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Blood. Because everything always had to start with blood.
Harry flinched as the body roughly slammed against the window he and his friends were hiding behind. He nearly gagged as a putrid stench of blood filled every single crevice of the room. If Snape wasn’t dead then, he sure as hell was dead now.
After Voldemort finally left, Harry ran in, and his friends quickly ran in after. He ran over and grabbed Snape’s head, blood spilling from his neck as he let out a pained gasp.
“The vial. Take it.”
Harry grabbed the vial in Snape’s hand and barely managed to scoop up a few tears falling down Snape’s cheek. This was such a strange situation, and Harry didn't know what to feel as he was demanded to look at Snape. But then, as he did, he knew. He knew who Snape was seeing. He knew who Snape was hallucinating, and an overwhelming anger filled his entire body.
What the hell was this? Do you mean to tell Harry that the guy who tortured Harry since he was fucking 11 wasn’t even seeing Harry in his last dying moments, but his fucking mom?! Don’t get Harry wrong, he did not want him to be the last thing Snape thought about before he died. No, that wasn’t the point.
The point was that Harry, Harry fucking Potter, was the goddamn savior of the wizarding world. He was told from a young age how special he was. How much he was going to help the world, defeat evil! All of it for the sake of the world. He was groomed to be their perfect little savior. Propped up as some overnight celebrity, some great warrior, the world was supposed to rely on.
But you know what he was? He was a child. A scared, naive little boy who was abused and sheltered his whole life. Treated like a slave and not a human. Treated like some war hero and not a human. Like a giant prophecy and not a goddamn human!
But even then, all that fame did him more harm than good. He’s been put in danger so much that it’s a miracle he’s even alive. But I guess that’s all he’ll ever be, a miracle. Some angel sent from god to shoulder everyone’s problems and take their pain with no disregard for his well-being. An 11-year-old was thrown into war too early and now has to play hero because a bunch of incompetent adults couldn’t do their jobs properly.
What the hell even is this? Where the hell was his happy ending, huh? Why did he have to be the abused child forced into a tiny ass room under the stairs? Why did he have to be the slave, huh? Why did he have to fight the fucking dark lord just because some paper fucking said so? Why did he have to sacrifice himself for a bunch of people who wouldn’t even bat an eye if he were in trouble, huh? Why him?
Why couldn’t it have been Ron or Hermione? Why couldn’t it have been Neville or Luna, or Ginny? Hell, it couldn’t it have been fucking Draco for all he cares?! He would never wish ill will on anyone. Would never want anyone to have to go through what he went through, but why was he the one unfortunate enough to be born Harry Potter?
Why did he have to be related to James and Lily? Why did he have to share the same name as them? Why does he have to constantly live up to their hype and stay in their shadow? Why is he constantly being compared to a bunch of strangers he’s never even met before? His parents are fucking dead! He doesn’t have parents!
Just because his name is connected to a bunch of dead people doesn’t mean he should have to fight in a war?! Why did he have to be bullied and abused? Why did he have to constantly have people being jealous or angry with him just because he’s supposed to be their savior? If anything, he’s jealous of them! Why do they get to live such peaceful lives while he has to fight for his right to even have the Potter name?
Why does he have to always explain and excuse his existence? Why is his existence any less significant than anyone else’s just because he was their ‘savior’! What is it about him that’s so special and different that he’s treated like some god that they put on a high pedestal and not as the child he fucking is! He hated this!
He gripped Snape’s body harder as that overwhelming sense of anger came back full force. He’s tired, sad, angry, and just feeling a bunch of things all at once that he doesn’t know what to feel. It’s too many things happening. Too many thoughts in his brain, and Hermione and Ron aren’t making it better behind him.
“Come on, Harry, we gotta go. We can come back to him later. We have to stop Voldemort.”
No, they didn’t. They shouldn’t have to do anything. They were a bunch of kids dragged into a problem that should’ve been solved had it been dealt with earlier. They didn’t have to fight the bald psychopath. The adults should’ve but didn’t because they were incompetent at their jobs.
But of course, the job once again falls on the shoulders of a bunch of children, all because of some fucking prophecy that Dumbledore took way too long to tell him about.
He refused to move, maybe out of spite or maybe out of anger, gripping tightly to Snape’s body.
“How dare you? How dare both of you? You were supposed to protect us. Keep us safe. Now look at both of you.”
Harry gives a dry chuckle.
“You fucking killed him, and the guy you worshipped killed you without so much as a second thought.”
Ron and Hermione glance at each other. They both decided to try again. Ron grabbing Harry and Hermione talking. Harry violently yanks his body away from Ron as he talks to Snape’s body again.
“You were a teacher. Teachers are supposed to take care of their students, check on their wellbeing’s and make sure they are safe. But I didn’t feel safe at that school, that… building. Why didn’t you protect me? What, did you hate James Potter so much that you would rather see me dead?”
He slammed his hands down on Snape’s body. Tears streaming down his face as he gave out a shakily laugh
“I hated you. You bullied me. You harassed me, you made my life hell. You singled me out and all to supposedly save me? And yet I’m here. Alive. Why couldn’t it have been me, huh? Me or you. Why am I still here to suffer in their place just because I’m their child!”
Harry squeezed his fist until they bled.
“Harry-“ Hermione tried to start. “No! I’m not fucking leaving!”
Harry turned to them, pure anger flashing on his face. How could they? How could they just ask him to leave? To forget? To just move on so Ron can play hero, so a bunch of their friends could just die? For them to what? Celebrate this “momentous” occasion of defeating the dark lord when he wasn’t even sure if he was gonna live.
He gripped Severus’s body even harder, constantly refusing to move, and angrily muttered to himself once more.
“And where was Minereva, huh? Fucking Dumbledore? Watching us suffer? Watching me suffer just because I’m their goddamn poster child!”
The more he worked himself up, the more frazzled he became. The atmosphere began to feel oppressive and sad. Like Ron and Hermione were being choked with his anger. All of the suppressed feelings were threatening to spill out of him in one wave.
“Fine. You want me to play fucking hero? I’ll do it.”
Harry stood up, and the next few minutes were a fury of blood and chaos.