Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, that's J.K. Rowling who, last I checked, isn't me. (whoa, deja vu. I feel like I've said this before...)
Hi, I just want to say to the reader who has not just skipped this to read the story a couple of lines below this, thank you for reading. Having readers makes me happy, as many of you fellow authors can understand. What also makes me happy is getting a review. I remember I said somewhere that I wouldn't pester you with this- actually, I think that's my other fan fiction- but it's just something that I wanted to say. Seriously, I become a little kid again when I see in my inbox "new review on " and I read it, and it's a good, nice, heartfelt review.
Phew, got that off my chest. Continue, my friends.
"When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves" -Victor Frankl
"He who has nothing to die for has nothing to live for" -Moroccan Proverb
"It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are" - E.E. Cummings
The outlook wasn't good. Not at all.
He knew Voldemort was back. How could he not? His father had to leave on "business" almost every night now.
There must've been some mission going on, there still probably is, actually. Not that anyone would tell him, though. By all standards, as his father said, he was still a child- still underage, he wanted to correct him- and he couldn't be trusted with such secrets.
His mother had dearly wanted for her and her son to stay out of it. She was a follower of their beliefs and all, but she had motherly instincts, all of which were screaming, he'll get hurt, he'll be harmed, don't let him, protect him, keep him out of it!
He didn't know if his father was just abiding by his mother's pleas, or if he really didn't find his son capable. The latter, he figured, definitely the latter.
Did he really want to be a part of it? If he could, would he? What would it involve? Risking life? Risking sanity? Risking- what else did he have? He had so little... so little that mattered...
No, he shook his head, back to original train of thought. Would he? He wanted to be a part of something. He wanted to be something, someone. This was his only option. His one and only option.
Really, was it his only option? No, stop it! This is all you know! This is all you've known your entire life. You don't belong there.
I don't? No!
He pinched the smooth bridge of his nose- he'd seen adults do it many times. This was how it was every idle moment he had. Idle moments always led to this train of thought. It was almost always the same, no real variation.
He sat on his bed, one foot over the edge, thinking.
His room looked as it did since he was young. It didn't change, other than the transition from baby things- a crib- to more mature things- a bed. Stone walls, stone floors, stone ceiling. It was a cold, dreary atmosphere to say the least.
There were a few windows along one wall of his bedroom. Each were covered with dark emerald drapery- by his parents, for whatever reason- and blocked any sunlight from making it's way through.
But there were lamps, in their artificial glow they lit up the rooms enough. Just enough to keep someone from tripping and killing themselves.
His room held nothing out of the ordinary, certainly nothing any bit spectacular. It had only "necessities"- basic, though elegant, furniture, his robes, a few of his favorite books in a dark wood shelf. Everything was tidy, perfectly spiffy, "courtesy" of their house elves.
Well, it's not as though they only had one house elf. In a manor this large, one could get through with it in, maybe, a month. And it wasn't just cleaning that they would do, there was the cooking and whatever else they were told. They must've had, at least, twenty or so house elves.
That fact never bothered him. Why should it? There were elves at Hogwarts, too, weren't there?
He raised himself off of his bed. He changed out of his pajamas and into one of his expensive robes. He ignored the reflection in the mirror in front of him, imitating him as he changed. He didn't look at the pale, thin figure, the white-blond hair, the gray eyes, or the sharp chin. Except, maybe a quick glance.
He started to cross the room to make his way down to breakfast, but he stopped halfway. After hesitating slightly, he went over to the window and pulled back the curtain slightly. He stared at the bright, outside world for only a moment before proceeding to the dining hall.
As he entered the large, dining hall, he was thoroughly disappointed to see his father still at the table. He hated it when he had to sit with the man.
He figured that, maybe, he could sneak away and back up to his room. There, he could wait for his father to leave.
Too late, he already saw him.
His father glanced up from The Daily Prophet and looked straight into his son's eyes.
At that moment, he felt like a young, cowering child, again-
"Father?"
"I see you decided not to listen to me."
"I don't get it."
"You're clothes are dirty and ripped, and you may as well reek of guilt."
"I didn't-"
"Silence, boy! You have forgotten who you are! Your disobedience disappoints me! You shame me!"
He was pulled back to reality, but he still felt panicky. He then could have kicked himself. He obviously hadn't had his mental barriers up, which meant his father could have easily used Legilimency.
He forced himself to look into his father's eyes again. This time, he made sure his mental barriers were up. Even if his father had seen his little flashback, his expression didn't soften. But then again, it very scarcely did.
