Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any other character (or noun) found within J.K. Rowling's prestigious novels. I also do not intend this fanfiction to be any form of slander, nor do I make any profit from it.

Warnings: Angst and implied child abuse. No slash, no cursing… completely new track for me –snorts-

Cry

When the sun disappears from sight is when he emerges from his sanctuary. His eyes are wary as he gazes around the surroundings he finds himself in, as though the outside is foreign to him. His body is tense with anxiety and nervousness; the slightest sound makes him jump. There is an air about him that seems to scream pain and loneliness.

And I wonder about him.

Why does one so young look like on so old? Why is a child so cautious of life? What could have been done to such an innocent boy to turn him so prematurely into a man? What horrors had he seen with those eyes?

He never sees me watching him, for never do his breathtaking emerald green eyes, so unlike those of his relatives, turn to my window. He never feels my heated gaze upon his back, for it is frozen beyond hope of thawing. He does not hear my breathing, though I am sure that, in the silence of the night, it is the loudest sound in the world. Instead, his gaze remains forward.

It is as though he is looking as though he is looking for someone, waiting for someone…

I watch silently as he makes his nightly travel toward the end of our little street. He never strays off the path of the crumbling sidewalk, never goes to the other side of the poorly lit road. He never goes beyond the bright red stop sign, as though it were speaking to him personally.

"Stop, you can go no further."

He turns now, sooner than usual. Raven head bowed low, shoulders slumped slightly in defeat. Once again, he is disappointed. Once again, whomever he is waiting for has failed. There is a limp in his step I have never noticed before, making his pace slower than normal, making his steps more vulnerable. Suddenly, he stumbles on a loose stone, nearly falling, and I cannot help myself. A gasp makes its way from my lips before I have a chance to restrain it, and my hand flies to my mouth in belated reaction as his head hoots up in my direction. The green orbs lock with my small brown pools, telling me their life story with just one glance.

Such pain there is within their depths. Such sorrow! More so than I have ever witnessed before in my life. There is a glimmer of hope within them somewhere, but it is obvious that it, too, will become tarnished from the horror that plagues his young life. It sickens me to see tears swimming in his eyes, never escaping, yet never retreating. The emerald orbs seem to want me to know everything that I have always wondered, seemed to want to give me the answers the lips refuse to form.

He looks away now, and bows his head once more, starting up his slow pace with his humble steps, heading toward his home. As I watch his lithe, flexible, and broken form begin to make its way up the tree that will lead to his bedroom window, something cool and wet touches my hand, followed quickly by another.

I am crying for him.

We have been told that Harry Potter was the son of a drunk and a whore, and was left an unwanted – but taken – burden to his aunt and uncle. We have been told that he is nothing short of psychotic, and that he even attended St. Brutus' Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys. There were even rumors, started by his cousin's friends, that he had killed a boy at his school this past year.

And yet I am crying for him.

Crying for a boy I have never met. Crying for the hardships he endures, crying for the pain he feels every day. Crying for his suffering that has no sign of ending; crying for his loneliness. Crying for the loving touch of a parent that he will never feel.

Crying, because he is unable to cry for himself.

Silently, I close my window, and crawl back into my bed. I draw my covers around me tightly, trying to seek out the security I doubt I will ever feel again. I bury my face into my soft, silky pillow, allowing my husband's arm to curl around me protectively. None of this does anything to hinder the tears that still make their journey down my face. And now I know.

Until he can cry for himself, I shall forever cry for him.

Finished

I think I was tired of the attitudes the people of Privet Drive were giving Harry. I mean, no one ever stopped to think about the fact that the Dursleys could be lying, or ever stopped to just look at him, to see that maybe he isn't such a criminal after all.

..Excuse my ramblings.

Just thought I would post this on here. 'Tis a oneshot, so it won't have to be updated and whatever. o.O Leave a review, tell me what you thought about it. And don't forget to add me on myspace! I have a Senior Project thing I have to do, and it's on fanfiction. Therefore, I need to interview you! Mwhahaha! ... Seriously, though. D I love you?

Ha. Later, guys!

-Me