Irony

Harry wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. In fact, he couldn't help himself from letting out a sharp burst of laughter. Not happy, or angry, but tinged with the edges of madness. His laughing ended abruptly as he broke into a harsh couching fit that made him feel like he was couching up a lung. Perhaps he was.

When the fit finally ended several minutes later, he wished that were the case. If it were he would certainly be dead and out of this horrendous pain. His chest and head ached, and he could feel something building in the back of his throat as he stared up at the cream colored ceiling. Absently noting he would choke on the substance if he didn't do something to remove it, he turned his head slowly to the right and spit the liquid out. His eyes were automatically drawn to the puddle of dark crimson liquid splattered across the floor beside his face. Blood. Huh. Figures.

Turning his head back to gaze up at the ceiling, he finally became aware of the fact that he couldn't feel his legs. Couldn't feel anything below his waist, actually. In fact he hadn't been able to since the first hit, however long ago that had been. His sense of time wasn't at its best at the moment.

Well, at least he couldn't feel the pain from there then. Although, he was sure the rest of his body more than made up for it.

He once again turned his head, this time to the left, to see the other people in the room. They huddled together against the wall, pressed into a corner by a lovely potted plant. It looked plastic to him, but then he'd never been great in Herbology. Oh, right, the people. The terrified people who stared at him with horror filled eyes as he lay dying on the marble floor.

Dying, yes, he was dying. He should probably be thinking about something important, shouldn't he? Or maybe have his life pass before his eyes? He paused. No, that wasn't happening, so he'd go back to option number one.

Unable to watch the people any longer, he turned his face back toward the ceiling. Now he just needed to come up with something important to think about. His parents? No. He rejected that idea immediately. Not that they weren't important, of course, but he'd be seeing them soon enough anyway. Who else was there again? It was getting awfully difficult for him to concentrate on anything.

A dog. There was a dog that wasn't a dog. Oh, yes--Sirius, his godfather. He'd probably blame himself for this, just like he did for the deaths of the rest of the Potter family. Oh well. Not much he could do about that now. Hopefully Remus would be able to get him through it.

Remus. Professor Lupin. He was going to return to his position as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor this year. Too bad he was going to miss it, since Professor Lupin was the only decent Defense teacher they'd had since he'd been going to Hogwarts.

That reminded him of Ron and Hermione, and all of his other friends at school. At least Ron and Hermione would be able to help each other through the whole thing. He was sure the others would help, too. Oh, and the rest of the Weasley clan. He was really going to miss the feeling of being in a house surrounded by the loving, if unique, family in the comforting atmosphere of the Burrow.

Harry felt slightly guilty, even as he lay dying, that he wouldn't be able to fulfill Headmaster Dumbledore's hopes and defeat the Dark Lord. Not that he was particularly looking forward to it or anything, but the whole Wizarding World was pretty much counting on him, The Boy Who Lived, to finally get rid of Voldemort once and for all. He only hoped that Snape was right and that his importance in the whole affair was highly exaggerated.

His vision was almost gone now. Everything looked fuzzy and black around the edges. He was also feeling extremely numb, the pain receding to a dull ache at the worst places.

Malfoy would be laughing his arse off at the irony. Harry was sure of it. The Great Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, the wizard destined to defeat the Dark Lord Voldemort once and for all...

The boy who lay bleeding to death, who would in moments die, in too large Muggle clothing, on the floor of a Muggle bank, after being shot by Muggle criminals during an armed robbery.