Hello, everyone, sorry that I've been gone. I went to Korea for a week and a half. Here's something my brother wrote since I've lost a lot of interest and inspiration. Thanks much, hyung.


Title: The Kind Of Silence That Deafens
Author: Jun
Rating: G
Warnings: Small bit of angst, short, it's set the day after.
Summary: Sequel to "Walls", Harry returns to the bathroom to find something more than just words.



===

At night, all Harry was able to think about was that poem, and how at this very moment its author was probably crying at the sight of what he had done. Ruined it.

But every word still lingered in his mind, and he himself knew that they weren't going to leave him. Maybe if he wrote it again, word for word, in the same scribbled handwriting which he felt came from his own hands, the author wouldn't notice. But what if that person already had? Well, Harry had to at least try, didn't he?

And so with hesistant steps he made his way to the bathroom. The hall had already been filled with students waiting for breakfast, but were much too busy with their own chatter to notice the famous Harry Potter slip by them, tentative and slow as he was.

He stood there, searching for any sign that someone else was in here with him. But he felt nothing, saw nothing and heard nothing but the bathroom's scenery, the water running quietly through the pipes, and the endless muffled twittering of students outside. Yet his eyes still searched for something more. And they found it.

On the wall, again, in the very same spot where the poem he had destroyed was once written. Though instead of another lovely poem, Harry found a singular word in bold. A small, common word it was, yet Harry found himself drawn to it. What word held so much power as to draw a person to touch it, just to see and feel if it was real?

Alone

.

Once he was directly in front of it, Harry found that he couldn't even lift his arms. He was frozen in time, unable to move yet he felt as normal as always. All he could see was the word, and everything around him was silent.

"Do you ever get that feeling, when you know you're loved even though love is completely unreachable to someone like you?"

Words swirled in his head, clogging his flow of thought. Only this voice was heard and understood. A shiver was the only movement he could offer as the hands of the voice were brought above his shoulders. Such a tiny distance from that touch, but still it seemed so far away.

I know that feeling, Harry thought.

The hands continued down, ghosting besides Harry's arms and hands slowly, as if to mock him. He stayed paralyzed.

"Or... that feeling you get when you think of angels and their stubborn will to remain hidden, away from your touch though their so... close..."

The voice seemed so desperate now, and the hands kept roaming without touching him. So close, and so far away. Harry wanted to shout and hold the voice close to him, but he couldn't. He was stuck in his own soundless void of loneliness.

"You know, that feeling comes with a kind of unbearable quiet. The kind of silence that deafens."

Yes, Harry thought. Silence.

He could barely feel the tears welling up shamelessly in his eyes. But he felt the touch given to him, a touch from a hand that wiped his tears away with a cold, fleeting sweep.

"They're waiting for you, Harry Potter."

And it was all gone. Harry stepped back, gasping at what felt like a newborn movement to him. His mouth was open, eyes staring bewildered at the wall in front of him. Empty.

Empty like the bathroom he stood in. He ran outside, weaving his way through the myriad of students, hoping to get one glance at that person. But all he saw, as he was shoved around by the crowds, was a grayish blur of a young boy with a pale face covered with tangled locks of an angelic blonde melting into the massive throng of people.

And as the gray boy disappeared, Harry sank bank into a world of a silent oblivion. He walked along with the rest of the students, and sat at the Gryffindor Table with the other Gryffindor, yet one single phrase remained true and vivid in his mind.

"The kind of silence that deafens..." He murmured, staring out about him, unable to recognize the voices of the people that claimed to love him. All he could familiarize were the pair of stormy eyes boring into him with a menacing glare from somewhere hidden among the students that were seated on the Slytherin's side.

-end-

i personally liked it. give him some feedback, i think he'd appreciate that.