Piercing Innocence

*Disclaimer: This story is a piece of Harry Potter fanfiction, which is owned by J.K. Rowling and her associates. This story is simply based on the wonderful wizarding world that she created.

Piercing the bubbling purple skies of late November with my recognizable emerald eyes, I let my aching mind race through the thoughts that had been attacking me for years. Why did I have to repeatedly be the victim? What was the point in living through hell when all that you could see running into you in the future was hell of a worst form? I was tired of running into pain and suffering; I was dreading the hurt that was to come. No boy should have to face that at any point in their lives.

But no one prevented me from the undeserved suffering that I faced from the time that I was a small infant child. And no one would be there to prevent the similar fates of those young children who had yet to be born into this world. I would most likely be dead before I could deliver any form of comfort and no one in the current world would know the exact way as to how to take care of those who would need the help. I was the only one who had any idea as to the loneliness that absorbed you constantly and I could never teach anyone how to fight against that.

Raising my clammy palm to my smoothed cheekbone on the right side of my face, I turned from the night sky, only to face it again in the new direction that I overlooked. I felt trapped and encased but I guess that you could not expect anything different while roaming the grounds around your house in the dead of night. Skies surrounded you just as the pains of life did the same. Intimidating, some might proclaim them to be, but to me, they were simply another aspect of life that I could force myself to loathe with passion. The freedom that they possessed was too much for me to handle any longer. I would explode if I had to look up into its confinements and see the souls of everyone that I had ever loved float in the rays of colored fog. Guilt was an emotion that I was trained to hold back, but holding back did not allow the guilt not to spread. Rather, it simply prevented me from showing it externally.

I did not care about my image or the thoughts and feelings that people held for me other than the friends that I held dear but I did not want to lose my composure in front of anyone that could potentially use weaknesses against me. I was considered to be a strong, independent, powerful boy of mystery and substance- I would not give reporters the pleasure of proving something different.

Unwanted thoughts consuming me from every pore, I tore to the ground, falling with defeat into the moist blanket of darkened grass. There was nothing more that I could handle without simply yanking one side of my body over top of the other. I was fed up with what life had offered me so easily and there was nothing more that I would allow to affect me so drastically. That was my new promise to myself; not to let anything hurt me ever again.

It would be interesting to see how long that would last.

I knew that I would be hurt time and time again, but telling myself that I would never have to suffer another second in my life was the only thing that was keeping me sane. I could not feel pain; I could not deal with the horrors of real life any longer; I could not live with the constant fear that everything could change in a matter of seconds. And so, with the firm grasp that I would never witness the frozen encasement of death and guilt another moment, I closed my burning eyes and buried myself deeper into the softness of the glittering earth.

Thoughts continued to race through my mind and it took all of the will that my split body could spare to keep them where they were. Crystals of purified water; yellowing blades of dying grasses; fabricated hats donning the heads of wizarding citizens; the warm embrace of Hermione Granger; the wretched diary that nearly murdered me when I was but twelve years old; screeching giggles of hollowed enemies; the hell of a life at the Dursley’s home; wandering stares of strangers with no compassion; droplets of tears produced by dearest friends; the horrific death of Sirius Black, my considerate godfather; aging photographs capturing my parents in the happy moments of their lives. I wanted desperately to stick my hand through my own cranium and convince the boiling thoughts that it was not wise to return. But not only was that utterly impossible- it was foolish as well. I needed this- to think through every single aspect of my life- and therefore, I knew that what was taking place currently was nothing that could not be expected. I required this exposure. I needed to show my true feelings. I needed to let loose the sentiments and emotions those sixteen years of affliction had bottled up. I needed to break.

And that is exactly what was on the verge of occurrence.

And I was not afraid. Rupturing because of severe pain did not frighten me. Falling to the ground more than once was not an action that I would run away from. After everything that had taken place in my life, I deserved to break away from the honor and weight that sat on my shoulders. There was in fact more to come in the near future and if I did not take this one chance to fall apart I would most likely crash too early on in my next mission. But how can I break down? How does one go about such a design? You would think that you could simply tell yourself that it was alright to let go and that you were not weak because you needed to cry yourself to sleep one night out of so many. But that did not seem to work for me.

Why could I not fall apart?

Adjusting my position on the wet grass, I thrust my glowing eyes open. Displayed in front of my crumpled body were the remains of a crisp auburn night where no star appeared to want to show its true beauty. Just like me, I noted as the fact of my own inner beauty crossed into my mind. For some reason, I was not able to show the world my own interior. And that lone fact hurt me more than I could have ever thought possible.

Why was my heart not able to open up to the world around me? What were the workings that were opposing the transition? Suddenly a reasonable counterpart came to mind. The halting of my lift was not my own fault. I did not cause this impossible break.

The events that came into play before my birth were the only articles that I could blame.