Author's Note: Hi everyone, this was a spur of the moment kinda thing, so if it's horrible…well, then, it's horrible. For everyone who reads The Shadow's Child, please accept my apology for the delay, I have no inspiration for the story at the moment. Thanks guys!
Disclaimer:Guys, if I owned HP then Tom, Sirius, Remus, and a whole lot of other guys wouldn't have died, not to mention, dear Hare-bear would be a Slytherin!
Prologue
Colors.
There were colors everywhere. Lights collided and exploded outwards with a force that would knock the strongest being off its' feet. Greens, blues, purples, reds; he felt them all, he saw them-through closed lids-circling his head, before rocketing around somewhere else to explode. He did not know where; he was unsure where he was, let alone what was going on.
He wasn't sure he was a he.
Emotions.
They followed the colors promptly. Rapidly, he was surrounded with feelings, so many feelings that it hurt. There was warmth and happiness which swirled around him, dancing elegantly, knifing through his pain. But then, pain came, surrounding the warmth and destroying it, utterly and completely. He could've sworn he moaned in pain, but sound did not exist here, not just yet. Anger, righteous anger, followed the pain, stabbing him emotionally, blaming him erratically, for everything bad that had happened; blamed him for things he could not remember. Sadness and grief were a pair as they came, filling him up silently, so still, he believed for a moment that he was crying, only he could not feel the tears. They did not exist yet. The sadness and grief nearly broke him, but the Emptiness killed him and destroyed his soul. Or it would have, had it existed yet. Emptiness; the experience of never being filled with emotions, with feelings, with love…it would annihilate him utterly, should he spend eternity surrounded by it.
Feeling.
Feeling followed the emotions. He could feel a feather light touch to his brow, where his famous scar resided; he could feel a gentle hand carding through his raven hair. He could feel a punch to his chest, feel the kick to his ribs, and feel the hands around his throat, as if they wished for no more than to choke him to his end…but he also felt other things. He felt tears streaming down his cheeks, he felt his mouth curve into a delighted smile, and he felt the water flowing through his hair and down his body as he danced to a tune in the shower.
Sounds.
The sounds came next. Everywhere there was sound: a high pitched shriek of pain, a low moan of pleasure, a yelp of surprise, a cry of resentment…so many sounds, it made his head hurt. The multiple sounds echoed around him, surrounded him within the cacophony of noise and the pain it brought to his sensitive ears. One sound, however, stole his attention from the rest.
The sound of the knife cutting through the skin on his wrist.
The sound of blood bubbling up and surrounding the cut, eventually overfilling it, and dripping down his arm.
The sound of his soft cries of pain; pain which had nothing to do with the cut.
The sound of his weakening heartbeat.
The sound of his last gasp of air.
The sound of his last words.
The sound of absolute silence and stillness.
"I love you, I'm sorry."