*
The Love Parade
*
Harry lay face down on his tattered mattress, adjusting his eyes to the darkness. If he stared into it long enough, he could almost make out his bruised skin, seemingly screeching at him like Aunt Petunia did when she was mad.
And she was mad today.
Suddenly, Harry tensed, hearing the great booming of Uncle Vernon's footsteps on the floor above his cupboard. He swallowed.
Uncle Vernon was mad today, too. It wasn't a very good situation.
"Petunia, I want that boy out of my house, once and for all. This is the last straw, and I mean it. What little Dudders did today was admirable, but I can't deal with the shame brought upon me if he gets expelled. Imagine, Petunia! My son expelled! Those lunatics at their school think Dudley was wrong. Wrong, for doing what he did! That filth got what he deserved, but the nurse and his teachers disagreed. Dudley was punished. I think they pity the boy, Petunia! It's favoritism! I won't have it! If anyone should be castigated, it's that piece of pathetic squalor moaning in the basement."
Uncle Vernon was talking about him like he was some kind of maddening enigma that was weak and doleful and insolent. But Harry wouldn't have it. The inner part of his eyes began to burn like scorching fire, but he wouldn't cry. He wouldn't have it. He wouldn't give in.
He wouldn't!
But as Petunia began to agree with his uncle and started saying heartbreaking things about him, Harry had to choke back a sob. His throat was burning in pain, too. Harry's eyes were now shut tight, as if forcing the tears back. They were still closed so tensely it was painful when the Dursleys retreated to their bedroom upstairs.
He was so angry, and yet so sad at the same time. Countless times, he had thought about running away. But he reminded himself what it would mean, and forcefully remembered that there was no one in the world that cared. No one that could save him. But Harry would fight.
Often times, when Dudley and his gang would go Harry-Hunting, Harry himself would lie for hours in his cupboard willing himself not to cry, just as he was now. The only thing that seemed to even remotely help was the sky. It was so simple, yet so brilliant. Late at night, when Harry was sure the Dursleys were asleep, he could safely sneak outside and just watch, as long as he remembered to skip the last step on the stairs. He didn't want to think about what happened when Uncle Vernon caught him, though.
Harry safely rested his aching muscles on the garden bench, cautiously lying on his back. He didn't want to think about what happened to his back, either.
*
Baby face don't grow so fast
Make a special wish that will always last
*
The blackness surrounded Harry, comforting him like no other could. The tiny white dots twinkled merrily above him, cheerily shining like beacons of hope. Harry liked to picture the stars to be people that cared about him. The really bright one - his favorite - seemed to burn even more brightly tonight. It was the Dog Star. He could almost see a face, smiling down at him.
The two closest stars to Sirius, Harry liked to imagine, were his parents. They, too, glinted jovially, urging him to wish upon one of them. His over-bright eyes focused on Sirius once again, and he pleaded with it, choking back the anguish.
Please let someone love me, Harry thought, please let someone love me.
His eyes burned again, but this time, Harry didn't try to stop the tears. They seared his skin, feeling unhealthy and impure.
*
Rub this magic lantern
He will make your dreams come true for you
*
As Harry lay on the bench, he thought about his dreams and the fairy tales he liked to read. Both his aunt and uncle scorned him for this, but they didn't know he had many books stashed in secret. Reading was one of his favorite things to do, besides watching the endless darkness above.
He would read about dragons and knights and wizards, all living in a beautiful and Utopian-like world. His favorite books were by J.R.R. Tolkien. Gandalf always seemed especially appealing to him, for some odd reason. Harry thought he liked Gandalf so much likely because of his trusted wisdom, or his honest and heroic deeds.
Harry always pretended when he couldn't sleep or was particularly depressed, that he lived with a lady with surreal green eyes and long, dark red hair that glittered in the light. The woman never talked, but she would smile at Harry, and he would smile back. There was another man that looked a lot like himself, who had glasses and would laugh loudly and hug Harry like he'd never let go.
With these two people, Harry would go on daring adventures, and ride to large castles on dazzling unicorns and fight monstrous dragons with great, flashing swords. They lived in a cottage all by themselves, with no school nurses to poke and prod him, no bullying gits with smirking faces to taunt him, and most of all, no Dursleys to crush his heart, which was slowly breaking more and more every day.
