If 22 years taught me anything, it's that life is a race, sometimes you're ahead, sometimes you're behind, but in the end, it doesn't matter where you are, as long as you get there. I was ahead for quite a while in my life, but then it went wrong. My name is Harry J. Potter, and this is my story…
"Oh Harry." Hermione Weasely whispered as she stared at the grave of her friend. Tears slid down her cheeks as did the rain drops that were falling from the dark grey sky. she felt a hand on her shoulder and quickly spun around.
She saw the face of her husband staring at her and put her hand over her heart as she breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, it's only you Ron." She said and Ron looked worriedly at her.
"Are you alright Hermione?" He asked and she turned back to the grave.
"Yeah, it's just, with all that's happened, I'm a little jumpy, that's all." She whispered and he wrapped his arms round her as she cried.
"Come on, let's go before we catch a cold." He said and led her away from the grave, shielding her from anymore rain with his cloak, to their muggle car.
"Harry, Ron, Harry, he's dead." Hermione choked into Ron's shoulder. Ron hugged her tighter.
"I know, Mione," He said gravely. "I know."
I watch as my two best friends mourn me, yes, it's true, the boy who lived, the one who defeated Voldermort at the age of 14 months, is dead. But before I get ahead of myself, let me start at the beginning…