The Poet
:: narrated mostly by Harry Potter ::
:: Authored by just a bit potty ::
:: key ::
(text) = flashback
text = thoughts
As Harry slips further into the abyss of his own mind, all it takes is a little push to send him over the edge... or a big one.
not a true update. I was just irritated with some of the formatting so I changed it. I'm half way through the next chapter, but I won't post it until I get more reviews :P makes me feel nice to know I'm wanted.
Pre-story notes: I know, I know, it's been forever. Long story short, my computer went crazy on me and needs to be reformatted. Along with that is horrible writers block. Sorry! I STRUGGLED to get this chapter out. I'm still not happy with it, but it's because when I started this fic, I was all unhappy and stuff, but now I'm like, happy so... it's hard getting into that frame of mind. I do have to say that this chapter IS purposely vague and wishy-washy, as Harry slowly loses more of himself... Okay, so:
1. Big announcement: My other fic, A Wet Tale (my merman!Harry fic) is being rewritten, revamped, the works. Its new title will be Fantasy Impromptu, and so far I have two chapters done with the third in progress. Basically the same plot, but hopefully without as many plot-holes. It will be a while before it's up, but if you like the old story you better save it or something 'cause it won't be like that for long (it'll be better, hopefully, hehe).
Review thanks: Lade Alekto, strangled lies (thanks a bunch, hehehe, my flamer bodyguard), Wyall Jared, Benjis VIP, Moondance&Starwind, Jessica, Gia, Anabelle426, Ningchan (I don't know whether to be flattered or insulted...?), Reese Craven (thanks a bunch), chocolatedemon, Ophelia Adrasteia (actually, I didn't take Eng. Lit., the poetry curriculum at my school was for shit, I just love poetry), '...' (what a simple name), ella, Avarice, obsidianpoet, Jessica, darkangel, Sinilu Silverspell, Lina Metallium, Sabby-chan Yaoi Fan, Dragenphly (all will be revealed eventually...), Linda, one-by-one-the-penguines-steal-my-sanity (If you're still around and interested in beta reading... mew? Looks like I need one...), NiaSphinx (thanks for doing your part!), HpDeVoTeE, Alarivana Ciaernu (PLEASE, if you have a poem, I would love to see it, please email it too me), ag, Goddess-Shalamar, Wen, MissLilyStar (THANK YOU ALL!!!!)
Snake-Boi: your review was very detailed and to be honest intimidated me a little blush but only because I don't know if I can write as well as I did in the first two chapters. I try, but it's hard getting into it again... I will probably rewrite a lot of this, but I'd like to get more of the fic up and keep the story going. Hopefully this chapter is worth a review!
Ko-chan to Ya-chan: If you have anymore poems you'd like me to incorporate into this fic, I'd love 'em! E-mail them to me? I didn't use the one in your review yet because I don't have your express permission, so........ please?
Mojo-jojo241: I'm sorry I didn't reply before, I completely forgot. Of course you can recommend my fic if you want, no worries .'
Sorry if I missed anyone. Your reviews inspired me to try and get over my writer's block! Thank you all! And the plot rolls on...............
Chapter III – Déjà vu, Harry's losing it.
The wall hasn't moved since I got here. No matter how my eyes drill into its vertical slope, no matter how immobile I sit, how silent my lips are the wall has not changed. Not as the hours slither by, one minute melting into the next. Not as each trembling breath wings from my lips on stale air. If I refuse to blink, hoping to catch even a whisper of a change, I see nothing. The wall remains as lifeless and unmoving as it has always been.
Before, when I did close my eyes, it changed.
The sweeping banners of red and gold, pinned-up photographs of smiling families, the scars and pockmarks that each boy to have lived here before us has left in his wake... they all vanished. And all I would see is a naked, off-white wall, blotted with one inky shadow that loomed ever closer. The image burnt forever onto my eyelids.
Now, when I close my eyes, it still changes.
But instead of a shadow-marred wall, I see a small square of paper, emblazoned with one simple demand:
MEET ME AT MIDNIGHT ON THE LAST FRIDAY OF THE MONTH.
It means nothing to me, yet rouses a dull throng of trepidation all the same. My memory stretches back, searching the past for any hint of what it could mean. Have I... made an appointment and forgotten? But who would I want to meet so late at night? Lately, these gaps in my mind are widening, gulping down memories like a starving beast. Common sense begs me to seek help, to tell someone, because I need to remember. Remember... something important. Something...
But, dear god, I don't want to.
