One Day
And where is the fire I see in memories of mirrors?
The sky has left my eyes, and with it went my soul.
Still I dream in technicolor and with eyes closed I have shown
In solitary hope I've found my home.
--At Last I've Found My Home, The Cobbler
It was back to the station. He watched as parents flooded the station, each eagerly craning their necks in search of their children. He watched a young blonde run towards her beaming mother. Along his left a group of red heads of various ages suddenly erupted. "Mum's here, Harry. Write to me!" a tall gangly teen whispered as he walked off. Further up ahead a man put out his cigarette, the sweet smoke curling up into nothingness.
Family. That was the one thing the famous, acclaimed Harry Potter desired so much. So many times he had come close to having one, but again and again he was robbed of it. Perhaps he was meant to be a loner. An outcast in this society of nucleated groups.
He remembered the first time he had looked into the mirror of erised. That same feeling overpowered him each time he realised the infinite possibilities that were open to him. His relations. He never knew them, but he could create them. In his mind, at most. The same group of raven-haired people who might just have knobbly knees as well. But just like how he had erased he who must not be named. no. His name was Voldemort. Dumbledore would disapprove of his seeming fear to say the name. Voldemort. Just as he had erased Voldemort into non-existence, Voldemort had erased his entire family. With him as the only exception. Truly, there were those who feared Voldemort. Not Harry. The only reason why he disliked using the name was the intense hatred he felt for it. Voldemort. He practically spat it out.
"Harry?" a voice shook him out from the depths of his mind. He smiled at her apprehensively. "Harry, I have to go. Will you be visiting Ron this summer? Do write. Bye!".
Ah. Ron's family. The closest thing he had ever known to a warm, loving family. Home is where the heart is, they said. His heart was in Ron's home. But once more, there was, there had to be, there always would be, an obstacle-the family, the home where his heart definitely did not lay itself to rest. One day, he swore, one day he would escape and forge a place in the world for himself.
One day.
And where is the fire I see in memories of mirrors?
The sky has left my eyes, and with it went my soul.
Still I dream in technicolor and with eyes closed I have shown
In solitary hope I've found my home.
--At Last I've Found My Home, The Cobbler
It was back to the station. He watched as parents flooded the station, each eagerly craning their necks in search of their children. He watched a young blonde run towards her beaming mother. Along his left a group of red heads of various ages suddenly erupted. "Mum's here, Harry. Write to me!" a tall gangly teen whispered as he walked off. Further up ahead a man put out his cigarette, the sweet smoke curling up into nothingness.
Family. That was the one thing the famous, acclaimed Harry Potter desired so much. So many times he had come close to having one, but again and again he was robbed of it. Perhaps he was meant to be a loner. An outcast in this society of nucleated groups.
He remembered the first time he had looked into the mirror of erised. That same feeling overpowered him each time he realised the infinite possibilities that were open to him. His relations. He never knew them, but he could create them. In his mind, at most. The same group of raven-haired people who might just have knobbly knees as well. But just like how he had erased he who must not be named. no. His name was Voldemort. Dumbledore would disapprove of his seeming fear to say the name. Voldemort. Just as he had erased Voldemort into non-existence, Voldemort had erased his entire family. With him as the only exception. Truly, there were those who feared Voldemort. Not Harry. The only reason why he disliked using the name was the intense hatred he felt for it. Voldemort. He practically spat it out.
"Harry?" a voice shook him out from the depths of his mind. He smiled at her apprehensively. "Harry, I have to go. Will you be visiting Ron this summer? Do write. Bye!".
Ah. Ron's family. The closest thing he had ever known to a warm, loving family. Home is where the heart is, they said. His heart was in Ron's home. But once more, there was, there had to be, there always would be, an obstacle-the family, the home where his heart definitely did not lay itself to rest. One day, he swore, one day he would escape and forge a place in the world for himself.
One day.