and slided her into the Gryffindor Common room. "Harry! What are you doing?" She toned. Harry looked at her and blurred out what he had been waiting to say for weeks on end finally, "Will you go to the Yule Ball with me?" He asked. Slowly Hermione looked away. "I'm sorry Harry, I-I already accepted to go with Viktor Krum." She replied. Harry wasn't stubborn, but Viktor? Harry let go of her hand and went up to his dormitory to blow of some steam. He wasn't mad, but this?