There are so many things I want to forget. But, ironically enough, I don't remember exactly what those things are... only that I want to be rid of their memories forever... Which is the whole point, I suppose. Right now, my mind is just a road full of gaping potholes, and I can't really find myself caring. If it was truly important, I would remember, right?
I certainly remember Malfoy's smirking face. Was it just a coincidence that the note arrived precisely when he held up my torn paper? It seems a little too suspicious, if that's so. But then, if Malfoy did send me that note... what did he mean? Did he want to meet me somewhere... to fight? If so, why at midnight? Maybe it wasn't from Malfoy at all...
A mild sigh whispers past my cold lips. I don't even know why I'm bothering with this. If whoever sent me the note thought it was that important, they could come and confront me themselves whenever they wanted. It probably wasn't even for me. It's been days since that dinner, anyway.
I know it's been days, it has to have been, because the mottled, purple flowers blooming over my skin are wilting to a sickly yellow. Blotches of color I don't even remember appearing on my body. Color that only I can see. Painful colors that make me want to cry all the same.
It's funny, but thinking about it now, I haven't the faintest idea what I've been doing this past week... month... summer. I have vague impressions of being slumped in my chair during Charms, of shoveling tasteless food into my mouth at what might have been lunch... or dinner... Of a looming Snape breathing frigid, stale air down my neck after one-too-many failed potions. Some part of me insists that a week has passed.
It's all I have a feeling I won't do too well on any of the upcoming tests, if that's so. For some reason, I find that quite funny. The unfamiliar sense of sardonic humour curls my lips into a hollow smile.
But then... right now I can't find the energy to care. What would be the point anyway? What will worrying accomplish? I don't even have the energy to care. Who cares? I feel like there might be a nice, padded room waiting for me somewhere at St. Mungo's, and the thought doesn't scare me at all. Maybe even next to Gilderoy Lockheart's.
I'm losing my mind...
In this rare moment of clarity, I realize it's true. Somewhere, a part of me is aware that if I go on like this, I will probably fail my NEWTs, ruin my life. But... would that really be so bad? I almost want to laugh... but the only sound that leaves me is a breathy sob that shoots pain through my chest. I think I'm... afraid.
I sigh again, softly, and I can almost see the poison breath of frustration clouding the air before me. I don't even know what I'm feeling anymore.
Eventually, I'm pulled into a silent darkness, lured by the peaceful nothingness around me.
Staring at the wall before me... I don't dare close my eyes.
The wall still changes.
"Though we share this humble path, alone
How fragile is the heart
Oh give these clay feet wings to fly
To touch the face of the stars
Breathe life into this feeble heart
Lift this mortal veil of fear
Take these crumbled hopes, etched with tears
We'll rise above these earthly cares
Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me
Please remember me..." [1]
"Open your eyes..."
What?
"Open your eyes, Harry..."
No... I don't want to...
"Harry! Open your eyes! It's time for breakfast. Come ooooon, I don't want to eat all by myself! Hermione's doing some 'early morning studying' (ick!) in the library."
Ron...?
"Wakey, wakey! Hurry up, I'm hungry!"
My vision clears, and all of a sudden I'm staring at a shock of red hair. I blink slowly, unsure if this is a dream or not. The boisterous laugh that bursts from Ron's madly grinning lips assures me it isn't. I don't know if I'm disappointed or relieved. "Finally, you're up!" he gushes, his twitching, eager hands latching onto mine, hauling my limp body from the bed. I hardly protest. "Good morning, lazy-bones! Get dressed and let's go."
I cast my eyes to the window; is it morning already? Merry light bounces through the gaps in the curtains, spilling over the hardwood floor. Everything else seems so dark in contrast.
Ron's eyes pierce into me, brimming with impatience. I can see the moment his stranglehold on restraint snaps, and then he's by my side, those large hands digging into my bony arms as he pushes me along.
"Don't..." barely a whisper, swallowed by the soundless air as soon as it leaves me. His ears are deaf to my plea. "Stop..."
(No! Don't! STOP!!! )
I shove his hands away roughly, drawing into myself as I angle towards my bed. I want to change out of sight. Ron's brash opinion is that I'm being silly. He tells me so, his loud voice bellowing in my ear.
"Don't touch me," I hiss, and then a horrible chill settles in my bones, so cold that tears glitter over my eyes and my heart suddenly drops into my stomach. I've said that before, I know I have... haven't I? I don't... remember...?
(God... don't touch me... please, don't touch me...)
Against my will my body keeps dressing itself, until I'm swimming in a too-big cloak that used to fit, donned in my Gryffindor uniform; the red and gold stripes melt into the all-encompassing expanses of grey, draining all brightness from my form. Like the colors around me, my energy slowly bleeds away; I follow Ron from the room.
