Broken Man
AN: Short drabble to get my muse up again. 'Moments' and 'An Unlikely Conversation' will be updated but is now on hiatus until I have motivation to start it up again.
Harry remembered when the teachers at school used to call him a beautiful boy. Charming lad they used to say. A delightful child to teach they praised to their colleagues. He remembered passer-by's looking twice at him, they'd flex their fingers as if to pinch his cheeks and hug him so tightly that it would squeeze him to death. He remembered when everyone, everyone commented on his eyes, how expressive. So green. Now, as harry stares in the mirror, he sees his eyes and they were dull. He sees the ugly glasses that horribly framed his face. He sees his body that was just too thin and short. He sees the clothes that just hang off him like rags. He could see his personality, shoulders slumped, eyes narrowed, he knew no-one wanted anything to do with him. He was moody, short tempered, antisocial and it showed. It was then when Harry hated himself. He hated himself for letting the Dursley's ruin his body, angry as he let the headmaster and Voldemort ruin his innocence and bringing on pain and he was angry at the world for truly breaking him – causing him to shy away and hate them. He hated his appearance yes, but he hated how used he was. He wanted the mirror to show him something worthwhile to look at but there was nothing. There was no beautiful boy anymore, just a broken man.
And it hurt to admit that.