But this time,
this time,
I will do anything
to just feel better.
---
He pushed the hair from his face and looked out over the landscape stretching before him. This thing – this stupid challenge – should not even be happening. But it was too late to think of that. Too late to think of anything, really. He just had to act and hope it would be enough to help him.
He pulled his wand from his jacket pocket and slipped the jacket off, leaving in on the muddy ground at his feet. There would be no use for it down there and it might get in the way. It would be hard enough without it.
The rain beat onto his head; he was already soaked, but he had no chance of drying in this weather. It would make things harder, but the only real hassle it caused was visibility.
Enough excuses, he told himself firmly. Just do it. Make everything better.
He took a deep breath. Straightened up. He had caused this, he would fix it. He would win their trust. He walked down the hill toward the dark tents, small fires lit around the camp. The fear smashed through his chest and overtook his entire body, hammering into heart and head in unison. He would not make it through the night. But he would try anyway.
---
I can't see through
this
haze around me
And I'll do anything
to just feel better
---
He passed by the first few tents without being seen. He was not suicidal; he was not going to announce his presence a second before he had to. When he reached the fourth row of tents, however, the matter was ripped from his hands when a man came out from a tent to his right, unzipping his pants. The man saw him, a pale figure in the night, and let out a cry as he hurriedly pulled up the zip of his pants. He spoke in a tongue the boy did not understand, but he knew what the message was.
He raised his wand, but too late. Several more men were coming out of their tents, all holding wands, all pointed at him. There wasn't anything left for him to do. He had to surrender. He couldn't take them all on, and they were not going to spare him.
He raised his hands, keeping a firm grip on his wand. He began to shiver, partly from the cool air on his bare arms, but also from the nine wands pointed directly at his chest. These were not friendly people. He had betrayed them and there was no way he was going to get out of here alive. This knowledge made his eyes sting. He had promised. He had promised them.
"He's just a boy!" one of the men said, staring at him. "They send a child to do their work? Cowards!"
His breathing quickened. He had to do it. He had to. He lowered his arms, the tattoo on his left forearm glinting like poison. The men steadied their wands. "Don't move!" one commanded. "Just kill him and be done with it! Do you know who he is? He betrayed us, Lupin!" yelled another one.
"He wouldn't have," said Lupin, still determined to see good in everyone. Good in him. "He would not have betrayed us. Would you?" He directed this question to the boy, who smirked though he felt no mirth or smugness.
"Avada Kedavra!" He said, his voice whipping through the air, matching the cold green light that hit Lupin squarely on the chest. He wanted to run forward, catch him and beg his forgiveness, but he knew he couldn't.
He also knew he couldn't defend himself. The men around him reserved no pity and they all sent a Killing Curse at him and the power of eight behind the spell knocked him off his feet, sending him flying backwards. He knew none of this. He knew no more than the flash of light, the sound of rushing wind.
And for the first time since he had betrayed those who had believed in him, finding it in the death he had come to accept, Harry Potter just felt better.