harry potter is walking into the forbidden forest.
his wand is in his pocket. jammed into his hand is the old golden snitch - his snitch, he’s earned that much. he can’t hear anything, just the crackle of wind blowing through the trees, the crunch of leaves and twigs beneath his feet, and the pounding of blood in his head. every step he takes seems to last a lifetime. every breath is a shuddering gasp. he can feel sweat and grime coating his face. behind him lies the castle - hogwarts, the place that used to be his home, crumbling and broken and littered with dust and ash and the bodies of the fallen. his friends have turned to soldiers, his teachers into generals, and he has become their leader just because someone, a long time ago, foretold that this was his destiny
this is the end.
he is seventeen years old. an adult, in the eyes of the ministry - a child in the eyes of the order, and the school, and every adult who has looked his way today with sad, wistful eyes. but he has been fighting this war ever since he was an infant, since the day that a monster came into his home and tore him out of that comfortable world he lived in. all through his life, he hasn’t known peace. what little family he has locked him away through all his childhood. he used to think that coming to hogwarts was a release, an escape - and it was, but still he remembers.
a boy stands before a mirror, framed with flames, the philosopher’s stone cool in his hand. he lies crumpled on the wet stone of the chamber of secrets, poison burning through his veins. he stands over his godfather as the dementors close in, gloom covering them like a shroud. he runs from the graveyard, from the monster reborn, taking the still-warm body of a boy he looked up to with him. he is held back by lupin as sirius’ body tumbles, crooked smile still on his face, backwards through the veil. he stands prone in the tower, unable to do anything but watch as dumbledore falls to the ground, the green light fading as he grows smaller.
there is no movement within the forest. all the creatures are hiding, no doubt - or at the castle, helping with the fight. just harry, his footsteps uneven, his breath misting in front of him. at least now there will be an end, he thinks. an end to the struggle, to the fighting. to the losses he has endured, to the pain and anger and misery, to the frustration of seeing it all happen around him and not being able to do anything.
maybe that’s a selfish thought. but he is doing this to save them all. to help them. he is allowed a little selfishness, here at the end of the line.
his snitch slips slightly from his hand. he takes it, holds it in front of him. i open at the close. a small smile slips onto his face, weary and lonely and sad.
harry potter is walking into the forbidden forest. he isn’t going to walk out of it again.
STOP