The great hall thunders with cheerful voices and bright colours. It's familiar, yet strange at the same time. Everyone looks so... happy. It twists my gut, and for a moment... something inside me aches to be happy, too. But... I don't remember what happy feels like anymore. Now my heart only thuds with ambiguous emotions that come and go, swelling and receding steadily like the tides. Too fleeting to even wonder what they are.
I sink onto the row of seats beside Ron, and stare at the pile of mush on my plate. Am I depressed? Is that what this is? This... not caring? This... not feeling? This... emptiness? I find my eyes sneaking little glances at the people around me, and feel so awkward. My meandering gaze lands on the imposing shadow of Snape at the head table. I've been watching him a lot, lately. I remember the fervent hatred that I felt for him in my first year. Now... the only emotion I can summon for him, our bitter Potions professor, is a muffled pity.
A memory teases the edges of my mind; that niggling sense of déjà vu that I know I've been having a lot lately. I've done this before, thought these things before. Coal black eyes shift and stab into me, and I know then he knows I've been watching him. I shrink back, and don't watch anymore.
A pressure on my side invokes a wince of pain; shuddering, I swivel to face Hermione's searching gaze. Her petal pink lips pressed tightly together as she glares at my untouched food. I suppose... I'm not really hungry, today. My stomach clenches.
"Harry..." she begins, flicking back a wild tendril of brown hair from her face, "I can't stand this anymore. I've tried to leave you be, but I can't do that any longer! What's wrong with you? Please, tell me." Her voice is low and soft, but underneath the soothing tones is an underlying fear. Is she... worried about something? About me?
I open my mouth to tell her I'm fine, that nothing's wrong. Instead my voice betrays me and remains deathly silent. I just stare and stare into those wide eyes, brimmed with those long, sooty lashes. They close, captured in slow motion and, when they slide open once more, are suddenly sparkling with liquid. Tears?
(Crouched by the small cupboard door, I struggle with my heavy trunk. My body feels... so weak... I hear a noise, a soft, pitiful noise. My eyes find Aunt Petunia, lingering on the stair case. Her eyes are shining...
Are those... tears?
Why is she crying...?)
I blink rapidly to banish vivid image. These flashes of memory (...?) have been plaguing me endlessly for weeks, I know they have. The sudden intrusions of voices that aren't there. I'm almost used to them now. Aunt Petunia had such sad eyes, eyes like Hermione's are now.
"Harry, please," she begs, her voice crackling as she struggles to stay quiet, "I'm so worried about you... You don't eat, Ron says you hardly sleep," on my other side, I feel my red-haired friend squirm uncomfortably. They've been talking about me, behind my back, "that you're always writing. What do you do that late at night, Harry? Please, Harry. Don't shut us out."
'Don't shut us out...'
(Don't you dare shut me out boy, you'll regret it... OPEN THIS DOOR NOW!)
"Please, let us help you..."
(It's no use crying for help, boy, there's no one here to help you!)
"Harry..."
A warm hand closes on my shoulder.
"NO!" the cry leaps from my lips of its own will and leaves stunned silence in its wake. A thousand eyes peer at me curiously.
"Harry, my boy," rasps an old, weary voice, and I pivot shakily in my seat to see a tired Dumbledore behind me, "Please join me in my office."
With one last glance around the quiet hall, I nod slowly and numbly propel myself to my feet. Our footsteps echo solemnly as I trail behind the Headmaster, dazed by his gaudy purple robes.
"Our life is twofold; Sleep hath its own world,
A boundary between the things misnamed
Death and existence: Sleep hath its own world,
And a wide realm of wild reality,
And dreams in their development have breath,
And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy;
They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts..." [2]
I... I'm not quite sure, but it feels like I haven't moved since I got here. I feel like I'm entrenched in a silent tomb, replaying over and over what happened that day after breakfast. I should have been expecting it. I should have. But then... why did it hurt all the same?
"Have a seat, my boy," he'd said, his voice full of tenderness, as we stepped from the winding staircase. Professor Dumbledore's office was the same as it has always been; the merry glow of warmth and laughter permeating the air. It wrapped around me like a soft, warm blanket, lulling me into a peaceful silence as I lowered myself onto a chair. The portraits of past Headmasters all gazed down at me stoically, as if they knew why I was there. Fawkes was there, fixing me with a sad eye. Yet the room was still so comfortable, and it was so strange for me to feel that way, I barely noticed Dumbledore's stern frown, those faded blue eyes staring right through me.
