OK, here's an idea that I'm testing out: a fic based on Linkin Park's Album "Meteora" (quite possibly my favorite album of all time). I think the angsty mood of the album is perfect to describe Harry's situation. This is a test fic, ergo I haven't worked it all out at all, so I just want to dip my feet in the water. If you review and say that it's a good idea, I'll continue work on it.
Disclaimer: You know.
METEORA by AnonymousBystander
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Chapter 1 - Numb
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I'm tired of being what you want me to be feeling so faithless lost under the surface I don't know what you're expecting of me Put under the pressure of walking in your shoes
--
Sunlight, dull, impassionate, drifted through the curtains of Harry Potter's four-poster bed. Bored, it wrestled with his eyes. Harry didn't put up a fight. He wasn't asleep anyway. He didn't sleep much anymore. It took him hours to fall asleep each night, and he woke up hours before anybody else did. It became an endless routine: waking, thinking, sinking into the silence. Everything had fallen apart; Harry watched, unspeaking, as his life came apart at the seams and fell to the floor as stained rags of injustice.
He wasn't sure what made him go on every day. He felt that he was hovering just above the point of collapse: one stray move and he would fall. He was a tower of bricks under an ocean of oppression. If one brick moved out of place, the pressure would rip apart the tower, kicking up dust into the air.
That would be all. He would collapse, and all there would be was dust, floating, kicked up into the air. After years it would settle, but that wouldn't matter, because everyone would be dead anyway.
What did they want from him? To be a gallant hero, swooping down on Voldemort with a destructive force that would kill the most powerful dark wizard in history? Harry couldn't believe that Dumbledore was doing this to him. How was he expected to kill the man who had killed so many powerful witches and wizards? Was Dumbledore insane? Shouldn't Harry be under some sort of special training for when the day came? But no, Harry was in his sixth year at Hogwarts, and nothing special was being done to him for when the inevitable day came...
"Fucking bastard," Harry muttered, knowing that the silencing charm around his bed would wake the other students in the dormitory. Harry slipped out of bed, pulling on jeans and a t-shirt, then padded down the stairs, careful not to make a sound. He wouldn't need to put on his robes for another couple of hours, when he would slip back upstairs before the others woke up, climb into bed, and pretend he'd been asleep the whole time. Nobody'd be any the wiser up there.
But apparently, someone was wiser down in the common room.
---
Can't you see that you're smothering me holding too tightly afraid to lose control. 'Cause everything that you thought I would be has fallen apart right in front of you [Caught in the undertow/ just caught in the undertow] Every step that I take is another mistake to you
--
"Harry, what are you doing here?"
'Oh, shit,' thought Harry. Hermione was sitting in one of the armchairs close to the fire. She looked tired, and her hair was bushier and more straggliong than usual, which made Harry suspect that she'd slept there, waiting for him. Harry knew there was no way to avoid this conversation; he'd known it would come eventually, lived it in his mind, but he still wasn't ready.
"Harry?" said Hermione; this time she was concerned, not accusatory.
"What?" Harry said, yanked from his thoughts.
Hermione blinked at him. "I said, 'what are you doing here?'"
"I - er - wanted a drink of water," Harry said lamely, "and our pitcher upstairs is empty."
"_Accio Pitcher!_" Hermione exclaimed, drawing out her wand and pointing at the door to the boys' dormitories.
The full pitcher rocketed downstairs, slopping water all over the place. Hermione caught it by the handle and set it down on a nearby table, the look on her face clearly asking for an explaination.
Harry heard a voice from upstairs, and thought for one incredible second that Ron was awake and would come down to his rescue, possibly distracting Hermione from the conversation. But it was just Ron shouting out in his sleep, probably just another sex-crazed dream. Harry sighed. This was not going to be easy.
But before he could speak, Hermione did. "Harry, you know there are potions you can take, right? Anti-depressants. They're really difficult and complex, but I bet we could ask Professor Dumbledore to--"
Harry cut her off. "Hermione, thanks for your concern, but I can handle this myself. I'm not depressed." He walked around her towards the exit to the common room, wanting to take a walk around the lake.
