Lyrics from: Lying from you by: Linkin Park (an AWESOME band)
Nothing ever stops, all these thoughts and the pain attached to them, Sometimes I wonder why this is happening.
Harry lay back in his seat on the Hogwarts Express, his feet lying comfortably on the seat in front of him. Ron and Hermione were chattering away as Harry drifted farther and farther away from reality. As he drifted, his thoughts focused on what had happened the past year, and who else but Voldemort himself. Why had it been me and not Neville? If I hadn't stopped Voldemort, what would've happened to life on this world itself? The 'what ifs' and 'whys' encircled his mind as the train thudded to a halt. They had arrived.
It's like nothing I can do can distract me when I think of how I shot myself in the back again.
As he questioned his being here some more, he found himself to be the root of his problem. But if I hadn't lived, the entirety of the world would be under Voldemort's command right now, a persistent voice kept telling him. But did Harry really have such a clear conscience? It was my fault Sirius died, my stupid, idiotic, heroics got me into the GREAT mess altogether. As the sorting had subsided, and the food was being handed out, Harry could not put aside these thoughts, they seemed all too important.
'Cause from the infinite Words I can say I, put all the pain you gave to me on display.
He shuffled the food on his plate, Hermione worriedly looking at him. She could see it, she could see his pain. For the first time in his life, he wished that best friends didn't have that kind of intuition. He felt as if he were put into a glass box, his emotions, and thoughts on display in front of the large crowd watching. He could picture them pointing and laughing at the overly emotional boy in front of them. He shuddered at the thought, as Dumbledore said his parting words and let them be.
I didn't realize Instead of setting it free, I, Took what I hated and made it a part of me.
Harry stomped up to his room; his thoughts huddled in the darkest corner of his mind. Hermione constantly asked what was wrong, but Harry tried to ignore her. As the neared the portrait hole, Harry snapped. He'd had enough, he couldn't take it anymore. Why did she care so much? After all, he wasn't her child; he had no real family anymore. Hermione sniffed, tears welled up in her eyes as she ran up the stairs behind the portrait hole, Ron following her. Great, Harry thought, now I'm no worse than Voldemort.
It never goes away, it never goes away.
Harry lay in bed that night, eyes fixed on the ceiling above him. The feeling never went away, it was with him all through the summer, and it seemed he would never be free of this torture that people call depression.
And now, you've become a part of me, you'll always be right here, you've become a part of me, you'll always be my fear.
Harry fought his dreams that night. The pictures of the hooded Voldemort body with Harry's head seemed too much for him. He struggled to regain consciousness, but when he did, he found his sheets were ravelled at the end of the bed. Feeling chilly, he pulled them back up before going back to sleep. He woke up in the morning feeling rather grumpy. The thought alone of himself being portrayed as Voldemort made him angrily sick to his stomach.
I can't separate, myself from what I done, Giving up a part of me, I've let myself become you.
{A/N: I'll leave it at that. Please don't flame the reviews, it's not fun having someone flame your work just because they don't like that style of writing, or the ideas used in the story.}
Nothing ever stops, all these thoughts and the pain attached to them, Sometimes I wonder why this is happening.
Harry lay back in his seat on the Hogwarts Express, his feet lying comfortably on the seat in front of him. Ron and Hermione were chattering away as Harry drifted farther and farther away from reality. As he drifted, his thoughts focused on what had happened the past year, and who else but Voldemort himself. Why had it been me and not Neville? If I hadn't stopped Voldemort, what would've happened to life on this world itself? The 'what ifs' and 'whys' encircled his mind as the train thudded to a halt. They had arrived.
It's like nothing I can do can distract me when I think of how I shot myself in the back again.
As he questioned his being here some more, he found himself to be the root of his problem. But if I hadn't lived, the entirety of the world would be under Voldemort's command right now, a persistent voice kept telling him. But did Harry really have such a clear conscience? It was my fault Sirius died, my stupid, idiotic, heroics got me into the GREAT mess altogether. As the sorting had subsided, and the food was being handed out, Harry could not put aside these thoughts, they seemed all too important.
'Cause from the infinite Words I can say I, put all the pain you gave to me on display.
He shuffled the food on his plate, Hermione worriedly looking at him. She could see it, she could see his pain. For the first time in his life, he wished that best friends didn't have that kind of intuition. He felt as if he were put into a glass box, his emotions, and thoughts on display in front of the large crowd watching. He could picture them pointing and laughing at the overly emotional boy in front of them. He shuddered at the thought, as Dumbledore said his parting words and let them be.
I didn't realize Instead of setting it free, I, Took what I hated and made it a part of me.
Harry stomped up to his room; his thoughts huddled in the darkest corner of his mind. Hermione constantly asked what was wrong, but Harry tried to ignore her. As the neared the portrait hole, Harry snapped. He'd had enough, he couldn't take it anymore. Why did she care so much? After all, he wasn't her child; he had no real family anymore. Hermione sniffed, tears welled up in her eyes as she ran up the stairs behind the portrait hole, Ron following her. Great, Harry thought, now I'm no worse than Voldemort.
It never goes away, it never goes away.
Harry lay in bed that night, eyes fixed on the ceiling above him. The feeling never went away, it was with him all through the summer, and it seemed he would never be free of this torture that people call depression.
And now, you've become a part of me, you'll always be right here, you've become a part of me, you'll always be my fear.
Harry fought his dreams that night. The pictures of the hooded Voldemort body with Harry's head seemed too much for him. He struggled to regain consciousness, but when he did, he found his sheets were ravelled at the end of the bed. Feeling chilly, he pulled them back up before going back to sleep. He woke up in the morning feeling rather grumpy. The thought alone of himself being portrayed as Voldemort made him angrily sick to his stomach.
I can't separate, myself from what I done, Giving up a part of me, I've let myself become you.
{A/N: I'll leave it at that. Please don't flame the reviews, it's not fun having someone flame your work just because they don't like that style of writing, or the ideas used in the story.}