Just a little drabble that popped into my mind. You know the scene in the fourth movie where Harry sits by the boy's dorm window holding a blanket. He always looked so vulnerable and young… anyway, imagined thoughts follow.
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Sun
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Starkness. Obligatory kindness overruling conscious thought. They loved him for his fame. Snape was right; for once the greasy old bastard had a valid point. After all, no one would love him for himself. Impossible, as he'd been told all his life. The bad things, always more plentiful at any rate, were also bewitchingly easier to believe. No one could argue with that logic.
The sun's rays threatened to warm the curled figure, clinging to a blanket, perched on the castle's tower sill. Soon, the world would be waking. Sunrise was a firm lullaby; now the tormented savior could slumber.