Hidden From the World
AN: This is a birthday "present" for a friend. She wanted a ficlet, so she got one.
Deep, deep into the depths of his ever so pale skin did eyes of kelly green penetrate. Over mountains of emotion and in valleys of despair did those eyes travel–a distance far greater than any man could ever travel in any one life-time. They traveled faster than the lightning bolt on his head. Faster than the light that followed. Faster than thought. He was falling so quickly.
Harry watched as a single leaf fell to the ground. Orange and crisp. It shattered on the ground with ungodly force, yet no one else around took notice. He felt his heart burst and the pieces flew out of his chest, littering his insides with shards of his pining heart like a pipe bomb. Thousands of tiny, little shards. Every single one digging its way deeper into his skin. Painfully throbbing. Bitterly knocking at the door to his soul begging it to come out and play in this sick twisted game of love.
He closed his eyes and waiting for relief from the madness. From the terror. From the hurt. The anguish didn't cease to exist like the waning moon, but grew as if waxing, growing to full power when high over head shining brightly. He wished someone could see him and help. Everyone could see the moon, yet couldn't see him sitting there on the brink of death? The verge of insanity? Anyone to see him. Anyone to help him up when he'd fallen like he'd done for so many others. Anyone.
But no one came. Nothing short of a miracle could stop it now. It bounced off of the walls of his head violently as if trying to catch him off guard, unstable him, and knock him over to the ground to shatter like the leaves. He fought on bravely, willing the happiness to come back. Fighting for just a glimpse of angelic blond hair to soothe his aching body.
Could emotion beat him like this? Could a longing be so strong? His heart cried 'yes'and yearned to give in. His 14-year-old heart had never in his life had to deal with this much strain all at once. He'd outsmarted a dragon already this year. He'd rescued his Godfather, Sirius, from something far worse than death. He'd fought a swarm of Dementors all at one time. He'd done all this in a six month period! Surely that would have made a simple crush seem far too petty for the Great Harry Potter. Yet, even with achieving so very much, he still couldn't handle his heart.
He'd never really been loved and never felt anything remotely worth calling it. Living with the Dursley's, his only living relatives, had beaten his emotional status to a pulp. He did all that he could to survive in their presence and there was no room elsewhere for 'love'. He'd seen his dead parents' reflection in a mirror and thought that he loved them, yet it was only an illusion he was seeing. He knew he loved the thought of them anyway. But this was love of another kind. The kind that isn't handed to you by family. The kind you have to work for. The kind dissatisfactory to the public eye. Yet he thought he loved Malfoy.
"Pass me the butter, will you, Harry?" This voice boomed through his head. It caught him off guard. Totally unexpected. It was from Ron. Harry was sitting in the Great Hall eating lunch. He was speeding back to his senses. There were chicken sandwiches being served with pumpkin juice, rolls, and various other foods and drinks. They all came into view. Fuzzy, yes, but they were clearing up. Pure joy ran through Harry. Was this his miracle that would save him from his own painfully devastating thoughts? Amazing that passing the butter could be a miracle.... But it was. It brought him back to realism.
He shook his head as if he thought it would shake away what he had just been thinking. Then he passed his friend, Ron, the butter without a word. His chicken sandwich stared up at him and the reality that he could feel the bench beneath him, feel the breath he was taking in, smell the scent of their food, and hear the chatter of students, struck him hard. He was amazingly happy. Happy. Such a simple word, yet it fit perfectly in Harry's mind. 'I'm happy,' he thought to himself. 'Happy....'
He was happy. Was. Very happy actually, then he dared a glance over to the Slytherin table where Draco Malfoy, arch enemy number one, secret crush extra ordinaire, was seated. Harry nearly gagged on his gilly water at the sight he saw. Draco Malfoy sitting next to Pansy Parkinson, dangerously close, her feeding him grapes. Harry spluttered and spit his water all over his sandwich.
"Easy, Harry," said Ron. "Don't get ahead of yourself."
"Do you have a knife?" Harry said dangerously taking no notice of Ron.
Ron hesitated for a moment. "Why do you need it?"
"Chicken's tough..." he lied.
"No, I don't. Sorry." Ron turned in his seat and faced the other way.
"Anything sharp, pointed, unsafe, metal?"
Ron stared at him. "Why do you need it?"
There was a minute of odd silence before Harry answered. "To lob it at Malfoy's head for taking that crack at Neville the other day," he lied again. He didn't want revenge on *Malfoy*. He wanted to hurt Pansy, kill her if he had to, get her away from Draco. *His* Draco.
"Would be good, wouldn't it? But I don't have one." Ron swore under his breath. Harry glanced back over at Malfoy. The pain began to sneak up on him again as emotion crawled up his throat. Inside he was crying. He was torn up inside, but he had to keep calm and collected. Hide his secret. Hide his true feelings for Draco from the cruel, cruel world because they wouldn't accept it....
AN: Hope you liked it!
***************************************
*H*a*p*p*y* *B*i*r*t*h*d*a*y* *R*a*e*!*
***************************************
AN: This is a birthday "present" for a friend. She wanted a ficlet, so she got one.
