The Boy-Who-Lived: A Musical

Act Five, Scene Thirty-Eight

Harry stood still fully aware of the stares of the thousands in front of him. The stifling heat of the spotlight suffocated him. His heavy breathing resounded through his ears. A lone sweat detached from his brow and threw itself to the wooden stage. At the same time, a soft music reverberated through the hall. The melancholic notes of the piano tugged on his heart's string. It narrated a story of loss, of the Boy-Who-Lived's unfathomable grief for having just lost his Godfather. Harry closed his eyes, losing himself in the tragic music. The grief embraced him and consumed him till he wasn't even aware of himself. For a moment, he heard his own sobs at his parents' funeral in those mournful notes. He heard his parents' last screams. His limbs shook as the memories of past resurfaced...

The five-year old wiped his tears as he stared as the freshly buried graves. The single white rose was still clenched in his left hand, its thorns piercing his tender skin. Yet he refused to relinquish it. Placing it on the grave would be admitting that James and Lily Potter were truly gone and that Harry Potter was an orphan...

Standing on the tip of his toes, Harry arched his back almost inhumanely, the physical pain testifying the agony rising inside him. Accompanying the plaintive notes of the music, his friends rose besides him, their soft spins a sharp contrast against his jerky turns. Hermione's sympathetic smile tried to calm him, Ron's strong support tried to balance him. Neville's unwavering presence, Ginny's soft touch and Luna's strange understanding surrounded him. They tried to ground him, to appease him. But Harry only felt trampled under their well-meaning attention. He broke away from their presence for they would never understand the horrors he had seen.

"Lily, go! Take Harry and jump!" his father shouted over the protests as he frantically tried to control the car. He was still pressing on the failed brakes.

Harry yelled as his mother grabbed him. A gust of cold air assaulted them as they jumped. The curtain of red hair shielded Harry's view of the car exploding ahead. The warm hands surrounding him protected him from the jagged rocks that instead took his mother's life.

The beat of the music increased, reflecting his own rising heart beat. He jumped, he spun, he swiveled. He tore at the unjust world for having snatched his parents; he cried at his friends and enemies alike for never understanding what it was like to live under the painful guilt. The mounting crescendo only fuelled his rousing fury. The loud beats of drums reminded him of his father's lungful laughter. The soft brittle notes of the violin sounded like his mother's soft grace. The crimson and gold streaks on his face glinted like blood and tears under the spotlight. His mane of black hair whipped around him as he spun, vicious and animal-like. He didn't even mind the bloodied toe on which he stood for the pain couldn't rival the one he was drowning in. He was no longer Harry Potter, he was never the Boy-Who-Lived. He was the orphan who had been bereft of a parent's love for too long. As the crescendo reached its pinnacle, he tore open his robe, revealing the crimson and golden pelt beneath.

The music died a soft plaintive end and he stood bare-chested, facing the crowd. His teeth were bared, his hands clawed. His eyes shone under the intense fury and agony. For a moment, a moment of silent reigned in the Hall, during which Harry could hear his own laboured breaths. Then, it was like a dam broke. The thunderous applause assaulted his ears. The flashes of hundreds of cameras blinded him. The moment the velvety violet curtain dropped, Harry swayed on his feet and fell unconscious.

Written for Ultimate Battle

Prompt: min. 600 words, Movie Star!AU, Singer!AU, Actor!AU or anything of that sort

Written for Greek Mythology Battle

Prompt: Write something completely AU

Written for School of Prompts

Prompt: violet