Chapter 4 : Of Prisms and Shadowy Shards
When Harry wakes up (from the dreams of so long ago), he feels new (old, so old). The burdens (of expectations, of prophecy) are gone and his soul is his (their) alone.
Everything is now open to him.
He can still feel the pull of the Moon (Avatar of TimeDeath) but he is the Mirror no more (clouded by layers and layers of his self).
Everything is different (Perception is everything).
The stars (so close) are like jewels of impossible colors scattered on the inky (deathly) black sky.
Transient light makes Hogwarts' grounds into silveryshivery Winter (the Other side).
The moon (false one, wrapped in illusions) is a touch away from him (in the flowing water) and she is alive in his hands.
The Moon (unveiled) Is.
He Feels (HearsTouchsSeesTastes) the slow breath (LeyLines) of the Earth (Gaia), the mercury (unpredictable) sighs of the Skies, the Magic that goes roundroundround ("not like this!" and Time laughs) everywhere (Himself, Herself, the wards, the (Lady) School), the spidery delicate whispers of (tiny little hearts) Lives (everywhere and nowhere, everything and everyone), the chimes of (small and not so small) Dreams in the night wind.
And he falls (like Alice in the rabbit hole) into himself where there is only Time like burning lines with Forever a breath away and he just has to reach out (with Time's soft murmurs and Magic's wings around him) and See.
Luna is afraid (alone) but doesn't dare (not yet) to go to Harry to get her gift back because he is Seer ,prism to the unfocused light of Time but she saw his eyes (windows to within) break into thousands (ragged) shards that pierced and slashed (her mind, her self) with three into one (too much).
Sitting under a weeping willow, the lake lapping at his feet, Harry feels the breath of Winter on his neck, gets up and Looks.
Beneath a veil (of don't look, don't see) is a Fae ("messenger" Magic hums), like a man but not (too perfect, too cold) standing on the lake and with a sword (of frosted nightmares) attacks him (for Winter is born of the darkest (not bad) feelings and appreciate strength).
Harry reaches out and seizes and squeezes and there is a (spidery delicate) flower that beats in his hand (one,slash,two,dodge,three,smash) and it scatters and it feels cold and he is alone again.
There is still a tiny wisp of power (magiclifeohGod!) that enters him; he is Frozen (no feelings, no emotions) and his hair flashes white (color of nothingness).
Winter has opened the Dance (that goes round and round and round).
Amidst the crooning of Time and Magic in his mind, he doesn't care for the silver grey (like wintry death) that follows him.
The boy (if he could be called so) walked and walked, urged by the castle, Magic shielding him from sight (harm), and through the door to the Room (that comes and go). The room is simple, a lit fire place, a couch and a mirror (a world) taking an entire wall.
He looks at himself and the ice shatters, he is not Frozen anymore and for the first time since he Became, he lets go (of the pretence, the deceptions, the illusions) and Sees.
He is the Fool, the Zero, endless and limitless; there is always place for more in him (more than himself, more than time, more than magic moremoremore).
His mind is full (of cracks, of couldshouldwillhaveto happen, of noise that won't stop, of dreams, of deaths, of nightmares) because he Is Seer (Feeler, Dreamer) and he can't not See.
He Is and he will never Have Been anymore, and tears (of falling stars and ended wars) slide down his face (break the world).
He is a paradox of strength and weakness (a Mirror that makes and breaks the world), cracks running and running and stopping and continuing.
Seers can live forever but sometimes, they don't want to.
In the end, he lives because he Is.
Fragile and lovely and so very afraid
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