petrichor ; harry potter

1.0 | atelophobia

Atelophobia
the fear of imperfection. the fear of never being good enough.

October 9, 2000

He stared out of the window, waiting for something, anything, to happen. It's only been two days, and laying around doing nothing is already driving him insane. Harry never really had calm in his life, there was always something going on, and know that nothing bad is happening in the Wizardry World, he's gotten bored.

Hermione walked into the sitting room, and her eyes wandered to the boy staring out of the window. She put her book down and nudged his shoulder gently.

He flinched slightly but turned to the curly-haired girl. "Are you alright, Harry?"

He rolled his eyes and turned back to the window. "Spice up your questions, Hermione."

"What—?"

"It's always the same thing, 'Are you alright, Harry.'" He said in a mocking voice, and she pursed her lips in thought. "I'm alright, how many times do I have to tell you? It's not like Voldemort's going to pop out and finally finish the job, so as far as I know—I'm doing alright."

"Harry, we're just worried."

"We're? What do you mean by we're?"

"Don't be ridiculous! You don't think all of us have noticed the bags under your eyes or your slouched attitude? It's quite obvious."

"Funny," He didn't turn back to look at her but kept his eyes on the window.

"Why don't you go outside?"

"And do what exactly? Stand there and hope something will finally take me and bring me to the stars?"

"The stars?"

"I've always wondered since Sirius is a star, maybe he's up there..." He said absentmindedly while playing with the hem of his jumper. "What if he's lost in the pile of the many other stars."

"I miss everyone too," She said in a small voice, a sad smile taking over her smile. "But everyone's coping, Harry. George is starting to slowly come up with these hilarious jokes, and oh...Teddys starting to talk!"

"It's still doesn't change that fact that people died, people are dead, Hermione. I don't get how people move on, act normal." He said in a flat voice making the girl's eyes widen at his bluntness.

"It's not easy, but we can't hang on and linger in the memories of the past. We have to move on at some point, even if it's years; It still has to happen or you'll be stuck your entire life."

"What if I can't, Mione?" His tone wasn't cold or emotionless but vulnerable and scared. He was still the same 17-year old that stood in front of Voldemort and killed him. He was still the same 11-year-old who didn't know that magic was real and lived under the stairs.

He hasn't changed much, but he's grown. He's matured and knows the wrongs and rights of this world—of life and death.

He's faced it many times and hasn't backed down. What's different now? What's keeping him from moving on, and enjoying life?