There are only a few things that can make a person cold and unforgiving, usually it is only a mask and if it is real then they are the ones who have know great suffering and strife. Death, hate and pain are some of the things it takes to break a man. Few decide to live as a life with no purpose, no small amount of happiness or love and they choose to end it all. It takes extreme measures to make an extreme man, most buckle and fall but the few, the very small amount of the population, who carry on who keep living stay true to one thing. That is what keeps them going. They have a goal. This is a story of a hero, a fallen hero, one who ended up in strife, in pain and blamed for what he had not done. For hero's it is worse as they have so many choices, so many times when they can fall. We normal people only have to chose a small amount of times in our life but then when we do chose it is everything, but to a hero constantly choosing, constantly holding out it is worse, much worse
Harry Potter sat on his bed at no. 4 Privet Drive and thought, thought about the pain, thought about his friends and thought about his life. He watched as those he loved and those things he cherished went up in smoke and as he lost them a piece of his heart broke. Though some could argue he didn't have a heart, that he didn't care for them and only for himself. That he used those people only to get the fame that he could get from them and him going on "pretend" death-defying adventures and nearly killing them with no thought to their safety. Those who thought the slander and lies were true.
'Most of the Wizarding World then hey' Harry thought flippantly to himself. Bitter? Him? Really?
He waited as his 17th birthday drew nearer and watched his almost broken bedside clock beeped and read 12:00, Harry expectantly looked towards his window hoping to see a few owls making there way towards his house, but as he waited nothing came towards his small room in the Dursley house. He lowered himself onto his bed in his room and cried silently, they hadn't forgiven him, and no one had contacted him. He didn't blame them, with Dumbledors death… They must be hating him for not saving Dumbledor. He friends didn't contact him after they had written back to him saying that they can't go with him to destroy the horcrux's. It was too dangerous and their families had forbidden them to speak to him.
As he fell asleep from the emotional strain he didn't notice the soft eerie swirling golden light around him which formed into a pair of wings onto his back before disappearing into the skin on his back.
He woke and sat up suddenly as a high pitched squeal filtered in through the locked door of his bedroom. He heard more crashes from the ground floor and immediately became worried. He cautiously crept to his barred window and slowly he laboriously pulled out the loose bars that had stayed there. He heard more noises coming from the stairs and the creaking was getting closer. He immediately hurried up and finished taking out the bars. He quickly shimmied through the window and on to the building outside. He was lucky the drainpipe that he had fixed a few days ago passed next to the window he was getting out of. The footsteps reached his door and in one sudden blast that sent him toppling down to the ground the door smashed open. He scampered into the bushes below the window. He thought quickly and picked up a fair sized rock next to him he threw it far away past the bushes leading out of the garden and the noise it made attracted the Death Eaters.
"Hey! You there! Look, he's getting away! Quick! Catch him!" The Death Eater bellowed from his window. The obviously lower ranked Death Eaters ran of after where he was supposed to be escaping, shouting and shooting curses and jinx's everywhere, just generally making a racket, he was surprised the neighbours hadn't woken up yet.
The higher ranked Death Eater came out of the house and negligently kicked aside a limp hand in the doorway as he walked out. He took one last look at the house before pulling out his wand and setting the house on fire.
Harry looked out from the bushes he was hiding in and watched as the house went up in smoke. There were no screams of terror from in side so he hoped that meant that the Dursley's were already dead and that they didn't have to suffer much as they died. ' Don't take me wrong', he thought but they did treat me bad and still I did not want them to die in such a way, but people will be killed and you cannot stop it. Harry waited while he watched the high ranked deatheater stomp around a few times waiting for the lower ranked deatheaters and looked around, if he was in the inner circle of Voldemorts followers as he thought he was he would never get out of here without him noticing.
Harry looked around again for a weapon of some kind to at least knock this deatheater out with, all he came up with were a few stones lying next to him in the bushes. Harry picked one up and weighed it in his palm as he thought about a plan to get past the deatheater, he would have to move quickly because the other idiotic deatheaters might come back at any moment and as Harry thought a desperate plan came to mind. Harry picked up a small rock and threw it past the deatheater in the back garden, it may get the other deatheaters back but he needed to get away quickly, he was right next to the fire and it might burn him if it got any hotter. The deatheater paused and as Harry stood there the deatheater hid around one side of the burning house and stayed there. Harry waited a few seconds before he inched out of the bushes covering him and crept around the side of the house to where he knew the deatheater was hiding, he then hefted the sharp rock he was holding and keeping his steps as light on the ground as possible, crept up to the deatheater.
When Harry could nearly touch him he lifted the rock backwards and suddenly, he slammed the rock he had been holding into the deatheaters head. The deatheater fell to the ground with a groan and Harry followed him and smashed the rock too his head twice more. When Harry was satisfied with what he had done to the deatheater he dragged him along to the backdoor where he had been sitting earlier in the evening and then threw him in the flames as far as he could. Harry stood there watching the deatheater die and was surprised to find that he felt no remorse from what he had done. He stood there a moment longer before jolting back to reality when he heard the voices from the lower ranked deatheaters earlier and then a few moments later heard sirens coming from around the front of the house.
Harry was stuck and he nearly panicked for a moment but them calmed his breathing and looked at it logically, he chose the lesser evil out of them and made to run towards the front of the house but stopped when he felt his instincts push him towards the left into a forest. Harry trusted his instincts and so ran full tilt towards the forest.