It Only Hurts When I Breath

First he tries to control his anger, grieve, even himself. He can't. Then he just ignores it all, it doesn't work.

---

Standing on the rooftop,
Waiting till the bomb drops,
This is all we've got now,
Scream until your heart stops,
Never gonna regret,
Watching every sunset,
Listen to your heartbeat,
All the love that we've felt.

Last Prophets – Rooftops

A voice, just a whisper in the back of his mind. 'Control your anger Harry.' It sounded remarkably much like the voice of Hermione.

'Control your anger Harry.'Harry knew that it was just his imagination, but he always wondered how his imagination thought that he could control something. He never had control about anything or anyone.

But after fifth year Harry controlled his anger.

Whenever Snape insulted him, his parents, or the bloody ground he walked on, he would just ball his fists till his knuckles were white, and grit his teeth. And ignore the urge to just grip his wand in his right hand en close the other around Snapes neck. And scream the truth into Snapes face. Because really, Gryffindor couldn't lose more points now could they?

Whenever Hermione scolded him for not making an essay that was due for the next Friday, he would not push an calendar under her noise, point at the date and scream that is was a fucking Monday. Because really, that would hurt Hermione's feelings.

And it really didn't matter that Harry had feelings too, because really, he could ignore those.

When professor McGonagall told him that the Headmaster wished to see him, he would smile, tell his friends that the Headmaster asked him to come and see him. And he would go. Dumbledore would call him 'Dear boy' or something like that offer him candy, and would then break the bad news. And Harry would smile, even if after hearing that Malfoy Senior just wormed his way out of Azkaban by turning light , made him want to scream, grab a chair and bash it into wall, and make that irritating twinkle in the professor eyes disappear. But he didn't scream, or broke the professors nose.

He ignored the urge, he ignored the way Malfoys eyes narrowed as if trying to look through glasses that had the wrong descriptions.

Through sixth year Harry became quite good at ignoring, even if it gave him a bad feeling, as if his longs got heavier, the feeling that the slowly filled with lead. But he didn't complain, he just ignored the fact that it felt like his longs were trying to jump out of his chest by pushing through his ribs. He ignored the pain, the grieve and the anger.

After the talk with the Headmaster, it seemed as Snape and the Malfoys watched him closer then ever. It got on his nerves, but as something that became a second nature to him, he ignored it.

But then it happened.

It was just a normal Tuesday, he felt crappy because he hadn't slept well, but of course he answered yes when Ron asked him if he were okay. And of course he ignored the urge to say that maybe if Ron would just look around him and just realize that the world didn't centre around him or anything that he would see that Harry didn't feel O-fucking-KAY!

But he didn't, because really, it would be normal for Ron to want some attention after growing up with six siblings. And it really didn't matter that Harry also would like some personal affection after being ignored for ten years, it really didn't.

Breakfast was its normal loud affair, and the two hours potions after was its normal torture.

Lunch began the same way, loud.

Until Harry got a letter, the owl that brought it dropped it and didn't even wait for an reply.

The envelop was made of black parchment. Harry recognized it immediately. Is was one of those letters that were delivered much more with the war going on. It told families about how there father, mother, or siblings had died in the war.

And now there lay one before him.

The silence was deafening, Harry slowly opened the envelop, and took the letter out.

His eyes skimmed over the letter, in search for a name, there it was:

Remus Lupin

Harry slowly swallowed the lump that formed in his throat, and tried to ignore the pain. Why wouldn't it go away?

"Are you alright Harry?"He looked up, into the pale face of his friend. And asked himself quietly: Am I alright?

Harry gritted his teeth, what was that for an stupid question?! He tried to control himself, but felt his control slipping.

"Are you asking me if I'm alright?! Are you bloody stupid!? I've just lost my second Godfather! Do I look O-fucking-KAY to you?!" Now he was standing, he didn't remember standing up. Did it matter?

"Control yourself Harry!" yelled Hermione.

It was as if he saw clear for the first time in months.

"Control, Jesus Christ, Hermione! I've never had control, I only get controlled! Nothing more, nothing less! You can shove your control were the sun doesn't shine!"

Through his tirade, he heard something break. But it didn't matter.

Magic rolled in waves of him. He could breath, finally, it didn't hurt anymore.