Slightly Fond of Blood
ImmortalFlick
Warning: Cutting, blood.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Rating: PG13 (cause of the cutting, I guess)
Summary: Harry isn't as strong as the world may think.
A/N: Reviews would be lovely. OotP never happened. Fifth year.
---
Chapter 1
The vivid red liquid ran free down his arm. He smiled and cut again. The motion was relieving and more than a little refreshing. Not tiring or disgusting, just like waking up after an anguished drenched nightmare, only not the kind you have when sleeping. One that was his life. He felt like he was being dragged down by something invisible and strong. Something that was tugging at his soul, making him depressed.
Of course, being depressed wasn't a bad thing, just like cynicism meant you only viewed the real world. Optimisim was a load of bull, in Harry's opinion. No point looking to the light side of life when that wasn't what would save you. Wasn't what your world was full of. Especially when you were Harry Potter. Hero extraordinaire. The Boy-Who-Lived. The Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Fucking-Die. Whatever anyone might call him, he was just Harry. Just simple, depressed Harry. It was a shit being him.
Expectations were to be lived up to. People depended on him, looked up to him, idolised him. What were they idolising? An icon made up by commercial beliefs? A pre-conceived notion of a saviour? To put the burden of saving the world on a child's shoulders was a distaster in itself. To expect him to know what to do with that burden was utter lunacy.
Not many can handle being cracked. None can handle being broken. So it was safe to say that Harry wasn't handling it that great either. But in the end, who really cared how he was handling it? Because they weren't asking him if he was suicidal. He wasn't. They weren't asking him if it was all too much. It was. They didn't care how he was handling. He wasn't sure if he cared himself. Caring was a notion beyond those who would easily forsake the world if it meant he could get some peace. Peace was for those who are crowded even when they were alone. Yeah, he was alone. But some things never leave you alone. Things like guilt, anguish, hate, love, betrayal.
So, no, in actuality he wasn't alone. He had company to entertain and he was doing so quite nicely. Feeding emotion with blood. A fine sight he was. Trying to save everyone and no one at the same time. Yes, he wanted to kill Voldemort, but for what? To feed the hate. The betrayal. Voldemort wanted to kill him too. That much was obvious. Only the bastard was willing to kill anyone in his way. Was Harry willing to do that? No. He couldn't. The ultimate sacrifice was innocence and innocence lost was only one more step into the abyss that was life.
Was he expected to save everyone? Why not Dumbledore himself? Why not God for that matter? If he existed. For one who was expected to save the light he was a awfully familiar with the dark. The dark that not many actually knew. Harry knew the dark well. It was his friend in a way. His confidant and teacher. For hiding in the dark was easy and hiding in the light was, well, not very convenient. The dark involved deception, lies, manipulation and a lot of blood. Yes, Harry thought, an awful lot of blood. He cut himself again.
So was he expected to save everyone? Harry Potter can't save anyone, he can't even save himself. Because he isn't some hero, or martyr. He's Harry Potter. A boy who likes to fly and is only slightly fond of blood.
ImmortalFlick
Warning: Cutting, blood.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Rating: PG13 (cause of the cutting, I guess)
Summary: Harry isn't as strong as the world may think.
A/N: Reviews would be lovely. OotP never happened. Fifth year.
---
Chapter 1
The vivid red liquid ran free down his arm. He smiled and cut again. The motion was relieving and more than a little refreshing. Not tiring or disgusting, just like waking up after an anguished drenched nightmare, only not the kind you have when sleeping. One that was his life. He felt like he was being dragged down by something invisible and strong. Something that was tugging at his soul, making him depressed.
Of course, being depressed wasn't a bad thing, just like cynicism meant you only viewed the real world. Optimisim was a load of bull, in Harry's opinion. No point looking to the light side of life when that wasn't what would save you. Wasn't what your world was full of. Especially when you were Harry Potter. Hero extraordinaire. The Boy-Who-Lived. The Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Fucking-Die. Whatever anyone might call him, he was just Harry. Just simple, depressed Harry. It was a shit being him.
Expectations were to be lived up to. People depended on him, looked up to him, idolised him. What were they idolising? An icon made up by commercial beliefs? A pre-conceived notion of a saviour? To put the burden of saving the world on a child's shoulders was a distaster in itself. To expect him to know what to do with that burden was utter lunacy.
Not many can handle being cracked. None can handle being broken. So it was safe to say that Harry wasn't handling it that great either. But in the end, who really cared how he was handling it? Because they weren't asking him if he was suicidal. He wasn't. They weren't asking him if it was all too much. It was. They didn't care how he was handling. He wasn't sure if he cared himself. Caring was a notion beyond those who would easily forsake the world if it meant he could get some peace. Peace was for those who are crowded even when they were alone. Yeah, he was alone. But some things never leave you alone. Things like guilt, anguish, hate, love, betrayal.
So, no, in actuality he wasn't alone. He had company to entertain and he was doing so quite nicely. Feeding emotion with blood. A fine sight he was. Trying to save everyone and no one at the same time. Yes, he wanted to kill Voldemort, but for what? To feed the hate. The betrayal. Voldemort wanted to kill him too. That much was obvious. Only the bastard was willing to kill anyone in his way. Was Harry willing to do that? No. He couldn't. The ultimate sacrifice was innocence and innocence lost was only one more step into the abyss that was life.
Was he expected to save everyone? Why not Dumbledore himself? Why not God for that matter? If he existed. For one who was expected to save the light he was a awfully familiar with the dark. The dark that not many actually knew. Harry knew the dark well. It was his friend in a way. His confidant and teacher. For hiding in the dark was easy and hiding in the light was, well, not very convenient. The dark involved deception, lies, manipulation and a lot of blood. Yes, Harry thought, an awful lot of blood. He cut himself again.
So was he expected to save everyone? Harry Potter can't save anyone, he can't even save himself. Because he isn't some hero, or martyr. He's Harry Potter. A boy who likes to fly and is only slightly fond of blood.