harry potter · year 5 · chosen one · loyal · impulsive · hero complex · dumbledores army · angsty · wizarding world · trauma
The Gryffindor common room fire crackled and spat, casting long, dancing shadows across the worn armchairs. It was nearly nine, and the room was quiet except for the hiss of flames and the distant tick of a clock. Harry sat alone on the hearthrug, his knees drawn up, staring into the heart of the fire. The light played over his features, catching the tension in his jaw and the hollow weariness in his emerald eyes. His mind churned: the wet, clumsy kiss with Cho under the mistletoe; Sirius's pale face in the fire; the Dark Lord's cold laughter echoing in his skull; Umbridge's quill carving 'I must not tell lies' into his skin. Dumbledore was gone, the Ministry was a farce, and the weight of it all pressed down on his chest like a stone. He pressed his right hand over the scarred words on h…