"Harry... I am afraid I have bad news," that old withered voice didn't sound so tender anymore; it sucked all the warmth from the room. "But first I must ask you: are you all right, Harry? I realize last year was hard on you..."
Last year? What happened last year?
"...But it's time to move on. Sorrow will consume you, Harry, if you let it."
Sorrow? I'm not sad, am I?
"I don't understand, sir," my attention was focused on the brilliantly gold and red plumage of Fawkes. Something about the way the crimson bled into yellow was spellbinding. Such bright colours...
"Harry..." Dumbledore slumped as if the weight of the world suddenly collapsed on his shoulders. He appeared so sullen and grave. "I did not wish it to come to this, but alas, it's out of my hands..." His breathe left him then, in a rush of air, and he could not meet my eyes, "I am afraid, Harry, that your position as Head Boy is hereby... terminated. Another student will be taking over your duties."
He rambled on for a while after that, but I processed none of it. Something about not fulfilling my duties; that I'd received warnings about my behavior before. Warnings I have no recollection of. Now I know I'm losing my mind. The only thing I recall after that is him asking me, a hint of worry tainting his otherwise perfectly calm question: "Now I must ask you Harry..." the words vaguely familiar, "... is everything all right?"
I surprised myself by answering honestly: "Yes, sir."
My eyes snap open. My mouth goes desert-dry, and I realize I really have no idea what day it is. Or how long I've been awake... or if I'm awake at all...?
My eyes flutter restlessly over the sweeping canopy of my bed, searching for some kind of clue. A trembling hand swipes over my face; it takes me a moment to realize it's mine. Startled, I stare in sick fascination at the skeletal fingers stretching from my slender palm. I can almost count each and every brittle bone, jutting out grotesquely from my near-transparent skin. Wait... something's... wrong here. There's a distant thudding in my chest, and it takes me a moment to realize my heart is thundering wildly. I could have sworn... just the other day in Potions... hadn't my hand been soft and smooth, unblemished? Hadn't my body been flushed with youth? I remember... I remember staring at my hand in Potions... the soft skin... was it... was it a dream, too?
Buzzing with numbness, I rise from the bed and dart to Seamus' trunk. I know he has a mirror in there. Any morals I may have don't dare stop me as I fling open the lid and dig amongst the crumpled clothes. Cold glass stings my fingertips. Clutching it to my chest, I somehow weave a path back to my bed and crawl onto the sheets. I raise the flat pane of reflective glass before me and swallow a scream.
Logically, I know my body is going into shock; a cold numbness licks its way from my fingers to my toes; my body shudders with each shallow breath. But me, I'm far, far away... It's another boy down there, with mussed up black hair and glassy green eyes, twisting jerkily on the rumpled red sheets with a mirror clutched in his hand. It's not me; I'm high, high above, weightless, without worry, watching as that emaciated skeleton twists itself into a deformed pretzel, clawing at the pillows and struggling for air.
Then darkness descends, and all I see is black.
"My dream had never died or lived again.
As in some mystic middle state I lay;
Seeing I saw not, hearing not I heard:
Though, if I saw not, yet they told me all
So often that I speak as having seen." [3]
I'm awake now, but it doesn't feel like it. I still feel as if I'm dreaming. The world around me is filmy and soft, the colours dripping together in a watery maelstrom.
It's raining. I can hear the soft pings of water as they hit the windowpane, sluicing down the clear glass like tears. The noise outside is filtered by the noise inside; the quiet, muffled snores of my dorm mates as they lie peacefully in slumber.
I glance down... in my lap lies Seamus' mirror, and beside it, two scraps of parchment. I know what one says. It's the note from... before. I don't remember when, exactly.
And tonight, for some reason... something tugs at my consciousness, urging me to read what I have written. My hand twitches. Squinting, I try to read the inky words, but they scramble and blur together, illegible to my unfocussed eyes. All I can see is my own gaunt face staring back up at me. A face of children's nightmares: with hollow cheeks and sunken eyes. Eerily familiar. I have looked upon that face before...
(...A walking corpse, I rise from my mattress and slither into the bathroom, gazing upon the stranger in the mirror. For a moment, I'm shocked at the ghastly face staring back at me, wondering who it could be. But... but this is no magicked surface; just a simple Muggle version, that reflects exactly what I am. What I am...)
...I glance up from the mirror and stop still.
