3

Periwinkles

Two sides of the spectrum: Comedy and Depression

It was a warm place, with heavenly sunrays agreeably flowing out the window. It truly was a beautiful day. Mrs. Weasley was up and cooking breakfast and Harry was coming out of his room, clutching a nail he found on the floor, determinedly staring out his door. Was he rude yesterday? This time it wasn't his fault, right? He didn't know what to say.

He looked up, suddenly aware at how dark it was on his corridor. Dusty, creaky hardwood floors seemed to slide when he walked. He looked up, suddenly frightened of what was up there. He smiled in relief to see periwinkles on the ceiling; green leaves sprawled haphazardly over a beautiful shade of purple. Harry frowned. Who had put them there? It just wasn't Mrs. Weasley's style and he was sure it wasn't that hag's (Mrs. Black) style. Hermione wouldn't have thought to do such a thing while leaving the floors dusty and Aunt Petunia had a dislike of the pale bluish flowers. Who? He heard a creak. Panicking, Harry started to turn around, only to be knocked to the floor, face down, somebody's knees on his back.

Harry's thoughts ran rampant as he tried vainly to move his arms. It wasn't any use though; Harry had left his wand under his pillow. Who was on him? Fear climbed through his stomach, and he started to quiver. Nothing was worse than feeling so vulnerable, so weak! He could scream, but if it was a Deatheater he might get his friends killed. He gulped, his lips rough with the dust and his throat constricted with fear and early-morning thickness.

So, he waited. Five minutes passed. What was the person playing at? He felt someone breathing in and out, asleep! Who was this person? Giving up since the person was heavy and the person's muscles dug uncomfortably in his back, he tried not to gag and fall asleep. It was insane, but he was so tired. "If the person was trying to hurt me, he would've done it by now, right?" Harry soothed himself with that last thought before falling blissfully, though slightly uncomfortably, asleep.

He awoke blearily gazing at something dark. All of a sudden he remembered the absurd situation. It explained how his arm was squished and had fallen asleep on him. The position has slightly changed, but he still couldn't move. Trying to hold back a sigh, he realized that a hand was firmly around his waist. The hand definitely belonged to a male.

This situation was a little more than awkward. If any Order member walked down this hall, he or she might think that they were a couple. The very thought of this led Harry to brush brightly and feel insecure. If only he could move, he could escape! Suddenly he heard creaks. Someone was walking down the hall! The creaks stopped, though he heard an agitating click. Than the footsteps softened and the person was gone.

A groan emitted from the "someone" above him. The person stretched, making Harry feel even more embarrassed before tumbling off him to look him straight in Harry's eyes. It was as if Harry's mind was going in slow motion. Pale blue eyes, tanned skin, a strong jaw made a statement of its own and Harry was furious with this person.

"Dudley!"

"Harry," he said casually, still staring into Harry's eyes.

"What was that? How could you? I was… I was—"

"Frightened? You never realized it was me? Come on Harry, even you aren't that slow."

"That doesn't explain why you decided to sleep"

"With you?" Dudley interrupted, eyes dancing with laughter.

"You make everything I say sound disgusting."

Dudley didn't respond. He kept staring into Harry's eyes, making him feel more and more uncomfortable.

"You're pretty weak, even for a shorty like you."

"Shut up you big—"

"It was fun. Even you have to agree with that. You've been walking around like the living dead for weeks. You needed some sleep, and you got some."

Harry muttered something under his breath, about to turn away from his cousin, only to be forced to face him again.

"Harry. Payment is in order."

"And what is it you want, princess?" Harry muttered rudely.

"Tell me what happened to my mom." His eyes were whimsical, too pale, seeing Harry for what he was too well, and he couldn't say "no" to those eyes; heck, in a way he was afraid too.

"No." This is why Gryffndors lifespans were compared to other wizards distinctly as a flobberworms without water.

"Fine." His blue eyes seemed to become colder. "Next time I ask for something, though, Harry, it is good as well as done."

"What for? Because you attacked me so I could get some rest? How crazy are you, Diddykins?" Harry spat out harshly.

"No, Harry. You're doing this for me because at this point in this house, I'm the only one standing in the way of you being pounded into dust by your friends."

"You don't know anything, not about them or me."

"Fine, blackmail then."

"You're going to tell them what?"

"All those wonderful humiliating stories of the past so they can pity you more."

"Bastard."

"Agree. You know I know you too well."

"I agree! You scumbag, lying, filthy,"

"Might as well stop it there 'cause you are starting to sound like that hollerin' painting."

Harry shut up, but got up, dusting off his shoulders and clearing his throat, ready to leave. He couldn't leave without looking at the pale flowers brushing the now-standing Dudley's blonde hair. He grinned darkly at Harry, pulling a blossom of a stem, and crushed it in his hand. Harry immediately remembered the nail in his hand. A bit of blood lolled slowly down his hand. Harry turned away from his cousin, walking swiftly down the stairs to the kitchen.

Lupin, Hermione, the Dursley parents, the Weasley children, Fletcher, Arthur and Molly Weasley, Tonks, and Snape sat at the table. Everyone had some French toast, eggs, grits, fruit, and some sort of juice except for Snape who had only black coffee and whose thin mouth was smiling, nose dipped down, greasy hair falling into his face, looking at a picture.

"Eh, good morning." Everyone shakily greeted him, all looking at him peculiarly. He sat down next to Snape, putting a meager portion of grits and a sliced pear on his plate, trying to ignore the fact that the table was unusually quiet and that many eyes were focused on him. Aunt Petunia looked on the verge of a breakdown, and Vernon seemed to be torn at giving his wife comforting glances and glaring disgustedly at Harry.

