Disclaimer - The characters belong to JkR
A/n I know I should be concentrating on my other fics -sighs- but this has been on my laptop a while and I really like it. Don't really know what other people will think so give me a review. Enjoy!
(Just so you know all the italics are either writing or in italics are thoughts. )
Chapter one - The tale of the freak and the man
The rain. Forever falling on me. Can't stop it. The cloud. It follows me. The cloud of darkness that won't leave me. The one over me. It won't go. It's been there forever. The rain that has fallen from the clouds drowns me in a river. A river, which is mingled with the tears, I have shed. The tears. Those tears that have been washed away in my river of despair. The pain, despair, anger, hurt, betrayal. These things I have come to rely on. The blood. The knife edge. The death of me. I can live in peace away from the world and embrace death. I die with the salt tasting tears on my lips and the crimson blood down my wrists.
I will be free--
Not many... well actually no one knew Harry Potters pain. The weight of the world on his shoulders. The betrayal of Dumbledore, his friends and even of the professors... Harry had unfortunately become very talented at Occlumency. He had even become powerful enough at it to overthrow even Dumbledore's mind. He now wished he hadn't. All he had known had been a lie. His friends were bribed to be his friends. Called a meeting before they had even joined the school to make sure Harry stayed clear of any dark magic. Hagrid and Ron had been told to make sure Harry knew of Voldermort and that they should tell him about Slytherin and make sure Harry didn't want to go into the snake pit. Ron had been paid to be his friend. Enough money to last him a good few years. Hermione he had found out wasn't even a muggleborn. She was actually from a pureblood family and was paid to keep Harry's studies up to date and so when Slytherin's insulted her bad blood Harry would jump to the rescue making sure Harry hated the snakes more and more. Harry had found he had been manipulated into who he was.
There was worse in the depths of Dumbldore's mind though. Lily and James Potter were not real. His parents the ones he had heard so much about. They were fictional. People had man made memories of the two, none of which were real. The photos. Metamorphamagus' paid to look like his parents. They used Harry's image and pulled out different features. He himself had pulled out of Dumbledore's mind even though he was curious to know his real parents but before he left his mind... Sirius. Not real. Dumbledore placed him into the world. He was in fact the same Metamorphamagus as his father had been. The death of Sirius was where he had become in a world of pain. The pain had been the only thing he could control. The knife. The one his supposed godfather had given him. The relief. Something in the world was real. His life had been wrapped up in a world of pain. Many scars across his body. The littered his body each scar having it's own tale to tell. Some were not mere scars even. The scars made out words and pictures. 'FREAK' the word he related to most. That was all he was. He had realised in his 4th year. After the tournament. That's when the first scars started. That was when 'FREAK' had been carved into his skin. Harry knew the truth now. He had no one and he was alone in the world.
Harry didn't actually turn up to school in his 6th year. He had been collected after a month of course. He hadn't wanted to face the wizarding world; he was just a freak, a whore and death. He brought death. He realised now that the only death he had caused was Cedric's but this didn't help the guilt. The guilt surrounded him. Surrounded him like the pain. It was inescapable but with his new found pain he didn't care.
--
I'll tell you the tale of the freak and the man. The freak, that being me, is just what I said. A freak. A wizard with powers beyond imagination. Well what was that to the man? Not a lot. Just something more to add to the freakishness of me. A while ago I didn't agree with the statement 'you are a freak' going in my direction. I did not argue though. Would you argue with someone ten times your size? While my uncle, the man, is pretty big I'm very short and skinny. This of course is not due to the exercise I do or the fact I am ill. It is actually due to the lack of food I am given and the cramp cupboard under the stairs in which I lived up until my eleventh birthday, which in fact by my family had been forgotten so the birthday comment really does not mean much. That and the amount of chores I get given to do. On a normal day in the holidays it starts with breakfast followed by washing and drying up followed by cleaning the house doing general dusting hovering and such while my uncle was at work or playing golf or with some new client for the business my aunt goes out to enjoy herself and my whale sized cousin who eats my share of the food is at school or out with his mates on the weekend. Then when my aunt comes home I make her lunch and then clean the bathroom wash my aunt's car and finally do the gardening. My uncle and cousin come home and I make a large dinner for them. Then I wash my uncle's car. Then when I was at school I wasn't allowed these sorts of privileges. Nope I had to do them all before and after school and work though the night. Good thing I'm not a good sleeper really. Not bad for a day's slavery... uhh I meant work. Of course this is getting off the subject. Well I used to disagree with the statement but now I can only agree. What they said was true. I told him once, my uncle that is, that I too agreed that I was nothing but a freak. He just laughed and told me if I thought that would get me out of doing the housework I was wrong. I didn't expect to have to stop the housework. He never let me stop working... Well that is if he wasn't either blind drunk, which happened quiet often, or if he was very angry about something, which also seemed to happen a lot. In these times I had to put up with things even worse than the chores. I went through beatings and rape. They had started at a young age. I do not recall when they had first started. I do not remember a time without them. I became shy and spoke to no one. I stayed away from the crowds. I was bullied. People thought it would be fun. I was too small to help myself. Mostly I was in too much pain to do anything but feel more pain. The beatings did not stop while I was at school. My clothing, overly huge hand me downs from my cousin, covered the bruises and the scars. My uncle was smart enough never to hit me in the face. I gave up on my dream of someone noticing and taking me away from the place I had to call home. I now know I deserved it. I have killed someone a few years ago. Well maybe not me but I had caused his death. 