Disclaimer: The wonderful world of Harry Potter and his friends and enemies was created by none other than the fabulous JK Rowling and alas I own nothing and am just borrowing her characters for a bit of fun!
Song lyrics come from the musical episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and were written by Joss Whedon. Many thanks to my favourite Aussies for showing me the wonder that is Buffy!
I touch the fire and it freezes me.
Amazing how one’s world can come crashing down within the time it takes to mutter two small words. Avada Kedavra. Avada Kedavra. Avada Kedavra. When you say them over again they begin to lose meaning. They can’t be real words, can they? But they are real and the meaning can’t be lost. The blinding white tomb won’t let my mind forget. If only I could feel.
Harry’s mind was not within his surroundings of the only home he had ever known, the Burrow. It was in the tower where he saw his headmaster fall at the hands of a traitor. It was with the veil that claimed his godfather and friend. It was in the dark cupboard where he had suffered so much abuse during what should have been his childhood. To most people these thoughts would bring anger, despair, hate….something. But to Harry they were just thoughts, haunting thoughts, but just that.
I look into it and it’s black.
A quiet sob awakes the raven haired boy… no… young man… from the thoughts that caused the clouds in his brilliant green eyes and the steel around his already hardened heart. The firelight dancing in her crimson hair, the smooth lines of her slender arms reaching towards her face buried deep in her trembling hands. Harry had never seen anything so hauntingly beautiful in all his life. Never had he wanted to reach out and touch someone more than he did at this very moment, but that wasn’t allowed. Not for murderers.
Why can’t I feel? My skin should crack and peel.
No, he wasn’t a murderer, at least not yet. But he would be, this was for certain. No sixteen year old with as many mortal enemies as Harry Potter had accumulated could even begin to fathom the idea of his own life continuing without the untimely death of others. And so Harry did not think about the extent to which life could take him. Never did he make plans, daydream about what he wanted from life or even continue on with his intended career path to be an auror for any other purpose except to learn how to kill the Dark Lord. No, Harry Potter had no future.
He had recently sat through the funeral of his most respected and loved mentor, Albus Dumbeldore. Loved. As in, past tense. Because Harry just couldn’t seem to be able to do so any longer. All that love ever accumulated to in this jaded young man’s life was the burn, sting and stench of death. First the loss of his parents. Too young to remember it, but the Dementors made certain that Harry would be forced to relive the screams of his mother and the cold cruel laugh that came from the snake-like face of Voldemort. And no, Harry never particularly loved Cedric Diggory, but the after effects of his death confused the idea of love in the mind of this teenage boy. No fifteen year old that goes through his first kiss with a young woman who is crying will come out with a positive look at the situation. Then of course comes Sirius. Sirius Black, the wanted murderer. Padfoot, the best friend of Harry’s father and a troublemaker to rival Fred and George Weasley. Harry could pinpoint the moment he stopped feeling. It wasn’t after he trashed both his headmaster’s office and the headmaster himself. It wasn’t in those final days of loneliness at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And at the train station he remembered feeling gratitude for the support he received from his friends. He had felt.
It wasn’t until he walked into Number 4 Privet Drive, well after everyone else as he had to carry his school trunk and his snow white owl by himself, and saw the empty hallway that led to the cupboard, his cupboard, under the stairs. The years of abuse came rushing back at him. Then he heard his Uncle Vernon yell “Boy! Get that lot upstairs before the neighbours see you, you little freak!” That was when Harry Potter decided that he never wanted to feel this pain again and knew that the only way to do so was to stop feeling. That was the moment the clouds fogged the once youthful and clear eyes and Harry’s heart stopped beating for anything more than mere existence.
I want the fire back.
Then the hands came down from that freckled face of the beauty across from Harry and revealed the deepest chocolate brown eyes, stained with both shed and unshed tears. Harry knew the tears Ginny released were for Dumbledore and those trapped were for him. Without saying a word Ginny stood up from her place on the corner of the old faded, yet comfortable, couch. The next thing that Harry knew she was kneeled in front of him, her face buried in his lap and her arms hugging him. There was nothing he could do but sink out of the chair and land gently in front of this loving young woman. Her arms wrapped fiercely around his waist, Harry pulled her even more tightly into him. The two stayed in this embrace for what felt like hours, the whole time Ginny shedding her tears for the boy she adored and grew to love into his chest. The love pouring from these tears caused the steel weighing upon Harry’s chest begins to loosen and the hardness of his well protected heart begins to melt. When the two finally pulled apart from each other’s grasps the red headed miracle looked up into Harry’s face, gently lifted her hand, traced the tips of her fingers over his lips and brought her thumb up to wipe away the first tear.
“Remember Harry,” Ginny whispered in his ear, “the hardest thing in this world is to live in it.”
“I think I’m up for the challenge”, Harry uttered as he lowered his mouth and softly brushed the inviting lips of Ginny Weasley.