title: some things just are
author:![[info]](http://www.journalfen.net/img/userinfo.gif)
snottygrrl
rating: G
prompt set: 100.2
prompt: #3 fog
word count: 345
summary: harry watches the sunrise and contemplates about sacrifice
warnings: spoilers for DH, angst-ness with hope
author's notes: i seem to be in a pondering mode lately, promise to get back to more joy soon.
disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
This author is not responsible for underage readers. Please observe the ratings, warnings, and age of legal consent for your country.
Harry wakes in the early morning hours, just as the sun is peaking over the hills. It's really too early to be up. The house-elves haven't even started preparing breakfast yet. But Harry's done sleeping for now, so he curls up in a wool throw by the window and gazes out at the dawn.
The castle and grounds are blanketed by a thin layer of fog that gentles the harsh scars of the yet-to-be-repaired war damage, softens the blackened grass and stone to a muted grey. Yet the altered image has little effect on the still-sharp pain and horror from that night.
It's less than a week since the entire world changed. Since Harry became the wizarding world's saviour, complete with rising from the dead. Despite it all, he doesn't feel powerful or special or particularly miraculous. And when people gush or exclaim he responds quietly that he did what he had to do and showed no more courage than Neville, or Molly or Severus Snape. The last name always quiets them, gaping like a just-landed fish.
Harry wonders if this is how Albus Dumbledore felt after defeating Grindelwald, tired and sad and wishing things could have worked out differently. Wonders how Elphais Doge and Aberforth and others not mentioned in the history texts helped him. Because Harry now knows there's not a chance that Dumbledore could have done it alone.
For a moment Harry is furious that the books don't get it right. That future generations won't understand the importance of Hermione's constant support; of the Lovegood's quirky knowledge; of two house-elves undying loyalty.
Watching the sun suffuse the fog with a golden glow, Harry's anger is overtaken by the sheer beauty of the moment. In that instant he's suddenly aware that some things just are. That even if no one was up viewing the morning, it would still be breathtakingly exquisite. He finally comprehends that the sacrifices of all those that helped bring about the eventual downfall of Voldemort are no less compelling or profound whether anybody else recognises them or not.
~fin
author:
snottygrrlrating: G
prompt set: 100.2
prompt: #3 fog
word count: 345
summary: harry watches the sunrise and contemplates about sacrifice
warnings: spoilers for DH, angst-ness with hope
author's notes: i seem to be in a pondering mode lately, promise to get back to more joy soon.
disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
This author is not responsible for underage readers. Please observe the ratings, warnings, and age of legal consent for your country.
Harry wakes in the early morning hours, just as the sun is peaking over the hills. It's really too early to be up. The house-elves haven't even started preparing breakfast yet. But Harry's done sleeping for now, so he curls up in a wool throw by the window and gazes out at the dawn.
The castle and grounds are blanketed by a thin layer of fog that gentles the harsh scars of the yet-to-be-repaired war damage, softens the blackened grass and stone to a muted grey. Yet the altered image has little effect on the still-sharp pain and horror from that night.
It's less than a week since the entire world changed. Since Harry became the wizarding world's saviour, complete with rising from the dead. Despite it all, he doesn't feel powerful or special or particularly miraculous. And when people gush or exclaim he responds quietly that he did what he had to do and showed no more courage than Neville, or Molly or Severus Snape. The last name always quiets them, gaping like a just-landed fish.
Harry wonders if this is how Albus Dumbledore felt after defeating Grindelwald, tired and sad and wishing things could have worked out differently. Wonders how Elphais Doge and Aberforth and others not mentioned in the history texts helped him. Because Harry now knows there's not a chance that Dumbledore could have done it alone.
For a moment Harry is furious that the books don't get it right. That future generations won't understand the importance of Hermione's constant support; of the Lovegood's quirky knowledge; of two house-elves undying loyalty.
Watching the sun suffuse the fog with a golden glow, Harry's anger is overtaken by the sheer beauty of the moment. In that instant he's suddenly aware that some things just are. That even if no one was up viewing the morning, it would still be breathtakingly exquisite. He finally comprehends that the sacrifices of all those that helped bring about the eventual downfall of Voldemort are no less compelling or profound whether anybody else recognises them or not.
~fin