Chapter 1: The Vortex and the Wish
The feeling of loneliness is possibly one of the most powerful and horrible emotional states to be in. It is like being sucked into a vortex of darkness, with the winds ripping and tearing at your skin. Each time you turn and try to protect yourself there is another gust right behind you willing to take advantage of the opened and exposed area that was unintentionally uncovered. Screaming at the top of your lungs for someone to try and help, but they just walk right by. Unaware of the lonely person, who is crying on the inside, waiting to be noticed by someone... anyone. Loneliness is very easily hidden, very rarely do those experiencing it cry on the outside. Rather they choose to hide it and slowly have their insides corroded.
I have spent a lot of time thinking about this one feeling, especially since I have experienced it every day of my short 20 year life. My life before the incident involving my parents surely was a happy one. The pictures that I have been given are proof of that. In every single one I am smiling and laughing. Right up to that night, I imagine. Then of course… everything changed. They died and I was sent to live with my Aunt and Uncle and their son, my cousin. During that decade there must have been a point where I didn't understand why my feelings of happiness and joy where replaced by loneliness and isolation. There must have been a moment when I thought about my parents and was confused about why these new caregivers looked at me with disgust and fear instead of the undying love that I was used to. Unfortunately I do not remember that moment. Maybe it is a good thing. If I did then I would have, perhaps, have the memory of that fateful Halloween night and everything that was involved. Instead, my first memory is that of being in a small cupboard listening through the slots on the door and my uncle screamed at me for being unable to control my "freakishness" and how I was not going to get any food that night. I remember how hungry I was and how much I wished I understood what I did and why I was a freak.
Freak… In that whole decade I remember having being called only two names by my family, freak and boy. Never was I called Harry and never was I called anything nice like they called Dudley. I was a shadow in that house. I ate leftovers from my family, wore my cousin's hand-me-downs, slept in blankets that no one wanted, played with toys that Dudley had smashed beyond use, and when I was old enough, worked and cleaned after my family. I washed the car, weeded the gardens, cleaned and dusted the house, painted rooms, cooked three meals a day, did minor repairs on the house, and organized the mess that the other occupants of the house caused. All while being a ghost. No interactions with the neighbours or my family's friends were allowed. I was the freakish nephew who was ultimately labeled as disturbed. It took me a long time to realise that not every home was like this and it made me feel even more alone. School for me was a nightmare, Dudley made sure of that. The students' fears of him insured that no one ever came near me, nor try to help me if he decided he wanted someone to bully. I remember coming home in the first grade, bloodied and bruised from an afternoon bullying session, with Dudley. I was blamed, me and my freakishness.
My life for those years was pretty much the same. It repeated itself over and over again. Random bouts of starvation and being tossed around and bullied, but for most of the time I was ignored by everyone. The vortex I was in was continuously growing and becoming more and more vicious. It attacked me from all sides and pulled my down. No matter how hard I kicked and screamed and tried to claw my way out, the vortex was always stronger and I found myself growing weaker. Then, the summer I turned 11, everything changed. It was as if my life finally found meaning and I had hope. All the accidents and my freakishness were explained by my first friend in my life. I was a wizard. He introduced me to a world of fantastic creatures and impossible feats. For the first time in my memory I was happy. In fact I was more than happy, I was overjoyed. I was going to a school with people like me. People who could make things happen magically.
There in that world I made friends and enemies alike starting with that first train ride. Ron and Hermione my true friends were made during that first year of Hogwarts. Together the three of us have been through so much and I am internally grateful to them. Never have I told them how much they saved me from the vortex. The wizarding world helped, but I was sent back to that house every year, and every year the vortex reappeared. It was especially bad when I was not allowed to have contacts. I was all alone in the house, reliving my first ten years with them in two month intervals. Dudley at least had stopped the physical bullying, but for most of the years there I was locked in my room. Not allowed to leave except for bathroom breaks. The four walls seemed increasingly blank each year and the boredom and loneliness I felt at those times was almost unbearable, especially since I had the knowledge that there was a world beyond this that accepted and loved me. I returned to Hogwarts and my friends every year more and more grateful to them.
While the wizarding world was a source of my happiness, it was also the source of my greatest despair. I also heard about my parent's true death and the man who killed them. Voldemort… Even now, his name causes a swirl of emotions; rage, anger, determination, sadness, and despair, as well as pity. Thinking about it now I think that emotion is one of the strongest things I feel about him, second only to anger. I find myself thinking about his childhood. He must have had his own vortex to deal with, but the wizarding world and his lack of friends prevented him from escaping it as I did. The feelings he must have felt when he was growing up, and no one being there to help him surely was at least part of the reason for his downfall. What must it have been like, having no one to save you? However, no matter how much I pity him, the rage I feel when I hear his name covers it up. He destroyed my life, killed my parents, and has attempted to kill me almost every year at school. He indirectly caused the death of my godfather, and the destruction of many people's lives both physically and emotionally.
Yet... I have come over the years to recognize the bizarre similarities between us. He, in his sixteen year old self, also seemed to have noticed in the Chamber of Secrets. Both of us are orphans, parsletongues, and even similar appearance. How odd it seemed to me back then, without the knowledge of Horcuxs at that time, to explain these differences away as Dumbledore did. Even now, with that piece of Voldemort's soul gone from his body, the remnants of his magic and the connection still remained. The shock that I had when I realized that I could still speak to snakes, even without that piece of his soul had shocked and disgusted me. After the battle of Hogwarts, when the man had stood in front of me as I explained how I was the master of the Elder wand and Voldemort, being the coward he was, had sent up a blinding white light and escaped through a blasted out window, I had assumed that all trace of any connection would disappear along with the soul. Of course, I could not be that lucky, his magic left a great imprint on me that it appears I am unable to shake off. The connection is not as strong as it once was, but an occasional vision of torture still leaks through, despite me attempts to relearn occumacy with Hermione. It seems that I can block almost everyone out. Except, of course, the one person I need to keep out.