Where... where am I? I flick my gaze around in confusion; halls stretch before me and behind me, glowing dimly with flickering candle light. Everything around me is blanketed in silence. Above me, the ceiling is enshrouded with shadow; the light of candles is too weak to permeate such an encompassing darkness. As I stare at the nothingness of the ceiling, the dark suddenly seems to swoop down on me. A torch has blown out, behind me. I suck in my breath sharply. How did I get... here? Where is here?
Somehow, it seems familiar, like I've been here before, but I don't think I have. It's possible, I have but... I don't recognize this part of the castle.
"You came."
I whip around in shock as that all-too-recognizable voice pierces the deathly hush of the hallway. No...
"I didn't think you would... after last year."
I stare at him in confusion.
"What are you talking about?" Then it dawns on me... Today must be Friday...
(MEET ME AT MIDNIGHT...)
He shakes his head in frustration, "What is with you, Harry? Why have you been ignoring me?"
"...Ignoring...?"
I dart out my tongue to moisten my suddenly dry lips. A low growl rumbles from his throat, his face is twists in torment, "Damn it, Harry, I didn't mean to! I just got carried away... it was a mistake, I'm sorry!"
('Please, Harry, just let me...'
'No! I don't want to...')
A violent shudder rips through me.
"What are you talking about?" I say, ignoring the sudden bubbling of fear in the pit of my stomach. His eyes flash, and then he's pressed against me, surprisingly strong hands closing around my frail wrists. I stumble backwards, eyes wide as a long unfelt thrill of feeling rushes through me.
"DON'T!" I sob, cringing away. His hands only grip me tighter.
"LISTEN to me, Harry... please... Why have you been ignoring me?! TELL ME!" He releases me, only to grip my chin and jerk my head up. The golden light dances over his hair, lending the platinum tint a warm, honeyed glow. Yet I can only stare helplessly in his eyes. His fierce, silver eyes, splashed with light.
"Don't..." I whisper, overwhelmed by this sudden terror. I'm frozen.
His voice crackles with fervent emotion as he wrenches my body close to his. "Harry, I missed you so much, and now you won't even talk to me... for Merlin's sake, I was drunk! It's not my fault... It's not my fault... If she hadn't come in..." he trails off, tensing in anger.
('Harry! How could you?! I thought we...' Blue eyes flooding with tears...)
Gasping, I tear myself away from him, reeling backwards.
"Shut up, Malfoy!" I pant. Unwanted memories hack violently at the barrier I've built around myself. I don't want to remember... I DON'T WANT TO REMEMBER!!!
"Bitch! Don't ignore me! SAY SOMETHING!"
All these words, so confusing... I don't understand...
"You can't still be mad, Harry... Harry! HARRY!" ...don't... understand... "LISTEN TO ME!"
SLAP!
Time grinds to a halt at the sudden flare of agony on my cheek. The harsh sound of flesh striking flesh echoes down the hall. I stare at him in numb sort of shock. He stares at his hand in horror. This is all so dreadfully familiar...
"Harry, I..."
He... hit me... (Don't hit me, please... god, stop it... PLEASE! NO!)
"Merlin, Harry, I'm so sorry... I don't know what came over me!" His arms stretch out hopefully toward me, beckoning me close...
Suddenly I'm running. Running fast; running hard; running as far away as I can. Running from the memories that bite at my heels, because I don't want to know. I don't want to remember. I don't know how to deal... I don't want to deal... I just want to forget...
"Don't run away from me, you little bitch! HARRY! Come back here, Harry!"
My feet keep running, thumping haphazardly on the stone floor, chased by his anguished screams.
"HARRY!!!!"
I just want to forget...
To be continued... if my review count makes it up to 120-130. I'm greedy.
I'm really not that happy with this chapter either. I can't seem to capture the same sort of... tone... that I had for the first two. Ah, well. Say lah vee, eh? Hehehe... Although Harry IS supposed to be less coherent as the story goes along... he's a mess, poor boy, and what's up with MALFOY?! Eh? More will be revealed in the next chapter... though it may take a while... I really want to get more of Fantasy Impromptu (formerly A Wet Tale) done. Remember: REVIEW, please, tell me what you thought.
I'm also thinking of a POV change. After Harry loses it completely (it's obvious he will soon), it may be necessary. We'll see, anyway...
[1] I'm cursing myself, because this is a song, not a poem. I'm sure a few of you know it: Dante's Prayer by Loreena McKennitt. I swore I would only use poetry in this thing, but I simply could not find one that suited. At least the lyrics look like a classic sort of poem. Beautiful song.
[2] From The Dream by Lord George Gordon Byron.
[3] From Princess, Part VI by Lord Alfred Tennyson
REVIEW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! If I can get up to 120-130 reviews! Like I said, I'm greedy.