1 Even Heroes Have the Right to Bleed
Ch 1
I can't stand to fly
By Me123
A/N: Hey, new story. This is the bleakest thing I have ever wrote, NO, I am not suicidal, LOL, I don't wanna be asked that. I just thought about the life behind Little-Mister-Perfect. The poem is courtesy of me, I wrote it, if you would like to read it and more by me check out my collection on this site. The song is "Superman" by Five For Fighting. Thanku all, and please review.
PLEASE NOTE: AFTER THIS CHAPTER, THE REST WILL BE THE REFLECTION LEADING UP TO THIS POINT. SO THIS IS KINDA THE END OF THE STORY IF U WANT TO THINK OF IT THAT WAY.
Disclaimer: I own my beautiful poem! LOL, but nothing else.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
"I can't stand to fly...
I'm not that naive...
I'm just out to find...
the better part of me..."
Harry Potter stumbled in the dark, trying to find his way through the opaque night air that seeped into the Gryffindor dorm from the window kept slightly ajar.
He did not have a watch or another such contraption to tell the time, but he figured that it was approximately 2:17 a.m. He had counted every moment, every minute since the lights had been shut out, waiting. Waiting for the noise to die down. Waiting for his dorm mates to slowly drift into their own individual dreams. Waiting for every creak of every floorboard in every corridor of Hogwarts to come to an end. For he needed to come to an end.
Harry was not afraid. He knew he could do it. It was so easy, so obvious, so simple that it made a deranged grin creep onto his face, just thinking about it. Just thinking about the end. The end of Harry Potter.
Who would have thought, he chuckled silently, that the death of the world-famous Harry Potter would be in his own hands? Not Voldemort's or Pettigrew's or Lucius Malfoy's! Who would have ever thought.
He felt around in the smothering darkness for his bathrobe, moving ever so silently as to not wake a soul. His hand rested on something instead that made him want to cry, break out and sob and wrench the insane grin off his face. It was her notebook.
"I'm more than a bird...
I'm more than a plane...
I'm more than some pretty face beside a train...
And it's not easy... to be me..."
The soft fabric of the notebook's simple cover felt cold against Harry's raw fingers. So cold, so dead, so lifeless. "Cold and dead and lifeless like everything else!" he screamed inside his head, trying to push the notebook away from him, to banish it, make it go away. Make it all go away. But it wouldn't.
His actions were involuntary; he was opening the journal, carrying it to the balcony where he sat, cross-legged, so calmly on the cold plastered ground. Looking out, he could see the clear night sky, sprinkled lightly with only a few burning stars. He heard himself mutter "Lumos" and he saw the words, the cursive ink printed in her notebook. And slowly, so slowly, he read the words of the first page aloud, voice trembling:
You are the candle
And I, the flame
As I burn for you
Burn with you
In our fiery game
The slightest breeze threatens us
You the candle, I the flame
And it's more than you can handle
Handle in our fiery game
I flicker as the wind
It threatens to douse
You, the candle, my support
But where are you now?
You, the candle, my support
I'll stand strong for you somehow…
A silent tear rolled down Harry's cheek but he did not notice. "Where are you now..." he cried to the cruel night sky, but it only sat still, omitting no reply. "Where are you now..." Her words were so true, so earnest that Harry had to bite his lip and seal his eyes shut so tightly that it hurt into oblivion, just to keep from whimpering. She was his support. But where was she now?
"Wish that I could cry...
Fall upon my knees...
Find a way to lie...
About a home I'll never see..."
He stood up shakily, pleading with himself not to go on and read more of her precious words; he feared that he could not take it. But what's not to take, he mused silently, for I'll die in a few moments anyway. But Harry found that reading her poems and truths were a much harder experience then death. Death would be mercy to Harry's hurting soul.
Life used to be so easy for Harry. He was famous, everybody loved him, he was a powerful wizard who had defeated the Dark Lord, had great best friends and one amazing girlfriend. Why did this have to happen to him? Why did this have to happen to her? But it's ok, he licked his lips, because I'll be with her soon. I'm coming.
"It may sound absurd... but don't be naive...
