A/N: My second piece for Year 2 of the Houses Competition. Hope you guys enjoy! Title from St. Anger by Metallica
House: Ravenclaw
Category: Short
Prompt: Anger
Word count: 632
There was something inside of Harry. No, that wasn't quite right. This thing was a part of him - it had always been there, lying dormant in his soul - but now it was awake, and ready to stretch its legs. He could feel it roiling away in the pit of his stomach, growing and twisting, coiling like a snake about to attack.
Most of the time, he wished that he didn't feel this way, but sometimes it felt so damn good to just let go of everything holding him back; to yell, and fume, and scream. It made the thing inside him quiet for a short while, though Harry was certain it felt almost pleased. Which couldn't be right, because it was a part of him and all he felt was guilt. He must be going mad.
Harry knew there was something wrong with him, though he didn't know what. Dumbledore wouldn't tell him anything and all anyone else gave him were pitying glances. He hated the way they all looked at him. He didn't want their pity, and it was so infuriating to not know the reason for which they gave it. People had always stared; with the Dursleys he had been the weird kid with the glasses, the scar, and the dead parents. Then, at Hogwarts, he was Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the 'Chosen One'. He'd dealt with it. But now… something was different. He wanted to lash out at them all - Ron, Hermione, everyone - wanted to wipe those stupid looks right off their faces… and he hadn't the faintest idea why.
Perhaps he had reason to be angry. After all, the Ministry wouldn't believe him, half his classmates hated him, and Dumbledore - the one person Harry trusted to always tell him the truth - would barely spare him a glance. Things he couldn't explain were happening to him; he was confused, and he was terrified. Surely any sane person would snap.
But Harry knew that there was no way of justifying such intense anger and hatred half the time he felt it,, and the feelings he had experienced during Mr Weasley's attack horrified him most of all. He would never admit it to anyone (could barely admit it to himself), but he had enjoyed it. Had relished the feeling of tearing into soft flesh, of watching the life drain out of his victim. And afterwards, when faced with Dumbledore's disregard, such terrible fury had risen up inside him, rage that had so quickly faded away once he had landed at Grimmauld Place. Yet, even then, something remained in the pit of his stomach, flaring up occasionally, sometimes for no reason at all. Harry hated that this anger seemed to rule his life, hated that he wasn't able to control it, hated the non-answers he was receiving in lieu of actual information, hated everything around him because…well, just because.
Across the country, Voldemort laughed as he looked inside Harry Potter's mind. The boy was stupid and weak, and Dumbledore was foolish to think that this child would be able to resist him. Everything was falling perfectly into place, and the time for action was almost nigh. But not yet…No, let the boy be ruled by his anger for a few moments longer, let him allow his mind to open wider and wider, and then Voldemort would attack. Dumbledore thought he could protect Harry Potter, but Voldemort knew that this was merely a fool's dream. He understood Potter's mind better than perhaps the boy himself did, and he knew he would be able to use this as an advantage when the time came. He smiled widely and took a moment to appreciate the poetry of it all. The very thing Hogwarts thought would be their saviour would, instead, be their downfall.