Disclaimer: I do not own the original canon nor am I making any profit from writing this piece. All works are accredited to their original authors, performers, and producers while this piece is mine. No copyright infringement is intended. I acknowledge that all views and opinions expressed herein are merely my interpretations of the characters and situations found within the original canon and may not reflect the views and opinions of the original author(s), producer(s), and/or other people.
Warnings: This story may contain material that is not suitable for all audiences and may offend some readers. Please exercise understanding of personal boundaries before and during reading.
Author's Note (Generic Note for the Houses Competition): All my works should be considered to be Not Epilogue Compliant and I treat everything that is not the HP books and the Hogwarts Library Collection as apocrypha (supplementary to canon but still outside of it) and treat it as such (including ignoring it unless it suits me). I also make a policy of not ignoring abusive and distasteful actions/decisions of characters and not handwaving the effects of trauma experienced by characters. If you feel that a character isn't acting like their "canon self" chances are good that it's because of one of these two things and they are merely displaying a more realistic response than they did in canon. Such changes are not considered AU elements, and therefore do not have the same requirements.
Author's Note(s): So, just a head's up, my depressed readers: this fic has a lot potentially triggering content, just due to the general fugue that Harry's in during the fic and the direction his thoughts head because of that.
Dedication: to the Lady Justicia, who is blindfolded to ensure that all are the same before her and armed with the sword of Truth & Knowledge. May all remember that Your scales are tipped in favor of those to be judged, not in favor of those authorized to judge, and that Your sword smites those who use the authority entrusted to them to spit upon Your edict of impartiality.
Challenge/Competition Block:
Stacked with: Houses Competition (Term 3); Shadows of Consequence; Paranormal Phantasm; Terms of Service
House: Hufflepuff
Year: 6th
Category: Drabble (200-750 words)
Additional Requirement: A sad occasion/event/emotion
Prompt: The truth (theme)
Representation: BC Use; Magic; Saviors/Heroes
Bonus Challenge(s): Machismo (Emotional); Second Verse (Non-Traditional; Mouth of Babes; Tomorrow's Shade; Some Beach; Uncivil Obedience)
Word Count: 748
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Swinging Truth
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"Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth." – Buddha
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The night was just as unbearably hot as the day had been. All of England was baking and most of it was under water bans. That included a specific parish in Surrey aptly known as Little Whinging. The water ban didn't stop people from sneaking an extra watering for their gardens and lawns. Neighbors had varying reactions to this practice, but none were as judgmental as the residents of number four Privet Drive.
Well, most of the residents of number four were judgmental. Harry Potter honestly couldn't care less about the neighbors giving their azaleas sneak-drinks in the middle of the night. As he lazily swung in the playpark near Privet Drive, Harry had bigger worries on his mind than water bans and prize flowers.
Almost a month before, Harry had been the unwilling participant in the resurrection of the Dark Lord known as Voldemort. He had witnessed the pointless murder of a classmate and had somehow survived a duel with the Dark Lord himself. The bit of luck that had created the Reverse Spell effect had been nothing short of miraculous. Harry didn't think he would be able to count on that luck in any future encounters, regardless of what Dumbledore had indicated. Maybe it was just Harry's imagination, but that twinkle in the man's eyes when Harry had explained the ritual reminded him of the gleam that Uncle Vernon got whenever he had come up with a new plan to punish him.
It didn't sit right.
It especially didn't sit right when combined with the way his friends and Sirius had been sending him letters empty of anything that even resembled substance. Harry almost wished that Dobby was stealing his mail again, preventing him from getting anything. Maybe then he wouldn't feel so alone, like everyone was just trying to keep him tucked out of the way until they needed someone to blame for things.
Hogwarts was supposed to be different than Privet Drive and his magical friends were supposed to be different than the Dursleys. It wasn't fair for that to be a lie, even if the truth was that life was never fair.
Harry sighed before pumping his legs to gain height and speed. Then he leaned into the inertia of the motion, closing his eyes against the setting sun and letting himself be comforted by the way it turned the darkness into a warm orange. It was the closest he could get to flying while in the Muggle world without risking breaking the Statute of Secrecy.
What wouldn't he give to just fly away sometimes? To just hop on his broom and leave behind all the eyes that watched him with such distrust and the whispers that followed, spreading both secrets and lies? Truth was, he probably thought about it more often than people expected of him. He was their hero, their savior. Why would he ever need help himself?
Honestly, the wizarding world was not any better than the Muggle one. They just as easily turned on him when it suited them. They expected him to act certain ways based on what people had said about him, instead of how he actually was. They didn't want to see past the masks he carefully created to survive, not that many of them even paid attention to the masks themselves.
He was their hero or their scapegoat; he was either a great wizard or a complete idiot; he was either completely ignored or stalked.
There was never any in-between, not for him.
And the truth was, it was killing him slowly, like the frost that crept ahead of a swarm of dementors.
Harry puffed out a breath before pumping his legs again, harder than before, determined to reach max height this time. The burn in his lungs and legs chased away a bit of the chill that had felt too real for a moment. At the top of his next swing, he let go and jumped off the swing.
For a moment, he felt like he was flying, like he had taken flight assisted only by the wind and his magic.
If possible, he would have chased the feeling all the way to the moon and beyond into infinity.
Harry hit the ground with a jarring thud that he felt into his bones.
It snapped him back to reality and the truth that he would never be free.
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An Ending
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