Disclaimer: okay...i usually dont do these becuase i hope those few readers out there realize that tis isnt real harry potter, im not trying to make it real harry potter, and it will never be real harry potter. Come one, people. What would i be doing on if i was jkrowling and could actually publish?
please reveiw
constructive criticism welcome
but please dont flame me on anything specific, it hurts my poor old feelings, sniff
this hasn't been beta'ed yet
soo...read on, brave knight!
Chapter One
Numerous nights had passed since the storm. But the grass was still dead, the poetic cobblestones had molded back into solid concrete.
Harry had changed though. His thin, lithe, physique was now a long weapon. All from the hard work of several runs, a pack of old weights, some determination, and puberty.
His dark thoughts of death surrounding him had receded, now replaced with steely resolve. He would defeat Voldemort, or die trying. That much he knew was true.
What brought about this change, you might ask.
Destiny:
For he was…The Last One
And as all Last Ones, he had to finish it off with a bang, so to say. At this point, to him, anything that was obstructing him could go to hell.
His schedule was sculpted around his needs, nothing was "always". He needed to work of anger: He ran. He hated the world: He ran. He needed to win: he worked out. He needed to cry: He ran. In short, he ran.
None of it was on purpose, for now, at least.
None of this means, however, that he had morphed into some emotion-less shell that hated the world.
No, he had made his peace with this world.
He had found his piece of flawed perfection; of realization that all one can do is try one's damndest. He had realized, on that stormy night, that his life was perfect in all its messed-up wonder.
And he wouldn't have it any other way.
cheesy
i know
but i couldnt resist
please
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