[*]
There
was a man in a forest. It was night, and
the man was tired. Harry watched as the
man walked cloaked and unseen, surrounded by the loving dead. The man was tall, with dark messy hair and
glasses. He walked until he came to a
clearing in the forest, where masked figures waited impatiently. A huge man was hanging, restrained and
struggling, while a large snake floated in a glowing cage. Beneath the snake, and watched by his
followers, was a pale, bald man in black.
His eyes were slits, reflecting the fires that lit the clearing. The pale man was growing ever more furious,
but that fury became twisted delight when he spotted the tall man, who had
taken off his cloak and revealed himself.
The
followers stilled themselves, watching intensely as the pale man slowly and
with great deliberation raised a long wand.
The pale man was obviously taking great delight in this moment. This was triumph, this was victory; a balm
for all those years in the dark, screaming in impotent frustration.
The man
stood there, watching impassively, even as the huge man struggled and screamed
a name. But then there was a bright
green light, and the man—who was a boy, really, couldn’t have been more than
seventeen—was on the ground, dead.
Harry
looked down at the dead body, and knew who it was who lay on the ground. Harry knew that he had witnessed the
sacrifice of Harry Potter, who had given his life to save his friends.
And the
world went dark again.
There
was a man in a forest. It was night, and
the man was tired. Harry watched as the
man walked cloaked and unseen, surrounded by the loving dead. The man was tall, with dark messy hair and
glasses. He walked until he came to a
clearing in the forest, where masked figures waited impatiently. A huge man was hanging, restrained and
struggling, while a large snake floated in a glowing cage. Beneath the snake, and watched by his
followers, was a pale, bald man in black.
His eyes were slits, reflecting the fires that lit the clearing. The pale man was growing ever more furious,
but that fury became twisted delight when he spotted the tall man, who had
taken off his cloak and revealed himself.
The
followers stilled themselves, watching intensely as the pale man slowly and
with great deliberation raised a long wand.
The pale man was obviously taking great delight in this moment. This was triumph, this was victory; a balm
for all those years in the dark, screaming in impotent frustration.
The man
stood there, watching impassively, even as the huge man struggled and screamed
a name. But then there was a bright
green light, and the man—who was a boy, really, couldn’t have been more than
seventeen—was on the ground, dead.
Harry
looked down at the dead body, and knew who it was who lay on the ground. Harry knew that he had witnessed the
sacrifice of Harry Potter, who had given his life to save his friends.
And the
world went dark again.