Chapter 2 - Harry
Little Ginny Weasley had been right in thinking that she was not the only student awake with worries that night. Who could blame Harry, though? Very few people could possibly comprehend what he was going through, namely because very few people even knew the whole story. He still hadn't told Ron and Hermione. He loved those two dearly, possibly more than anyone in the world, but they never reacted well to things such as this. Ron would panic and run straight to Dumbledore, and Hermione would panic and head to the library. Neither of these solutions would be much good for this; Dumbledore could do nothing about it, and Harry was pretty sure that no books could have been written on the subject.
Late at night Harry could often be found sitting in the shadows of the common room, hands to his temples, deep in thought. He couldn't stand to be in the dormitory, couldn't stand to hear the peaceful sleep of the four boys around him while he lay awake desperately trying to fall asleep.
Harry's main thought had always been 'why me?' Why did all this have to happen to him? He wished he could be a normal wizard (if there ever was such a thing) but it appeared fate was against him. He knew over the years Ron had become slightly sick and tired of being known as 'Harry Potter's mate' but he also knew that Ron knew that there was nothing he could do about it. Ron got jealous of him, and occasionally he wished he could be the famous one, he wished he could be The Boy Who Lived. What Ron had failed to realise over the years was that Harry would have given anything to be him. Harry would have given anything to be part of such a loving, supportive family. Harry would have given anything to be just another wizard. But things don't always work out that way.
Now it was 6th year Harry had to concentrate on his schoolwork. He had less than two years until he took his NEWTs, and that was not a long time. Schoolwork was a huge dilemma for him. He had to work hard, because if he wanted to become something half decent he would need good grades, but that was assuming he lived to see 18 summers. But, then, if he did not work, and concentrated entirely on working on his DADA in order to defeat Voldemort, after the Dark Lord was dead, what would he do? Another problem was that there was no telling what Voldemort would throw at him. Of course he would need to know basic DADA spells, and occlumency, but no one knew what would happen during the final battle.
"Why couldn't the bloody prophecy have been about the last battle?" He asked the empty common room angrily.
Harry had talked the schoolwork problem over with Dumbledore previously, and they had decided it best that he find a balance between the two. This was easier said than done. What with quidditch practice (for Harry was not the captain), the excessive amount of work, DA meetings, and his preparing for The Final Battle, Harry was finding it hard to cope. The lack of sleep didn't help, but he didn't generally feel tired.
Slowly sleep crept up on him, and his heavy eyelids began to finally close. Light patterns danced in front of his eyes like fire, and suddenly he was gone; sleeping.
Little Ginny Weasley had been right in thinking that she was not the only student awake with worries that night. Who could blame Harry, though? Very few people could possibly comprehend what he was going through, namely because very few people even knew the whole story. He still hadn't told Ron and Hermione. He loved those two dearly, possibly more than anyone in the world, but they never reacted well to things such as this. Ron would panic and run straight to Dumbledore, and Hermione would panic and head to the library. Neither of these solutions would be much good for this; Dumbledore could do nothing about it, and Harry was pretty sure that no books could have been written on the subject.
Late at night Harry could often be found sitting in the shadows of the common room, hands to his temples, deep in thought. He couldn't stand to be in the dormitory, couldn't stand to hear the peaceful sleep of the four boys around him while he lay awake desperately trying to fall asleep.
Harry's main thought had always been 'why me?' Why did all this have to happen to him? He wished he could be a normal wizard (if there ever was such a thing) but it appeared fate was against him. He knew over the years Ron had become slightly sick and tired of being known as 'Harry Potter's mate' but he also knew that Ron knew that there was nothing he could do about it. Ron got jealous of him, and occasionally he wished he could be the famous one, he wished he could be The Boy Who Lived. What Ron had failed to realise over the years was that Harry would have given anything to be him. Harry would have given anything to be part of such a loving, supportive family. Harry would have given anything to be just another wizard. But things don't always work out that way.
Now it was 6th year Harry had to concentrate on his schoolwork. He had less than two years until he took his NEWTs, and that was not a long time. Schoolwork was a huge dilemma for him. He had to work hard, because if he wanted to become something half decent he would need good grades, but that was assuming he lived to see 18 summers. But, then, if he did not work, and concentrated entirely on working on his DADA in order to defeat Voldemort, after the Dark Lord was dead, what would he do? Another problem was that there was no telling what Voldemort would throw at him. Of course he would need to know basic DADA spells, and occlumency, but no one knew what would happen during the final battle.
"Why couldn't the bloody prophecy have been about the last battle?" He asked the empty common room angrily.
Harry had talked the schoolwork problem over with Dumbledore previously, and they had decided it best that he find a balance between the two. This was easier said than done. What with quidditch practice (for Harry was not the captain), the excessive amount of work, DA meetings, and his preparing for The Final Battle, Harry was finding it hard to cope. The lack of sleep didn't help, but he didn't generally feel tired.
Slowly sleep crept up on him, and his heavy eyelids began to finally close. Light patterns danced in front of his eyes like fire, and suddenly he was gone; sleeping.