Warning: Mild swearing.
Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter, JKR does.

Eye of The Storm.

The stars look closer than usual tonight.

I lie atop the astronomy tower, the cool tiles pressing reassuringly into my back through my thin, ragged t-shirt, and against the back of my leg through my loose pyjama trousers. My other leg is bent at the knee, one bare foot against the rough slate, the other braced almost lazily against the battlements of the old castle, the only thing stopping me from slipping off the edge of the turret. It is freezing, so high above everything; with the wind playing in my hair and trailing along my skin with fingers of ice, but I make no move to leave. Here, I am away from people and their expectations, their pressure, their adoration, their hate... I can breathe. I can think.

I lose myself in my musings, floating through them as though I was drifting aimlessly down a tranquil stream. One in particular tugs at my attention, persistently, as though chiding me for ignoring it.

You're not the same as other people. You're different.

I feel as though an epiphany of such significance should strike me with a suddenness that is alarming, brushing aside all insecurities and leaving only noble convictions and the burning passion of a righteous saviour...But it doesn't, of course. In its place there is instead a dawning realisation that I have always known this, if I am honest with myself, choosing instead to refuse to acknowledge it. For that I blame my relatives' abuse. Craving acceptance for eleven years of your childhood by trying to fit some twisted notion of 'normality' isn't overcome effortlessly, after all.

As I consciously address this thought for the first time, I realise that the only reason I ever wanted to be normal was this longing for acceptance from my 'family'...which developed into the desire to remain unnoticed, when I realised I would never be appreciated by the Dursleys. I just wanted to fade into the background and disappear – but I could never do that as myself...I was just too...separate. Unique. Special, whispers a voice somewhere in the deep, previously unacknowledged areas of my mind, as though daring me to deny it. I pause, lifting a hand pensively. A moment later a thin casing of ice begins to creep from my fingertips to my wrist, melting and dripping from my hand with another simple thought. Instinctively I twist my hand, flexing my fingers as though gently gripping a sphere of glass. The water slows to a stop and hangs suspended midair, and from where I lie it appears to be languidly rotating among the stars. Ponderously, I close my fingers around the liquid, and it disappears. A flickering blue flame replaces it, dancing over the skin of my clenched fist before diminishing to a mere red glow at my urging. Another brief surge of intent and it spreads up my arm and over the rest of my body. I gaze up once again at the soothing stars, letting my limbs absorb the warmth just as slow acceptance suffuses my mind. I release the magic and exhale slowly as my perception of reality slants and sways, searching for a new equilibrium.

With this one deceptively simple acknowledgement – this sole admittance that I have repressed my magic, repressed who I am, in a misguided attempt to placate people – a long-concealed barrier is destroyed mercilessly. I watch dispassionately, oddly calm, as the subsequent wave of insight bearing relentlessly down upon me smashes my self-imposed restraints beyond repair. It hits me and I am submerged in an overwhelming deluge of all the memories which have forced me to hide who I am –

"You should have died with your good-for-nothing parents, freak!" – His Aunt shredding his school report from his third year of primary school. Vernon yelling, face purple, vein on his neck throbbing. "How dare you try and show up our son, you worthless little shit!" – A large fist connecting with his jaw. Pain. The room spinning, the floor tilting unsettlingly under his feet. He fights to stay upright as an inky haze blurs his vision.
Showing weakness just makes it worse. He learnt that when he was three years old.
Another fist, too near to dodge. The world goes black. – His head aches as he slowly gains consciousness. He had dropped Dudley's bacon when he burnt his hand on the cooker. Petunia swung the frying pan at him. He didn't duck fast enough. – He jerks painfully awake, choking back a scream, the green light that blinded him slowly fading. Looking down at the blood oozing across his sheets he grimaces. He gingerly pulls off his t-shirt, gritting his teeth as it pulls at the welts on his back.– Ron's petty jealousy over the Triwizard Tournament, his unjustified hostility. – Ron's contemptuous scorn when Harry said he was going to the library – Ron storming off in a huff after McGonagall's lesson when Harry completed transfiguration and he didn't. – "Don't be ridiculous, mate; Arithmancy is for Ravenclaws. And Hermione. Take Divination." – "Alas, I am afraid I cannot divulge that information to you Harry.
It's for your own good, I'm sure you understand.
And you know you must stay with you relatives this summer,
you are safe there." –
"'I must not tell lies', Mr. Potter. For as long as it takes for the message to...sink in." – "Another pathetic attempt, Potter," A sneer of contempt. "and another zero for your hopeless ineptitude." – "Why didn't you save them, Potter?! Why haven't you killed him yet?!" – "Triwizard Champion!" – "Boy-Who-Lived!" –
"Chosen One!"...
Having been acknowledged at long last, the memories filter slowly to the back of my mind, appeased. Resolve hardens inside me until I can feel it burning in my chest. No more holding back. Keeping up my front of mediocrity would be an unavoidable necessity – but I would not lie to myself any more.

Opening eyes I don't remember closing I am suddenly aware that a storm is languorously receding; I am drenched to the skin, my hair is plastered to my forehead and the tiles are slick beneath me. Tumultuous grey clouds rumble ominously above me, the sound resonating deep in my chest. An electrical charge dances along my fingertips and I feel as though I could reach up and touch the lightning flashing above my head, illuminating the grounds. It is hauntingly beautiful, shadows dancing in the moonlight before disappearing once more into the inscrutable night. My heartbeat, which was pounding forcefully in my chest, slows. I sigh deeply, the maelstrom within me finally subsiding. I cast my eyes over the exquisite moonlit landscape and the vast expanse of star-filled sky and wonder at the absolute stillness following the storm.

'Following the storm?', you whisper, the sound lost in the deafening silence, 'No...It's always when the storm's eye is passing that it's the calmest...'

So what did you think? Not sure whether to add a couple more chapters or leave it as a oneshot like I usually do. Let me know if you think its worth continuing :)