Hermione stepped in front of him, blocking his retreat. "No, Harry," she said firmly, "I'm not going to walk away and let you do this to yourself. I don't know what's going on in there, but it's wrong, and someone's got to do something, because goddammit, you're definitely not helping yourself!"
Harry stared at her. He had never heard her talk like that before, and he most certainly had never heard her curse. For a moment, just a moment, he actually considered agreeing with her. But then, as it always did, his irrationally rational side came into play. 'Don't let her do this to you,' it said smugly, playing with his thoughts. 'Putting yourself in other people's hands makes it much easier for them to hurt you.'
'But this is Hermione!' the other part of him said in protest.
'Trust no one.'
Harry looked hard at Hermione. "I don't need your help, Hermione." He started walking towards the exit. "And don't try to help me, or you'll be sorry!"
The portrait hole opened and closed. Hermione stood there, confused, scared, and sad. "What has happened to you, Harry?"
---
I've become so numb I can't feel you there become so tired so much more aware. I'm becoming this all I want to do is be more like me and be less like you...
--
Harry strode angrily across the lawns towards the lake on the Hogwarts grounds. He was sad, angry, and confused, and he didn't know what to think. He'd just been terrible to his best friend, and he wasn't entirely sure that he was mad at himself for it. It was an aweful feeling.
"WHAT'S HAPPENING TO ME?!" he yelled to nobody, his voice sliding over the lake and being enveloped by the forbidden forest.
He passed a tree on his way around the lake and looked at it. The tree stared solemnly back. "WHAT DO YOU FUCKING WANT?!" He punched the tree, again, again, but didn't feel the pain he knew he should have felt. "WHAT DO YOU WANT?!" Blood was dripping from his knuckles, but he kept punching, over, over, over.
He sank to his knees, still hitting the tree as hard as he possibly could. There was a ringing in his ears, a dull pulsing in his brain.
He fell, fell into darkness.
------------
A/N - As I said, I'm just testing out this idea. Please tell me if you like it, and I'll write another chapter. If I do continue, the next chapter will be written to the song 'Don't Stay'.
Disclaimer: You know.
METEORA by AnonymousBystander
------------------
Chapter 1 - Numb
------------------
I'm tired of being what you want me to be feeling so faithless lost under the surface I don't know what you're expecting of me Put under the pressure of walking in your shoes
--
Sunlight, dull, impassionate, drifted through the curtains of Harry Potter's four-poster bed. Bored, it wrestled with his eyes. Harry didn't put up a fight. He wasn't asleep anyway. He didn't sleep much anymore. It took him hours to fall asleep each night, and he woke up hours before anybody else did. It became an endless routine: waking, thinking, sinking into the silence. Everything had fallen apart; Harry watched, unspeaking, as his life came apart at the seams and fell to the floor as stained rags of injustice.
He wasn't sure what made him go on every day. He felt that he was hovering just above the point of collapse: one stray move and he would fall. He was a tower of bricks under an ocean of oppression. If one brick moved out of place, the pressure would rip apart the tower, kicking up dust into the air.
That would be all. He would collapse, and all there would be was dust, floating, kicked up into the air. After years it would settle, but that wouldn't matter, because everyone would be dead anyway.
What did they want from him? To be a gallant hero, swooping down on Voldemort with a destructive force that would kill the most powerful dark wizard in history? Harry couldn't believe that Dumbledore was doing this to him. How was he expected to kill the man who had killed so many powerful witches and wizards? Was Dumbledore insane? Shouldn't Harry be under some sort of special training for when the day came? But no, Harry was in his sixth year at Hogwarts, and nothing special was being done to him for when the inevitable day came...
"Fucking bastard," Harry muttered, knowing that the silencing charm around his bed would wake the other students in the dormitory. Harry slipped out of bed, pulling on jeans and a t-shirt, then padded down the stairs, careful not to make a sound. He wouldn't need to put on his robes for another couple of hours, when he would slip back upstairs before the others woke up, climb into bed, and pretend he'd been asleep the whole time. Nobody'd be any the wiser up there.