"You are awake, I see," his father said in a business-like tone.
"You are still here, I see," he said, observing, with all of the confidence he could muster.
"Yes, evidently," his father scowled slightly.
"And why?" asked daringly
"I will not need to see the minister, likely, for several more weeks. As for other- how shall we say- matters, I will not need to attend to them until later today," he peered at his son, not showing any visible emotions, other than, perhaps, superiority, "Perhaps, you wish me to leave?" he asked.
But he knew that his probably father had no intention of leaving, "Why would you think that?" he said dryly.
"Well, you see," his father explained now sneering, "I couldn't help but notice your- little reaction."
He just narrowed his eyes, not knowing what he could say. He turned on his heel to head back up-stairs.
"Oh- and one more thing," his father added.
He turned back to look at the man.
"I do hope that, in the future, you will express more self-control, alright?" he said in a fake-fatherly voice.
It was his turn to sneer, "No doubt."
He swept out of the dining hall.
He hated the man- he was terrified of him, but he couldn't help but put attitude towards him. Any chance he would find some way to subtly stand up to him, at least in his mind.
But it still pierced him in the gut when he did something to disappoint him. Was that normal? He wouldn't know.
He took one of the many staircases, not particularly caring where he was going. He'd lived in the manor his whole life, yet he'd still barely gotten used to it's layout- it was so large.
That's not to say that Hogwarts wasn't large and confusing, as well as hardly navigable. But, despite whatever he said about it, he greatly preferred Hogwarts. Any excuse to get away from his accursed father...
If he hated him so much, why did he boast about him? He often wondered that, too. Maybe he knew that he wasn't in the desirable father-son relationship, so he made one up. Maybe he didn't want anyone else to know. Maybe he wanted to fool them. Maybe he wanted to fool himself.
Stop it!
He decided the library would be best. Yes, the library, with all it's lovely informational distractions.
And he spent his whole day there. He summoned house elves several times to get something to eat. He didn't want to be unpleasantly surprised by his father again.
It was always at nightfall that his father would always leave on "business." At precisely 7:00 that evening, since he wanted to watch him leave, he left the library.
He went down one of the side halls and went down the side staircase. He found himself on the second floor of the entrance hall, overlooking the floor below. He stayed out of their view as much as he could as he watched.
His father was talking to his mother, "This will likely take longer than usual," he told her as though she was just a concerned friend, at best, "I trust things will not get out of order in my absence."
"Of course," his mother said as though she was mimicking one of their house elves.
His father made his way to the large front door. He placed his hand on the handle, but before he opened the door, he made a glance over his shoulder.
Somehow, his eyes met his son's. Shivers ran down his spine as his father exited the large manor. It was his preferred way of leaving, apparently. As he worked it out, his father would get to the border of their manor- the apparation border- and apparate to wherever. He probably didn't use floo because a) the ministry would be able to track where he was going and b) he didn't like how messy it could be.
Normally, he liked to be able to see his father go. Be assured that he was gone. This time, though, it just gave him the chills.
He stayed up until his eyes stung. He could hardly wait until summer vacation was over- then he'd have something to do.
He dragged himself to bed at the latest hour possible. He went to sleep only thinking only about how tired he was.
So who do you want to be?
Hm, good question, I don't know the answer.
Are you sure?
What's there to be sure about?
What isn't there to be sure about?
Perhaps you are confusing me
Perhaps you are confusing yourself
But you are me
And I am you
It's almost funny
So you think this is a joke?
It might be, it could be
Oh go drown yourself!
Really?
Perhaps you should
Maybe I don't want to
Maybe that's all you want to do
But drowning is an awful way
You don't have much else
Nothing noble
Nothing worthy
No point
No hope
No light
No really?
Who am I?
Who are you?
What is this?
What is your life?
NO!
RED EYES, THEY GLOW AT YOU
THEY ARE GOING TO USE YOU
THEY ARE GOING TO TAKE YOU
THEY ARE GOING TO KILL YOU
THEY-
STOP!
He swung straight up, breathing hard. It was dark in his room, unidentifiable shapes- but he wasn't a child.
He collapsed into his pillow. He felt his hands going through his hair and over his slightly sweating forehead. He hated it when that happened. That was his idea of a nightmare. It wasn't particularly frightening, but it sure petrified him. It was when his mind was really full or really stressed that he had dreams like that. No shapes, no visual, no sound, really. Just thoughts, all nonsense thoughts.
And it was about that point when he found himself with a heavy case of insomnia. It was going to be a bad week.