Disclaimer: Not mine, never was, may be… later. shifty eyes
Once there was a boy. He talked, and lived, and breathed, and cried when he was hit. The cupboard was small, but he was made to fit.
But the cupboard was dark, and the boy thought dark thoughts. He curled up as small as possible, with his head in his hands, and cried and whispered and whished, cursing his aunt and uncle and everyone and anyone.
The dark thoughts grew, and the boy grew with them.
And once, there was a death.
The boy stopped talking, although he may or may not have lived and breathed.
His friends, for he had some now, fussed.
The boy dreamed, living and breathing alone and safe inside himself.
He stopped, and the world moved on around him, and he lost his way.
The dark thoughts merged, and the tears were black and bitted and stained his cheeks with blood. There was a tattoo on his arm now, and he felt sick whenever he saw it.
The boy wept, remembering how it had been, how it should've been, and his friends watched, so far away now.
Once there was a boy. He talked, and lived, and breathed, and cried when he was hit.
But.
The world moved on, but the boy didn't. He lost his way, and cried, but nobody came to wipe away the tears.
Harry Potter cried alone.
Harry Potter died alone, and the world stood still.