"Breaking Point"

The sun had long since set on the rebuilt Hogwarts castle, casting a warm orange glow over the gathered crowd of students, professors, and Ministry officials. The war was over, Voldemort was defeated, and the wizarding world was finally at peace. But for Harry James Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the sense of relief and accomplishment was suffocated by a growing feeling of disillusionment. As he stood at the edge of the celebration, nursing a glass of butterbeer, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. The cheers and laughter of the crowd seemed hollow, the smiles and congratulations from those around him felt forced. He thought back to the long, brutal years of fighting, the countless losses, and the scars that would never fully heal. The faces of the Ministry officials, with their smug self-satisfaction and condescending smiles, seemed to blur together. They had all played their part in the war, but at what cost? The weight of it all bore down on him, and Harry felt his anger and frustration boiling over. He downed his drink in one swift motion and made his way to the bar, ordering a shot of pure firewhiskey. The bartender, a friendly old wizard named Abernathy, raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He knew better than to try to stop Harry from drinking. As the night wore on, Harry lost track of time. He downed shot after shot, the liquor burning his throat and fueling his growing rage. The world was broken, and he was sick of it. Sick of the politics, sick of the lies, and sick of the old men who had manipulated him, used him, and stolen his youth. "I want to burn it all down," Harry slurred, his words slurring together as he stumbled through the crowds. The faces around him blurred, and he felt a hand on his arm. A girl, with long blonde hair and a flirtatious smile, leaned in close. "Why don't we go somewhere and talk about it, Harry?" she suggested, her voice husky. Harry didn't think twice. He grabbed her hand, and together they stumbled out of the celebration, into the cool night air. They ended up in a quiet, deserted corridor, the sounds of the party fading into the distance. The girl's name was irrelevant; all that mattered was the release. Harry's anger and frustration boiled over, and he took her, hard and fast, against the cold stone wall. It was a primal, savage act, with no thought of tenderness or care. As the night wore on, Harry passed out, his body spent, his mind numb. When he woke, it was to the sound of birds chirping outside and the girl's soft voice. "Harry, wake up." He opened his eyes to find himself in a strange, dingy room. The girl was sitting next to him, her hair mussed, her eyes...Pansy Parkinson's eyes. Harry's heart sank. He sat up with a start, his mind racing. What had he done? The memories of the night before came flooding back, and he felt a wave of horror wash over him. He had slept with Pansy Parkinson, of all people. The thought made him sick. Pansy, on the other hand, looked...different. Her usual sneer was gone, replaced by a soft, concerned expression. "Harry, are you okay?" she asked, her voice gentle. Harry didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to think. All he knew was that his world had just gotten a lot more complicated.