Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any other characters. If I did, I
would be filthy rich and I could pay if someone sued me.
Summary: A vignette in which the bitter side of Harry surfaces for a few pages. Very short, very angsty. If you feel depressed, I advise you NOT to read this. This is not meant to be a happy fic, but an analysis of what I think a sixteen year old Harry would be feeling at this point in his life. Set immediately after OoTP.
There are many names for me.
The Boy Who Lived. The Golden Boy of Hogwarts. Saint Potter.
But am I really that pure? That innocent?
I am the Boy Who Lived. Yes, I lived. For what? To watch my loved ones die. To drive my friends to the edge with worry. To put the wizarding world in danger because of my weakness.
What is my weakness?
I feel.
Every single God-damned day, I feel. There is no longer happiness or laughter. My childhood has been torn from me and ripped into pieces, scattered to the ends of the Earth for me to never find again. And what is left in that infinite void?
Pain.
Horrible gut-wrenching pain. Pain that twists my stomach into knots so tight that I spend hours on my knees worshiping the porcelain shrine.
Why do I feel pain? you may ask. It's not a physical infliction, although I have physical reactions.
No, my pain is sprung from knowledge.
Knowledge that no matter what I do or who I love, I put others in danger. My affections become death sentences.
Knowledge that too many people have died to protect me, and more will if I don't do anything about it.
Some may suggest suicide. I've thought about it.
But it won't work.
If I die, Voldemort will kill my loved ones anyway.
No, I must fight him. Even if I lose, I must try.
But no one can come with me. I must do this alone.
All ties must be severed, all relationships broken. My worst enemy must be my closest friend. I can't afford to love more than that.
If I do, someone will die.
I've heard that love can be poisonous.
Coming from me, it is a poison that kills. My love is tainted with death.
Who ever knew that love could be so lethal?
A/N: Told you it was angsty! That's what I get for listening to depressing music again... -Throws in Josh Groban cds- Ahh, happiness.....
Harry: Review it, otherwise I'll have to go fight the Dark Lord, all by myself, without any helpful, uplifting inspiration for more.
Author: Harry, your being depressing again. Go take your pills.
Harry: No. I won't. I'll fight Voldemort without being drugged, and you can't do anything about it. -scowl-
Josh Groban: Alright Harry, time to listen to music again. "All'Improvviso Amore! Come il mare...."
Harry: NO MORE ITALIAN LOVE SONGS! AGH! -runs off to find Voldemort-
Author: Oh well. You know what to do.
Summary: A vignette in which the bitter side of Harry surfaces for a few pages. Very short, very angsty. If you feel depressed, I advise you NOT to read this. This is not meant to be a happy fic, but an analysis of what I think a sixteen year old Harry would be feeling at this point in his life. Set immediately after OoTP.
There are many names for me.
The Boy Who Lived. The Golden Boy of Hogwarts. Saint Potter.
But am I really that pure? That innocent?
I am the Boy Who Lived. Yes, I lived. For what? To watch my loved ones die. To drive my friends to the edge with worry. To put the wizarding world in danger because of my weakness.
What is my weakness?
I feel.
Every single God-damned day, I feel. There is no longer happiness or laughter. My childhood has been torn from me and ripped into pieces, scattered to the ends of the Earth for me to never find again. And what is left in that infinite void?
Pain.
Horrible gut-wrenching pain. Pain that twists my stomach into knots so tight that I spend hours on my knees worshiping the porcelain shrine.
Why do I feel pain? you may ask. It's not a physical infliction, although I have physical reactions.
No, my pain is sprung from knowledge.
Knowledge that no matter what I do or who I love, I put others in danger. My affections become death sentences.
Knowledge that too many people have died to protect me, and more will if I don't do anything about it.
Some may suggest suicide. I've thought about it.
But it won't work.
If I die, Voldemort will kill my loved ones anyway.
No, I must fight him. Even if I lose, I must try.
But no one can come with me. I must do this alone.
All ties must be severed, all relationships broken. My worst enemy must be my closest friend. I can't afford to love more than that.
If I do, someone will die.
I've heard that love can be poisonous.
Coming from me, it is a poison that kills. My love is tainted with death.
Who ever knew that love could be so lethal?
A/N: Told you it was angsty! That's what I get for listening to depressing music again... -Throws in Josh Groban cds- Ahh, happiness.....
Harry: Review it, otherwise I'll have to go fight the Dark Lord, all by myself, without any helpful, uplifting inspiration for more.
Author: Harry, your being depressing again. Go take your pills.
Harry: No. I won't. I'll fight Voldemort without being drugged, and you can't do anything about it. -scowl-
Josh Groban: Alright Harry, time to listen to music again. "All'Improvviso Amore! Come il mare...."
Harry: NO MORE ITALIAN LOVE SONGS! AGH! -runs off to find Voldemort-
Author: Oh well. You know what to do.