Wings Against Glass (Harry)
by Bil!

Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N: Not canon.


When Harry is six Dudley decides that he wants an insect collection. Naturally, this means that Harry is the one who runs around the garden and the park with a butterfly net (after vivid warnings from Uncle Vernon about what will happen if he damages it in any way) and catches them. He's quite good at it, really, because he's small and swift and used to sneaking about. It's Dudley's collection, of course, and Dudley gets all the praise, but Harry feels satisfied inside because he knows he's doing a good job and it doesn't matter what his uncle and aunt say, it's him, not Dudley, who is so quick and clever.

Then he catches the Red Admiral. He stalks it around the garden for quarter of an hour before it deigns to land in just the right spot and even then he doesn't catch it immediately because there's something magical about a butterfly dressed in trim red and black, gently flexing its wings on a rhododendron leaf.

Then with a quick flick of his net the butterfly is in the nylon folds, flapping futilely against the mesh. He croons to it softly as he skilfully slips it into a glass jar and completes the capture. He's well practised by now and gives the insect no chance to escape during the transition; proud of his own skill, Harry smiles.

The butterfly flaps madly against the sides of the jar, but Harry waits patiently for it to settle down, crouching on the path and watching it. Once it's quieter he can put some greenery inside the jar and take it in to give to Dudley.

Only it doesn't calm down. It just keeps flapping madly against the glass so that he can hear its wings slapping against the unyielding walls and he stares at it. It doesn't stop. It won't stop and his satisfaction turns into a sick feeling in his stomach because it's panicking and frightened and it's all his fault and it just won't stop.

"Stop," he mutters. "Stop, stop, stop." But it won't, it won't stop, and the sound keeps going, the mindless beating of wings on an uncompromising surface, and he wants it to stop.

"Brilliant!" Dudley pounces on the jar, snatching it up out of Harry's hands and shaking it so that the butterfly flutters even more in mute anguish. "Mum, Mum, look what I got!"

Wings on glass, the sound echoing in Harry's head. It's going to die and it's all his fault.

The butterfly flutters and Harry breaks. He runs after Dudley and knocks the jar from his hands, making it smash on the concrete path.

It earns him a week in his cupboard, but Harry doesn't care because he has the glorious memory of a red and black butterfly climbing up on the ruins of a glass jar, stretching its wings, and flying free.

That memory is his freedom.

By the time Harry gets out of his cupboard Dudley has given up on insects and found new hobbies. The butterfly net lies forgotten in his second bedroom and only Harry remembers why he was in his cupboard in the first place.

The memory sinks to the back of his mind, he goes on. He learns of magic, he goes to Hogwarts...

And at first he's stretching his wings in a brief, glorious moment of freedom – before it all comes crashing down around him. Expectations, demands, and beliefs, crowding around him, hemming him in. Hero, saviour... scapegoat.

He hears the wings again, thudding against the glass in a blind panic – but this time the wings are his own.