Even heroes have the right to bleed...
I may be disturbed... but won't you concede...
Even heroes have the right to dream...
It's not easy to be me..."
"Even heroes have the right to bleed," he told himself, assured. He placed the notebook down on the concrete of the balcony, daring himself to walk forward. Each step he took made him more sure, every thought he took made him less. Harry shook his head, attempting to clear his muddled thoughts but it only scrambled them more. It only messed things up more.
Harry's sensitive ears pricked up, hearing the slightest of stirs in the boys' dorm. He did not breathe for thirty seconds, until he was sure that whoever had rolled over or groaned or whatnot had settled back down into a deep sleep. He wondered that, if he were to scream, it would make his dorm mates up. The thought was so twisted that he dismissed it. But anything was better than nothing inside his numb head.
"Up, up and away from here... away from me...
It's all right... You can all sleep sound tonight...
I'm not crazy... or anything..."
He closed his eyes, sure that if he squeezed them tight enough it would all end. "Then end it!" he screamed in his head. "Make it stop! Just end it all!" He nodded, knowing that there was no point for further delay. "I'm coming," he choked out aloud.
Harry did not allow himself to glance back to where the notebook lay desolate. He clutched the gold railing to the balcony. It was cold to touch in the cool night air, and he shivered. Shivered as if it was a cold day at Hogsmeade, not the last minute of his life. His last breaths, last thoughts.
"I can't stand to fly...
I'm not that naive...
Men weren't meant to ride...
With clouds between their knees..."
He climbed up on the balcony, his feet crying for their lives. He stumbled, the half-foot square railing holding him up only scarcely. If I don't jump, he breathed, I'll fall. Harry took a shaky breath and closed his eyes. I'm ready now. And he bent his knees, ready to jump.
"How did this happen?" Harry quivered aloud, letting a faint breeze burn his cheeks. It all came back to him.
"...It's not easy to be me…"
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
A/N: I hope u like. Remember, everything else will be leading up to this. I will remind u at the beginning of the next chapter. Please be kind and review. Thanks!
Love, Me123
Ch 1
I can't stand to fly
By Me123
A/N: Hey, new story. This is the bleakest thing I have ever wrote, NO, I am not suicidal, LOL, I don't wanna be asked that. I just thought about the life behind Little-Mister-Perfect. The poem is courtesy of me, I wrote it, if you would like to read it and more by me check out my collection on this site. The song is "Superman" by Five For Fighting. Thanku all, and please review.
PLEASE NOTE: AFTER THIS CHAPTER, THE REST WILL BE THE REFLECTION LEADING UP TO THIS POINT. SO THIS IS KINDA THE END OF THE STORY IF U WANT TO THINK OF IT THAT WAY.
Disclaimer: I own my beautiful poem! LOL, but nothing else.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
"I can't stand to fly...
I'm not that naive...
I'm just out to find...
the better part of me..."
Harry Potter stumbled in the dark, trying to find his way through the opaque night air that seeped into the Gryffindor dorm from the window kept slightly ajar.
He did not have a watch or another such contraption to tell the time, but he figured that it was approximately 2:17 a.m. He had counted every moment, every minute since the lights had been shut out, waiting. Waiting for the noise to die down. Waiting for his dorm mates to slowly drift into their own individual dreams. Waiting for every creak of every floorboard in every corridor of Hogwarts to come to an end. For he needed to come to an end.
Harry was not afraid. He knew he could do it. It was so easy, so obvious, so simple that it made a deranged grin creep onto his face, just thinking about it. Just thinking about the end. The end of Harry Potter.
Who would have thought, he chuckled silently, that the death of the world-famous Harry Potter would be in his own hands? Not Voldemort's or Pettigrew's or Lucius Malfoy's! Who would have ever thought.
He felt around in the smothering darkness for his bathrobe, moving ever so silently as to not wake a soul. His hand rested on something instead that made him want to cry, break out and sob and wrench the insane grin off his face. It was her notebook.
"I'm more than a bird...
I'm more than a plane...
I'm more than some pretty face beside a train...
And it's not easy... to be me..."
