Avada Kedavra
"The death seems less terrible when you're tired".
Simone de Beauvoir
HARRY HAD ALWAYS BEEN AFRAID OF DEATH. He was afraid of dying alone in his dark cupboard, without having known the world or someone who liked him. The idea of dying while sighing of anguish also made him uneasy.
Harry wanted to die very, very old; sitting in a rocking chair, closing his eyes and rest, at last. However, through the agony and misery that was his childhood, his desire was, sometimes, obscured by the great desire to sleep and never wake up.
Maybe, just ignore the world as it ignored him and dream. Dream as if there was no sorrow or suffering. And if he died, Harry knew that he would dream forever.
But he still feared. After all, what has left the sea of mishaps and oddities that it was living with his Uncle, Aunt and Cousin, was his parents' death. Car accident, said Aunt Petunia, so convinced that her lie would be enough to solve his curiosity.
Still, little Harry was curious about the subject. Why he had to survive when his parents accepted death? From that thought, the fear became not only fear, but also fascination.
The fascination, however, gone when he saw the dead spider in Moody's bench. He did not want to look there, much less hear the Professor saying that he was the only one who survived. His parents hadn't, but he had. And, some months later, Cedric had not too. But, then again, he had.
And the fear turned fright when Sirius passed through the veil. During the few moments of hatred directed to Bellatrix, Harry allowed himself to forget that fear and seek revenge. In his room, alone, he had to admit that his worst fear was dying.
Not pain, not disease, not even homicide. Only die.
Nevertheless, he walked without trembling into the forest. He saw the jet of green light that it was the Killing Curse coming toward him with every pore of his body telling him to duck or curl up into a ball and shake, terrified. And, yet, he did not.
In fact, he was still afraid when he opened his eyes and saw a huge white light. Upon returning, however, Harry realized a precious thing: he had no fear of death.
He was afraid to see someone die, as he had seen his friends or acquaintances do; dreaming forever, while he slept and woke up every day.