Son of Magic

Chapter 16

December 6th, 1941

Slytherin Dormitory

Sunset was upon them once again, but Harry didn't notice the sky's change in colour. He'd been staring out into the horizon for most of the day, once again lost in his mind-scape.

Since he'd arrived at his secluded sanctuary, that's how he'd spent most of his time—sitting lifelessly in front of his cottage trying his best not to break down.

He feared that even the slightest movement would send him into bouts of never-ending sobs, so he sat as still as a statue, trying to hold in his pain. And with unblinking eyes, he watched without seeing as the world kept turning while he was stuck—unable to move on with it.

The rage, betrayal, and heartache he felt had yet to abate. In fact, those feelings were now amplified by his absolute misery at missing him .

He loathed the man—yet he missed him unbearably.

He didn't want to miss and yearn for him. He'd rather cling to his rage and allow everything else to wash away. But he couldn't because he misses him so terribly that his whole body ached with every forced breath that he took.

He couldn't help but think about what he'd done—couldn't help but feel a painful twinge of regret crawling up his ribcage as it fought its way to infiltrate his heart.

Had he done the right thing?

Should he have fought for him?

Should he have murdered him and destroyed his Horcruxes before he had the chance to spread his darkness into the world?

"I never thought I'd see you in this state of disarray over a boy," came the taunting voice of his only true companion.

Death had respected his wish for privacy and hadn't shown himself since he got here, but Harry should have known that he wouldn't stay gone for very long.

Harry didn't bother replying and simply kept on staring.

Death heaved a heavy sigh and sat down on the bench next to Harry.

"What is it about him that makes you lose sight of everything else?" Death asked him curiously.

This drew a small helpless chuckle from Harry. "Fuck if I know," he muttered, voice hoarse and scratchy from all the weeks of disuse.

"You did the right thing, Harry," he told him, not for the first time.

"Did I, though?" he asked him, brokenly. "I've changed nothing. Everything is going to go exactly as it has before. Innocent people are going to die because I can't bring myself to murder my ex-lover," he spat, allowing the self-loathing that had been eating him up bubble up to the surface.

Death watched him from behind his hood and shook his head disappointedly. "It isn't your duty to save the mortals from themselves, Harry. Your only duty is to preserve the balance between the living and the dead and the balance of magic. You know this just as well as you know where those souls you are agonising over wander to once they are rid of this horrid world. Yet you still pity them—grieve for them—even though I know that you envy them and wish to follow after them beyond the veil."

"You cannot compare my existence to theirs," Harry exclaimed furiously before he abruptly sat up and started pacing. "I've lived long enough to be allowed to long for the sweet embrace of the afterlife, but those people—those children...."