You could never know me

Chapter 2:New Awakenings

The cold was biting and unforgiving. It seeped into his skin through the worn cast offs hanging from his bones. It was as if Death himself was reaching out for him. Again. With any luck he would take him soon. Harry knew he was dying. Contrary to popular belief he wasn't stupid. He just pretended to to appease Weasley (rude bastard) and Granger (bossy know it all). It may shock many, but Harry hated them. He hated the light. And he really hated muggles. Almost as much as he hated Dumbledore.

This would surprise the many people who thought they knew him. But the Harry Potter they knew was a fake. The Golden Gryffindor mask. You would wonder why he put up with it for so long. You see, when Harry discovered he was a wizard, it was the best day of his existence. He wasn't a freak, he thought. He was special. He could leave the Dursleys and the abuse behind. But it wasn't to be. It was Dumbledore who had left him with them; without checking on him or caring for the consequences. And the wizarding world was so incredible biased. He was instantly turned against Slytherins and Voldemort. Sure Voldemort killed his parents, but it was war. People died. And besides, Harry was never one to care much for family. And the final reason was that the lights precious Dumbledore was the champion for muggles. Harry hated muggles. And Dumbledore. Did he mention that? They were cowardly, pathetic and cruel.

But he put up with all the lights shtick for one reason alone. He needed magic. And because of that, as much as he hated it, he needed the light. As long as he played the perfect little Boy-Who-Lived (how he hated that title) he could learn any and all magic. No one would suspect their saviour of reading and practicing 'The Black Magics', by Salazar Slytherin himself, in the Chamber of Secrets as a past time. And it's not like he could join Voldemort. He'd kill Harry. It sucked but it was his life. Until now. This summer. Harry didn't care about his act, about joining Voldemort, any of it. He was just so tired.

Sirius was dead. And no, he wasn't grieving. In reality he never knew the crazy child in a man's body. But he went along with what was expected in the hope of getting away from the filthy muggles. Fucking Dumbledore's meddling stopped that in it's tracks. With no Sirius there was no crazed mass murderer to threaten his relatives with. So here he was. He had aperrated away after his second worst beating yet. So there he lay, bleeding out, dying. Again. He cursed Dumbledore and two of the three dieties he had grown so close to all those years ago. Fate and Fortune were cruel ladies indeed. With them, Petunia and Ginerva it was little wonder he was gay. (Ginny the little witch had been slipping him love potions since the Yule ball. Not that they had ever worked.)

His mind cleared for a second and realised the rambling thoughts of his fading mind. Hypothermia and blood loss would do that. Harry just hoped Death would be kinder and would come to claim him soon. That was all he wanted now. But of course the two Great Ladies had to fudge with him for a little longer (only I didn't say fudge.... I said f**k:) with what was sure to be his final breath, "Fuck Dumbledore" was whispered into he night. His eyes fluttered closed, the night sky going black before he knew no more.