𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐓 2008

On Death and Dying in Slow Motion (2/3)

Harry woke with a great shudder and fell off the bed. His stomach lurched and he scrambled for the loo, where he emptied his stomach. Liquid poured out of his nose and mouth as tears fell from his eyes. He could still see his friends drenched in their own blood. It covered their arms and faces, marring their once happy smiles. He was overcome by a sudden irrational fear that they were all gone.

He was sick until there was nothing left in his stomach, but his body continued to shudder with the harsh dry heaves. He laid his face against the cold porcelain bowl as he clutched onto its sides for strength. The tiled floor was biting into his kneecaps as another wave of nausea overtook his body.

Harry spent nearly half an hour crying over the memory of losing his friends before he finally composed himself. He wiped away the snot and pulled himself up to the sink. He took a few deep breaths and washed his face and hands. Looking into the mirror, he saw large, dark circles under his eyes and long frown lines etched into his face. He felt so old looking into his own desolate eyes.

He returned to the bedroom and lay down. The clock on the bedside cabinet was glowing, shining '12:46 a.m.' upon his tired face. He thumped his arms against the bed in a fit of anger and finally covered his face in anguish with the palms of his wet hands.

Harry Potter was bloody tired of it all. He was tired of the pressure he had to deal with each day. He was tired of every little detail that concerned him. He was aggravated with the Howlers, the secretive whispers, everything! He was sick of picking deer ticks off the back of his legs at night, working day in and day out, and most importantly he was sick of the daily nightmares. God, Harry thought to himself in frustration, I need a vacation.

His eyes snapped open as he realized they were right. Harry needed a break. Everyone had been telling him he needed it. Why didn't he listen to them? He thought long and hard about the merits of a small vacation. He couldn't just leave now, though, not with Hogwarts the way it was, but maybe after? What about school then? Harry thought sadly.

It isn't like I need to finish my schooling, he thought.

After the battle, Harry had decided against becoming an Auror. The nightmares that were left over from the war were enough encouragement that he'd made the correct decision. If he couldn't handle them now, what would it be like to deal with the blood and gore for years to come? No, Harry wasn't up for being an Auror. He didn't have the energy anymore.

Harry was floundering at the moment. He wasn't sure what he wanted to become or, more clearly, what he wanted to do for work. He'd been working all of his life to defeat Voldemort; he almost expected to keep doing that for the rest of it. Harry closed his eyes and sighed heavily. He thought long and hard until he finally succumbed to sleep once more.

Harry woke up to his alarm clock flashing a blurred '7:15 a.m.'. Harry's eyes widened, when he realized he was late. He rushed through his morning routine, only taking a fifteen minute shower -- which he believed wasn't good enough -- but he'd have to deal with it. He grabbed a bath bun off of the counter and a bottle of water out of the fridge. His stomach rumbled from the mistreatment as he hadn't had his tea, or coffee, yet! Muggles watched him suspiciously as he ran with double speed to the Apparition point. He turned the corner and nearly skidded directly into the wall, and quickly Apparated.

Lee Jordan had appeared only a few feet away from Harry. Harry paid him no mind, however, as he rushed up the hill. He finally reached the front steps, where McGonagall had been waiting patiently for the stragglers of the day. He breathed heavily as he tried to get his words out evenly.