Life comes at you fast Harry thought, all you gotta do is know when to jump. He sat on the grimy floor his back against the wall, his head slumped forward on his tired neck. There was something about the dark windowless cell that just made him want to go mad. To scream, to kick, to tear at his skin anything but just sitting there like an idiot. He was supposed to be brave, to make some statement against his captors. He was supposed to fight but he just felt like a beaten puppy, the thoughts of hate, and no courage to follow through. It had always been a terrifying prospect to face Voldemort, but this was so much worse. He wondered if everyone had given up on him, no more search parties for Harry Potter. There would be a replacement hero; he was sure because really all he had ever had was the scar. Nothing remarkable about the lanky seventeen year old boy who couldn't even control his own hair, nothing at all. He hadn't felt like a hero in a long time, since Dumbledore had died. No it was before that when his heart was first ripped in half. Maybe Cedric's death would haunt him till his own. He liked the idea because it made him feel a little more alive, no more courageous but less of a useless human being.
The magic that pulsed through his veins just slightly out of his reach seemed to taunt him and sometimes it seemed like it spoke to him.
Why did you give up, and let all those people die? I was always right here, right here for you love, all you had to do was want me.
Maybe that was the problem he had never wanted to be the hero, maybe he had wanted to fail. It was probably his fault that he was sitting in this god damned cell, not wasting away, more like lazing away. They didn't even torture him. He wanted that, he wanted the excuse to scream more than he wanted to reach the magic in his veins. So he wanted and wanted every day, but it never came and life felt so unfair, because there had been no warning when he was knocked down he never had the choice to jump.
They would come day by day and watch him. To laugh at the boy who thought he could kill Voldemort and all he wanted to do was cry. He wasn't that boy he had never been that boy. That was the boy fabricated by Dumbledore, by the wizarding world, which had then been shoved onto him. This human suit just didn't fit right. It was built around him, built even as he lay in a cradle gurgling happily at the toys he had levitated, was being built as he jumped and flew to escape Dudley and his friends. But he was kept in the dark and didn't even know everything until after his trip to Hall of Prophecies. All he ever wanted was to correct them all to say 'No I never believed I could kill Voldemort, I never believed'.