Diclaimer: I wish not to own Harry Potter, but I wish to write, and so I do
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Deep inside your wound, I grew. Poison, envy, slow-death, I am your infectious child.
I saw your face reflected by light, scorching from the mirror. And I got only silence as your image.
Sometimes, at night you sit-up in your bed and stare at me from under that thin, rusty scab. I try to smile at you but you rip me open again, and again, and that makes me cry. All I can do is heal you anew.
I watch the stars and the moon, the flowers and your black hair. They all seem so odd now that I know what decay truly means. From what you told me, decay stars from the minute that you were born. That means I'll die to, along with you. Eventually. But until then, I will always be with you.
You said to me that a man was after you. With red eyes and scaly skin and a bad future for this world. And I thought about the next destiny that you must choose. It will either be me, or you, in the depressing end.
At night, he sends you dreams. Blood and sweet smelling roses. But you only see the death in them, while I notice all the lovely flowers he always leaves behind.
I remember your friends.
Freckles and red hair: your best friend and willing death partner.
Long tresses and accurate eyes: the prospect of great intelligence and unbound loyalty. Kind eyes and patched robes: the silent shadow of good will.
Gangly hair and snappish smile: the memory of yet another father dead.
Wise eyes and swollen memories: the guardian with a long beard who knows everything of nothing.
And I see him. Too. Caught inside your fantasies. He always ends up dead and mutilated. But in reality, he will be flesh until your demise.
Harry, Harry, Harry.
Remember, I am also a part of you. And I will be there 'till you reach for those ever present hands.
Either good or evil, the power lies forever on the inside.