Graveyard Flashby eatcatbuffet (formerly known as Cross Kid)
Saladshla: Why do I like writing hurt Harry?
Oh right, I like his past, and that warm feeling with Ginny that he has.
Make it feel so feeble, so precious. x)
It's not exactly JK rated, but then again some retards
write Harry+Draco stuff. (lol, no offence, yeah?)
Just to say, I accidentally posted this on my other account, and am sorry about the people who review or favourited this.
Please do not say that I stole this story from (*****) because I didn't, and I just made a mistake when posting it!
Harry never felt the need to tell madam Pomfrey, nor professor McGonagall, nor Mrs Weasly, about what had happened to him in the graveyard. (Dumbledore - and Snape, but he didn't want him to know from the start, because it'd be another thing to torture him with- found out from Moody, the things that'd happened in the graveyard, in his office.)
"I was hurt" or "Voldemort came back" was all he said. (Couldn't describe it - felt unnecessary.) He couldn't talk anymore. He swore that he'd only say it once, and Moody had currently tried to kill him afterwards. (if the faces around him left, or did what Moody had done...)
Or about the things that Mad-Eye Moody had done. Had said. Done. Just to him and the Dark Lord.
The pain that he'd felt, the pent up frustration, the guilt and the fear, of succumbing to Wormtail, he, he was the one that'd brought back Voldemort. (Confusion.)
Just him.
All his fault.
His.
(Wormtail's or Harry's?)
Harry had been pulled away from the room, that room, where Mad-Eye had done those things to him. Had been pushed down on a stool in the Hospital Wing, disinfectant soaking his arm as people all around him quizzed him, blurred or unmasked, unfamiliar faces all around. And that was what had happened.
Something bad had happened to him, something had gone wrong. He was pulled out of it, safe and away. Away. Something bad happened to Cedric. Nobody pulled him away. He had to do it. (He was left in the Quidditch pitch.) Something bad happened to Moody, he was pulled away. Mad-Eye was still strapped to his chair, mouth frothing with potions.
But then Ginny came, with Ron and Hermione (and Neville and ?), rushing in, pushing the blurred faces away, tears and worry marring their faces. Harry's eyes could distinguish them. See how Ron was chewing his lip and how Hermione was openly sobbing into Ron's jacket. How Ginny wanted to stroke his arm, then saw the scar, the wound pouring blood over his clothes, and opted for a horribly forced smile. (How Neville squeaked and turned white when he saw what Ginny'd seen. What everybody'd seen.)
(That night Harry had vomited in his sleep, with Voldemort reborn in his mind, over and over again, snake eyes opening and closing, and over again. Hurting him with that image, with the touch of his fingers - Wormtail's knife, - his amputation.) His scar burned forever- all night, the graveyard, his scars, his blood - Voldemort.
Harry Potter had died. Voldemort reborn. Wormtail, Malfoy, Crabe, Goyle, the others, - The Riddle tomb with the bewitched Angel of Death.
It was just him, just Harry, and Voldemort.
He was "Just Harry". Just a boy. Just a mere puppet.
Voldemort, … he was many things, torturer, war, death, his snake - Many things.
But Harry, with Ginny and Ron and Hermione, and Neville and Luna, and the Weaslys and DA, and the Order, ...
It suddenly wasn't "Just Harry" anymore. It was "Harry, and friends, and Dumbledore's Army, and the Weaslys, and the Order of the Phoenix, and everyone from Hogwarts".
And thinking of that made him strong. And years later, he could tell everyone what'd happened that night, in the graveyard, because it was Harry and the others, and not just him.