Do you know what it feels like to hurt?
Harry Potter is in the garden of the Dursley residence, tending to the plants. He is cold, from the harsh and bitter wind. Aunt Petunia won't let him go back inside, and Uncle Vernon won't let him eat outdoors. So, needless to say, he is starving. He's starving, tired, miserable and hopeless. So very hopeless. So hopeless it hurts.
To be left out in the dark?
Harry walks to the front of the house, and knocks, but no one answers. He peeks into the window, and sees his family all having great fun with a family friend and their family. They all seem so happy. Harry knocks louder, until it seems that he is trying to break down the door, but no one pays any attention to him. Harry begins to feel a few tears escape his eyes, as he angrily wipes them away, and goes back into the backyard. It is dark, and he is not going to be let into the light any time soon.
To be alone?
Harry takes something out of his pocket, something that shines in the moonlight, dim as it is. He takes the shiny little friend of his, and uses it to gracefully pierce his skin. Cutting from his wrist to his elbow, Harry decides to trace over the cut several times, making the wound even deeper. He bleeds, cold… tired… alone…
To be forgotten?
Hours later, after the guests have left, Harry realizes that he's not going back inside tonight. Not now, at least. Because no one will let him in. No one can let him in. How can you let in some one you did not know existed?
Have you ever been broken beyond repair?
Harry begins to cry, sobbing his heart out, as he feels his chest just about ready to explode. He cannot be the Boy-Who-Lived, because he does not want to. He does not want to be a hero. He does not want to be alive. All he wants is to be left alone. All he wants is to be free.
Have you been a victim of tormenting?
Later in the night, Dudley came to Harry, mocking him, pointing and laughing- effectively breaking him further.
"Freak! Nobody wants you in their house, because you'll destroy it! You hear that, freak. You corrupt everything, and you kill everything, like your parents, and that Diggory boy. And your Godfather- You killed all of them! They died because of you!" Dudley had yelled, not caring about how Harry seemed to cave even further into himself.
Have you felt misunderstood?
"I didn't kill them," Harry whispers to himself, after Dudley left.
"I didn't! I did not! I did not! I didn't!" Harry yells, punching the shed outside with every 'didn't' he says. After this outburst, Harry angrily, sorrowful, yells with all of his might, loudly. However, the sound is almost like a sad melody to the fragile ears of whoever might be listening. But, that's the thing. Nobody is listening. Nobody ever does.
Filthy?
Harry tries to wipe away the filth he almost sure is covering him, but none comes off, so Harry resorts to scratching at his skin until he bleeds. He stops when the cold night air attacks the wounds, making it sting.
Different?
Harry has always been told he is different. He has always been labeled. He is the Boy-Who-Lived. He is the Freak. He is the Savior of the Wizarding World. He is the Boy. He is the Murderer. He is the Golden Gryffindor. He is the Potter Boy. He is the Heir of Salazar. He is the Special One.
But he never wanted to be different. All his life, he had been wishing to be normal, and now, on his birthday, he whispers his last word as the clock strike 12:
"Outsider…"