This is a story with I'm-not-sure-how-many-ppl's point of view, so I'll just label every character's POV them. I hope you'll like the start of it, and please remember to leave a review if there's nething worth noting. Namely, your precious comments, or criticizes…
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry, thus changing his name into James Potter…ok, ok, I don't own any of Rowling's characters, growls —it's a shame but I like James better anyways!…XD
Harry (James)'s POV:
It was a haven for those like me. I never thought about the weight on my shoulder when I am inside this castle, in its strong hold. I can almost hear roaring voices bouncing off those walls of the main hall, where people strode about with a nameless pride that kept its legend alive. It was called Hogwarts, and it still is.
It was once a haven for those like me, until one day, when I discovered that I did not belong there. People talked with such enthusiasm about one particular Harry Potter, my former self. They wore such happy faces when I saved the day. He-who-must-not-be-named has been defeated, once again, thanks a lot to Harry Potter. And I was actually proud of myself, holding up my head and accepting applauds just to redeem the self conscious that I thought was lost under my uncle's roof.
Then came a day when Voldemort came back, to attack those who were innocent enough to fall into his traps. Those venomous, stealthy devils came pouring in to fill the castle with horror and dread. Then there was a moment when people did not bother to trust anymore, when someone dropped dead inside a stupid toilet and others claimed that the devil's claws had hit right on its target, despite Harry's attempt to try and save her.
I closed my eyes and tried to remember that long and endless tunnel that stretched on forever in front of me. It was the sole thought of a living young girl in the grasp of Voldemort which made me plummet down into the black hole without any second thoughts. WHOOSH! The moment seemed to stretch on into eternity as I feel my body dropping lower into the slimy channel, my soul sucked out bit by bit as I neared the end.
I couldn't recall much of that last memory, only remembering the last moments as I dragged myself out of that hole somehow, with Ginny Weasley in my arms. Dead. As still as stone, frozen up forever. I was limping from whatever battle I handled down there, and was shivering from the cold. The moment they saw me come up, however, their eyes immediately landed on the corpse in my arms. I thought about saying sorry to them, about how I really couldn't reach out that far for her when I was under the attack of a blood thirsty serpent as strong as Voldemort in full power himself. I thought about why I couldn't exchange my life in turn of Ginny's, when there was still a whole family which consists of five caring brothers and a pair of heart-broken parents who will weep for her, whilst I have none. I thought about a lot. But the most I thought about was why, when Fred Weasley looked up from his dead sister in my lap, had he stared at me with such a solemn look I have never seen him wore before. I remembered saying sorry. He looked away. An unsettling shade settled upon his forehead and his face suddenly became really dark. I saw Ron trotting up behind his older brother to drag him away from the awful sight in my arms, which made him mouth a word I couldn't make out, what with all the restrained muscles twitching on his face, trying hard not to shout out whatever was in his mind.
I thought about going up to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, to say something, but nothing came to my mind at the moment, and I never went up to them somehow. They never came close to giving me a chance either, only sobbing their poor hearts out for the sake of a lost, wonderful daughter. A girl with the face of an angel's which was always so sweet and sunny, like a traveling sun, lavishing its warmth upon every being around her. But the warmth was there no more. There would be no more shy smiles to catch me by surprise when I least expected them. Like I said, Ginny Weasley was a wonderful girl.
The weight in my arms suddenly became too heavy to bear. I kneeled down and rested her head upon my knees, and, as a cold line of water, dyed a light crimson, came trickling down my limbs, noticed that I really have to let go.
Just as I was about to lay her onto the cold marble floor with every last thread of strength I have left, Mrs. Weasley took over my place and held her daughter instead. I must've mumbled something, for she looked up at me ever so slightly, but then quickly returned to a state of numbness as her glance landed on Ginny. I turned away then, to hide the tear sliding down my cheek. I don't know why I did that. I just felt that, I, out of all the people in this place, was the last one that should shed a tear. I was supposed to be strong.
One year later, and we were all apart by then. Harry Potter, Hermione, Ron and the rest of the Weasleys, we've all moved on. Hogwarts went empty since Ginny's death. No one could guess how much of the castle was under Voldemort's control, and less would be willing to risk the narrow chances they had left. We were escorted into other academic programs, and I simply chose a different institution after seeing Ron Weasley's name under the title Royal Auror Institution (RIA). He worked extra hard to get in, and now I see what kind of changes could take place when one's been through stuff that others simply didn't expect. Hermione went to another place filled with people who I believed are as bright as she was, for in the few mails that came from her in the future, she always stated how many competitors she had, no matter how hard she tried.
Which left me with what I had now.
