Tears are meant to be Cried
Prologue
By: Chronos the Fallen Angel
Author's note: This story will contain characters from two different universes, them being Harry's world and the Marvel Comic one (Maybe DC Comics too). Another Idea taken from those universes are the creators not mine, but what I have created is mine (I.E. Roland Childe, Heather Mae Kent, and the new characters to follow.)
For those who have read my other story, until this one is farther then that one, I will leave the Efforts of the Damned up. Until then enjoy that, I do hope you read the other one to see the differences and changes that I made.
This is an updated chapter, I changed it from the seventh year to the sixth, as to have a sequel.
* * * * * *
Deep into sleep, Harry tossed and turned all night. The memories of what had happened over the past two years still haunted him. The deaths he seen were haunting with in his dreams; Cedric' death the fourth year of attending Hogwarts the most, but there were still others. Harry felt that he was fault of the deaths of those who attended other wizarding schools. He felt that he was the cause of all the deaths that had happened since Cedric's, and now the ghosts seemed the haunt him.
Harry awoke from his nightmare of the ghosts. But something was different, after the ghosts disappeared, a new dream begun. He sensed a girl being attacked over and over again, abused and assaulted in the worst manner for anyone. He felt her pain, and wished from the bottom of his heart that he could help her. But it, in the end was all but a dream. Though for some strange reason Harry felt that it was real, and what was happening to the girl was just as real as he is.
Harry got up and walked over to the window. It was open for Hedwig, as she left for her dinner. Harry stared at the pale moon; he had grown over the past three years, more muscular and stronger; he hadn't grown in height since his fifth year, still six feet even. Harry found a spell his fifth year at Hogwarts that returned his eyes to 20/20 vision so he didn't need glasses anymore.
He leaned against the window, and looked over to the clock. It read four o'clock, he sighed. He wished that he was still at Hogwarts despite the horrible memories from the last year. He wanted to be back with his friends, both Hermione and Ron, but mostly Hermione. He missed her so much; Harry felt his heart ache each day without him hearing from her. She had turned into such a beautiful woman since Harry first met her; to him she was the most stunning girl at the school. Her hair was no longer the curly mess it was when he first met her, but instead smooth and straight. She had developed as normal girls do, and to Harry she was still the same beautiful woman that he had grown to love. But she would never know his true feelings.
It had only been a week since school ended, but to Harry, it was forever. He knew that he liked her and wanted to be more then friends, but she chose to be just that, friends, at the end of the year. Hermione found herself a boyfriend and a terrible choice at that. He was considered to be the worst boy at the school: rude, mean, cruel, always cheating on his girlfriends, and using them constantly to achieve his goals. Harry tried to warn her, but she didn't listen. It happened too quickly, and the two friends stopped talking. But in the end, they made up on uneasy terms.
Harry was worried too, for another and completely different problem. Mutants. They appeared on the news a few before Harry returned from Hogwarts, and the students were warned about using their powers in a Muggle resident. But it was a pointless warning, as every student knew better not to. But for Harry it meant torture when he returned home. Uncle Vernon beat- up him when he returned, and made it a daily ritual. Harry was still sore from the day-before's beating. But he didn't complain, he never did. It was no use threatening with Sirius; he was cleared of all charges, and since the Dursleys considered him a mutant as well, they weren't afraid of him. A mutant could do nothing both in the wizarding world and the Muggle. Harry couldn't live with him because of Professor Dumbledore's request; Harry should be kept as far away from the wizarding world as possible, until it is time for him to return to finish the school year, a year when he would be strong enough to protect himself and others.
Harry limped back over to his bed, his leg sore for Dudley pushing him down the stairs. Harry caught himself before any real damage was done, but his wrists felt like they were burning from the pain. He wished in the depths of his heart that he could leave this horrible place for another, anywhere better then the Dursley's.
Hedwig came back with a letter on her leg and a mouse in her mouth. "Hello, girl," he said, and felt a pain. Not in his head, but in his heart. It wasn't Voldemort, Harry knew that. He felt it for an awhile, starting a few weeks after Hermione began going out with that boy. He just pasted it off as an ulcer from stress and grabbed a small bottle from the dress. He took a pill from it and swallowed it, it sometimes, and sometimes it didn't work. Harry just hoped for the best.
Harry slowly read the letter; the pill wasn't working and made it hard for him to concentrate. But Harry continued on, and slowly, his face turned into a smile. Hermione would be returning home and invited him to stay over at her house. Professor Dumbledore, Sirius, and her parents said it would be alright. He would be picked up the next day, Sirius would be there to make sure that Harry was going, as he was the legal guardian, despite the fact that he was living with the Dursley's.
