Flying In Darkness
Rated: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Harry Potter
Author: Sceleris
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He couldn't do this anymore. He never wanted to do it in the first place.
He wanted to be normal. He wanted to get through a year without wondering
what morbid joke life would play on him next.
He sat there on the windowsill and looked out at Hogwarts. The view from
there was incredible and he understood why the Astronomy Tower was such a
popular make out spot.
He'd long since shed his Invisibility Cloak and simply sat in plain view
for any who wished to find him. They wouldn't look though; they had
stopped looking for him.
Apparently he needed time to grieve after such a loss and that was best
done alone. He'd been alone his entire life and he hated it. He wanted to
be part of a crowd. He wanted to be just another person in a long line of
people.
In their misguided attempts to help, they left him alone and watched from a
distance. They became more additions to the shadows that already surrounded
him constantly. He put on a mask, thinking it might bring them closer to
him again.
His mask went on every day always feeling like it would crack any second.
Still, they stayed away and were relieved that he was dealing.
He had tried once to let go and let all the feelings out. Instead of
comfort, he was labeled as unstable and was avoided. So he hid himself once
again. Hid the bruises, hid the tear tracks, and hid the scars.
He began to cry and every reason he gave himself for his tears seemed
pitifully inadequate. He cried even more, for the pain that could and could
not be explained.
The tears splash on to the backs of his hands and for a moment he is
startled by the warm liquid that briefly heats the chilled flesh.
It quickly cooled and more liquid warmth took its place. He was struck by
the resemblance to his life. He experienced happiness, only to have it cool
quickly. The process repeated itself far too often for his liking.
He stretched his hand out into the night and watched as the tears dripped
off into the deep blackness to land somewhere below. He began to wonder if
he too could simply fall and be swallowed by that very same blackness.
He was tempted to try. Very tempted, in fact he caught himself mid-movement, as he slid
off the sill. After regaining his perch, he silently wondered why he even
bothered.
It wasn't like he was needed as person, just as a symbol. Far too often he
was left out for his 'greater good'. If it was to his greater good to keep
out of the fight, you couldn't be more withdrawn than death.
He leaned forward with arms spread wide and felt himself begin to fall. As
the darkness started to consume his flight, he spared a brief hope that
being the Boy-Who-Lived didn't extend to suicide.