The Maze of Mirrors

CHAPTER 1: Lambs and Happy Daggers

Harry's POV:

I woke this morning, before dawn had broken on the birds and plants that surround Hogwarts, with a scream and the feeling of falling fast. I started my day with the pit of my stomach dropping like going into a steep dive on my broom. I had not woken from a vision since the beginning of term and now it is a week before holidays.

I am finally grasping Occlumency. Now that I have no distractions. I mean to say I have distractions, but none of the trivial things matter much now. Who cares what I got on that homework assignment in Potions, or what I did in Herbology last week. War is more important than my life anyways.

Ron and Hermione are now together, meaning I am not included. It was starting to grate on my nerves when they kept fighting and bickering. I know I am supposed to be supportive and glad for them. It does nothing but make my stomach clench to see them together. I have no one, and I mean no one. Not a single fucking soul wants me, female or male. I had Cho, maybe not had. I mean our first, and only, date was spent with her bitching about Cedric and then she got pissed and jealous when I went to find Hermione for something important, I swear she has a twisted mind.

Then there was the disaster of the Yule ball in fourth year, and that horrid date with Ginny at the beginning of term. I mean do all girls think kissing like that feels good? It's disgusting. I don't want some girls tongue down my throat, who would? Oh wait I know the answer to that, Ron.

Oh well, it is not that I don't like girls but with Ginny she is a little sister to me and most other girls just don't interest me. You should have seen Ron's face when I told him I did not like Ginny in that way. I mean you would think after him forcing his little sister on me like that he would have just said I would grow to like her and just take it as a "phase". No he went all out and punched me in the face saying I had used her, when in truth it was the other way around.

I am just not into girls at Hogwarts, I see them every day and I see them mostly as a sister or friend or nothing. I am not saying I am gay either because as of yet I have not yet been attracted to a male person either. I guess its because I know if I get close to them all that Snake-face would have to do is snap his fingers. They and their family ends up in a ditch in Surrey or Cheshire. I feel guilty even now for endangering everyone around me, I won't drag someone into this life.

Though one thought that keeps coming to mind is that my destiny is so set by fate that I will be alone for eternity. I was supposed to have friends, support, and hope in the end on my side to help me win. No, I wonder if that really is my fate, or if I am just as Malfoy if we are both doomed to death before we even learned how to say our names.

My name, my name has to have a curse on it.

I am sick of every one waiting with baited breath, for the moment when my luck, which they call talent, runs out. The Wizarding World is waiting to throw their martyr unceremoniously into the blackened, rotting, blood drenched den of ravenous wolves. I know I am being tested for this, Dumbledor has no qualms about this as it happens again and again, its an abuse I am growing tired of.

He purposely led me to the Sorcerers Stone, a mere eleven year old sent for the second time to destiny's feet, and escaping this second time from my imminent death, and in second year I was placed my fate in front of a blinded basilisk, and once again luck saved me. I spent my third year running from a supposed murderer and no one would even tell me why, in all of the fucking levels of hell, he was after me. I had to get a hint from Malfoy.

My fourth year once more befall against my will, placed before dragons and Merpeople. Then finally thrown inside a maze of death and instead of my happy demise luck had it that someone not quite a friend but not an enemy became a staring corpse, for only one reason, he was there.

'Kill the spare.'

Those words haunt me, in my sleep, in my wake. They are always there. They remind me of a certain raven and it forever chanting "Nevermore."

I tell myself it is my fault he is dead. If I had not been the righteous Gryffindor he would have lived. I could have saved him if I had been ten seconds earlier getting to the center of the maze then he could have been saved of death, that cold unforgiving creature that takes with indiscretion.

I tell myself I can save him in my nightmares, my night terrors. They have become more frequent with the absence of visions. Occlumency can not shut these out and neither can dreamless sleep potions on a regular bases, because they are extremely addictive asMmadam Pomfrey told me when I asked for a small draught of it, which she of course refused to give me. She didn't care, didn't ask why I needed it even. This school is run on denial an Lemon Drops.

Therefore, I had to make my own: potions not candy. I do not know if Snape realizes what those certain missing ingredients make. I am fairly certain he does but I do not know if he knows who is taking it. If he does, it won't matter, as he stopped questioning me months ago after a lengthy Occlumency lesson. I scorn and curse that I had let him see that.

