Happy Birthday

Happy Birthday to you...

He sat there, the light of the candle making an outline of his skinny form on the wall; his uncle didn't want him to use up the electricity it would take to turn the light on in his room.

His hair was just as unruly as ever, but his clothes were more ragged. The skin on his bones was a ghastly shade of ivory, his eyes bulging out of their sockets. He was no more than skin and bones.

His uncle had put more bars on the window. He was glad Hedwig was staying at the Burrow with Ron. He knew Ron would take care of her...

The watch he got from Sirius as an early birthday present showed the time to be five minutes past midnight. He was fifteen.

And Cedric would have been sixteen by now...

Thoughts of Cedric haunted him every day. They were like pieces of gum you can't get off the bottom of your shoe, no matter how many things you do to make it go away. It was always there, no matter how many times you tried to forget its existence. But he could not even forget, because he felt it was all his fault. If only he hadn't let Cedric touch that stupid trophy...

Hermione once said that he was too selfless. If only he had listened to her advice then...

Happy Birthday to you...

He was miserable. Another year of his life had gone by, along with many pains and wrongs. There had been so many attacks on him...he lost count of how many a long time ago. The Hufflepuffs blamed him for not being able to save the different people that had been killed, especially Cedric. The Ravenclaws were angry, too, but Cho couldn't do anything but mourn. Harry couldn't even look at her without thinking about Cedric. He couldn't look at her face; the sadness in her eyes was just another dagger into his heart.

The Slytherins were...well...Slytherins. But it was worse. They now taunted him for being such a wimp, an insignificant weakling who couldn't even help himself, let alone his friends. He tried to block it out, but it was getting harder every day. Sometimes, even his own house would turn against him. The only ones that ever stayed true to him were Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. The twins and their friend Lee found it a great joke and laughed it up. Thank goodness for their humor! It kept him going day by day.

But, in the deepest part of his heart, he still felt guilt. A guilt that nobody could even partially conceive. It was like a large boulder in the pit of his soul, dragging him down farther and farther every day. The guilt of so many people who died in his place was almost too much for him to bear. A night didn't pass when he didn't have a dream about one death or another. It seemed like there was a new one every night...

I wish I could die! he thought silently to himself that night on his birthday. Everything would be so much easier...no more pain, no more sorrow...but no. What about everyone who had died for me? They would have died for nothing. I can't let them die in vain! But how to defeat Voldemort? Can I even defeat him? Can I?...

Happy Birthday dear Harry...

He looked in the mirror. The sight he saw almost made him jump. Almost. No longer did he see a skinny geek with glasses. He now saw a young man with a rippling set of muscles. He had become a gladiator now. He was now all he could be physically. But his large green eyes. Those eyes were filled with a sadness unknown to anyone but him. His hair was still unruly, but now it was unruly in a short ponytail hanging down his back.

He draped his cloak over himself, hiding his face from sight. Rushing out of the Leaky Cauldron, he kept walking, forgetting everything around him, his mind set on finding Voldemort.

A thought came back to his mind, making him twitch inside. He could remember it clearly...

*flashback*

"Harry..."

"Hold on, Albus; you're going to be okay! Everything will be okay." He held the older man's hand, trying to will life into it.

He was on his death bed, Harry knew it. It was depressing to see such a good man go in such a way. Albus had been hit with a horrible curse called the Sraveritus curse, making the person who is hit with it die a slow, painful death, starting with numbness, then delirium, then the pain would shoot up, and last for three days. At the end of the third day, the person would die.

"Promise me..."

"Yes, Albus?" he asked anxiously.

"Don't...look for...Voldemort..." Harry was about to restrain him, but Dumbledore gave him one of those looks. "Don't search...for him..." He could see the inner struggle in Harry. "Please...promise me..."

"I promise," said Harry. "I promise, Albus."

Albus sighed. "Now I...can go...in peace..." He closed his eyes and sighed one last time, a smile on his face...

*end flashback*

He shook the image out of his mind, trying to forget the memory that had just popped in his head. I'm sorry Albus, but I have to... He remembered his vow to himself...that he would duel Voldemort to the end, with only one left standing...

Happy Birthday to you...

The crowd of people scattered to their own homes, leaving the couple alone. It was quiet, the only sound being the sound of the wind rustling through the leaves on the trees...

That is, until the wails of a sobbing young woman was heard.

She sank to the ground, letting the soft ground soak up her tears. The man beside her kneeled with her, an arm around her shoulder. A single tear glistened on his cheek. He looked up from his position on the ground, his eyes scanning the three stones in front of him, his eyes gazing at the last one the longest.

The first one he looked at read "James Potter--Strong 'til the end," with the dates of his birth and death. The second one said "Lily Potter--Her gentle spirit will always blow with every breeze," then the two dates. The last one was hard for him to even think about.

"Harold Potter--All good things must come to an end."

He choked back sobs as he cradled the woman with bushy brown hair next to him, trying his best to be just as strong as his best friend had been.

He gently lifted her by the shoulders, helping her stand. They hugged each other, clinging to one another like two lost children, depending on each other for hope, reassurance, and the flickering light that everything would be all right.

They walked away from the stones together, holding each others' hands. Suddenly, the red-haired man stopped and turned his head around, looking back at the graves. He closed his eyes, his forehead creased with lines. He swore he heard words being carried by the wind. He strained to hear the words. "Happy birthday to me..." That voice! He knew it so well! But it seemed younger, more childish. "...happy birthday to me..." He was swept away by the song, his mind being washed with a deluge of memories toppling before her eyes. "...happy birthday dear Harry..." His head began to feel light. He could feel his mouth screw into a wry smile, remembering the past, the good and the bad. "...happy birthday to me..."

The song faded into the distance, wafted away by the wind.

He turned around again, his back to the graves once more. He took the woman's hand; his hand had finally stopped shaking. She gripped his tightly. They left the gravesite with a tiny *pop*.