Seeds of Pain

I don't want to feel. So, please stop looking, stop pushing, just leave me alone. Your eyes are so cold, they demand my attention, stop it. Please I beg you to stop it. I came back, just one last year that's all, then I am free but you, you won't stop. You mock me, scorn everything I have in my life, you destroy it. I have nothing left, don't you see that? You have so much but you still take. All you want is more; all you want is to destroy me. I can't take it anymore. No more mask, no more smile, no more you. Leave me.

Harry pov

I look down at that which I have written. Neat, fluid and graceful. So different from the chicken scratch of last year. Then though, there was no pain such as this. Then was only happiness. Things didn't matter then, they didn't require such time or concentration. Now, such pain.

I remember things from the past but they are just things. I can't feel those memories anymore; they have no color and no emotion. They are simply things that happened and that is all. This summer had many colors, those colors I wish I could forget, those colors of pain.

The day I got back, he was waiting, Voldemort. He killed all I had left for a family, although it was a cruel and uncaring family, it was all I had left. I had nothing. He destroyed it all, even Hedwig and my wand. He knew how to hurt me now, he could kill me anytime he wanted but he hated me so much as to take away everything. Now, I have nothing left to fight for. Then, before he left me to my despair, he implanted something with in me. A seed of pure darkness.

It grows within me, slowly. Everyday, feeding off my life, hope, dreams. It hurts, the pain grows with it, I believe it feeds off that as well. It will kill me. Voldemort promised me that, within the year he said I would die in the most horrendous agony I could imagine, all alone.

It takes all I possess to remember to breath, to write anything is more than I can handle. My grades, hardly exist anymore. I can't do the assignments and magic is impossible, the pain from it is almost impossible to describe. My teachers think I am rebelling, they are all so disappointed in me but they don't know.

I haven't told them, haven't told anyone. I believe I deserve this pain. I believe I shouldn't have lived in the first place. I wouldn't have come back here at all if they hadn't found me. On the streets, living in boxes, eating out of garbage cans. They thought I had lost my mind, they didn't understand me. Even when they discovered the destruction of the Durselys they asked me why I didn't seek help from others. Contact a witch or wizard to help me. They didn't understand that I did not wish to be found.

Pain sweeps through my body, clutching my heart radiating throughout my chest. I gasp, suppressing the cries of agony. Afraid that I will wake those slumbering peacefully around me. Tears slip down my cheeks as the pain clenches and holds then subsides slowly, leaving me with only the dull aching throb that is constant now.
I breathe deeply, once then again, slipping the spiral notebook that has become a sort of diary to me, under my pillow. I lay down upon it. Pulling the covers up around my head, heavy thick. I've four comforters upon my bed, bribed from the house elves. They won't tell but they can't spare anymore and I'm still so cold, always cold. Curl my legs up to my chest, hold myself tightly together and be a child in my mother's womb again. I rest my eyes, closing them softly and slow my body down. I force my body to stillness to rest it but my mind is caught forever in conscious wakefulness.

Thinking, always thinking. For the many hours my body rests my mind does nothing but think. I try to use such time, reviewing all my lessons, over and over again until I can recite them by heart, only in such a deep sleep is the inner consciousness and the vaults of knowledge opened. I read a lot now; it gives me much to think of at night, without it all I think of is the past. I hate the past.

If anyone cared, if anyone knew they would realize that over the last month I have been here I have read almost more than Hermione, but it's not enough. The pain gets worse and library grows thin. I cannot fathom anymore what the future holds for me but pain and death. I think by the time such comes, I will welcome it with open arms.

Dawn, morning has come and the pain will not allow me to remain still any longer. I rise, suppressing the pain for what I can, trying to ignore something so impossible to ignore. Everyday the pain strikes worse and worse, soon it will catch me most vulnerable, in a classroom, away from the safety of my desk where I can huddle amid myself and ride it out without bringing suspicion. I'm running out of time for such luck.

I walk to the shower, each step slow and measured. To have to concentrate on such a task seems ludicrous and it would be for anyone but me.

The water, spraying from the showerhead, seducing my body with the unimaginable heat. The pain isn't as bad in water; perhaps the seed within takes its moister and relinquishes its hold of the pain. The heat scalds my skin but its better that way. It cascades over my body, thin and pale, nutrition lost to the greedy thing living within me. My hair strays over my shoulders and touches the shoulders of my back. It was long when I left last year but the summer left no way for a haircut so it grew to what it is now. Long, wild, black, it's as if it seeks to escape the pain by growing out, by running away from the source.

I turn of the water slowly and stand in the rising billows of steam enjoying the feeling it licks upon my skin the way it makes me feel lost again. Then the pain resurfaces with a vengeance and my legs give out under me. Collapsing on the hard wet tiled floor, wrapping myself as tightly as I can, shaking with the pain. I cry softly, the salt of my eyes slipping down to mix with the water gathered on the floor but such pain cannot be indulged like this as always. Soon the others will wake and I can't let them see me, they will know if they see me.

I force myself to stand, stumbling blindly along the wall of the showers, pausing at a sink, surrendering my weight atop its molded porcelain. My eyes catch the mirror above the sink reflecting a person I don't know. I wipe the mirror with my arm, staring blatantly at the mirror's face that is I. Black, damp hair sticks to my forehead, hiding the scar, the blackness contrasting violently with the pallor of my skin making it seem as if I am even paler than I am. Iridescent, green eyes watch me, too big for my face, filled with pain and desolation. My chest, gleaming from the water still clinging to it reflects black. Since a couple weeks ago the black vine like tendrils have appeared upon my chest, like a stain upon my skin, spreading out from where my heart is, from where the pain is. I look away and walk back out to my bed.

