This is a little song fic to Five for Fighting's "It's Not Easy (Superman)." It's Harry's thoughts immediately after GoF.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling; the song belongs to Five for Fighting. None of it, alas, belongs to me.
I can't stand to fly
It had been over a year since Harry had last played Quidditch; he hadn't been on his broomstick since the first task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. That was his talent; it was easy and fantastic for him.
But now he thought of Cedric, and that inevitably lead to Voldemort.
I'm not that naive
Why couldn't he be like most of the wizards in Britain, who didn't know yet that Voldemort had returned? Why did he have that awful knowledge, and why had it had to be with his blood in the potion? WHY?
I'm just out to find the better part of me
Sirius said he was like his father. Harry wanted to be like his father, he wanted to be someone his parents would have been proud of. But for now he was lost in a prison of guilt and sadness.
I'm more than a bird More than a plane
He was the Famous Harry Potter, though. The Boy Who Lived. Tri-Wizard Champion. Youngest Seeker in a Century. The list went on, the accolades, the titles. He wanted none of it.
More than some pretty face beside a train
It had started that day at Platform 9 3/4, he reflected ruefully. Ginny's initial reaction - "Can I go and see him?" - was one of the more benign ones he had encountered. Didn't they realise he was a real person? Didn't they realise there was more to him than a scar?
And it's not easy to be me.
But, no. He was Harry Potter, and that was supposed to be enough. Who cared if he was locked up or starved by his Muggle relatives that he lived with during the summers. Who cared if he really did miss his parents and wish that he remembered them? He was Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, so it didn't matter what he wanted. Not to Dumbledore, not to anyone. Maybe to Sirius, maybe to Hermione, maybe to Ron. But maybe not.
I wish that I could cry
He drew in a shuddering breath, remembering the release he had found when he had cried into Mrs. Weasley's arms that night in the infirmary. He hadn't let himself cry aside from that once.
Fall upon my knees
He remembered going with Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia to the Muggle church when he was younger. Vaguely he remembered kneeling and praying for peace. Harry kneeled on the bare floor. He needed peace --" peace for his world, peace for his soul. He didn't know what praying was or why it was done, but he desperately needed peace.
Find a way to lie
He was good at lying now, though. He lied in his owls to Ron, to Hermione, even to his godfather, Siriius. He told everyone he was fine. He was, wasn't he?
Bout a home I'll never see
For a brief, shining moment the year before he had thought that he would get to leave the Dursley's and live with Sirius. Sirius was still a fugitive on the run, though, and Harry was still with Dursley's. Would he ever live in a house with people who truly wanted him?
It may sound absurd but don't be naive
even heroes have the right to bleed
Wasn't he allowed to be hurt? The professors all seemed to expect him to perk back up. So did his fellow students. Sirius had left before Harry wasn't even out of the hospital wing. Harry knew he was being unfair; Sirius had had to leave. But that didn't ease the pang in his heart. Ron and Hermione were there for him; he didn't know what he would have done without them. But he couldn't tell them, couldn't let them see the holes in his heart. No fourteen year old should be forced to deal with what Harry had seen, whether they offered to listen or not.
I may be disturbed but won't you concede
Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, refuesed to believe that Voldemort had returned. He thought Harry was disturbed, thanks to the articles Rita Skeeter had written. Written was too kind of a word. The truth was, most of her articles were pure lies, with maybe one truth for every few paragraphs, just enough to tie it together.
Even heroes have the right to dream
All Harry wasnted was to be unknown. Not famous. He'd keep being the youngest Seeker, and get rid of the rest of it. Even if he couldn't bring his parents back, he could be living with Sirius. He dreamed of peace, no Voldemort, someone that loved him.
And it's not easy to be me.
Would Harry ever find the peace he sought?
Up ahead away away from me
well it's alright
you can all sleep sound tonight
I'm not crazy or anything
Harry wasn't crazy, he wasn't disturbed. He had just seen too much, endured too much, for any fourteen year old to handle. So what if he would be fifteen in a few weeks? It was too much for a fifteen year old, too.
I can't stand to fly
I'm not that naive
Why couldn't he go back to the way things were at the beginning of his first year, or the beginning of the second year, even? No Voldemort just over the horizon, not that he was aware of. Just classes, Quidditch, and his two best friends.
Men weren't meant to ride
With clouds between their knees
His aunt and uncle thought he was unnatural and abnormal, because he was a wizard. They didn't even know about Quidditch, broomsticks, and cauldrons. Just locked him in his room and had him adhere to a diet that left him continually hungry. Maybe they thought wizards didn't eat, either. Harry could only wonder; he would never understand the Dursleys.
I'm only a man in a silly red sheet
Even the Tri-Wizard Tournament wasn't horrible, at least the very first night. They had all thrown a huge party for him in the Gryffindor Common Room that night. Fred and George had tied a Gryffindor flag around his shoulders like a cape, and everyone had congratulated him. Nearly everyone. Even now, his eyes smarted when he thought about the time that he and Ron had been angry with each other.
Diggin' for Kryponite on this one way street
Some days it felt like he was completely lacking in any control over his life. Why should Dumbledore have to OK it for him to go the Weasley's? If the Dursleys were his guardians, then it should merely be between them and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. If not, why did he have to come back to this horrid place, after having the most horrible experience in his life?
Only a man in a funny red sheet
Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia thought everything about Harry was nasty, from his hair to his scar to his eyes to the robes he wore while at Hogwarts. The hand-me-downs he wore only made him look even smaller and slighter than he already was, since Dudley was the size of a small cow.
Looking for special things inside of me inside of me
Inside of me, inside of me, inside of me
There must be some reason that Voldemort had wanted to kill him. His mother needn't have died, Voldemort had told him, she only died protecting him. Why? Why had Voldemort wanted to kill a one-year-old child?
Only a man lookin' for a dream
Sometimes he had dreams instead of nightmares. Dreams of his parents. Dreams of living with Sirius, maybe in a flat in Hogsmeade, or off Diagon Alley, or somewhere else. Dreams of a happy life. A life he had never had. Maybe as an adult, he could create it for himself. He doubted it though; with Voldemort's determination, he secretly thought, deep down, he would not probably survive to his twentieth birthday. It made these days with the Dursleys rankle even more.
I'm only a man in a funny red sheet
And it's not easy
ooh hoo hoo
It's not easy to be me.
Harry stood up. It was just past midnight. He sent Hedwig out the window, and packed everything in his trunk, sticking his wand in his pocket. He dragged his trunk quietly down the stairs and out the front door, then stuck out his wand and summoned the Knight Bus. It arrived moments later. "The Burrow, please," Harry requested as he paid fifteen Sickles and settled back onto a bed near the driver, drawing the curtains as he laid back.
At three A.M., the bus shuddered to a stop in front of the Burrow. All the lights were out and the house was silent as Harry crept in the front door. In a house of wizards, he used wingardium leviosa to get his trunk to Ron's room. Ron was sleeping peacefully. With no where else to go, Harry kicked off his oversized shoes and crawled into bed beside his best friend and slept. It was the closest thing to home that he could find.