For that I hate him even more, how I am unable to ever get rid of him from my life. That man who destroyed so many lives and instilled so much fear into the minds of the people in the wizard world, that 10 years after his supposed death they were still afraid to even speak his name, everyone except Dumbledore of course, my grandfather like figure in my life. Dumbledore, the only person that Tom Riddle ever feared, was dead. Killed by his own means. The bravery that man had, to plan and devise his own death so that he could save a young man's soul, I find it hard to comprehend at times. Although he died over four years ago, his death seems to affect me in the same way as it did back then. Especially since his plan to kill Voldemort failed, and there was no backup plan, the discussion on the platform and Snape's memory are proof of that. Snape, the man who I misjudged so much and didn't even know it until after his death, is most definitely on my mind a lot. The amount that man went through in his attempt to keep first my mother, and then me, alive is incredible. He is my saviour more times I can count, and I have long forgiven him for the cruelty he used to treat me with when I was at school, especially after seeing his memories and how much he hated my father.
Thinking of my past won't bring everyone back from the dead; Snape, Fred, Tonks, Remus… all dead in the battle of Hogwarts, while the man that everyone wants dead managed to escape unscathed. Laying herein a bundle of blankets that the Weasley's have offered me for the night I resist the urge to start sobbing and screaming at myself in rage. Why couldn't I have just fired off those words and killed him while I had the chance instead of practically allowing him to escape. The answer is deep inside of me and I know deep in my heart that that answer is the true difference between me and Voldemort; my ability to love and my inability to kill another human being. I know that I can never direct the killing curse at anyone. No matter how twisted and inhuman they have tried to become, they are still human.
"Bloody hell…" I whisper quietly, trying not to wake and burden the other that is also sleeping in the room and the rest of this house with my troubles and inabilities. My inability to kill… The only way of defeating Voldemort is to somehow get him to kill himself, or have him die by some spur of the moment accident that I usually end up instigating. I sigh in frustration. The saviour of the wizarding world isn't supposed to have any weaknesses or troubles with destroying the mass murderer that is currently roaming our world.
I try to distract myself from my troubling thoughts and reach for my glasses that are on the floor next to my head to try and make out the details of the room I am currently occupying. Putting the familiar spectacles on the room becomes focused and I try to study the room to clear my thoughts of the past discussion with myself. Ron's bedroom seems even darker than usual but that may be perhaps the mood of the world at this time. The Chudley Cannons vibrant orange theme of the room can't seem to brighten it even with the moonlights help that is streaming through the window. I turn my gaze from my position on the floor beside Ron's bed to the window. His heavy snoring is finally acknowledged by my ears and I choke back a surprised gasp. The window once again draws my attention and I see a bright vibrant moon shining back at me.
I start shifting in my makeshift sleeping bag made with blankets and a pillow given to me by Mrs. Weasley for the night since I was too tired and drunk from my 20th birthday celebration hosted here to floo or apaparate anywhere. I finally untangled myself from the blankets and slowly stood, quietly making my way to the window, to gaze at the moon. I finally got to the window and leaned against the frame taking in the sight. It wasn't quite a full moon, but it was close enough to give off the illusion, especially since it was quite bright. Or it could be, once again, just because of the darkness that surrounded it which seemed darker than usual. I should know. I haven't had a good night's sleep since the battle of Hogwarts, being given the choice to sleep with nightmares or stay awake. I took the latter of the options especially since the Dreamless Sleep potion had long since had any effect on me. So I try to stay awake as long as possible, thinking, reading or watching the moon until the time comes when I have to sleep and relive the battle that took so many lives. I knew when I was forced to spend the night I wasn't going to sleep tonight, I always wake up screaming and I don't want the rest of my friends to know that the boy who lived is faltering.
Reaching for my wand that I have always attached to my left wrist I quickly cast a tempus charm to check the time. August 1st 2001 2:46:34 AM. 35… 36… Putting my wand back I remember that party that was just held for me. The forced smiles and stress that was temporarily put on hold for a dinner that was better than anything I had eaten for many months. Everyone tried to celebrate and try to not talk about the war, but of course between dinner and dessert the discussion had happened. They all wanted to know what I was planning to try and take down "You Know Who". I once again had to say that I was still working on a plan and thankfully Hermione had taken pity on me and came to my aid. As the cake was placed in front of me I was told to make a wish. I looked around I knew what everyone expected me to wish for; "I wish Voldemort was dead" or something along those lines. But I had been saving a wish for tonight, my last hope for a miracle. So I leaned down and blew out the candles...
Ron suddenly released an exceptionally loud snore and shifted in his sleep. I quickly turned around and dove into my sleeping bag mess and pretended to be asleep, just in case he woke up. Thankfully he simply kept on snoring and I released a quiet sigh. Deciding that I might as well just stay laying down I picked up the pillow and placed it at my feet while quietly shifting and turning around so that I can still lie down and gaze at the moon through the window. While gazing at the moon I thought of the wish that I had given and cast into the world as I blew out the candles on my 20th birthday.
"I wish I had another chance at a different life with no one to kill…please…"