'Kill the spare' that's what the dark lord had said. This being after I had said to the boy 'let's win together' him and me picked up the cup to only meet his death. It was my fault. I knew from that day what I was. A freak. A freak that caused death to anyone who came near me. I had got back to the house. The one where I grew up. I stared up at it a moment tears building. I had closed my eyes. I remember that day. There was so much blood. My blood. That had been the first time. The first of many. 'F,' it didn't feel bad at all. The crimson of blood, it tickled. Tingles went up my spine and I knew it was right. 'R,' it didn't hurt like I'd expected it to. It just felt good. I felt like I was flying away from the world I knew into my own world. 'E,' my cuts grew deeper. I liked it. My arm blood red. I didn't care. 'A,' it was becoming difficult I was feeling tired. I had heard this would happen from somewhere. The blood loss. My mind was blank though. I remember I'd heard it from some girl in the library talking about her cutting to some guy. I thought it had been ridiculous then but when I had done it myself I knew why he had been doing it himself. 'K,' the final letter in my cuts. I wasn't so happy with this cut I remember. It was scratchy. I didn't have the strength to hold the knife to make deep cuts but I had needed to finish this. 'FREAK' there it was spelt out on my own arm. It was true. I believed it. Still do. I fell into sleep and was found by my uncle. Well of course he was not best pleased. He let me bathe in the bathtub fifteen minuets to wash off the dried blood. It was the most time I had ever been allowed. Normally it was either a two-minuet shower or a five-minuet bath on rare occasions of course the water was boiling or freezing the two painful extremes. I didn't care. I had wished for death and God had denied it. He has every other time I've tried. My uncle was only sympathetic that once. I think he'd admired the word I had written. Freak. He'd always told me and he now knew I believed him too. He has never lied. I'm a whore. I'm a freak and I am worthless. I am no one. Now you have read about the freak and the man I shall leave you in wonder about who I could possibly be. That is if anyone finds this. You may even find me dead by this very account. I highly doubt it. God hates me. He has never smiled upon me only frowned and for that I hate him.
--
A crowd stood around one girl. Lavender Brown. She had been the one to find the account. Many people had found them and many people liked to read what this unknown person would write. Mostly it was something to do with stories when the boy was younger. The stories of his rapes and beatings, the stories of his suicides. Everyone knew these accounts. They were for some reminders that their lives were not so bad. To others they had just fallen in love with the mystery persons writing. Harry watched Lavender reading the account before his latest attempt for death. It had failed much like the rest had.
"Oh God..." People hurried to her. Parvati hugged her friend for support. Harry knew his writing effected many people. Lavender was one of the many who admired it. She in fact was collecting his work. She had a folder of all the work. She planned on working out who the mystery writer was. Harry knew this as she spoke so passionately about it. Harry had never actually meant to start leaving them around. Originally he had just forgotten a couple and when it got round about this writer people waited for more to come. Harry for a long time thought them heartless. It was then he realised that they thought that these things only stories. Made up. He understood then. Of course these were not just stories every one of his accounts have been based on truth. Every one had been written after he'd just slashed his body open. Every one of them he had poured his heart into. "He has never lied. I'm a whore. I'm a freak and I am worthless. I am no one. Now you have read about the freak and the man I shall leave you in wonder about who I could possibly be. That is if anyone finds this. You may even find me dead by this very account. I highly doubt it. God hates me. He has never smiled upon me only frowned and for that I hate him." Tears poured down her cheeks. "How could anyone think that!?" She rushed away sobbing. Harry watched around him. A tearful Hermione sniffled while Ron hugged her. The two had become an item. This pushed Harry to the side slightly. He didn't care though he was alone. Being alone helped him think it gave him time to cut and it made him less noticeable to the pair. They would worry about him if they knew. Parvati herself tearful followed her friend. Several girls were in tears and even a couple of guys were. Ron Harry noticed when he looked back had his eyes full of tears. Harry felt the guilt inside him. It went around him and surrounded him like a blanket. Harry looked up at the Slytherins'. He felt the tight blanket that was smothering him loosen. They were all in fits watching the rest of the houses. Harry watched them. How they laughed at others pain. He had no idea why the sorting hat had wanted him in Slytherin. He would never have fitted there. Then again Harry belonged no where.--
Draco watched the girl. She was crying at the words she spoke. The words of a mystery writer. He himself wanted to cry for the author but he had no wish to be teased by his fellow Slytherins'. He could tell from the words written that the accounts were no mere stories, this was real. Real life experiences. He could tell from the emotion in the writing that they had become suicidal and depressed. Anyone could see that. Draco had a desire to find out who the writer was. He laughed along with the rest of the Slytherins' but while doing so he searched. He watched The Weasel and Granger hugging both in tears. The weaselette on the floor hugging her knees. Draco knew that that was a typical 'I'm scarred and unhappy' look. He knew that she just wanted attention though. Her arms bare and showing no scars. The person writing this would have worn long sleeves even if there were some sort of concealing spell on it in case it wore out. His eyes trailed to Neville who stood around with no tears. He was one of the few. Draco knew however that he lived with his Grandmother and not his uncle aunt and cousin. In Draco's mind he went back through the account. Words trailed through his mind going back into what was said. 'Lets win together' and 'the dark Lord.' That's when it fit into his mind. He quickly spun around trying to find the green-eyed boy he suspected to be the mystery author. Harry Potter was no where to been seen.
