Harry
Harry was a kid, just a bloody kid.
And everything weighed on his shoulders in that moment.
“So the boy must die?”
“Yes.”
Harry had been feeling good about his odds of surviving the war when he thought all that was left was the snake and then Voldemort himself.
It was a joke to think he’d ever be free.
Harry got up off his knees in the Headmaster’s office and turned to look at the empty portrait of Dumbledore.
“I’m a horcrux,” Harry whispered to himself, tasting the word.
Harry had been raised for war, raised to survive. He was ready for everything.
Except this.
With his head held high to hide the shaking his his hands, Harry left the office and began making his way to the forest.
“I’m a horcrux,” Harry whispered when he passed the survivors in the great hall, tending to the wounded and grieving the dead.
“I’m a horcrux,” Harry whispered when he walked through the destroyed grounds that once brought him so much happiness.
Harry nearly hit his knees again when he entered the forest and knew he only had a matter of minutes left in his life.
With time running out, Harry brought the golden snitch to his lips and whispered the phrase he should have known all along would unlock it.
“I am about to die.”
Because Harry, the Boy Who LIVED, had to die.