Harry climbed back into his bed and hoped that the pain would die down enough so he would be able to sleep. And sure, enough it did, but never truly life him. He dreamt of the girl being attacked and violated.
* * * * * *
On the other side of the world, in an institute designed for the gifted, slept a young man. He couldn't sleep well for his dreams returned to him every night since it had happened. Three weeks ago, his girlfriend was killed by an angry mob after him, trying to kill him. And with all his powers, the young man couldn't stop the horrible act from happening. So the boy ended up here, the only place left in the world that would accept him, save the school that he was waiting to return to. There they teach him the essentials of magic, and the boy is the best there is, was, and ever will be.
The boy awoke in the dead of night, his powers finding a source of pain and inflicting it upon him. But he did not scream; no, instead, he focused the pain into anger, and the anger into power. He yelled in anger, and broke a vase on the dress across from his bed. The pieces of the vase travel through out the room, and pierced the walls. Slowly the boy calms down, breathing hard. Some of his friends rush into the room, hoping to prevent him from hurting himself. But it was too late. On the boy's bare chest were pieces of the glass vase imbedded into the skin. Blood ran down his chest, and onto the sheets of the bed.
"Roland," a young girl said, "Are you alright?" they all knew how and why it happened. They all knew of the horror afflicted upon the young man. Everyone was dressed in their sleeping cloths, as it was early in the morning. The sun wasn't even up yet.
"I'll be fine," he said. "Now, leave." He tried to shield his eyes from the bright hallway. "I don't need help."
A bald man in robe came rolling up to the room in a wheel chair. "Please do, I need to talk with Roland alone," he said. The group of kids cleared a path for him.
"Yes, professor," was the unified reply from the group. They walked back slowly to their rooms. The last to leave closed the door, leaving Roland and the professor in complete darkness.
"What happened, Roland?" the professor asked. He wheeled himself over to the side of Roland's bed, so that he was right next to him.
"You know what happened, Professor X," Roland snapped back, his anger hadn't settled down. "I saw them again. And still the boy does nothing." Roland reached out in front of him. The professor heard another vase shatter on the dress. "Doesn't he care about her?"
"I believe that he doesn't know, Roland. From what you told me, he couldn't have known."
"But Professor-" Roland started.
"You need to relax," he said. "There is nothing we can do."
"Yes there is," Roland replied. "I felt that both of them are mutants, as well as wizards. We can help them, Professor."
"And how do you purpose that?" Professor X asked. "Their powers haven't manifested themselves yet."
The blacken room was silent. "I could transfer over to their school and try to protect them, maybe help them with their powers."
"But you barely have control on your own powers. Let alone your anger. How do you suspect to help them if you can not help yourself, Roland?"
"I-I don't know, professor," Roland stuttered out. "But I-" he started then yelled again, and slammed his fists on the bed. Another vase broke.
"You need to control you anger."
"I know, but-"
"I'll help you tonight," Professor X said. He reached out and touched Roland's forehead. "Relax, and fall into a deep sleep. We'll finish this conversation later."
Roland felt relaxed and calmed, and he lied back down, and slowly fell back asleep. The professor wheeled himself out of the room, and closed the door behind him. Two other kids were waiting for the professor outside of Roland's room. "How is he professor?" the girl asked. She had brown hair with white bangs, produced from an accident that happened two years ago. She wore a long nightgown with gloves and her arms covered. The boy was holding her in his arms. They were clearly dating.
"Not good, Rogue," he replied, and wheeled himself up to them. "His mind is nearly destroyed, holding itself together by threads. His condition is worse then Logan's."
"Is there anything that we can do to help him?" the boy asked; he was wearing his boxer shorts and a t-shirt. He held Rogue closer to him.
"I don't know, Bobby," Professor X said, "His has so many problems. In his mind, he feels like the world is his responsibility and that he must fix it.'
"But that's not true, professor," Rogue replied.
"That may be, Rogue, but I sense another in his mind."
"What does that mean, professor?" Bobby asked.
"I don't know," Professor X said. "But it clearly isn't helping him. That voice that he talks to is guiding him somewhere, but I can't where that path leads." He looked at Bobby and Rogue. "I fear that he is in danger, but of what I can not tell."
"We have to help him, professor," Rogue said. She threw her white bangs out of her eyes. "He's tried so hard to help us."
"I know, Rogue, I know," Professor replied. "But right now there is nothing we can do for him." He started to guide his chair away, but stopped. "I would like you two to go back to your separate rooms. We're starting early tomorrow, and I suggest you get your rest." The Professor then continued to wheel himself down the hallway and to his room.
"Yes professor," Bobby said, he lead Rogue away to her dorm then went to his.