He has seen the graves and the cauldron; he has seen my failure, which haunts me 'evermore'. They do not bother me as much as he thinks. He has seen these before and I have seen what my father did to him, but that makes us equal. He saw more that night. He saw my shame, my weakness. He saw my fat cousin and my boney aunt scurry from the room before my uncle beat me bloody on the kitchen floor and then made me clean up the mess I made.

This upset that precarious balance we had. He has done the only thing I've ever had to beg him to do. He will keep this secret, that if any one knew they would pity me and I don't want their fucking pity. I don't want there hated adoration. When they don't like what I have said they will turn on me and call me insane, or call me the 'Slytherin Heir.' It wouldn't be the first time, and it won't be the last. The public is self serving and cruel.

It is a Saturday so not many are up this early as I walked to stairwells and halls to the Great Hall. I sat down at my usual spot and started to move my scarce amount of food around my plate. I wasn't hungry anymore, but if I moved it around my plate people would assume I was eating People assume pretty little lies, the truth is too disturbing.

I was about to take a gulp of my pumpkin juice when a very familiar set of gray eyes are felt on the top of my head I flinched ever so slightly I wish he would stop looking at me. I tried to ignore it he is just trying to get me to fight with him, I won't do it, I can't spend my whole life fighting trivial matters when I have to face my death daily. I looked up at the doors, which have now opened to a rush of students, and here to my disgust I see my two 'friends' hand in hand looking as if they have not a care in the world. They sit down in front of me, as if I want to see their ugly faces this time of morning. Smooching over breakfast its just gross.

"Hey mate, you doing ok there? You look like shit on a stick." Oh and the red haired baboon speaks.

"Ron!"

"I am fine I just have a bit of a stomach ache, I think ill go visit Madam Pomfrey before potions."

"Ok Harry me and 'Mione will go with you."

"No." I turn so quickly I almost loose my balance. "I am fine you two eat your breakfast and I will meet you in potions." I always have to say I am fine or that I just have a stomach ache because they are happy, I do not want to ruin that for them. Their happiness will be short lived once this war really starts. My happiness has already ended.

They are all sheep ready for slaughter, only a handful in this school can resist the imperious and only few has ever felt Crucio, I can name them on my fingers. Me, Neville, and I am almost completely sure, Malfoy. Those are similar to the list of those able to resist imperious, minus Neville. I doubt many will survive the coming months. I am just barely surviving, I admit, but the one thing that makes me feel, is ironically from another classic as is the Raven, my 'happy dagger' that line from Shakespeare was more true than any other line I have ever had the pleasure to read, though I am no Romeo.

That happy dagger gives release, it drives away the pain with pain, and it is a distraction, a painting on my marred flesh, on this mask made in my foolishness. I cut when I cannot take it any more; it has slowly become more frequent these days, an obsession. I have heard it is addictive, but the high it puts you on is like nothing else. Duplication, no matter how many drugs you use or mix, is impossible; it is release from the pain of the living, with out the death that is oh so giving. You are high on the first drag, and this term would fit oh too well.

Dragging it though your skin watching the drops of crimson-gold catch the light that then breaks it into prisms. I am beginning to wonder if maybe that is my magic, if Wizarding blood is more beautiful than any Muggles, and if wizards of pure- blood are really pure and is their blood more beautiful than my own? I don't see any difference between one wizards blood and another's or a witches blood and a wizards. All I know is that magic blood is gorgeous like a unicorns' it seems to be made or crystals or liquid jewels not of platelets and blood cells.

Maybe I cut because boys are not supposed to cry, or maybe it is because I have too much pain to cry at times and it overflows into my veins.

I walked out of the great hall knowing I had to get away from them. I thumb the edge of the knife I nicked from the table while no one was looking. I walk a few flights down and see my chance. A small room hidden behind a statue in an alcove off the main hall; no one can find me there.

Click.

The door creaks behind me; some one is standing there with horror or is that pity in their wide eyes? I realize now that I had already cut and deeper than before in my carelessness. Screaming at them to leave does no good as they walk closer, I don't have my glasses on I can't tell who it is. Then I see the figure's hair, colorless shining and soft as snow, no one has that kind of ha... no not him anyone but him.