Dudley came downstairs soon after, sitting next to Harry. Petunia burst into a fresh set of tears. Dudley ignored her, stealing what little Harry had on his plate after eating loads off of his. Harry looked over at the picture that Snape held and dropped his fork. It was a picture of Dudley, tank top falling off, arm around the pale boy beneath him; blue eyes almost closed staring at him. Harry was slightly turned, eyes closed, seemingly very comfortable. Harry blushed, snatching the picture from Snape, before handing it to a bored Dudley. Dudley didn't seem to care.

"Nice picture of us, eh?" Harry was too shocked to reply.

"I think I'll keep it, shows a better side of you anyways." Harry's mouth moved as if to say something, but nothing came out.

"It's not how it looks like," he announced feebly. He now understood that that click had been from a camera. Mundungus Fletcher burst out laughing.

"Nothing, that wrong about your relationship. Though you're cousins, it's not like all the purebloods aren't inbred, and liking boys is just fine,"

"NO NO Nononononononono! That weirdo attacked me and well, fell asleep on me!" That story sounded very unconvincing.

"Really, it's not true! You have to trust me on this one."

"Fine," Hermione said, "Dudley, what do you have to say about this?"

"He's not that bad looking." Dudley said, smiling broadly. Harry wanted to scratch his eyes out.

"Dudley," Harry said softly, "What are you playing at?"

"Don't you think this would be interesting?" Dudley muttered back.

"You're insane. Fine, I'll tell you what happened to your mom, but please, please, set them straight!"

"On your honor."

"Fine, fine, just tell them!"

"Everyone, I was messing with our dear Harry. I attacked him from behind and knocked him out. I kept him there because otherwise he would've pretended he wasn't tired and go around walking in a daze. The picture, however, is a work of art! Who took it?" Ginny blushed and muttered something under her breath, but not without glaring angrily at Dudley. Suddenly the table began talking animatedly and Fletcher walked around in a slight hangover mood.

Harry left the room. It smelled of periwinkles. What was with all these periwinkles? Harry paused before feeling a wave of nausea. He wondered if Hell smelled like millions of periwinkles, all attacking, suffocating, making your senses numb. Pale blue is an entrancing calm color. He knew that. If that was true, though, why was all he could see and smell periwinkle? Dizziness merged into hysteria, and suddenly he was blind from all the blue.

It was almost as if he could hear the periwinkle. A light raindrop sound, echoing into his eardrums, breaking into his soul and then shattering all that must have been real with a quick clean blue, a sharp sound hidden in the light one, the covered edge of the sword drummed through his very essence. It was so cold here. He hated this place, and he was suffocating. The sheer force of insanity thrust into his head, another force that was not he was entering, cracking his mind, taunting, asking to be one with him, saying he was the same as Harry.

Harry was scared to death when he woke up. He tried to move his arms, but they remained stiff, yet he could feel the cold. The bite of the periwinkle burned in his soul. Horror controlled his next actions, as he could not move to save his life. He closed his eyes, trying to calm down, trying to think, and trying to not let depression weep with him over a teapot of tears, trying to remain in control.

Who was he?

Who was Harry, that which was in others' minds or in his mind?

Was Harry anybody?

Was Harry nobody?

Was he really Harry?

And the Boy-Who-Lived, who was that?

Also Harry then, another part of Harry maybe?

He was nobody.

A picture, an idol of a scripted dream;

A crumpled piece of old newspaper, a prolix letter about nothing;

Just him, a disgusting, filthy, creature

A waste of space

Opinions sculpted completely by those around him

For it was they who made him

And it would be they who would destroy him after Voldemort was gone

Voldemort was no longer a man, and man's worst enemy was man itself.

He felt sick. The whole world was caving in on him? Eyes flashed before him; obsidian first. Was that person, the one with the greasy hair, another version of him, a self who hadn't the friends he had? Gleaming red eyes flashed before him; well, this one was easy, this person was another side of himself. He saw a girl with bushy hair and a red-headed boy and was repulsed. Who were they? Could they be him also? He hoped not, he would rather be he, but than again he was what everybody made him? Harry screamed.

Lena watched him from afar. She was always in the shadows; she smiled softly. Her father said it would be cruel to pierce her way into his pretty-rainbow-ed life. He was an ugly boy, a weak boy as well. She shuddered, watching him clutch his body tightly, making striking red marks paint his skin. She disliked him, but she couldn't let him kill himself! She wondered what was really going on with him.

Lena ran to the dining room. The stage was set and once she entered she could not leave until her part was played, which in the end was ultimately death.

"Daddy! Harry is hurt!" Lupin looked up from his hands. Lena guessed that Lupin hated Harry. Why shouldn't he? Harry was a weak, pathetic, bugger. The only reason he was polite around him anyway was because of duty. Lena wasn't a duty upon Lupin. He loved her and nobody loved Harry. That was all that mattered anyway.

Lupin ran into the dusty room. Harry screamed, not moving, only pain consistently striking his body. If he woke up now to face the truth that was he, would the results be okay? The stage darkened. It didn't matter anyway. Lena was loved. Harry, on the other hand, was a failure, a weak burden.

Author's Notes: I have procrastinated beyond belief and needed comic relief. All will be explained, don't worry. Just look up all you can about periwinkles (laughs). Maybe you'll understand this more. Then again, I could've randomly picked them and the research would be completely useless. Well, love me anyway,

-Verdesilath