UPDATE: I should probably say that this has death, cutting, and hints of
yaoi (MaleXMale love) He he, sorry for not stating before to whom may have
read it before I did this. No like no read.
Harry walked around the cold, damp apartment. It was cold, oh so cold, not only on the outside of Harry, but on the inside as well. He moved slowly from room to room, looking each one over carefully. His hand danced over the items that belonged to his love, or that reminded him of them.
The green dragon dagger on top of the dresser, black cloaks in the closet, the broomstick in the corner, the Wizards Chess set in the living room, the jellybeans in the candy dish on the front table.. A lot of memories danced around the living quarters of the deceased and the living. The living, alive only because of the protection of his mother's love, and the deceased, dead because of a brutal tattoo on their arm.
Brutal..
That is the word for oh so many things that have come to pass recently in Harrys life. The brutal murder of his head teacher at his former school, the brutal attack on his love when their family placed the Dark Mark on their arm, the brutal words that were thrown towards people of different life stiles, the brutal war agenst muggles and wizards alike.
Harry sighed a watery sigh. His eyes were tearing with bitter sweat tears. Why now? Why was now the time that the one thing in his life worth living for ripped from his grasp? Why was everything that he loved or cared deeply for taken from him and smashed agenst the wall?
He grabbed the sleeve of his cloak and rubbed his eyes. He can't let himself become weak, become soft. Ever since Voldemort became powerful again, Harry could never become weak. He reached the workroom, and picked up a stack of drawings. His love had always been so good at drawing. They should have been an artist instead of..
Harry stopped when he came to a picture of himself. It was what his love had seen when they looked at him. The scar wasn't there, the glasses were gone, and there was no pride in the emerald eyes. He was just a boy, lost, and alone. Living day to day on ones love. Just an ordinary boy.. Tears again pushed at his eyes. Everything was still too painful.
He replaced the papers onto the desk and walked to the kitchen. Nothing was there..everything was gone out of the kitchen. They had never needed to use it, only for special occasions such as birthdays, or holidays.
Next came the bathroom. This room probably had the most memories next to the bedroom. The mirror was smashed, the water in the tub only ran red, like the purest blood, and in the medicine cabinet laid the sharpest blades ever created.
He picked up one of the blades, and sat on the edge of the bathtub. Looking at the blade that his love had used to cut their arm so many times with. He rotated in his hands. Watching the light bounce off the cold, gray metal. He lifted up his sleeve on his left arm, exposing a black mark on it, a skull with a snake coming out of its mouth. He traced his fingers over the mark. He lifted the blade and slashed the spot where it was tattooed into his flesh. He slashed and slashed and slashed at it until it was a bloody mess. He fell to his knees and cried hard tears of hatred towards himself and Voldemort. If it wasn't for this mark, Draco wouldn't be dead, and he himself wouldn't have to live on agony.
A/N: Hah! Bet you didn't think that it was Draco! Eh? Eh?! Well, this was just something that I made up wile I was doing my homework..It isn't the best, but oh well, I kind of like it ^.^; Say what you want, Anything from Harry Potter will NEVER be anyone's beside J. K. Rollings. Later!
Harry walked around the cold, damp apartment. It was cold, oh so cold, not only on the outside of Harry, but on the inside as well. He moved slowly from room to room, looking each one over carefully. His hand danced over the items that belonged to his love, or that reminded him of them.
The green dragon dagger on top of the dresser, black cloaks in the closet, the broomstick in the corner, the Wizards Chess set in the living room, the jellybeans in the candy dish on the front table.. A lot of memories danced around the living quarters of the deceased and the living. The living, alive only because of the protection of his mother's love, and the deceased, dead because of a brutal tattoo on their arm.
Brutal..
That is the word for oh so many things that have come to pass recently in Harrys life. The brutal murder of his head teacher at his former school, the brutal attack on his love when their family placed the Dark Mark on their arm, the brutal words that were thrown towards people of different life stiles, the brutal war agenst muggles and wizards alike.
Harry sighed a watery sigh. His eyes were tearing with bitter sweat tears. Why now? Why was now the time that the one thing in his life worth living for ripped from his grasp? Why was everything that he loved or cared deeply for taken from him and smashed agenst the wall?
He grabbed the sleeve of his cloak and rubbed his eyes. He can't let himself become weak, become soft. Ever since Voldemort became powerful again, Harry could never become weak. He reached the workroom, and picked up a stack of drawings. His love had always been so good at drawing. They should have been an artist instead of..
Harry stopped when he came to a picture of himself. It was what his love had seen when they looked at him. The scar wasn't there, the glasses were gone, and there was no pride in the emerald eyes. He was just a boy, lost, and alone. Living day to day on ones love. Just an ordinary boy.. Tears again pushed at his eyes. Everything was still too painful.
He replaced the papers onto the desk and walked to the kitchen. Nothing was there..everything was gone out of the kitchen. They had never needed to use it, only for special occasions such as birthdays, or holidays.
Next came the bathroom. This room probably had the most memories next to the bedroom. The mirror was smashed, the water in the tub only ran red, like the purest blood, and in the medicine cabinet laid the sharpest blades ever created.
He picked up one of the blades, and sat on the edge of the bathtub. Looking at the blade that his love had used to cut their arm so many times with. He rotated in his hands. Watching the light bounce off the cold, gray metal. He lifted up his sleeve on his left arm, exposing a black mark on it, a skull with a snake coming out of its mouth. He traced his fingers over the mark. He lifted the blade and slashed the spot where it was tattooed into his flesh. He slashed and slashed and slashed at it until it was a bloody mess. He fell to his knees and cried hard tears of hatred towards himself and Voldemort. If it wasn't for this mark, Draco wouldn't be dead, and he himself wouldn't have to live on agony.
A/N: Hah! Bet you didn't think that it was Draco! Eh? Eh?! Well, this was just something that I made up wile I was doing my homework..It isn't the best, but oh well, I kind of like it ^.^; Say what you want, Anything from Harry Potter will NEVER be anyone's beside J. K. Rollings. Later!