For a very long time, I have been a closet fanfiction author...however...I have now decided that the time is ripe (or I at least wrote something halfway decent, whichever you think sounds better) for me to POST stories. Big jump up, hm?
I'm always looking for ways to improve. Suggestions are always, always welcome.
'"How on Earth did it end up this way?" I asked her. As soon as the words had left my mouth, I regretted it, because I knew that she would say "I don't know" and that would be too awful to bear.
But she didn't.
"I suppose," she said, after a long silence, and even in the darkness I could tell that her mouth was pulled into a frown, the sadness was so heavy upon her words, "that it's because I've written such terribly sad stories. Nothing that's left my pen has had a happy ending. When one spends one's life writing about such melancholy, darkly despairing, tragic things as I have...one begins to find that sorrow in everything. It drives you into a downward spiral with an ending just as horrifying as any you have ever written."
"Will our story have a happy ending?" I asked her, dying to know and yet not.
Her voice dropped so low I could barely hear her.
"It would have been," she whispered. "If only I had written happy endings."'
Summary: It seemed an eon ago that he realized that defeating Voldemort was his path, and his path alone. But he did think that perhaps the world was slightly fair—that his friends could accompany him, see him to the bitter end.
Perhaps Harry underestimated just how lonely his road was.
One-shot; Please R&R