Prologue
By: Chronos the Fallen Angel
Author's note: This story will contain characters from two different universes, them being Harry's world and the Marvel Comic one (Maybe DC Comics too). Another Idea taken from those universes are the creators not mine, but what I have created is mine (I.E. Roland Childe, Heather Mae Kent, and the new characters to follow.)
For those who have read my other story, until this one is farther then that one, I will leave the Efforts of the Damned up. Until then enjoy that, I do hope you read the other one to see the differences and changes that I made.
This is an updated chapter, I changed it from the seventh year to the sixth, as to have a sequel.
* * * * * *
Deep into sleep, Harry tossed and turned all night. The memories of what had happened over the past two years still haunted him. The deaths he seen were haunting with in his dreams; Cedric' death the fourth year of attending Hogwarts the most, but there were still others. Harry felt that he was fault of the deaths of those who attended other wizarding schools. He felt that he was the cause of all the deaths that had happened since Cedric's, and now the ghosts seemed the haunt him.
Harry awoke from his nightmare of the ghosts. But something was different, after the ghosts disappeared, a new dream begun. He sensed a girl being attacked over and over again, abused and assaulted in the worst manner for anyone. He felt her pain, and wished from the bottom of his heart that he could help her. But it, in the end was all but a dream. Though for some strange reason Harry felt that it was real, and what was happening to the girl was just as real as he is.
Harry got up and walked over to the window. It was open for Hedwig, as she left for her dinner. Harry stared at the pale moon; he had grown over the past three years, more muscular and stronger; he hadn't grown in height since his fifth year, still six feet even. Harry found a spell his fifth year at Hogwarts that returned his eyes to 20/20 vision so he didn't need glasses anymore.
He leaned against the window, and looked over to the clock. It read four o'clock, he sighed. He wished that he was still at Hogwarts despite the horrible memories from the last year. He wanted to be back with his friends, both Hermione and Ron, but mostly Hermione. He missed her so much; Harry felt his heart ache each day without him hearing from her. She had turned into such a beautiful woman since Harry first met her; to him she was the most stunning girl at the school. Her hair was no longer the curly mess it was when he first met her, but instead smooth and straight. She had developed as normal girls do, and to Harry she was still the same beautiful woman that he had grown to love. But she would never know his true feelings.
It had only been a week since school ended, but to Harry, it was forever. He knew that he liked her and wanted to be more then friends, but she chose to be just that, friends, at the end of the year. Hermione found herself a boyfriend and a terrible choice at that. He was considered to be the worst boy at the school: rude, mean, cruel, always cheating on his girlfriends, and using them constantly to achieve his goals. Harry tried to warn her, but she didn't listen. It happened too quickly, and the two friends stopped talking. But in the end, they made up on uneasy terms.
Harry was worried too, for another and completely different problem. Mutants. They appeared on the news a few before Harry returned from Hogwarts, and the students were warned about using their powers in a Muggle resident. But it was a pointless warning, as every student knew better not to. But for Harry it meant torture when he returned home. Uncle Vernon beat- up him when he returned, and made it a daily ritual. Harry was still sore from the day-before's beating. But he didn't complain, he never did. It was no use threatening with Sirius; he was cleared of all charges, and since the Dursleys considered him a mutant as well, they weren't afraid of him. A mutant could do nothing both in the wizarding world and the Muggle. Harry couldn't live with him because of Professor Dumbledore's request; Harry should be kept as far away from the wizarding world as possible, until it is time for him to return to finish the school year, a year when he would be strong enough to protect himself and others.
Harry limped back over to his bed, his leg sore for Dudley pushing him down the stairs. Harry caught himself before any real damage was done, but his wrists felt like they were burning from the pain. He wished in the depths of his heart that he could leave this horrible place for another, anywhere better then the Dursley's.
Hedwig came back with a letter on her leg and a mouse in her mouth. "Hello, girl," he said, and felt a pain. Not in his head, but in his heart. It wasn't Voldemort, Harry knew that. He felt it for an awhile, starting a few weeks after Hermione began going out with that boy. He just pasted it off as an ulcer from stress and grabbed a small bottle from the dress. He took a pill from it and swallowed it, it sometimes, and sometimes it didn't work. Harry just hoped for the best.
Harry slowly read the letter; the pill wasn't working and made it hard for him to concentrate. But Harry continued on, and slowly, his face turned into a smile. Hermione would be returning home and invited him to stay over at her house. Professor Dumbledore, Sirius, and her parents said it would be alright. He would be picked up the next day, Sirius would be there to make sure that Harry was going, as he was the legal guardian, despite the fact that he was living with the Dursley's.
