Harry Potter Oneshots

Box of Bertie Bott's

Harry jumped off the last step before the staircase had ceased turning and strode down the corridor with the faint rasping sound of the moving gargoyle fading into the distance. His steps were long and purposeful, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his uniform, and he refused to slow his harried steps until he had put plenty of distance between him and Dumbledore's office.

A few minutes later, he glanced over his shoulder and finally slowed his pace, his breath coming in deeply through his nose and his chest felt strangely tight, yet he didn't think it had anything to do with his impromptu jog.

Voldemort continues to set store by the prophecy. He will continue to hunt you...

Dumbledore's voice rang in his ears一echoes of his lesson and their latest fray into Tom Riddle's past filling him with an odd mixture of dread and, somehow, hope. His footsteps fell heavy against the stone and his shoulders slouched under the weight of all they had discussed, yet Harry felt like he could clearly see for the first time. Truly see. It was as if there had been a fog clouding his vision for all of these years, and now, the mist was finally ripped away to be replaced with the blinding truth.

Yes, either he or Voldemort were destined to die at the other's hand. But not because it was fate or destiny. It hadn't been written in the stars eons ago by creatures who saw him just as a name, not as a living and breathing soul. It was because he had chosen this path, as did Riddle, and he would continue on this path until the prophecy was fulfilled. He would hunt down each horcrux with Dumbledore, slowly tearing away his tethers to immortality until he was nothing but a man一a mere mortal.

A mortal with exceptional skills, a dangerous temper, and an uncontrollable cruelty that spreads faster than a plague.

Quicker than a flash of lightning, the familiar panic gripped his heart and his footsteps slowed even more until he came to a stop in the middle of an empty corridor.

Seven horcruxes... Merlin's beard..., Harry thought.

Hopelessness crept in, as did the vast impossibility of the task that was now so neatly laid out before him. Forcing one foot to step in front of the other, Harry continued on his path back to the Gryffindor common room and though every inch of him was screaming to let his feet wander throughout the quiet castle along with his thoughts, he bit back the urge and struggled along the direct route to the tower. Even though Dumbledore could vouch for why he was out of bed after hours, it wasn't worth the confrontation. Though, he did purposefully miss a secret passage that would have cut off a few minutes from his time. He just couldn't help it. He loved the castle best at night.

Hogwarts was his home any time of day, but at night, no one was around. No first years were there to point him out amongst the crowd to their friends. No students were there to whisper conspicuously about his past. No teachers were there, casting their particular watchful eyes over him. No one was there to wonder if he really was the Chosen One. After hours, sure he might risk a detention or two, but he didn't risk adding to the pressure mounted on his shoulders and the constant worry nagging away was slightly reduced in the silence and solitude.

Much too soon for his liking, Harry reached the last staircase leading to the Fat Lady and found that he had accidentally gone too far and passed her. He sheepishly turned back around and came to a stop before her.

"Tapeworm," Harry said blankly.

The Fat Lady peered down at him speculatively. "Mr. Potter. What were you doing after curfew this time?"

"I'm not breaking any rules. I was with Dumbledore," Harry explained, much too exhausted to come up with a lie while also not seeing any particular use for one. It seemed like plenty of people already knew or guessed that he was meeting with Dumbledore. What was one more?