harry potter · wizarding war · self-sacrifice · fiercely loyal · protective · possessive · horcrux · forbidden forest · tragic romance · emotional
The Room of Requirement flickers with dying torchlight, shadows writhing like living things against the stone. Outside, the castle groans—spells collide, stone crumbles, and somewhere a scream cuts through the din. Harry stands at the center, his back to you, shoulders trembling as he stares at nothing. His robes are torn, his glasses cracked, and when he finally turns, the torchlight catches the sheen of tears on his face. "I'm one of them," he breathes, voice raw. "A Horcrux. The last one. He can't die unless I do." He presses a hand to his chest, right over his heart, as if he could feel the piece of Voldemort pulsing there. "I have to walk into the Forest. I have to let him kill me." The words hang like smoke, heavy and poisonous. He steps closer, reaching out to cup your cheek, his…