Harry Potter Post, Not a Poem. Options

[xbladeoffire90x]

Background: Does anyone know what role play is? Where you write a post as a certain character with someone else who plays another character? I do the forum kind. I started in July, but I got rid of my one-liner habit a month or two ago. This is one of my better posts. I wasn't sure if it was appropriate to post here, but I decided to try. I'd like some critism on it.

This is a future Harry Potter role play, Harry is 21 years old in it. It's after the final battle, Voldemort and some of the other Order members died. If you have any questions you can just ask me. ^_^

Harry was sitting alone in Grimmauld Place. During his sixth and seventh year when Voldemort was once again rising to power with the help of his evil minions whenever Harry had the chance to come visit Grimmauld had been bustling, Order members constantly arriving, leaving, and having ‘top-secret’ meetings, some of which Harry wasn’t allowed to sit through. Sure, they had become more lenient in his sixth and seventh year on what he could and couldn’t know, but when Harry thought about it he was sure it had been mere pity, pity because his godfather was dead, and he had watched him die, that he would be haunted by visions of him falling through a veil for the rest of his life. Harry remembered how Lupin had stopped him from following Sirius all those years ago and he felt a rush of bitterness toward the man. He hadn’t wanted Harry to die with Sirius simply because they needed Harry to save them all from Voldemort. Harry was older now, most cynical after everything that he had been through, but then again who wouldn’t be? It would have been a miracle if Harry hadn’t gotten through unscathed; there wasn’t a wizard alive who hadn’t been affected by Voldemort, the first or second time, even the ones who had never met him face to face.

Everyone seems so happy now-everyone but me. Harry felt a rush of loneliness fill his chest, it was a desolate feeling, the first time he had felt it in months. Before this very moment he hadn’t had a chance to feel lonely, he had always had something to occupy his time. He knew deep down that he missed his friends, especially Hermione and Ron, but he knew that he would never admit it, that he would never bother to get up and find any of them. He didn’t belong with them now, they had their own lives. All of them did, Hermione, Ginny, Ron, Neville, Luna, Lupin, and everyone else. They were all so happy now, Harry felt forgotten, left alone in the corner with no one who cared about him. Truthfully, he didn’t want them to care about him. The whole point of the whole war, the final battle, Sirius’s death, Dumbledore’s sacrifice, it had all been so the wizards and witches around the world could smile again, and have fun without looking over their shoulders, afraid that any moment now a Death Eater would swoop down on them or someone they loved. They all deserved happiness; they had all fought and watched their comrades die. They were just starting to leave the past behind. At least…at least we’ll never forget. Harry knew he wouldn’t. He would never forget Sirius or Dumbledore, or Cedric.

Harry often wondered why he couldn’t have died that day after defeating the Dark Lord for the final time and watching him, glowing red eyes and all disintegrate into a pile of dull, grey ash at his feet. He still remembered the final look on Voldemort’s face; one he thought he would never see-fear. That’s what had started it all, wasn’t it? Voldemort had been afraid of dying, afraid of something that happens to everyone who is mortal at one time or another, so Voldemort had set out on his quest to become immortal. He had failed, failed because his dream, the one thing that would make him happy would have hurt thousands upon thousands of others. The ones who fought for the ‘good’ side had felt that because his dreams conflicted with those of everyone else’s that he must die. Harry had been afraid then, afraid that he would lose everything that was ever close to him, so he had fought. He had raised his wand and yelled out curses he never realized he knew. He had felt overwhelming anger and hatred, but never guilt until afterwards. After the battle was over and the bodies of Order members and Death Eaters were lying side by side, as salty tears fell from the eyes of the victors onto the broken soil, mingling with the sweat and blood and was soaked into the ground.

Could…could I ever become like them? Become like the murders that made it all happen? Like the murders who could stare the very same people who they shared drinks and merriment with just the day before and kill them in cold blood? Could I ever betray my friends for the thirst of absolute power? Would I ever be so afraid of a force like Voldemort that would drive me to go against everything I once stood for? Harry was afraid. That sense of cold satisfaction he had felt after killing Voldemort in his chest had meant something. Harry had always thought that that was how the Voldemort and his Death Eaters felt after taking someone’s life. Cold satisfaction, exactly like what Harry had felt. After the battle he had often wondered those very same questions. He remembered telling everything to Lupin, telling the werewolf how he had felt, his fears. It was right after the battle; they were both covered in dirt and grime, their slumping shoulders showing the weariness they both felt. Lupin had lifted his head, his brown eyes filled with something that Harry had never expected to see in their murky depths-hate. He had stared at Harry with those very same eyes, the wrinkles surrounding them had seemed to multiply overnight, and the hair plastered to his sweaty forehead was now more grey than brown.

You should hate him Harry. You should hate the man who took your father and mother from you before you ever got to know them. He would have killed you without a second thought when you were just a defenseless child. One of his most trusted Death Eaters took your godfather from you before you got to live with him in freedom. He would have killed you, your friends, and he would have destroyed everything without a second thought. Satisfaction? I think that fits. Remus had let his head drop again to his chest, and Harry had let him be. The words he had spoken to him still went through his mind; he remembered every single one and the tone of his voice, the anguish, the regret. Even if the feeling was justified, he didn’t think he was supposed to feel it. He was the hero-wasn’t he? He was never supposed to have feelings associated with the darkness that Voldemort represented. After he talked to Remus he had never mentioned it again. He could already imagine what the reactions would be for each of his friends, and he didn’t want to watch them in real life. He didn’t want them to hate him, to be afraid of him.

