I don't own Harry Potter but the ideas are all my own.
Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived. That was just it though he had never been a boy. He was someone aged to soon; to look into his eyes was to look into time itself. Those orbs of emerald burned with a fire so pained it was like gazing upon the gateway of purgatory. How ironically he was named to have lived when all he wanted was to fall into death's arms.
His wand a stake through his heart. Magic was not sparkles and tricks like it was talked about; twelve and already he had killed. His magic had diminished a man to rubble before his eyes, beneath his very fingertips. The wand every wizard longed for struck his heart, he had felt its rush but it seemed a curse.
His invisibility cloak a lie. He could not remain invisible it was as though it was ripped from his back and revealing him like a specimen in a jar. He could not hide, he was upon a pedestal so high he could not reach the ground. The lies that camouflaged his life were torn and he could see through the invisible to the horror that awaited him.
His photo album a reminder. To stare into the faces of those who had died and to know it was his fault. Thinking that maybe, just maybe that picture-land would await him if he passed on. Then realising magic had robbed him of love, of family.
Finally there was Hogwarts, so awe inspiring so magical. It was all a façade the muggle's did the same covering its evil as someone pulls a rabbit from a hat. The walls that should have protected instead held in the nightmares.
Harry Potter was no boy he was a man forced into a child's body. He was a neglected child beaten and starved. Yes the muggle world had let the young wizard down. He was a freak, an oddity among normalcy and it was punishable.
This young hero, cut and punched, starved and worked. A body scarred with torment creating a cross-hatching of scars. He was branded a slave where ropes and manacles bound him out of the light of day. All baby fat was long diminished so ribs stood out as clearly as the black keys on a piano. The breath rattled from his body like a broken hymn.
No one saw this they were so lost in his scar the shape of lightening stark against his sickly skin. The fame he had never asked for but gotten none the less. The face, long known as James Potters handsome features. He was looked at like a replica all but his eyes they were his mothers. Nothing seemed to make him just "Harry", he was stuck as a poster boy for the light.
However at this moment in time Harry is just Harry. School has come and gone and his muggle relatives out. Just Harry wants one thing in this world -peace- and he is going to take it. Slipping from his cupboard he finds the medicine cabinet swallowing what he can find.
As just himself, Harry with no title goes to the garden and lies and looks at the sun. The rays fall upon his face that no one has seen as his own and he drifts away. So as those beautiful eyes lose he is a man who will pass ad as is soul drifts, from his scar falls a pearlescent drop of blood. As he fades dark and light weep for their prince soul truly unique.
Please Review:This is my first Fic.