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Chapter two-Harry’s P.O.V

I lay on my side, facing the wall. I tried desperately to fall to sleep, but there was so much on my mind. The intense army training and constant battles and travelling was making me exhausted, but I could never seem to sleep. Thoughts of Ginny and the baby prevented me from doing so.

I had been at away at war for months and the pressure of seeing people I knew being killed right in front of me was starting to get to me. I would often wake up in the middle of the night from one of my nightmares, my gaunt, pale face covered in cold sweat. Most of the nightmares were about Remus who had been killed in a battle a few weeks before. I felt responsible for his death, as if it was all my fault. I had desperately tried to save him, but Snape was far too strong and quick. He immobilised me and then tortured Remus with the cruciatus curse right in front of me. I felt so useless, just standing there as he screamed in pain. Then the rest of the army arrived and Moody shot a curse at Snape that caused him to curl up in a ball and screech in pain, but he was just a fraction of a second too late. Snape had already performed the Avarda Kedavra curse on Remus, and I had witnessed it all. I'll never forget Tonks' face when she saw his body on the floor, his hazel eyes wide and lifeless. He had been so weak due having to change into a werewolf every full moon so he had no chance against Snape. We had all told him to rest but he wouldn't. Remus had always been selfless to the point of madness. Tonks has never been the same and it has affected her morphing but she's slowly getting better. But I'm afraid that the damage can't be repaired.

I turned over onto my back, causing the rough bed sheets to rub against my legs and torso. I hated night time because we all had to sleep in horrible, metal bunk beds with cheap sheets that made you itch so you couldn‘t sleep. And when I did manage to drop off I would always wake up with another nightmare which would always disturb Ron who slept on the bottom bunk.

So I would always stay awake for hours thinking about stuff, mostly to do with Ginny. How could I have been so stupid, not using the contraception charm? Now we were bringing a baby into the world who would be in danger and all because of my stupidity. Voldemort was sure to try to get to the baby and Ginny, as he had a habit of taking away anything I loved. It would be like my Mom and Dad all over again, and I would be to blame.

The thought of being a Dad terrified me. First of all, I didn’t have a clue about babies, let a lone having one. Second, I could hardly look after myself, let alone another life. To sum it all up, I would be a useless Dad and a useless husband.

I often found myself wondering what the baby would look like. I resented the fact that it was more than likely that I wouldn’t get to see the birth of him/her and would probably miss out on it’s first words, first steps, first sign of magical ability etc. I had tried to support them both by emptying out my gringots vault, but deep down I knew that it would never make up for the fact that I wasn’t there in person.

When I had received Ginny’s letter, I panicked. The thought of the woman I loved having to go through pregnancy and raising a child on her own and being a prime target for Voldemort made me jump out of my skin. I wrote back to her saying all the things that I was feeling but in the wrong way. I suppose that there was no right way to say things, but everything was worded as wrongly as possible. “That night was a huge mistake” being one of them. What I meant to say was that we couldn’t bring a baby into the world like this, but that I still loved her and that I would support them both and try to protect them. But never being terribly gifted in expressing my feelings, I cocked it all up and made it sound as if I hated her. I had tried to write back, but I would always find myself screwing up pieces of parchment, struggling to find the right words to say.

What if she hates me? What if she thinks that I don’t care? What if she doesn’t love me anymore? All of these questions filled my head, adding to everything else that I was keeping bottled up, like witnessing Remus’s death and being unable to do anything about it. Yes, Snape had been taken prisoner but he had somehow escaped and I wanted to be the one who killed him so I could avenge Dumbledore’s death, whom I felt I owed a great debt to.

Why did have to be “The Boy Who Lived”? Why did I have to have the responsibility of vanquishing Voldemort? Maybe if I hadn’t survived the Avarda Kedavra curse everything would have been different….for better or for worse, I didn’t really know. I just knew that I was sick of attracting trouble because it would cost the lives of the people around me. I was sick of being Harry Potter, the boy who loses everything he loves….

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