The sky loomed dark overhead, casting shadows across the grounds of Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The lake, black as night, wrenched wrestlessly in it's prison, the earth that surrounded it. The wind, cold and sharp, sent chills down even the thickest skinned or thickest coated student. None more so then Harry Potter.
The Chosen one. The boy who lived. The one who rebound the Dark Lord's killing curse back at him, even as a baby. Famous around these parts. And he was sick of it all. He didn't understand how they could all just stand there, idly, and watch as he suffered. His parents were killed. He would never know them. Never feel their warm gaze on the back his head as he was presented in front of their friends. No, He would never know. Yet, the ones around him, whom claimed to love him, smiled in his direction. Directed towards him. They were HAPPY.
Grumbling quietly, Harry made his way quickly from the lakeside, up the dusty, moving stairs, and entered the Gryffindor Common Room. The password was muttered to the fat lady in a harsh tone, and she knew not to bother with him.
"Muffliato." He muttered, pointing his wand in no general direction. His bedroom, which he had quickly made his way to from the common room and up the stairs. "How could they?" He asked himself, staring at the picture of his parents he kept on his nightside table. "How could they just sit there and WATCH?" He roared, his voice shaking the window. "Day After Day, Night after Night! They just sit there and watch me! My scar, burning! My mind, wheeling with the torment I feel, as assured as the sun in the morning and the moon in the NIGHT!"
Crash. The picture was now against the wall on the other side of the room, the glass shards scattered across the mishappen room. Suddenly, light flooded the darkened room.
"Harry?" Ron's voice penetrated the silence like the light before him, a Herald to the Unwelcome.
"What?" He spat, not even bother with the facade anymore.
"Are you ok?" He asked, stepping into their shared room and shutting the door quietly. He walked over to his bed, leaving the light off.
"Do you think I am alright, Ron?" He retorted, getting off the four poster bed. "What kind of question is that to ask an ORPHAN who faces The DARK LORD on a YEARLY basis, and Nearly DIES everytime?" He raged, pacing back and forht, his hands a flailing mess all over the place, not able to control his emotions.
"Yeah... but you don't." He muttered stupidly, his ears growing hot and red. He wasn't exactly sure what to say.
"Yeah, I live Ron. I survive! But what Kind of life is this?! Constantly Tormented Nightly, visions of HIS face, HIS actions! Why? WHY?" He screamed at the moon, staring at the window. Full and Bright, it stared back at him, laughing, taunting. "I'm just so sick of it all.." He finished quietly, beating his fist against the cold, unrelenting cement.
"I...I dunno." The Weasley whispered, looking down at the sheets.
"Then Forget it." Harry murmered, his want held in his hand, the warm wood pulsing slightly beneath his cold, clammy fingers. It no longer felt like an extension of him anymore, just another piece of wood. "I'm done with this." He whispered, pointing it at the ground below him. "Accio Broom!" He cried, and waited. Soon, the Firebolt was flaoting outside of his window, broken free from the Broom Shack.
"Goodbye, Ronald., give this to your sister." He told his former best friend, dropping a note onto the ground. Leaping out of the window, he caught on to the broom, and pulled himself up.
"Wait! Harry!" Ron cried, jumping up out of the bed.
"No. No more waiting."Harry responded, before the broom responded to his touch, and nearly his thoughts. It zoomed off, blasting like a rocket, cutting through the harsh night. He was done.