Harry even wrote about his adventures at school, for a short story assignment. The teacher loved it and gave it a very high mark for creativity. But when she told the Dursleys, at a conference, that he was the most imaginative writer in the class and showed the story to them, Uncle Vernon promptly ripped it up and told her it was nonsense.
He cried that night, too. But even though the paper was gone, he could still see his real home…
*
Ride the rainbow to the other side
Catch a falling star and then take a ride
To the river that sings and the clover that
Brings good luck to you, it's all true
*
The dawn was languidly approaching Privet Drive, and Harry knew he must hurry inside quickly, or he'd be even sorer than he was right now. He crept inside and down to cupboard, but not before stealing some paper from Aunt Petunia's market list tablet and checking the time. It was nearly four o'clock in the morning.
His hand clutched on a black-inked pen, Harry began to stare down at the paper, more adventures creeping into his mind.
*
Pink elephants and lemonade, dear Harry
Hear the laughter running through the love parade
Candy kisses and a sunny day, dear Harry
See the roses raining on the love parade
*
Someone's green eyes were staring into his own, happy and smiling. One lid dropped into a wink, and Harry's lips curled into a smile. This was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She was always so elated and joyous.
Harry suddenly wished, with a pang of sadness, that he could really live with this woman…and the man that always beamed widely at him even if something ferocious was chasing them through a deep, dark forest.
Uh oh, Harry thought, footsteps.
But coming down here? Had he been writing that long?
It was Aunt Petunia, coming down to hammer on the cupboard door to wake him up. But he was already awake…and his cupboard door wasn't shut, he realized with a jolt of panic.
Very abruptly, cold blue eyes were staring into his own.
"Um," Harry said, swallowing.
"BOY!" she screeched. "What are you doing awake?"
Harry couldn't speak as her gaze slowly shifted to the paper still clutched in his trembling hand…and then she saw his stash of fantasy books and more stories. Harry was quite sure she was about to explode, but she didn't. His aunt calmly grabbed the stack of paper, the story in his hand, and the three books in the corner. Aunt Petunia silently turned around, headed upstairs, and out of sight.
But Harry wasn't going to let her take his life away.
He ran up the stairs as fast as his legs could take him, skipping a few stairs on the way, and stopped so very suddenly he almost when sliding across the tile floor. He could hear ripping noises coming from the lounge, almost as if they were imitating the sound of his heart becoming even more wounded.
Then his heart seemed to stop altogether when he spotted his drawing of the two people. He was very proud of it. Sometimes, when he woke up from his usual nightmare of green light, he could spot that drawing and feel contented again.
But it was no more.
Harry almost screamed in agony. She couldn't do that! It was all that was keeping him going. He didn't have friends (Dudley made sure of that), the rest of his family was dead, and no one else was there to say it was all right and it would get better. Just the lady and the man.
That was it.
No, Harry thought, she can't do that…please…no…
And with a final rip, "The Lord of the Rings" was shredded on the floor.
Harry never cried in front of the Dursleys. He wouldn't do it. But today, he let the tears flow freely and didn't bother to wipe them away. But a sudden thought struck him.
He would fight…it wouldn't be gone. Not as long as he lived. He would fight tooth and nail if he had to, to keep the lady and the man alive in himself. Aunt Petunia could rip up as much as she wanted, Uncle Vernon could yell himself hoarse, and Dudley could beat him until he couldn't see straight, but he'd keep the lady and the man alive.
Forever.
*
If the land of make believe
Is inside your heart it will never leave
*
The following days at school were just the same as they always were, but Harry had determination.
In Language Arts that day, Harry was in his element. His pencil flowed and drifted across the paper, scratching and tapping until it turned flat. His hand soon ached with the pain of gripping his pencil so hard, but this would be the best of all the stories. His teacher would be proud, but not as proud as Harry was going to be when he finished.
And the Dursleys didn't have to know about it, because he had a plan.
