Disclaimer- I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own the quote from the beautiful poem Lamia by John Keats below: (
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6. Harry Potter
"…Do not all charms fly
At the mere touch of cold philosophy?
There was an awful rainbow once in heaven:
We know her woof, her texture; she is given
In the dull catalogue of common things.
Philosophy will clip an Angel's wings,
Conquer all mysteries by rule and line,
Empty the haunted air, and gnomed mine-
Unweave a rainbow…"
Harry Potter watched the ceiling above him, the small cracks and marks falling into slow lethargic movements, providing a show for his unseeing eyes. He closed the lids over his green orbs tightly and sighed. If he listened closely, he could hear Ron's breath, rising and falling, periodically erupting into loud snorts. He could hear very faintly Mrs. Weasley's chatter over the sizzling of cooking breakfast, barking out the orders he'd too soon have to follow... and he could smell it too, a warm, tempting smell of bacon and biscuits that had drifted all the way under the crack in Ron's door at the top of The Burrow. Beneath his fingers, the soft touch of simple linen cared for by gentle motherly love in a warm home. He grabbed the sheets in furled fists, pressing his nails forcefully into his palm.
When would it be over? When would this oasis finally be ripped from him forever? He had lived so many years without it, not daring to believe it existed, and now that he had it, he could see it slowly cracking before him…When would it finally collapse?
A family. What Harry never had. And finally, here he was, only to know it would all end too soon. But he couldn't ignore it any longer. Sirius was the first blow that came to mind. Harry cringed and closed his eyes tighter. Mrs. Weasley's constant crying. The soft look in Hermione's eyes as she scanned the morning paper. Watching Peter Pettigrew sit between his smiling parents, as a friend, an equal. Neville visiting his deranged parents, who didn't know him, who couldn't care…blow after blow after blow.
But it was Dumbledore's death that served as solid proof. Who would have ever thought Albus Dumbledore could succumb to death? It was as if the greatest constant of good had been relieved, an ancient pillar, with twinkling eyes of sincerity, with the soothing words of the all knowing…
And then, quickly, without warning, the pillar was removed, and Harry was stuck inside the crumbling temple.
Harry fought back the stinging cry that lumped in his throat. He wouldn't give in. He couldn't. He would risk it all to stop that evil. The warm bed, the welcomed racket, the very air he breathed… Everything.
And this was his promise.
" 'Arry?" came a familiar yawn. Ron had awoken.
Harry dropped the lithe sheets from his hands and turned over onto his side, squeezing his eyelids tightly once more before flickering them open, revealing a tired redhead rubbing a hand against his slopped nose.
Everything.
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MS Dae
A/N: All right, so I used first a part of the poem, and then a second reference to rainbows (the promise). Very tricky challenge! Thanks to all readers/reviewers!
-M.S. Dae