Harry scanned the happy faces of his few remaining friends--and the faces
of a goodly number of people he didn't know--come to wish him well at his
coming of age party.
The Three Broomsticks was decorated in his honour. The room was claustrophobically red, and tributes to the Boy Who Lived threatened to crush the unwary. He shifted uncomfortably. He had begun his Auror training alongside his Hogwarts studies in his sixth year, and had already seen more blood than he wanted to. If he let his eyes blur slightly--and there was enough alcohol in his blood to make it nearly impossible not to--he could imagine that the figures moving through the room were Death Eaters, and the red walls coated with the blood of his friends.
Deep in this reverie, a hand on his shoulder made him jump: honed reflexes whipped out his wand, and Mad-Eye Moody was nearly cursed before Harry recognised his Master.
"Sir--," he muttered weakly, his body tense with shock. Mad-Eye took one look at Harry's face and steered him outside. In contrast to the stifling atmosphere of the Three Broomsticks, the night outside was comfortably warm.
"They're here," Mad-Eye told Harry gruffly. "They're waiting to attack."
Harry nodded.
"Tonight is my best chance to kill them all. This is what I've lived to do."
"Are you ready, Harry?"
Harry looked up into his mentor's eyes: both were fixed on his face. He had been waiting for this chance his whole life.
"Yes."
Harry's eyes burned with passion--hatred, old pain, and anticipation.
The Three Broomsticks was decorated in his honour. The room was claustrophobically red, and tributes to the Boy Who Lived threatened to crush the unwary. He shifted uncomfortably. He had begun his Auror training alongside his Hogwarts studies in his sixth year, and had already seen more blood than he wanted to. If he let his eyes blur slightly--and there was enough alcohol in his blood to make it nearly impossible not to--he could imagine that the figures moving through the room were Death Eaters, and the red walls coated with the blood of his friends.
Deep in this reverie, a hand on his shoulder made him jump: honed reflexes whipped out his wand, and Mad-Eye Moody was nearly cursed before Harry recognised his Master.
"Sir--," he muttered weakly, his body tense with shock. Mad-Eye took one look at Harry's face and steered him outside. In contrast to the stifling atmosphere of the Three Broomsticks, the night outside was comfortably warm.
"They're here," Mad-Eye told Harry gruffly. "They're waiting to attack."
Harry nodded.
"Tonight is my best chance to kill them all. This is what I've lived to do."
"Are you ready, Harry?"
Harry looked up into his mentor's eyes: both were fixed on his face. He had been waiting for this chance his whole life.
"Yes."
Harry's eyes burned with passion--hatred, old pain, and anticipation.
