Truth
Death is but the next great adventure....Yeah right.
I wouldn't be staggering along the line dividing alive and dead if every thing he told me was truth...and yet, where did he lie? Its not a lie, but nor is it truth. When did it get to this? Did I live a lie? Or merely an untold truth? What's the difference? Im not dead, but nor am I alive.
These are the things that went on in Harry Potter's head while he lay on the floor of the bathroom after taking the sleeping pills. He wasn't conscious in a way you'd understand, but some will was connecting him to his mind stronger than it every had before.
Now on the bed in the hospital wing he lay.
Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Whywhywhywhywhywhywhywhy!? Why did he have to go and do something so stupid! Why didn't he die? Now he had nothing to look forward to but tension, awkwardness, unwanted attention, worry, pain, exhaustion, it went on and on and on, just thinking about it made him want to shut his weary eyes forever, to let out one last contented sigh and then feel nothing for the rest of eternity. But he knew he couldn't...he wanted to though.
Why would the man who wanted to kill him want to live forever? He'd only know hate until the muggles found a way to kill the planet. Does he not realise the world is sick and may never recover? Why would he want to stay after his time? How long until he finally finds a way to kill Harry? It's a miracle a child held out that long. He was bourn into a hell he wanted to escape, and he tried to the easy way. Does that make him a coward? Were people expecting him to be brave and march head first into a battle that was never his?
How could they do this to me!
Better him then them, that's why, that's what they think. He's not the coward, they are! They step on him when the going is good and when things get bad they expect him stand in front of them and take the heat.
Fuck them all.
The rest of the night was wasted on swear words he muttered under his breath, cursing every one and every thing individually.
"Fuck Minister Fudge."
"God Damn Dumbledor."
"Go to hell Voldemort you mother fucker!"
"Damn my friends."
"Damn this school."
"Damn those fuckers who people have been calling my family until the day they all died."
Damn, fuck and I hate you, were his favourite and most commonly used words he said quietly to himself that night.
Dawn came to meet the most bitter teen Hogwarts had ever seen. He had snuck up to his dormitory to get his clothing, he hated the hospital gowns, they were ugly and reminded him of sickness and smelled of hospital. He dressed to his hate today. Also before he left he grabbed his tattoo kit from his trunk.
He hated the smell of the hospital wing. He hated the way the windows were so high near the ceiling and he hated the way the sun was beginning to filter in through them, but it was here he resigned himself to.
Sometimes anger can be triggered by anything and I dare say anything was everywhere at the moment.
He flopped back on the bed and sitting near the pillows giving him room to lay his things out.
He was surprised that by lunch the only person he saw was Madam Pomfry whom he'd said not a word to. She said she'd be back later with lunch and to do a check up. Harry didn't share his opinion on the matter however. He'd finished his work and hour ago, now he just admired it as it layed out from his wrist to his elbow. His most wondrous piece yet. The details and colour were perfect, the image was just perfect.
The image seen in this author's head is to complicated to explain, you as the reader must imagine everything Harry thought, feel his anger, his hate and direct it into art work so beautiful and fearful until your pleased with how it feels.
He was shocked still when Dumbledor had come to his side with the lunch Pomfry had promised earlier. And now shock was an understatement to say the least, when he saw the look of uncertainty when he opened his mouth and shut it again. Setting the tray beside Harry and moving away from the seat next to him that Harry though he was about to sit down in. Dumbledor stoped and looked back at him,
"Harry, I know you didn't mean to do what you did." He turned back nodding at Pomfry who he met at the door and wasn't seen again for at least twenty-four hours, by Harry anyway.
His visit left Harry feeling worn, like he'd reached the limit of anger and was run all out.
Later that day, Snape swept through holding a bulging bag that clanked away as he walked, and disappeared into the store room. When he reemerge he held only an empty leather bag. He gave Harry a quick glance, needing to take a double take at the boys arm for which he held up and was examining it with the critical slash affectionate way an artist would admire there own work. Of course Snape had no idea of the for once truthful rumours floating around about how Harry was a body artist, and put every hole in his face himself.
Snape knocked on Pomfry's door, his attention no longer on the boy.
"Come in!"
He stepped into the familiar office of the heath nurse to discuss there monthly medicinal plan.
"By the way, is he still out there looking at what he did to his arm?" she asked, suddenly agitated.
"When I saw him he was admiring his tattoo, but I don't know what you mean by what he had done to himself if that is what you meant."
"Of course that's what I meant. He worked all morning on it, I got up late at six thirty, there he was awake and dressed, working away on it. He hasn't stopped staring at it since, it just can't be healthy!"
Snape had stoped listening and was thinking about what she said before...What he did to himself...she doesn't mean that Potter did that? He needed to see it at a closer range.
"Well good day." He said briskly and turned from her closing the door behind him.
Yes Potter was still staring at it.
"What is that?" A stupid question, but what else was there to say?
"A tattoo." Harry looked up and Snape had to bite back a rude retort.
Gathering himself, he asked "Can I see?"
Harry held out his arm, the bottom of his wrist exposed, this was where it was most complicated. "Dear god." was what Snape muttered under his breath as he Harry turned his arm for him to see the rest of its beauty, its complication, its masterful intelligence.
"When?" He hadn't believed that Potter had done this before, and now that he'd seen the full content of it, he knew it wasn't Potter who had done it.
"I did it this morning." Harry shrugged starting to feel uncomfortable.
"Hm." Snape straightened and gave the arm one last look before sweeping away.
A/N:
Yes, yes, this is short.
I know my spelling sucks, so iv decide to make a rule, the next person to complain is automatically signing themselves up to be my new beta, in other words, if you don't like my spelling then do something about it yourself, because the only way Im going to reach your standards is by practising and since that's not good enough for any of you, you can go and check my fucking spelling yourselves! Well its that or I just delete all my stories and you'll never hear from me again...):glare:(
I'll probably delete this chapter eventually, it doesn't fit the story, but before I do anything Id like to hear your much valued opinions (but not the ones about my spelling ok?)
And any suggestions for the next chapter? Iv been thinking long term and im stuck on what to put between here and the post climax and there is a long way to go before then.
See ya loves!
-Nikki
