Power He Knows Not

Feverish Notions

I'm bored, and it is technically Wednesday. 

He was being torn apart.

That was the only explanation for the pain. He was being slowly, and meticulously pulled apart piece, by piece. Something was tearing into him, tearing at his very being, trying to rip him apart.

Just let me in.

A soft voice was calling to him, its tone soothing, but the sound of it set him on edge. Something was wrong. That voice didn't belong. Why was it here?!

Was it the source of this unending pain?!

Just let me in. We'll both die if you do not relent. I don't mean you any harm. You're only hurting yourself by fighting.

No. He shouldn't trust it. The voice... it was the reason he hurt. He had to get rid of it. He had to get it out!

Stop fighting me. Please, you'll only kill yourself! Calm-

Calm? Calm down. How was he supposed to calm down?! It hurt! Ithurtithurtithurtithurt! It hurt!!

I know. I can feel it too. But it will pass, I promise. You just have to calm yourself. Please, you're only making it worse. On both of us.

No. No, no no no no. No! He couldn't trust the voice! It was hurt! It brought the hurt! It was only pain! He had to fight it! He couldn't-! He couldn't-! He-!

It felt like a crushing weight had started to tighten around his chest, making it harder to breathe. The darkness seemed to close together, compressing around him, shrinking as if Uncle Vernon had just close the door of his cupboard behind him, locking him away from everything.

He would be good! He tried to plead, he wouldn't do anything freakish! Please! He didn't understand! He didn't try to make things happen! He didn't want them to, if it would let them let him out.

He could see the fear in their eyes, as they shoved him into the closet, locking the door behind him. He didn't understand. He was just trying to help! He didn't know why Anna's stuffed rabbit had floated down to him from where the older boys had thrown it on the roof, he'd only wanted to help!

The pain eased, as Harry stilled, no longer fighting the intruder. That hadn't been his memory.

It was mine.

The voice was quiet, tinged with a pain Harry knew. It was a lonely pain, that begged for something he had never known, nothing that he remembered, at least. Harry often dreamed of the love his parents must have shown him, that he wanted so desperately to feel, that Dudley got in overabundance from Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. A feeling of being loved. Of being wanted. This voice knew it too.

I knew it very well. The other children at the orphanage had each other, but they left me behind very quickly once strange things began to happen around me. I learned to adapt, but it still hurt. It still hurts.

The voice was low, and filled with an ache.

Harry didn't want to hurt anymore. The voice had brought the hurt, but the voice had felt His hurt. A hurt like his, that never really went away, even after he had found friends. That lonely hurt...

Harry didn't want to hurt the voice the same way he had been hurt, but the voice brought a worse hurt. It was excruciating. Just thinking of it, brought the pain back in visceral detail. If he stopped fighting the voice, would it still hurt?

I won't ever hurt you on purpose. I promise. I cannot know if it will still hurt when you stop fighting, but it will be much better. It won't even last long. I will try my best to alleviate what pain may come of it.

It will hurt. Harry thought, weighing the choice. But if it hurts less... if it won't hurt as much...
Harry didn't want to fight anymore.

With that thought, Harry finally relaxed. What lingering pain remained fell away, as he got the feeling of someone pulling him into a hug.

'Where no one has ever gone before...' he remembered, 'perhaps... it won't be so bad.' Harry thought, as he drifted into a blissful darkness that was much more comforting then before, and he thought he felt better as well. Not quite so tired.