At the end of my bed sits a gleaming new chest, filled with clothing all brand new, paid for by the ministry and Dumbledore. I pull out a black sweater, tight to my skin, spelled to fit just right and a loose pain of jeans that barely grip my waist. I then pull out one of the heavy cloaks I specially requested, pulling it over myself, donning the deep hood and feeling the emitting warmth from the heavy wool lining but, still cold. I shiver silently, thinking about the outrage of the teachers when I had first shown up similarly attired. I had refused to wear the school uniform, too cold, and had refused to remove the cloak, refused to show my face. They gave up eventually but they still hate me for it. At least in the heavy darkness of the cloak I am hidden.

The others are stirring, Ron rolling out of bed first and stumbling to the showers followed by Seamus, Dean then Neville, not one noticing me. A shout echoes out of the showers, followed by Ron's cursing to whoever left the hot water turned on. I can't find it in myself to smile or even acknowledge the humor in it. It takes too much energy. So instead I wrap myself within my cloak and slowly descend the stairs down to the common room then out and towards the dinning hall.

I walk down the narrow hall, avoiding the main halls to take lesser traveled ones, accepting the added pain for the protection of being unseen, unencountered by anyone. Someone comes, it is inevitable but annoying none the less. I slow my walk, listening to the approaching footsteps. They are so sure footed and heavy, swift as if late for something, full of pride and hidden angry pain. I know those foot steps, they are those of Draco Malfoy's. I think we are alike in some ways although it took me a lot of painful thinking to realize that and because of the revelation I can no longer stay angry at him.

I move to the side of the hall but as he passes his hand jets out and shoves me, glancing over his shoulder and yelling back, "Watch it, Potter!" But I can't hear.

I wasn't expecting the shove or the force of the wall and as it happened my fragile control of the relentless pain revived itself and exploded within my chest. I cried out involuntarily, choking back those cries coming after as I fell hitting the stone floor. The pain is so intense, stronger than I have experienced before, the pain has grown once more.

I can feel my body shaking and my own breath laboring in my ears. I clutch my chest, fighting it for, trying to fight it, to remain conscious. My knees curl up to my chest and my back presses against the wall. I feel tears reappear again and hit open air, for my hood had fallen back when I had collapsed. The pain diminishes slowly and my breathing calms. I rest my head upon the cold stone floor, trying to regain my strength. Someone is watching me.

I look up and he's still there, watching, his eyes reflecting some sort of shock, a little bit of horror. I thought he would've continued on, kept walking and left me. He stayed, he saw, he knows. I push myself up, leaning heavily upon the wall, all the while watching him. I step forward, a single calculated step, as I do he makes to bolt, stepping back and guiding his hands upon the wall. I gather my self, emitting a single word, drifting upon the air, "Wait." Though he has no reason, he stops watching me once again.

"You can not tell anyone." I whisper, a violent shiver wracking my weak form, the pain fluctuating with each word, grinding my teeth I continue, "No one must know."

His eyes narrow and he steps back a pace, the shock wearing off. Pressing forward though the pain a last desperate whisper, "Please, Draco." I breath deeply, trying to regain the hold of the pain watching Draco as he finally draws himself up and asks, "What the hell is wrong with you, Potter?"

I stare at him darkly, "I'm dieing."

He frowns then laughs, looking at me with cold humor in his eyes and sarcasm heavily threaded through his voice, "The boy who lived can't die, Potter, what would your adoring followers think? You're twisted and fucked up, Potter. No one's going to believe that phony act."

A shiver passes through my body and I slide across the wall, past Draco, "I hope so." He turns and watches me, surprise reflected in his eyes. So many emotions I have never seen on his face before, without the scowl it seems so much more beautiful, more pure. I leave him behind and regain my track down to the dinning hall.

There the noise is incredible, echoing laughter and shouting voices, drilling into my skull like blows, causing the pain to flare and grow with each moment. I draw upon the silence of my mind, finding solace there. I eat as much as my stomach will allow, unaware that I have been ignoring those I once called friends.

Usually I am more careful about responding but today has already taken its toll on me. I rise from the table, ignoring Hermione and Ron's calls after me. I follow the main hallways and return to my dorm, collapsing upon my bed and shutting my body down, two attacks so early tolled my body too greatly to continue with the game of school.

I wake later, if you can call it that, my body rested. Sitting up I glance at the clock, if I choose I can arrive at my last class, potions. I rise, balancing my weight, picking up one of the library books on the rising pile beside I leave the dorm and head for the dungeons reaching them ten minutes late from the start of the class.

Snape stands at the front, lecturing about some up coming potion that we are to be working on. He stops as I enter, his normal hatred for me amplified by my current tardiness, not to mention the other times I have been tardy or skipped his class all together since school started. I slip over to the closest bench, easing into the hard wooden surface and propping the book open to where I last stopped reading.

A voice destroying my reverie, "Since Mr. Potter seems so well prepared for my class, seeing as he has missed the last and is late for this one, perhaps he would like to tell us what the mixture of liquid Forigan extract, enchants of heran and dried nettle plant produce?"

I rest my arms upon the table, slowly reading each sentence with total concentration, not glancing up I slowly reply, "It could produce, in variation, a powerful illusion potion, a potion to cause extreme pain or a laxative. Depending on the mixture, quantity and way of creation." Stopping I close my eyes, pressing the pain down before I continue reading. It's difficult to speak but easier then after an attack, such as with Draco. Glancing over I notice him watching curiously, swallowing I continue reading and remain doing so for the entire period. Snape not asking another question nor disciplining me. Not that detention does any good, I never come.

The class ends and I return to my dorm and my bed, sleeping through the rest of the day and night, only to wake to another day of pain and endless irony.