But apparently, someone was wiser down in the common room.
---
Can't you see that you're smothering me holding too tightly afraid to lose control. 'Cause everything that you thought I would be has fallen apart right in front of you [Caught in the undertow/ just caught in the undertow] Every step that I take is another mistake to you
--
"Harry, what are you doing here?"
'Oh, shit,' thought Harry. Hermione was sitting in one of the armchairs close to the fire. She looked tired, and her hair was bushier and more straggliong than usual, which made Harry suspect that she'd slept there, waiting for him. Harry knew there was no way to avoid this conversation; he'd known it would come eventually, lived it in his mind, but he still wasn't ready.
"Harry?" said Hermione; this time she was concerned, not accusatory.
"What?" Harry said, yanked from his thoughts.
Hermione blinked at him. "I said, 'what are you doing here?'"
"I - er - wanted a drink of water," Harry said lamely, "and our pitcher upstairs is empty."
"_Accio Pitcher!_" Hermione exclaimed, drawing out her wand and pointing at the door to the boys' dormitories.
The full pitcher rocketed downstairs, slopping water all over the place. Hermione caught it by the handle and set it down on a nearby table, the look on her face clearly asking for an explaination.
Harry heard a voice from upstairs, and thought for one incredible second that Ron was awake and would come down to his rescue, possibly distracting Hermione from the conversation. But it was just Ron shouting out in his sleep, probably just another sex-crazed dream. Harry sighed. This was not going to be easy.
But before he could speak, Hermione did. "Harry, you know there are potions you can take, right? Anti-depressants. They're really difficult and complex, but I bet we could ask Professor Dumbledore to--"
Harry cut her off. "Hermione, thanks for your concern, but I can handle this myself. I'm not depressed." He walked around her towards the exit to the common room, wanting to take a walk around the lake.
Hermione stepped in front of him, blocking his retreat. "No, Harry," she said firmly, "I'm not going to walk away and let you do this to yourself. I don't know what's going on in there, but it's wrong, and someone's got to do something, because goddammit, you're definitely not helping yourself!"
Harry stared at her. He had never heard her talk like that before, and he most certainly had never heard her curse. For a moment, just a moment, he actually considered agreeing with her. But then, as it always did, his irrationally rational side came into play. 'Don't let her do this to you,' it said smugly, playing with his thoughts. 'Putting yourself in other people's hands makes it much easier for them to hurt you.'
'But this is Hermione!' the other part of him said in protest.
'Trust no one.'
Harry looked hard at Hermione. "I don't need your help, Hermione." He started walking towards the exit. "And don't try to help me, or you'll be sorry!"
The portrait hole opened and closed. Hermione stood there, confused, scared, and sad. "What has happened to you, Harry?"
---
I've become so numb I can't feel you there become so tired so much more aware. I'm becoming this all I want to do is be more like me and be less like you...
--
Harry strode angrily across the lawns towards the lake on the Hogwarts grounds. He was sad, angry, and confused, and he didn't know what to think. He'd just been terrible to his best friend, and he wasn't entirely sure that he was mad at himself for it. It was an aweful feeling.
"WHAT'S HAPPENING TO ME?!" he yelled to nobody, his voice sliding over the lake and being enveloped by the forbidden forest.
He passed a tree on his way around the lake and looked at it. The tree stared solemnly back. "WHAT DO YOU FUCKING WANT?!" He punched the tree, again, again, but didn't feel the pain he knew he should have felt. "WHAT DO YOU WANT?!" Blood was dripping from his knuckles, but he kept punching, over, over, over.
He sank to his knees, still hitting the tree as hard as he possibly could. There was a ringing in his ears, a dull pulsing in his brain.
He fell, fell into darkness.
------------
A/N - As I said, I'm just testing out this idea. Please tell me if you like it, and I'll write another chapter. If I do continue, the next chapter will be written to the song 'Don't Stay'.