Harry's Song
Disclaimer: JK is a Goddess of all things pertaining to Harry Potter. I am a poor college student. No money is being made, nor is any damage being committed.
A/N: The title is a rip-off of Blink 182's "Adam's Song", which tells about teen suicide. This story is completely based on Quoth the Raven's "Giving Notice" and may not make sense without reading that as well.
When the Headmaster announced that he---that Potter, perfect Potter, had committed suicide . . . I wanted to laugh in disbelief. Why would he do such a foolish thing? Potter has---had everything; friends, fame, star Quidditch position, savior of the Wizarding World. Why throw all that away? I certainly would not have.
If I had been him, I would have milked that fame for all it was worth. After all, it is another form of power, and I will always hunger for power, the kind of power the Dark Lord once had. I like to think, however, that I am not as foolish as my father was-such power would never be shared with underlings. No, I wanted that power for my own.
It all revolves around power. Life, death, happiness, and hate. By having his friends, Potter ensured his own survival, whether he realized it or not. Awful choices though . . . Weasley still believes that he is not dead. I suppose it could be considered tragic if I did not personally find that amusing. Affection is for the weak.
All the good things in life, at least as a Mudblood lover like Dumbledore would define 'good'---all those things are weaknesses. Control . . . power. Always power. Or so I continually tell myself.
I have not shed a tear for Potter, and I doubt I ever shall. It is not expected or required of me after all. Odd though, how I doubt his relatives would cry as well. I suppose I should pity him that . . . While never truly his enemy, I am---was his rival. We were each other's measuring rods of what extremes we never desired to be. He was so full of goodness and light . . . so incredibly certain that they would triumph in the end. I do not revel in the dark, nor do I deny its presence. People like myself are needed so people like Potter, like perfect Potter, can shine.
That perfection shall shine no more, and I will no longer have someone worthy of my competition.
The wind whips around my face as I fly around the Pitch, searching, catching, and releasing the Snitch. Such power is at my command, yet I now see it is empty power. There is no one to set myself against. No one. I am, as I was since the moment he refused to shake my hand . . .alone.
"DAMN you Potter! I wasn't through with you yet!"
/The End/
Disclaimer: JK is a Goddess of all things pertaining to Harry Potter. I am a poor college student. No money is being made, nor is any damage being committed.
A/N: The title is a rip-off of Blink 182's "Adam's Song", which tells about teen suicide. This story is completely based on Quoth the Raven's "Giving Notice" and may not make sense without reading that as well.
When the Headmaster announced that he---that Potter, perfect Potter, had committed suicide . . . I wanted to laugh in disbelief. Why would he do such a foolish thing? Potter has---had everything; friends, fame, star Quidditch position, savior of the Wizarding World. Why throw all that away? I certainly would not have.
If I had been him, I would have milked that fame for all it was worth. After all, it is another form of power, and I will always hunger for power, the kind of power the Dark Lord once had. I like to think, however, that I am not as foolish as my father was-such power would never be shared with underlings. No, I wanted that power for my own.
It all revolves around power. Life, death, happiness, and hate. By having his friends, Potter ensured his own survival, whether he realized it or not. Awful choices though . . . Weasley still believes that he is not dead. I suppose it could be considered tragic if I did not personally find that amusing. Affection is for the weak.
All the good things in life, at least as a Mudblood lover like Dumbledore would define 'good'---all those things are weaknesses. Control . . . power. Always power. Or so I continually tell myself.
I have not shed a tear for Potter, and I doubt I ever shall. It is not expected or required of me after all. Odd though, how I doubt his relatives would cry as well. I suppose I should pity him that . . . While never truly his enemy, I am---was his rival. We were each other's measuring rods of what extremes we never desired to be. He was so full of goodness and light . . . so incredibly certain that they would triumph in the end. I do not revel in the dark, nor do I deny its presence. People like myself are needed so people like Potter, like perfect Potter, can shine.
That perfection shall shine no more, and I will no longer have someone worthy of my competition.
The wind whips around my face as I fly around the Pitch, searching, catching, and releasing the Snitch. Such power is at my command, yet I now see it is empty power. There is no one to set myself against. No one. I am, as I was since the moment he refused to shake my hand . . .alone.
"DAMN you Potter! I wasn't through with you yet!"
/The End/