7Harry looked around the common room. It was full of happy people, smiling faces. That's what Gryffindors were like. No matter what, they stood tall, faced another day. He must look like that to outsiders. But Harry wasn't that strong.
He hated the fact that he had to wake up every day. He hated that everyone else was able to be happy while he suffered for them, fought for them. Hated that his life and the lives of those he loved were constantly in danger. Just look at Sirius. He had spent years in prison. Why? Because the 'dark lord' had tried to get to Harry, and he'd gotten mad over it. He then died trying, once again, to help Harry.
Harry's own parents had died because of him. Hell, all Cedric ever did was touch a stupid trophy, and he'd been killed for it. Everyone who protected him—the members of the order, the teachers of Hogwarts—their lives were being ruined, were slowly deteriorating.
Harry realized what he was thinking and gave a defeated sigh. When had his outlook become so bleak?
He knew the answer. When he had learned it was either kill or be killed. When he learned that he had to commit the act that made Voldemort so horrible in the first place.
But no, Harry tried to reason with himself. Voldemort was hurting hundreds of people, not only those he killed. He was tearing lives apart.
Harry looked over at Ron and Hermione, playing chess next to the fireplace. Ron was concentrating on the board, with a pile of Hermione's white pieces lying next to him. Hermione had fewer pieces, but was grinning nonetheless, studying Ron almost lovingly.
He thought of the other Weasleys. Mr. Weasley and his love for Muggles, Mrs. Weasley's round happy face. She was the closest thing he'd ever had to a mom. Fred, George, Bill, Charlie, and even Percy—they'd all become more than friends. And Ginny...
Harry was putting their lives in danger. Because of him, they could never be safe. They'd constantly have to look over their shoulders, never knowing whom to trust.
Harry was tearing their lives apart. He and Voldemort were no different. Harry sighed once again. He bade goodnight to the general area and slowly clomped upstairs. He then promptly flopped onto his bed.
As he looked up at the calendar he'd pinned above his bed, a tear rolled slowly down his cheek.
Harry wished he could say he continued on for his friends. That he went on for the victims of Voldemort, people he'd hurt, people like his parents and Sirius. Harry knew he could never live up to his name. He'd take living up to everyone's expectations, to his own expectations. Hell, he'd take going on for the mere fact that he didn't want to die yet.
But the truth was he'd begun living for the mere satisfaction of marking off another day on the calendar. Knowing that he'd held off Voldemort for another day, for another twenty-four hours. He lived to be one step ahead of Voldemort, even if it was only for the night.
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A/n: One shot. My most angsty piece, like, ever. But it just came to me, so why hold it back? I know its pretty short, but that's as much as I could stretch it. Thanks for the help, Kelly and Hannah!
As always, Please Review!