Harry had a suspicion why they never came to see him, why they never took time out of their new lives to visit the boy they had considered a good friend once. It was because now that Voldemort was dead, he didn’t have a use. Dumbledore had protected him for all those years because in turn he would be expected to save them all, he was the savior and everyone had loved him for that and that alone. Now that it was fading, now that the new generation that had never known the constant fear was growing up and taking their place in society Harry was slowly being forgotten. All he was now was a reminder, a reminder of the struggles they had been through, a reminder of the deaths they had watched happen, a reminder of the futile battles, of the families that they had left every day, wondering if they would ever see them again. Harry knew that, he knew if he was one of them just starting a new life he wouldn’t want to see himself either. I’m nothing now…nothing. Nothing at all. Harry felt anger well up inside of him. I gave my life for them…and now that they’re safe they don’t even want to see me anymore.

Why couldn’t I have died and saved someone else? Someone else like Dumbledore? After defeating Voldemort it would have been better if he had just died If he had died his friends could have mourned, and then gotten one with their lives without a useless person sitting alone in their godfather’s house for hours with nothing useful to do. Dumbledore’s funeral had been the largest, most attended one in recorded history. Millions of wizards from every country in the world had wanted to come and see the old man be buried, considered widely as the wisest, most powerful wizard who ever lived after they all learned of the full extent of what he had done for them all. He was the most powerful wizard who ever lived…but in the end he was just like everyone else. Everyone else who just wanted me for what I could do for them. Harry knew that if they could trade him for Dumbledore, they would in a split second. Dumbledore could do so much more for them than I ever could…so much more than I ever will. In the end he was still Harry Potter, a unremarkable boy with a scar on his head. He would never have all those titles that Dumbledore had; he would never invent any uses for dragon blood. He would never be useful after the actual war.

People don’t need heroes in times of peace. There wasn’t anyone in the world who would say Harry Potter wasn’t a hero, except for the Death Eaters that is. None of them would admit that Harry Potter hadn’t saved them all. They loved the memory of him, the memory of a thin, young man with black hair who meant peace everywhere he went. Now he was a hero without a battle, a hero with nothing to do. Harry remembered a philosophy he had read once…Someone without a use doesn’t deserve to live. “I guess I don’t deserve to live then?” Harry said loudly, his voice disturbing the utter stillness of the room, circling the walls and reinforcing exactly how empty the place was. Harry fell silent again, wondering how many people would think he was insane if they heard him talking to himself. Probably all of them…that would make things easier for them, wouldn’t it? They wouldn’t have to worry about him if they shut him up somewhere, and no one would want him around if they learned he was insane. Who would want someone powerful enough to defeat the Dark Lord, and just as insane running around the streets?

The only sound in the room now was the occasional pop from a lit lamp; they had been on all day and were heating up. Harry didn’t bother to get up and turn them off, even if he didn’t need light it felt strangely good to just let it waste away, reflecting in golden circles on the ceiling and warming the flowery wallpaper, lighting up the pale pink petals. It was too warm for a fire, but he debated lighting one anyway. The crackling flames, golden-orange light and dancing shadows of fire made him feel at peace. The power it wielded, the destruction it could cause if let loose was strangely appealing. No matter how powerful or destructive it is…it’s still beautiful. One of the most beautiful things to ever grace this earth. Maybe Harry wouldn’t have minded Voldemort so much if he hadn’t been evil, if he had been a beautiful reincarnation of the devil instead of the coldly frightening one he really had been. Maybe if he had possessed warm brown eyes, instead of icy red ones, he would have been more accepted. Everything was based on outer beauty, wasn’t it? People were so shallow nowadays…that’s all they really did care about and that just made him think of Cedric.

I don’t think anyone that evil could be beautiful though…that anyone that evil could ever have a warm feature…and maybe, just maybe if I was beautiful, I wouldn’t be shoved forgotten in a corner, I would be outside right now, surrounded by people. Harry sighed, he knew if he really wanted to, if he got up right this second and contacted some of his old friends, if he pasted a smile on his face and acted like nothing was wrong that he could be surrounded by people and having fun. That would be too unreal, he could never do that. He could never act like nothing was wrong, but he refused to talk about it too. He knew there were people who were jealous of his fame, of his bravery, of the ‘perfect’ life they thought he led. That’s such a lie… He would have laughed over the absurdity of it all if he was in the mood. How could anyone think he led a perfect life? Sure, he had fame, fortune, youth, and anything else he would ever need to lead a unencumbered life, but it lacked the most important thing of all-happiness. Isn’t happiness the most important thing of all? Doesn’t everyone have the need to love and be loved? Isn’t that what makes life? If it was, Harry’s life was empty. Empty. It had nothing…no substance, no reason.

Sitting up and leaning against the engulfing softness of the couch he was sitting on he leaned his head back and felt the roots of his black hair pressing into his scalp and soft material against the back of his neck. Walking among droves of happy muggles or wizards would make him yell, make him really seem insane, and he knew it. They would be wary of him, yelling in the middle of a sunny street for no reason at all, when there was no apparent threat in sight. Lifting one of his hands he was mesmerized by it, tracing the veins and lines in it that led up his wrist, the joints and raised grooves that muggles used for fingerprints, the pale skin that tightened and loosened as he opened and closed his hand. The shadows from the strands of hair hanging from his head waved slightly as he looked at them. His fingers were long, and thin, they looked like fragile porcelain, and he knew it was because he hadn’t been eating, he just wasn’t hungry anymore. Life didn’t interest him. Nothing did. He doubted anything ever would again.