--
Harry crept away from the scene. He'd caused this pain. People crying, pitying him. He hated it. He knew that he wrote these for himself mostly and had no clue to why he now left them around for others to read. /You want their pity./ He didn't know where that had come from. He wanted no ones pity. /You want someone to understand./ This however was true. He wished no one had been through what he had of course but it didn't stop him wanting someone who understood. He knew there wouldn't be anyone. The quill the one he always used to write his stories was found in his pocket. He was tempted to write more. Then again he didn't really want that. He just wanted to hurt. This quill the one he had stolen from Umbridge. The quill that marks your skin to write in blood. He felt safe with it but felt he should not write again merely cut. He pulled out the knife. The one he had pulled out so many times. He rolled up his overly big jeans and pulled the knife across his legs. The pain. He controlled it. It was in his power. He didn't realise until the final cut what he had written. 'LOVE.' A slash went through it. Yes he was never meant to love. He pulled up the sleeves of his shirt to see his pale arms. He closed his eyes a moment and the charm was taken off. Scars appeared on them. 'FREAK' boldly shown. The scars from his last tale.
--
Draco looked around for a moment longer when he saw him. Rushing away from the crying crowds. Draco followed. The boy ahead ran. Draco quickened his pace. He followed Harry to a small clearing. Draco hid in a bush only a few metres away. Harry didn't notice. Draco watched Harry pull a quill from his pocket. It was oddly familiar. He watched the knife come out. He watched the word. 'L' Draco gasped slightly. He had never seen someone intentionally hurt themselves. 'O' Draco shook. He had to admit he was scared for the boy. 'V' Draco could barely watch. 'E' Draco watched Harry's face. Eyes closed in concentration. A line going straight through all four letters. Draco continued watching Harry. Harry looked confused a moment. Then a small ghostly smile reached his lips. Draco watched as Harry pulled up the sleeves of his shirt and scars appeared over his skin. Draco knew his theory was write. Harry Potter was the mystery writer.
--
Harry looked up suddenly spotting Draco. Quickly he pulled down his sleeves and jean leg he hoped Draco had seen nothing. His eyes darkened and narrowed. Dull green eyes met the grey of Draco's own. Harry took his eyes away first. He couldn't look. Draco moved towards Harry. Draco placed a hand on Harry's face. Harry flinched. Draco could have cried. Draco pulled Harry's face up. Harry tired looking away from Draco's face but found it hard. He looked up at Draco. He was scared. He was sure Draco was about to hurt him. When Draco looked at Harry he saw the fear. Harry waited for the moment when he could escape. Draco watched tears fall down Harry's cheeks.
"Please don't. Please." Harry begged. He couldn't cope with more beatings and rape. He felt sure this is what Draco was coming here to do. Draco put his arms around Harry hugging the smaller boy. Harry stayed tense and alert. Draco stroked Harry's hair hoping to calm the boy. It didn't work.
"Harry, I may have never cared in the past but how could I have known this is what you were going through? I want to help. Please let me help you." Harry shook his head. "You can't cope on your own." Draco pulled the sleeves up of Harry's shirt. "Freak? That's what you believe. You are no freak Harry." Harry finally managed to escape the arms of Draco Malfoy.
"You do not know me." Harry looked into Draco's eyes once again. "Forget this." Draco slumped down into sleep. Yes Harry had become powerful.