Deep, deep into the depths of his ever so pale skin did eyes of kelly green penetrate. Over mountains of emotion and in valleys of despair did those eyes travel–a distance far greater than any man could ever travel in any one life-time. They traveled faster than the lightning bolt on his head. Faster than the light that followed. Faster than thought. He was falling so quickly.
Harry watched as a single leaf fell to the ground. Orange and crisp. It shattered on the ground with ungodly force, yet no one else around took notice. He felt his heart burst and the pieces flew out of his chest, littering his insides with shards of his pining heart like a pipe bomb. Thousands of tiny, little shards. Every single one digging its way deeper into his skin. Painfully throbbing. Bitterly knocking at the door to his soul begging it to come out and play in this sick twisted game of love.
He closed his eyes and waiting for relief from the madness. From the terror. From the hurt. The anguish didn't cease to exist like the waning moon, but grew as if waxing, growing to full power when high over head shining brightly. He wished someone could see him and help. Everyone could see the moon, yet couldn't see him sitting there on the brink of death? The verge of insanity? Anyone to see him. Anyone to help him up when he'd fallen like he'd done for so many others. Anyone.
But no one came. Nothing short of a miracle could stop it now. It bounced off of the walls of his head violently as if trying to catch him off guard, unstable him, and knock him over to the ground to shatter like the leaves. He fought on bravely, willing the happiness to come back. Fighting for just a glimpse of angelic blond hair to soothe his aching body.
Could emotion beat him like this? Could a longing be so strong? His heart cried 'yes'and yearned to give in. His 14-year-old heart had never in his life had to deal with this much strain all at once. He'd outsmarted a dragon already this year. He'd rescued his Godfather, Sirius, from something far worse than death. He'd fought a swarm of Dementors all at one time. He'd done all this in a six month period! Surely that would have made a simple crush seem far too petty for the Great Harry Potter. Yet, even with achieving so very much, he still couldn't handle his heart.
He'd never really been loved and never felt anything remotely worth calling it. Living with the Dursley's, his only living relatives, had beaten his emotional status to a pulp. He did all that he could to survive in their presence and there was no room elsewhere for 'love'. He'd seen his dead parents' reflection in a mirror and thought that he loved them, yet it was only an illusion he was seeing. He knew he loved the thought of them anyway. But this was love of another kind. The kind that isn't handed to you by family. The kind you have to work for. The kind dissatisfactory to the public eye. Yet he thought he loved Malfoy.
"Pass me the butter, will you, Harry?" This voice boomed through his head. It caught him off guard. Totally unexpected. It was from Ron. Harry was sitting in the Great Hall eating lunch. He was speeding back to his senses. There were chicken sandwiches being served with pumpkin juice, rolls, and various other foods and drinks. They all came into view. Fuzzy, yes, but they were clearing up. Pure joy ran through Harry. Was this his miracle that would save him from his own painfully devastating thoughts? Amazing that passing the butter could be a miracle.... But it was. It brought him back to realism.
He shook his head as if he thought it would shake away what he had just been thinking. Then he passed his friend, Ron, the butter without a word. His chicken sandwich stared up at him and the reality that he could feel the bench beneath him, feel the breath he was taking in, smell the scent of their food, and hear the chatter of students, struck him hard. He was amazingly happy. Happy. Such a simple word, yet it fit perfectly in Harry's mind. 'I'm happy,' he thought to himself. 'Happy....'
He was happy. Was. Very happy actually, then he dared a glance over to the Slytherin table where Draco Malfoy, arch enemy number one, secret crush extra ordinaire, was seated. Harry nearly gagged on his gilly water at the sight he saw. Draco Malfoy sitting next to Pansy Parkinson, dangerously close, her feeding him grapes. Harry spluttered and spit his water all over his sandwich.
"Easy, Harry," said Ron. "Don't get ahead of yourself."
"Do you have a knife?" Harry said dangerously taking no notice of Ron.
Ron hesitated for a moment. "Why do you need it?"
"Chicken's tough..." he lied.
"No, I don't. Sorry." Ron turned in his seat and faced the other way.
"Anything sharp, pointed, unsafe, metal?"
Ron stared at him. "Why do you need it?"
There was a minute of odd silence before Harry answered. "To lob it at Malfoy's head for taking that crack at Neville the other day," he lied again. He didn't want revenge on *Malfoy*. He wanted to hurt Pansy, kill her if he had to, get her away from Draco. *His* Draco.
"Would be good, wouldn't it? But I don't have one." Ron swore under his breath. Harry glanced back over at Malfoy. The pain began to sneak up on him again as emotion crawled up his throat. Inside he was crying. He was torn up inside, but he had to keep calm and collected. Hide his secret. Hide his true feelings for Draco from the cruel, cruel world because they wouldn't accept it....
AN: Hope you liked it!
***************************************
*H*a*p*p*y* *B*i*r*t*h*d*a*y* *R*a*e*!*
***************************************