After some years of intense training in St. McCoy's Healers Institution, where I learnt all the 'basic' healing spells and incantations of carious sorts, being a healer hadn't turned out as hard as it sounds. It just consists of a kind heart and a lot of patience. No more 'being the savior of the day' and "'why can't you fight you-know-who off just like you did so many other times?" stares'…No, just a plain, considerate healer.
I haven't seen my friends since then. Only through mail had I been able to keep in touch with my busy friend, Hermione, and Ron, well, that was only through others, I guess. "Yes, he's an Auror, a professional one at that, yes, he's doing real fine, how considerate of you--James," a little stammer at the name, and then a--"well I'd better get going, nice talking to you…"--so on and so forth blablabla.
As far as my life has progressed, I had never seen such ambivalent feelings mixed in such a pathetic way. Yes, I've changed my name from Harry into James, using my middle name instead of the real one. I did that since I transferred into the Healer's Institution, not wanting to bear with the name anymore. 'Harry' is an indication of the past, and I don't want any part of it at the moment. Being a healer required nothing of a famous past, but a certain quality I had right now, though I couldn't quite name it straight away. And, yes, people wonder why the name James Potter would be linked with me. All it takes before they wear that quizzical expression is a look upon my forehead. No matter how many times I declared, there'll always be some wanting of confirmation about my identity. Well, of course, after all, this is the price I had to pay for being 'the boy who lived''. So I ended up having the name Harry in all official records, but was known as James from then on.
Everybody knew, and most stammered before calling me by name, not knowing which one to call. That's when I'd point out, "it's James Potter, sir," and they would nod, and smile, and think whatever they want to in that head of theirs.
I was quite alone, and had wanted to be. I made some friends, but they would be re-titled as just plain, old colleagues if I had the chance to. Either way, no one would really bother, because, as I've stated beforehand, I was quite alone. It takes some getting use to as well, my new name. After all, it's my father's name I was using. It just feels a little strange, but I got used to it eventually.
I am now standing inside Oxford's Centre Hospital--(Wizards' Branch in England). It was a dreary November day, a day when the sun refused to come out of its distant horizon, and I, out of my more idle moods. It was raining, the droplets of H2O battered ruthlessly onto the cold, hard panel of my office and sliding down like never ending string of tears. I was never so low. Lying on my desk was a pile of documents waiting to be signed, and all I can do is stare out of the window. I've got some patients to meet in the next few hours, and they'll probably be in lots of pain if I don't go. I work, with thanks to my hard work at the institution, as one of the most highly depended healers in this hospital, in the Emergency's Department.
I usually wake up at the early hours, and I mean VERY early hours of the morning to attend to patients without a limb or those nearing the doors of doomed hell. Most of the times I get to see a lot of blood. I regret for not having took psychology instead. Both ways, it is a type of healing too. In fact, I did take double majors including some point in my academic experiences, but I still ended up in the Emergency Department, seeing all the blood because not much people were up to the job--except for me.
Suddenly, a faint beep sounded behind me. As I turned round, the big, plain screen flashed an alarming red and had the word EMERGENCY slashed right into the middle of it. I automatically reached for a wand zooming my way with a little murmur of accio wand! and flitted down the stairs to the emergency chamber without a sound. A lot of people had woken up already, I realized, despite my effort of not stepping too hard on the marble floor. Coincidentally, all seem to head the same direction as I was. I spotted a certain someone and called out, "Mr. Freeman," the Head of department wheeled 'round, "Yes?"
"I was just wondering, how come everyone's up so early?"
"I thought there was an emergency." Mr. Freeman gazed straight ahead and strode on without stopping. My large steps leveled with his hasty ones, and he actually managed to slow down, though a bit impatiently.
"How many healers are there going to--"
"Many." He paused. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a long list of instructions to give out before the Auror actually arrives."
"Auror?" I quickly took my hand out my white cloak's pocket.
"Yes, Auror," he snapped, "Why didn't you take a look at the screen before you came down?" and then he went without another lecture, for there wasn't time for that.
The siren neared as our patient arrived by the fastest model of our private free-ambulances, and I heard some officers coming in from the side door.
"Quick, c'mon now there's no time to spare--"
Lights on, patient unloaded, footsteps rushing in-out, alarm silenced for everyone's sake, door slams.
I ran towards the emergency chamber, and was panting heavily as I neared my destination. Something very wrong has happened, now that was my healer's side of sixth sense. I looked up to check the name of the patient--'Ronald Weasley: Auror'.
I would've slipped and toppled over right then and there, only the floor wasn't slippery due to our instant-evaporating-hygiene floor construction, I wasn't having a nightmare, and I wasn't just anyone, but a bloody healer.
A/N: I need a decent title…any suggestions? I know there's only one chapter to base your thoughts upon but imaginations are without boundaries so there!