*
There's a golden gate where the fairies all wait
And dancing moons, for you
Close your eyes and you'll be there
Where the mermaids sing as they comb their hair
*
"All right, class," his teacher said some days later, "I want these to be handed to me in alphabetical order. I'll call you up when your name comes up on my list…Uh, Miss Andrews; can you come up here first, please? Yes, that's right, just hand it to me…"
Soon, Harry was called up to her desk. He reached it, trembling.
"Oh, hello, Mr. Potter. I'm looking forward to reading your story," she smiled up at him.
Harry cast a nervous look around to check if anyone was listening.
"Er, well, you know my aunt and uncle don't particularly like my stories…they think fantasy is a bit far-fetched…"
She nodded, curious as to what he was getting at.
"Well," he said, "I'd really appreciate it if you didn't show it to them. My stories mean a lot to me, and, er, you saw what my uncle did to that last one…"
She suddenly looked very sad for Harry. He could sense her looking at the bruises on his arms from various calamities. Then she suddenly smiled. "I promise, Harry," she said, calling him by his first name, "that I won't show them your stories. But I will show the headmistress. They're having a contest in London for the best story, for children your age. The Head of the school has to send it in, but I can tell the headmistress your predicament, and your family doesn't have to know anything about the contest. Would you like that, Harry?" she asked warmly.
Harry merely smiled.
*
Like a fountain of gold you can never grow old
Where dreams are made, your love parade
Your dreams are made inside the love parade
It's a holiday inside the love parade
*
That night, Harry was happier than he had been in ages. Usually, the sight of his cupboard would weigh down on him with sadness, but it looked warm and welcoming tonight, like a real bedroom.
He settled himself on the cold mattress with the shabby blanket, and fell into an easy sleep. He was near the cottage with the lady and the man, looking up at the stars. Then the lady did something she had never done before.
She sang, while cradling the small, seven-year-old boy in her soft arms, gently rocking him.
*
On the merry-go-round of lovers and white turtledoves
Leprechauns floating by, this is your lullaby
*
Just as she sang, leprechauns floated by, carrying lanterns to light their way. The forest surrounding their cottage was filled with dancing lights, the little fairies darting around. The man leaned over and placed his lips on Harry's forehead, but when Harry began to speak, the man put his fingers to his lips to silence him, looking at the lady.
*
Sugarplum fingertips kissing your honey lips
Close your eyes sleepy head, is it time for your bed
*
Harry felt his eyes drooping. He wanted to stay awake, to hear her sweet voice sing and sing and sign and never stop, but he had to fight harder and harder to stay conscious.
She brought her lips close to his face and whispered, "Stay with me in this place, Harry. We love you so much…don't leave us…"
But when Harry woke the next morning, he had no recollection of the lady and the man. It was as though they had never existed.
Years later on Harry's twelfth birthday, he heard a faint whisper in his ear…
*
Never forget what I said
Hang on, you're already there
*
Author's Note: This is my very first songfiction. Any feedback will be greatly appreciated. And go ahead, tell me what you think. It really sucked, didn't it? I wrote it in one night, which is a big accomplishment for me, but I also think it wasn't very smart. Did it flow right and everything? Ugh…can't wait until the public opinion. Frankly, I think it deserves a great big RE-WRITE, but you guys may think differently. Who knows?
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related characters belong to Joanne K. Rowling. (A/N: Hey - did you guys know that Kathleen isn't really her middle name? She doesn't have one! But the publishers insisted that she did have one so they could call her by her initials, and she chose Kathleen, after her grandmother. Who knew?) Um…I have absolutely NO affiliation with her, even though I wish I did. And you might want to take notice of the one little word that is quite common on this website…fanfiction.
Lily's Lullaby (A/N: Doesn't that sound like a good fic title?) belongs to Madonna, from her "Like a Prayer" album. The song is called "Dear Jessie" in reality. (A/N: Whoa…reality…scary…) You might notice that I used two songs from that album now, and I'm thinking about using another one. It has really good lyrics! Bedtime Stories has some good ones, too, if you want to check those out. And Erotica…and Ray of Light…heck, go to www.lyrics.com and check out all the Madonna tunes…she writes really great lyrics, you can't deny it!