Of shadows and light, things are born. -once there was a boy- Things that writhe and struggle against the ever changing constant of light and dark. – a small sad boy, who is far too thin, and jumps at small noises- These things want to break free of their shackles…they wasn't to see. – His is wary and his trust is so fragile you would think it had been crushed into non-existence – They break free, and Man is born of dark and light. –and the baby boy wrestles with himself, one half praying for love, the other thirsty for retribution-
"Do you believe in miracles?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because they will inevitably break you."
"How would you know?"
The silence starts…maybe it'll end before he is gone, maybe he will decide to speak again.
Or not.
- He is free! The boy dances in the air on wings of silk and joy. His heart is light and fluttery. Magic! What had he ever done so that Hagrid would come and sweep him up in this miracle!
Oh yes, what sin had he committed to deserve the day Hagrid came? Whom had he wounded so deeply that he was chosen to watch as he walked away from the one place that may have given him a chance at freedom?-
The air shifts, and the scent of crushed petals and grass waft toward him, he idly picks up a few blades of grass, and begins to weave them around a daisy. – he remembers how cool the grass felt under his burning cheek, how the skies bled fire and how hearts ran dry – In, out, under, over. He grips harder as he twines the daisy to another flower. – But as his eyes grew heavy, as a comfortable sense of closer spread like a kiss over his body, he was pulled from the grass, he was saved. – His fingers shake uncontrollably with rage. – They let him live, they made him fight, they wanted a victory, and he gave it to them, but they couldn't let him go? – He heads back indoors, his fingers smelling of some sickly sweet perfume, and crushed grass; his head full of wishes of death…cursing himself in the knowledge that he himself disposed of the one person who could have given it to him.
hail Mary full of grace
"Harry, do you believe in God?"
"I used to get taken to church when I was younger. The Dursley's stopped when they realised that this meant I might have to wear clothes that fit. People were starting to ask questions. I think I remember the Hail Mary prayer though."
blessed art thou among women
"But do you believe in him?"
"Hermione, if I did then I would know I'd be bound for hell."
and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus
"Whatever to you mean Harry? You saved the wizarding world!"
"I took a knife and I stuck it in Voldemort's chest, and then I dragged it down to his belly, not caring that my hands were drenched in his blood. And I was happy I did it. I think I'm hell-bound."
holy Mary, mother of God
"Harry, I- I-"
"You heard what you wanted to hear? That I murdered –not killed, murdered- Voldemort? … Leave me alone"
pray for us sinners,
pray for us,
sinners…sinners…sinners
pray for us sinners…
Harry can't decide if he doesn't want to finish a prayer to a God who might have forsaken him, or if he has just forgotten the rest of the words.
And Harry Potter is dieing.
Maybe soon, he will be able to rest.
Of shadows and light, things die.
Pray for this sinner.
From now, and at the hour of his death.
When Harry dreams it is of silence and shadows.
A/N: a dark little piece that is not to be read before bed time.