The Eyes

Chapter Seven

There was nothing behind him.

There was nothing in front of him.

Cattle moved. Cattle ate. Cattle moved again. Cattle went to the slaughterhouse. Cattle butchered cried out a long lasting cry of death before dying.

The tears of the Cattle meant nothing to the maddening screams of the mad, blind, deaf and horrible god that lived where none should live and did that which none should do.

He, It, She, They and None worked on the same thing, on scopes and planes beyond human, godly or infernal knowledge atop realities that weren't false nor real.

Maddening, as the words whispered were from the very same rocks he trudged upon, Harry Potter clenched tightly to his books.

He gripped the leather of the covers hastily, clawing with his fingers as if to hold a squirming purulent rotten pustule tightly to his chest. The book held knowledge that he could use and devour, quench his thirst upon and demand for more.

The whispers in the darkness abhorred him.

"All those that go to Slytherin are Dark Wizards," a voice whispered.

"Is it possible? Harry Potter in Slytherin?"

Why care about the houses? PATHETIC FOOLS!

Houses were nothing more than shiny colors made to blind the people of their own stupidity, make them believe in something that wasn't for a shiny cup made of earth's not even precious metals! Points were meaningless glistening jewels, holding no value, no aid against the forces of indifference.

Indifference.

That was the true powerful devastation of truth.

There was not a caring god or a spiteful god. There was a God.

And Indifferent it blasphemously chanter throughout the universe feasting upon galaxies and planes.

Millions screamed and died and merely did the thing lurk beyond a twitch of its purulent skin.

A mere speck of nothingness compared to the vast infinity of the universe.

What could he, a minuscule spit, do?

Pathetic. All of them.

Pathetic.

He entered the classroom. Everyone turned to gaze at him as he sat down on the only free chair, right at the forefront. The professor looked at him.

"Mister Potter! You're fifty minutes late!" Professor Flitwick squeaked. "How come? Were you lost?"

"I didn't seek the right path," Harry muttered through clenched teeth. "I came through all the wrong ones, so that truth could not be found within. Enough wrongs make true out of false."

"Mister Potter…you were late on purpose?"

"My purpose was not to be late, but I was late on purpose," Harry replied. "I had to avoid things."

"We'll talk more after class. At the present, you should try to copy the notes on the chalkboard and see if you can manage the spell. Wingardium Leviosa is a common levitation charm, very useful…"

Harry gazed at the feather in front of him.

The feather gazed back and began to cry. Ripped, torn, and shattered it cried for him for help and aid.

"She wants to go back," Harry stated.

"Who wants to go back, Mister Potter?" Filius was at a loss of words. Maybe the boy really wasn't all that centered… then again, from what he had heard, Albus had taken him out of an Asylum of all places.

"The feather wants to go back," Harry retorted. "You plucked it out and it wants to go back."

"Blimey, Harry Potter is bonkers!" there was a snort and then laughter filled the air.

The windows trembled as the castle's walls shook.

Silence returned. "I will pluck your arm, Zacharias Smith," Harry said softly, "And then I will not give it back."

A cold chill ran down the Hufflepuff's spine.

"Do you want me to pluck your arm, Zacharias Smith? Do you want me to tear your limb out of its socket, watch your flesh rip and the blood spray as your bone cracks," his tongue clicked, "Want me to do it, Zacharias Smith?"

"Mister Potter, I assure you the feather is just a transfiguration. No animal was harmed…"

"Professor," Harry smiled. "Next time, look at what you transfigure," he chuckled. "A rock isn't a rock if it breathes."

The feather twitched. It expanded. It contracted. It shattered. It reformed. Limbs, long and thin, emerged from it as they formed sinews, marrows, flesh, bones and twisted skin that deformed.

It was a feather, but it wasn't a feather.

It had been a rock, but the rock had never existed.

Filius' eyes widened to saucers, as he stared at the indescribable thing in front of him. His heart beat furiously as the small part of goblin that was within his body told him to run, make the tunnel collapse behind him and even go as far as ditch the gold if it worked in keeping whatever it was he was running from at bay.

A goblin never ditched the gold.

He was just a quarter goblin, but he would have ditched the gold in a heartbeat.

Then the feather was back and Filius hitched out in relief.

"Merlin be blessed, holy gold of the saint grail…"

Harry inclined his head to the side, and the feather levitated. The window opened, softly creaking as the cold breeze of September flew inside to catch the feather and bring it outside.

Then the window closed, and Harry turned to gaze at professor Flitwick.

"You shouldn't go back where you took the stone, professor," Harry acquiesced. "It was angry, you see. You really should have brought it back without help."

Filius didn't answer.

He just stared at Harry Potter.

Harry stood up and walked outside. He had to be fast enough. He had to reach the next lesson before they could catch up. If they caught up, after all, then he'd have to find another way around.

The class he left behind erupted in furious whispers and shocked exclamations.

Filius caught his breath, his breath finding a solution to his problems. "Now, now! Mister Potter is just the prankster his father was! Oh my…Well, I suppose that will be ten less points for Slytherin for Mister Potter being late, but twenty-five points for Slytherin for his absolutely egregious work of transfiguration and levitation! My…and all of it without me seeing him move the wand," Filius muttered the last part, gazing at the empty desk where Harry had been a moment before.

The explanation flew across the minds, the words, the speeches…it became reality and was accepted.

The human mind, for all of its flaws, had one thing that excelled beyond all doubt and comparison. It could lie to itself, it could ignore that which was the horrible truth of the world.

Unfortunately, Harry could not close his eyes to the truth…for he saw it, always.

And the truth had sharp fangs and claws, rubbery tentacles filled with teeth and laughed a maddening cackle that held no doubt of its completely inhuman intentions.

But it wasn't evil.

Reality wasn't evil.

It simply was…

Indifferent.

Author's notes

Good. Evil. They are concept for mortal. All is relative.

Even Cthulhu.