New HP Fic
States
~fawkes
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry, but I do borrow him from time to time so I can further mess with his head.
AN: This is brought to you by my now infamous Abnormal Psych class, where we were discussing states of consciousness. And of course, instead of actually studying, I was forever finding new fic fodder. Oh well, at least I got some sort of education ^_^
Warnings: Dark and angsty just the way I like em. Attempted suicide/cutting. And this does, I think, come off a bit strange in the telling, but bear with me.
***
Focused
Once upon a time there was a green eyed boy who came home at the end of the summer. Only it wasn't home anymore. Nowhere was.
He'd had another home once, a long time ago. So long that he can't remember it. Then for a what seemed like forever the boy lived in a dark place, full of fear and mistrust and spite. But he was saved by a man as big as the world, and brought to a place that was so wonderful it hurt. A fairytale castle where the boy found friends. Friends who became his family. He even found someone very much like a father. And he thought he was home at last.
But then, one day, everything broke. The boy's world shattered and he was left with a hole in his heart so big that nothing would ever fill it.
Flowing
The rest of the world doesn't stop: classes go on, jokes get told, hearts get broken. The boy feels he should be annoyed by this. But he can't seem to work up the energy to feel anything, certainly nothing as strong as anger. Numb is better anyway.
He doesn't talk about his feelings, or lack of feelings. He doesn't talk at all. His friends look at him with pity, but they've stopped trying to get him to respond. His teachers look at him with concern, but in the end there's nothing they can do either. Except watch.
Divided
He uses his best friend's razor to cut little patterns in his arm. His best friend's razor because he doesn't own one, doesn't have the beginnings of adulthood to shave away. But he has pain, and the boy will pare himself down to the bone to make it hurt less for just one more dayhourminute.
When he looks at his arm he thinks red must be the color of truth.
It reminds him of a time, one day when he was small, his aunt had taken his cousin to the park. He'd been taken along out of necessity, but it wasn't as if he was actually allowed to touch any of the play equipment. On the way to the park his aunt stopped in a small shop and bought the cheapest box of crayons and pad of paper she could find; she wanted to keep him out of her hair. His cousin had thrown a fit but was pacified with a large bag of sweets.
At the park the boy had sat under his aunt's bench and drawn while his cousin rode the carousel. He drew pictures of what he wanted his family to look like -- a mommy, a daddy, him, and a puppy. In front of a red house with green grass and a blue blue sky.
On the way home, the boy's cousin had pushed him down. The crayons scattered and his cousin stomped them into the concrete. The boy was almost sad; it was the only present he'd ever gotten. But they looked so pretty -- a rainbow on the sidewalk.
And that's what he thinks he must look like. Black and green and white and red.
All crumpled together on the floor of the dormitory.
Sleep
The world was memories. Sight. Smell. Touch. Sound. Taste.
Flashes of green light. His mother screaming. The sharp tang of biting his lip. Flying motorcyles and the feeling of falling off his broom.
And above everything, the rustling of a veil.
The boy was everywhere and nowhere at the same time. He thought he might implode; he thought he wouldn't mind if he did.
But out of nowheresomewhereanywhere he heard "I'm sorry." And he was taken up in a strong pair of arms. Then the world realigned and there was only a shaggy black dog who wasn't quite a dog. Someone very much like a father with a quick grin and short sharp laughter like a dog's bark.
And the boy felt his heart beat for the first time in ages.
Altered
The boy woke up. He opened his eyes and remembered
remembered
remembered
That he hurt.
But it wasn't the same as before.
And --
He should be lying on the floor, shouldn't he? But he was in a bed. Crisp white sheets and the tingle of healing charms.
His mouth felt like he'd swallowed a wad of cotton; he wanted to ask for a glass of water.
But then someone was looking down at him, an old old man whose eyes looked much too tired to twinkle.
"Welcome back Harry."
-- fin