Disclaimer: ain't mine.
The Setting Sun
Harry Potter, The-Boy-who-Lived
Number 4 Privet Drive
Uncle Vernon had been raging in the car on the way back from the train station about some "ingrate, warped freak, friggin' arse - you know it isn't you, Harry, don't get me wrong". His loud voice was still ringing in Harry's ears after Uncle Vernon slammed the door to his room and left him alone.
He stood still, still staring at the now closed door. It wasn't locked. He raised his hand and locked it from inside. Why shouldn't there be a lock from inside? Harry just never got the chance to use it that's all. Lifelessly, he let his hand drop to his side.
Why am I here?
Oh, it's safe here. Now I know. All I need to do is keep my pathetic being alive until I can kill Voldemort. I have to kill him. Someone's gotta die -
Harry let go - of his sense of balance and let his body fall onto the bed. Various objects were poking him in the back, but he didn't really mind. Or care.
He was numb. His mind was blank, his body felt numb;he couldn't feel anything. The ceiling was a bleak grey; the dusty light bulb swung coolly in the dying light that filtered in through the old curtains. Only one thought permeated through the thickness.
Why Sirius?
"Boy! Get down here if you want your dinner!"
"Are you going to come down or not? If you want to go hungry it's gonna have nothing to do with us, you tell them that too!"
Shut up.
Harry appeared at the foot of the stairs, looking straight at the three Dursleys.
Uncle Vernon was about to open his mouth and scold - but he saw something in those green eyes that made him slam his fork down on the table instead. He didn't know what it was.
"Let's eat."
And for the first time, no one found fault with Harry at the Dursleys' dinner table. Uncle Vernon was his normal self, well, almost, and Dudley was too afraid to look at Harry in the eye. Aunt Petunia seemed rather nervous, but she was the only one who actually acknowledged Harry's presence by putting his plate of food in front of him. However she might as well have ignored him, because Harry only nodded his head slightly in return and didn't say a word.
Uncle Vernon grunted and grumbled about the recent news and the pesky neighbours, while Aunt Petunia babied Dudley with her "Diddikins, are you still hungry?" as per usual.
Harry just ate. For another first, he didn't finish his food. He got to his feet, but Uncle Vernon glared disapprovingly at him and snarled at him - "Finish your food, boy!"
The vegetables tasted bland. He didn't really care.
Harry sat down at the end of his bed, taking things out from his trunk. They were in a horrible mess. It wasn't because he needed something from it; he just needed something to do. If he did something he didn't have to see his hands, white and trembling in the pale light.
He couldn't say whether he loved or hated the sight of his things. Nothing in the house except those he had in front of him was his own.
A place away from everything. Quiet and comforting; peaceful.
He removed things from his trunk and flung them on his bed in a detached manner. The bottom of his trunk glittered bizarrely in the silvery moonlight as he removed the last of his black school robes, and he froze.
The smooth black material slipped from his hands and pooled at his feet. What was it that looked so pretty?
Beautiful.
Harry reached over and tried to pick up one of the shining things - he felt something sharp cut into the skin of his fingers. It stung a little, but he didn't drop whatever he now held in his palm.
He held it up to his eyes and saw that it was a piece of glass - a mirror. He tilted his palm towards himself and the silver glinted with reflected light. Harry Potter didn't use a mirror. If he did¡ he'd be smart enough not to go running into Umbridge-the-Witch's office to use her fireplace. Maybe he should cultivate the habit. Not that it'll do him or his hair any good.
There were so many things he could have done. This mirror could have been the trump in thwarting Voldemort's plans.
I feel so stupid, so foolish. Curiosity killed the cat.
Why did he have to act like such a fucking hero? Scars don't usually leave the bearer a mark of being a hero. What did he owe that scar on his forehead? Again, his miserable life. He was a miserable human worm baby without magic.
How many people had to die, so he could live? He was holding a shard of his Sirius' mirror. Would his father have done what he did? Harry knew, he wouldn't, because he couldn't have with this mirror.
I can't breathe. The air suffocates me.
He closed his hand tightly over the glass, ignoring the biting pain as its edges sliced into his palm. 'It is my fault that Sirius died,' Dumbledore-s words resounded in his head. Harry wished and wished he could believe him, but as the words echoed in his mind they took on his own voice. Emotionally charged, guilt-ridden and accusing.
It was he, Harry James Potter, the Boy-With-A-Magnificent-Scar who single-handedly managed to kill his godfather and injure his friends by being neurotic over a dubious dream.
What I should have done, was what I didn't do - listen.
And here was the rock solid proof that what he believed was true. Harry gritted his teeth - his hand hurt, but it didn't hurt as much as his heart did, as he stood there facing the open window. He refused to raise his head, Harry didn't think he could stand looking at the stars just yet.
He needed to remember. Every single, little thing. Use it if you need me, alright? Why couldn't he have listened?
Eyelids closed over the clouded green eyes, and Harry let out an ironic laugh that seemed to fall straight through the air to hit the ground. Dumbledore had faith in him. And soon everybody will be believing in him to take down the enemy Voldemort, looking up to him, placing all their hopes and fears on his shoulders. It was his responsibility.
...Neither can live while the other survives...
It was his sole purpose; what he was born for, what he lived for. The Fates sat down and had a conference about his life before they decided to let him pop out of his mother's womb. They let Voldemort pick him, mark him, seal his fate. Either, or - that was the game and he was It.
He was the one - you can call me Neo - who was blessed and cursed with the ability to face up to everyone's nightmare and stand a chance of winning. Harry didn't ask for any of this. He hated it. It made him feel sick.
And he ached all over, from deep inside to the tips of his fingers.
Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, Number 4 Privet Drive - reporting for duty, sir.
Dear Harry,
How are you doing? I'm still at home, and I'm having a great time with my parents. They've been taking me on short trips to different Muggle places - they are absolutely fascinating!
Oh. The holiday homework is terrible! I hope Professor Snape doesn't mind two extra rolls of parchment. Have you started on your assignments? I'm nearly through all of them; sometimes it makes my head spin.
Have you heard from Ron lately? I'll be going over to The Burrow soon, I think. I hope you¡¯re joining us really soon too. I don't know when we're going somewhere else, though. I haven't heard any news.
Love,
Hermoine
P.S. I don't know how you're feeling, Harry, sometimes I wish you'd tell us more. It's alright if you don't want to say anything, but please tell us what you really want.
a/n. This is pretty much like a one shot. If not multiple shots. small shots and BIG shot. I've got lots of ideas but usually they never get anywhere. XD I'm planning to drag Sirius -DUH-, Remus and Draco in and stuff some slash. all meanings intended. That is if I ever drag my behind off my ideas and type them. Oh and Happy New Year 2005. Live your life and don't look back. Or risk falling over 'cause your not looking where you're going
I'd like to complain that the formatting is very screwed. No square brackets, no slashes, no NOTHING. So very frustrating. I need more spaces between paras, and they vary with my mood. -grumbles I'm one grouchy person now.
Please review. Thanks :)
Love&peace,
-sak. 12.31.04