Sometimes all Harry wanted was to be normal.
Just be himself.
But can he ever be like others?
He was an orphan from when he was a toddler, and did not have the barest recollection of his parents.
He grew up in a cupboard, with a family that hated his guts.
The only adult who had genuinely cared about him, his godfather had been framed and falsely imprisoned for thirteen years, and briefly a wanted fugitive on the run before being murdered.
He found out that magic was real.
That his parents were murdered by a terrorist.
That he was somehow the only being in all known magical history to repel a killing curse.
Sometimes all Harry wanted was to be normal.
How could he ever be normal?
He was jealous of the other kids… They had a house to go back to. A family to go back to. Parents who loved them.
Harry had no one.
His home was not his own, and the only place he felt a semblance of peace was Hogwarts, which was saying something because he was never safe here… his life was constantly on threat, from evil professors to hungry beasts.
Sure, he had his friends- Ron and Hermione, but when he needed them the most, they were not there for him, because their headmaster told them. They meant well and cared for him, but could he really trust them?
A headmaster, who placed him with the Dursleys… the same man who let his godfather suffer and did not even arrange for a trial, while letting Snape, the man who was the reason for his parents' deaths to walk free…
He hated the hypocrisy of this place.
All he was to everyone was a pawn.
A pawn to ensure their victory over evil.
He was a poster boy.
People would say it was for the greater good…
But he was tired…
So tired of everything.
He needed a break.
He was just Harry.
And he had suffered enough… lost enough.
But still, he soldiered on, because he knew he was the only one who could stop Voldemort… the only one who knew what was at stake. Harry had lost everything because of him and he would be damned if he did not avenge everyone who had died because of that monster and stop what happened to him happening to someone else.
He felt the roaring in his ears stop as he landed on the ground and hopped off his Firebolt.
Harry had taken to flying whenever he was feeling down. It seemed to calm him down, channel his rage into something else…
The moment he went back to the castle, he would be forced to plaster a fake smile… that he knew what he was doing… that he was okay.
He did not need pity from others.
Others had not suffered like him, and the last thing he needed was their sympathies.
No one understood him.
No one could.
And maybe no one had to.
Mainly wrote this to vent. Thought of making it part of a greater story but stands better on its own.