Harry climbed back into his bed and hoped that the pain would die down enough so he would be able to sleep. And sure, enough it did, but never truly life him. He dreamt of the girl being attacked and violated.
* * * * * *
On the other side of the world, in an institute designed for the gifted, slept a young man. He couldn't sleep well for his dreams returned to him every night since it had happened. Three weeks ago, his girlfriend was killed by an angry mob after him, trying to kill him. And with all his powers, the young man couldn't stop the horrible act from happening. So the boy ended up here, the only place left in the world that would accept him, save the school that he was waiting to return to. There they teach him the essentials of magic, and the boy is the best there is, was, and ever will be.
The boy awoke in the dead of night, his powers finding a source of pain and inflicting it upon him. But he did not scream; no, instead, he focused the pain into anger, and the anger into power. He yelled in anger, and broke a vase on the dress across from his bed. The pieces of the vase travel through out the room, and pierced the walls. Slowly the boy calms down, breathing hard. Some of his friends rush into the room, hoping to prevent him from hurting himself. But it was too late. On the boy's bare chest were pieces of the glass vase imbedded into the skin. Blood ran down his chest, and onto the sheets of the bed.
"Roland," a young girl said, "Are you alright?" they all knew how and why it happened. They all knew of the horror afflicted upon the young man. Everyone was dressed in their sleeping cloths, as it was early in the morning. The sun wasn't even up yet.
"I'll be fine," he said. "Now, leave." He tried to shield his eyes from the bright hallway. "I don't need help."
A bald man in robe came rolling up to the room in a wheel chair. "Please do, I need to talk with Roland alone," he said. The group of kids cleared a path for him.
"Yes, professor," was the unified reply from the group. They walked back slowly to their rooms. The last to leave closed the door, leaving Roland and the professor in complete darkness.
"What happened, Roland?" the professor asked. He wheeled himself over to the side of Roland's bed, so that he was right next to him.
"You know what happened, Professor X," Roland snapped back, his anger hadn't settled down. "I saw them again. And still the boy does nothing." Roland reached out in front of him. The professor heard another vase shatter on the dress. "Doesn't he care about her?"
"I believe that he doesn't know, Roland. From what you told me, he couldn't have known."
"But Professor-" Roland started.
"You need to relax," he said. "There is nothing we can do."
"Yes there is," Roland replied. "I felt that both of them are mutants, as well as wizards. We can help them, Professor."
"And how do you purpose that?" Professor X asked. "Their powers haven't manifested themselves yet."
The blacken room was silent. "I could transfer over to their school and try to protect them, maybe help them with their powers."
"But you barely have control on your own powers. Let alone your anger. How do you suspect to help them if you can not help yourself, Roland?"
"I-I don't know, professor," Roland stuttered out. "But I-" he started then yelled again, and slammed his fists on the bed. Another vase broke.
"You need to control you anger."
"I know, but-"
"I'll help you tonight," Professor X said. He reached out and touched Roland's forehead. "Relax, and fall into a deep sleep. We'll finish this conversation later."
Roland felt relaxed and calmed, and he lied back down, and slowly fell back asleep. The professor wheeled himself out of the room, and closed the door behind him. Two other kids were waiting for the professor outside of Roland's room. "How is he professor?" the girl asked. She had brown hair with white bangs, produced from an accident that happened two years ago. She wore a long nightgown with gloves and her arms covered. The boy was holding her in his arms. They were clearly dating.
"Not good, Rogue," he replied, and wheeled himself up to them. "His mind is nearly destroyed, holding itself together by threads. His condition is worse then Logan's."
"Is there anything that we can do to help him?" the boy asked; he was wearing his boxer shorts and a t-shirt. He held Rogue closer to him.
"I don't know, Bobby," Professor X said, "His has so many problems. In his mind, he feels like the world is his responsibility and that he must fix it.'
"But that's not true, professor," Rogue replied.
"That may be, Rogue, but I sense another in his mind."
"What does that mean, professor?" Bobby asked.
"I don't know," Professor X said. "But it clearly isn't helping him. That voice that he talks to is guiding him somewhere, but I can't where that path leads." He looked at Bobby and Rogue. "I fear that he is in danger, but of what I can not tell."
"We have to help him, professor," Rogue said. She threw her white bangs out of her eyes. "He's tried so hard to help us."
"I know, Rogue, I know," Professor replied. "But right now there is nothing we can do for him." He started to guide his chair away, but stopped. "I would like you two to go back to your separate rooms. We're starting early tomorrow, and I suggest you get your rest." The Professor then continued to wheel himself down the hallway and to his room.
"Yes professor," Bobby said, he lead Rogue away to her dorm then went to his.