It was Easter break. A surprisingly large number of students had
stayed in the school this year, and many voluntary activities had been
arranged by the Headmaster. Therefore, Ron hadn't considered it very
strange that he hadn't seen Harry since breakfast. By dinner time, however,
Harry's absence had become worrisome. No one in the dining hall had seen
him all day; the same went for those Ron asked in the library and the
hallways. Ron belatedly remembered the Marauder's Map stashed in his raven-
haired friend's trunk. Querying the students in the Gryffindor common room
yielded no results and Ron ran upstairs. A sheet of paper lay gleaming on
the pillow of Harry's bed, framed by a pool of golden late afternoon
sunlight. The red-head hesitantly picked it up. It's covered in Harry's
usual slightly untidy scrawl.
'Forgive me,
I'm tired of being used as a pawn in other's games. I'm tired
of having to be someone I'm not, of pretending to be pure
and innocent when I'm only human. I'm tired of losing those
I care for. I'm scared and confused and alone. Well, I'm
going to the only place where I've always been just me, just
a person, and permanently releasing myself from all of the
expectations and responsibilities.
Goodbye.'
The sheet of parchment slips from numb fingers, and Ron dashes out of the dorm room, jumping the stairs two and three at a time. He barrels through the common room, ignoring the questions called out by the other's, and down the hallways towards the Headmaster's office. Skidding around a corner, Ron almost slams into Professor Dumbledore. Panting harshly, Ron tries to inform the prof. of what he suspected. "Harry. note. goodbye. hurry!" Understanding immediately, as he had noticed how withdrawn Harry had lately become, Dumbledore sweeps through the castle, trailing the freckly red-head in his wake.
The two wizards run across the grounds, headed for the Quidditch pitch and the tiny form they can now see flying laps between the two sets of goalposts. They just make it onto the edge of the field when the flier, now identifiable as Harry Potter, shoots strait upward in a tight spiral. Ron, a detached portion of his mind marveling at the boy's control and grace, yells out to his friend, "Harry, NO!"
Harry's rising form slows, pauses, and reverses course, plummeting earth-ward faster than thought. The two unwilling spectators are stunned into immobility by the sight of the scrawny black-haired boy streaming towards the ground. A sickening thud shocks Dumbledore and Ron out of their frozen confusion and into movement. They run over to the crumpled form lying on the field. Reaching Harry's unmoving body, it's rather obvious that there is nothing that they can do. His broken body lays sprawled facedown across the vibrant spring grass. Tears run down Ron's face as Dumbledore gently turns the pitiful form over, shocking a pained gasp from the boy. For though his glasses had been shattered, his face was unmarked, and there was a small content smile gracing the cooling, still lips of Harry Potter, and a tanned hand grips the polished handle of his treasured Firebolt.
'Forgive me,
I'm tired of being used as a pawn in other's games. I'm tired
of having to be someone I'm not, of pretending to be pure
and innocent when I'm only human. I'm tired of losing those
I care for. I'm scared and confused and alone. Well, I'm
going to the only place where I've always been just me, just
a person, and permanently releasing myself from all of the
expectations and responsibilities.
Goodbye.'
The sheet of parchment slips from numb fingers, and Ron dashes out of the dorm room, jumping the stairs two and three at a time. He barrels through the common room, ignoring the questions called out by the other's, and down the hallways towards the Headmaster's office. Skidding around a corner, Ron almost slams into Professor Dumbledore. Panting harshly, Ron tries to inform the prof. of what he suspected. "Harry. note. goodbye. hurry!" Understanding immediately, as he had noticed how withdrawn Harry had lately become, Dumbledore sweeps through the castle, trailing the freckly red-head in his wake.
The two wizards run across the grounds, headed for the Quidditch pitch and the tiny form they can now see flying laps between the two sets of goalposts. They just make it onto the edge of the field when the flier, now identifiable as Harry Potter, shoots strait upward in a tight spiral. Ron, a detached portion of his mind marveling at the boy's control and grace, yells out to his friend, "Harry, NO!"
Harry's rising form slows, pauses, and reverses course, plummeting earth-ward faster than thought. The two unwilling spectators are stunned into immobility by the sight of the scrawny black-haired boy streaming towards the ground. A sickening thud shocks Dumbledore and Ron out of their frozen confusion and into movement. They run over to the crumpled form lying on the field. Reaching Harry's unmoving body, it's rather obvious that there is nothing that they can do. His broken body lays sprawled facedown across the vibrant spring grass. Tears run down Ron's face as Dumbledore gently turns the pitiful form over, shocking a pained gasp from the boy. For though his glasses had been shattered, his face was unmarked, and there was a small content smile gracing the cooling, still lips of Harry Potter, and a tanned hand grips the polished handle of his treasured Firebolt.