icmezzo_archive (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
icmezzo_archive) wrote2013-03-02 08:44 pm
icmezzo_archive) wrote2013-03-02 08:44 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: He walked
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sapphirescribeHe walked
Harry walked.
Not like he did when he was young, an eager lad of seven or eight or nine, heading to the playground on a Tuesday with a head filled to the brim with imagination as his steps barely skimmed the ground. Raw energy of youth sizzled in his veins as he escaped the tyranny of homework in favour of the pure delight found in a swing swung high or a slide well slid.
Innocent of witches and wizards and magic.
Knowing no evil beyond Petunia’s unfair distribution of chores and treats and bedrooms.
Entirely certain that his scar that was just a scar.
Racing to the park—light on his feet, eager for adventure and Saturdays and the sweets he could snatch from Dudley’s chubby clutches.
That wasn’t like walking at all.
~oOo~
Harry walked.
Not like he did at Hogwarts when he was a student. Those days were for sprinting—bursts of treacle tartlet fuelled energy that led him to classes, common rooms, Quidditch. Pumpkin juice energy for jaunts to Hogsmeade and Butterbeer to get him back again. Juicy roasts that helped his bones and plump potatoes that empowered his legs, all so his mind could race from Basilisks to Time Turners to Boggarts.
Muffins to trip down to Hagrid’s. Crunchy apples and juicy pears for his dash to Divination.
He wasn’t walking as chocolate frogs and invisibility cloaks allowed him to scurry past Snape in darkened corridors en route to endless explorations.
Far too busy to walk.
~oOo~
Harry walked.
Not like he did during the Triwizard Tournament, when he was wandering, lost, deep in the hedges of the shadowy maze, hesitant to take another step forwards and but knowing he must. He must.
Rushing towards screams, adrenalin pumping faster than his legs, more powerful than fear, an entire house of red and gold naïveté behind him and some unknown hellish prize before him, a simple cup that proved anything but.
Fighting through fog and false trails to unfamiliar destinations.
It wasn’t walking as he trekked along, eventually leaving one fallen opponent only to fall in step with another, weary gaits matched as they reached for death in goblet form, bleeding innocence along the way. Being whisked away merely to discover that only one would return to the leafy labyrinth while the other went…on.
Now, though, Harry simply walked.
~oOo~
Harry walked.
Not like during the war when he absconded into the woods with his friends and a handbag, losing bits and pieces of even those along the way. Fleeing whilst searching, relocating from place to place to place, his life in his feet, hanging by a dirty shoelace.
Moving, always moving. Protego Totalum and Repello Muggletum, Salvio Hexia and sheer luck serving as their only protection as the flaps of their tent fluttered in the cold winter wind, toes cold while heads got hot.
Evading Snatchers, defying Darkness. Barely escaping the grips of goblins and the dungeons of Death Eaters.
Flying through forests, nearly drowning, nearly captured, nearly identified.
He never walked, back when he was on the run.
~oOo~
Harry walked.
Not as he did when he was heading to his own death.
One foot after another, further forfeiting his future with Every. Single. Stride.
Heading down the marbled staircases of Hogwarts that he’d run along during the happiest days he’d ever known. Stairs were cracked now and bloodied just as he was, but swirled stone seeped in magic would prove more permanent than the soul of the Boy who Lived Come—step by step—to Die. That was, after all, why he was going.
Trailing across the muddied lawns in the shadow of a great castle to the edge of the darker woods beyond, to the place that no light would reach but the glowing green streak of Avada Kedavra.
Slogging towards the end of his journey, footfalls weighed down with the murky understanding of exactly how many others had also given their steps for those to come after. Managing to continue on only by distancing his heart from his mind from his soul.
Trudging along, knees shaking, knowing he held a portion of the evil on the verge of destroying them all.
Back then he’d known his place, his purpose. His pace had never wavered, even as his shoulders bowed under the weight of Britain, until he proceeded to the clearing where unadulterated evil with immortal ambitions would flick a casual wrist to slaughter a green-eyed lamb so it would never walk again.
The lamb stood again, though, and proceeded to walk.
~oOo~
Harry walked.
Not to the park or the pitch. Not through the maze or the Forest of Dean. Not to his death or back again.
He walked.
No purpose. No longer possessed. No diaries or dementors or deathly hallows. No horcruxes to find and no point in catching snitches.
He walked.
Nowhere to go except past fresh graves and through hellish memories and no way to rest without nightmares catching up to him. Chased by crowds and lauded by strangers yet the broken third wheel in his own trio.
He walked, leaving no breadcrumbs behind.
No longer needed, necessary, and never, ever normal. No plans for today, tomorrow, or next Tuesday; unable to understand his future after marching to his end.
So he walked, his eyes on the road instead of the horizon.
His mind empty and his eyes emptier.
He walked.
He walked.
He walked.
.
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Thanks for reading. I know it wasn't much, but...
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And I love repetition too - in fact I've been thinking about how to use it in the angsty fic. I think it suits that genre so well.
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Your Harry is perfect! You've managed to say soooo much in so few words and that's just incredible!
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