The soft fabric of the notebook's simple cover felt cold against Harry's raw fingers. So cold, so dead, so lifeless. "Cold and dead and lifeless like everything else!" he screamed inside his head, trying to push the notebook away from him, to banish it, make it go away. Make it all go away. But it wouldn't.
His actions were involuntary; he was opening the journal, carrying it to the balcony where he sat, cross-legged, so calmly on the cold plastered ground. Looking out, he could see the clear night sky, sprinkled lightly with only a few burning stars. He heard himself mutter "Lumos" and he saw the words, the cursive ink printed in her notebook. And slowly, so slowly, he read the words of the first page aloud, voice trembling:
You are the candle
And I, the flame
As I burn for you
Burn with you
In our fiery game
The slightest breeze threatens us
You the candle, I the flame
And it's more than you can handle
Handle in our fiery game
I flicker as the wind
It threatens to douse
You, the candle, my support
But where are you now?
You, the candle, my support
I'll stand strong for you somehow…
A silent tear rolled down Harry's cheek but he did not notice. "Where are you now..." he cried to the cruel night sky, but it only sat still, omitting no reply. "Where are you now..." Her words were so true, so earnest that Harry had to bite his lip and seal his eyes shut so tightly that it hurt into oblivion, just to keep from whimpering. She was his support. But where was she now?
"Wish that I could cry...
Fall upon my knees...
Find a way to lie...
About a home I'll never see..."
He stood up shakily, pleading with himself not to go on and read more of her precious words; he feared that he could not take it. But what's not to take, he mused silently, for I'll die in a few moments anyway. But Harry found that reading her poems and truths were a much harder experience then death. Death would be mercy to Harry's hurting soul.
Life used to be so easy for Harry. He was famous, everybody loved him, he was a powerful wizard who had defeated the Dark Lord, had great best friends and one amazing girlfriend. Why did this have to happen to him? Why did this have to happen to her? But it's ok, he licked his lips, because I'll be with her soon. I'm coming.
"It may sound absurd... but don't be naive...
Even heroes have the right to bleed...
I may be disturbed... but won't you concede...
Even heroes have the right to dream...
It's not easy to be me..."
"Even heroes have the right to bleed," he told himself, assured. He placed the notebook down on the concrete of the balcony, daring himself to walk forward. Each step he took made him more sure, every thought he took made him less. Harry shook his head, attempting to clear his muddled thoughts but it only scrambled them more. It only messed things up more.
Harry's sensitive ears pricked up, hearing the slightest of stirs in the boys' dorm. He did not breathe for thirty seconds, until he was sure that whoever had rolled over or groaned or whatnot had settled back down into a deep sleep. He wondered that, if he were to scream, it would make his dorm mates up. The thought was so twisted that he dismissed it. But anything was better than nothing inside his numb head.
"Up, up and away from here... away from me...
It's all right... You can all sleep sound tonight...
I'm not crazy... or anything..."
He closed his eyes, sure that if he squeezed them tight enough it would all end. "Then end it!" he screamed in his head. "Make it stop! Just end it all!" He nodded, knowing that there was no point for further delay. "I'm coming," he choked out aloud.
Harry did not allow himself to glance back to where the notebook lay desolate. He clutched the gold railing to the balcony. It was cold to touch in the cool night air, and he shivered. Shivered as if it was a cold day at Hogsmeade, not the last minute of his life. His last breaths, last thoughts.
"I can't stand to fly...
I'm not that naive...
Men weren't meant to ride...
With clouds between their knees..."
He climbed up on the balcony, his feet crying for their lives. He stumbled, the half-foot square railing holding him up only scarcely. If I don't jump, he breathed, I'll fall. Harry took a shaky breath and closed his eyes. I'm ready now. And he bent his knees, ready to jump.
"How did this happen?" Harry quivered aloud, letting a faint breeze burn his cheeks. It all came back to him.
"...It's not easy to be me…"
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
A/N: I hope u like. Remember, everything else will be leading up to this. I will remind u at the beginning of the next chapter. Please be kind and review. Thanks!
Love, Me123