Harry Potter: A Fictional Narrative

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He stared at his hands, watching with morbid fascination as dried blood flaked of. Staring up at the sky, he gagged. He hunched over, dry heaving into the ground, until his throat was raw and tears sprang into his eyes. He tried, in vain, to stymie the flow of tears but he knew it was inevitable. Tears that had been forced down for so many years had finally had a chance at being released. Gasping, painful sobs erupted out of his mouth. He curled up on the ground, wanting to lay there for just a little while longer. He hadn’t had a chance. They wanted him to die. To give himself over for the good of the world. But what was good for him? Hiccups escaped his mouth, leaving him gasping for breath. And so he did; his head held high. Mouth quirked up in a parody of a smirk, a taunt on his lips, he walked. …show more content…

The destroyed mess that he was, had no one who would comfort him. His mind flashed back to red hair and intelligent brown eyes before he shook his head.
His hunched over body rose to a crouch. Cradling two wands, a ring, and a cape, a weary Harry Potter made his way to Hogwarts. He needed to make an appearance. He needed to comfort people-oh god Ginny, Ms. Weasley how would they cope with losing so many people? He needed to be strong. He needed to be strong for the people who couldn’t. He could break later. He could break-
“Harry? Blimey mate, we were looking all over for you.” Dean Thomas’ voice ripped through the thinly veiled calm Harry had erected. In that moment, the boy-who-lived collapsed into the arms of a concerned boy. Sobbing, screaming for all those who had lost something in the war.
In that moment Harry Potter cried for his friends.
He cried for Teddy. For Remus and Sirius and his parents.
But most of all, he cried for himself. He cried for the life he had lost, the life he could’ve had. The life he had wanted to have. He screamed and cried until he couldn’t anymore.
And in that moment, The-Boy-Who-Lived

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