Deluded

Left In The Darkness

He was drenched in sweat, shaking violently in his sleep. He tried to muffle his screams with a pillow, which proved hard. He couldn't resist screaming in agony. He wanted someone to help him, he really did. It was as if the pain cleaved his head in half, it seared and pulsed through his entire body, he was panting profusely, barely able to breathe, clutching his wrist, begging for support in the faintest of ways. His heart was beating rapidly as the protruding images, memories in his head extended in vast majority, flashing like specks of light. Horrible, horrible, flinching thoughts crossed his mind. Goosebumps stuck out throughout his body, as he continued to helplessly shiver under his thin covers, whimpering. He felt weak. The moon shone brightly upon his face, his unusual features. The scar marked upon him, the reason for him to writhe in pain and agony every night, stood firmly atop his forehead, glistening beneath the moonlight slightly more than the rest of the marks and unhealed bruises on his face. It had drastically changed it's shade, it was now redder than ever, contrasting with his pale face. All colour had been drained from that handsome, everlasting face, without a doubt stained with tears. His emerald eyes, now wide open, still remained in resemblance with those of his mother. Guilt rushed through him, he trembled at the slightest thought of his parents. 

He leaned over the small nightstand beside the lump of wood he called a bed, and checked the time after reaching for his glasses and putting them on. It was still, only one o'clock in the morning. He sighed deeply, although he didn't bare the slightest tint of surprise or shock on his face. He had been used to this, as he had experienced it the whole summer since he returned to this dreaded place he called 4, Privet Drive. He could've sworn he heard the distant snores of his uncle across the corridor. At least he hadn't woken anyone up, his abusive uncle's temper was the last thing he needed. He laughed to himself as he realized how everybody else was probably with their parents, sleeping dreamlessly and carelessly. Snogging with their loved ones, laughing together with their friends. Why couldn't he have the same happiness? He always had to suffer. It always had to be him, and yet nobody cared. Why would they care anyways? They've got their own lives to deal with. Now another thought crossed his mind. He hadn't received a scrap of news, or even a letter from his friends ever since the events of that very day which caused him excruciating physical and psychological pain. The very day that kept him awake, deep in his thoughts or having to relive it every night. It was a never-ending cycle this summer. He had lost all hope at this point, the thought that Ron would invite him to the Burrow never dashed his mind. He was probably up and about with the rest of the Weasley family, possibly even with Hermione herself. He rolled onto his back and instantly regretted it, as it caused his back immense pain. He noted how fragile he was, how weak, how vulnerable. The Dursleys hadn't fed him a thing. His spine stuck out behind his back, protruding through his skin like a knife. He could merely wrap his wrists with two pinkie fingers if he wanted to. He was tall for his weight. The thing that kept him in shape were his years of Quidditch training, sporting a handsome look. 

Without stirring, he instantly thought of Hermione once more. She was usually the first one to write, the most intent, actually. How he missed catching even a short glimpse of her gentle, beautiful cursive writing, on which the parchment bore her feminine fragrance. He hated to admit how much he actually missed her. It was a shame, really... He had noticed her winking at him, that charismatic smile on her face. The way she beamed and embraced him, it filled his soul with light. Her hair waving across his face, caressing it gently, smoothly... caring. He noticed the way she cared for him, longed for him, so why hadn't she written to him this entire time..? How he just wanted to be beside her right now, feel her touch. Hermione.

He snapped out of his thoughts immediately, wanting to slap himself hard in the face. The way he spent most of his nights was a blur. He kept attempting to retrieve happy memories, to distinguish them from the cold, hard and even subtle ones, as they reminded him of his weakness. Yet even the memories that brought light to him, he found a way to sneak regret and guilt into it.  Everything he felt and thought was wrong. He was a complete and utter mess. He shifted under his covers and pulled him over. His shirt was clinging to his skin. He quietly got up, not wanting to wake the Dursleys and cause another tantrum. The mere sight of him triggered them, let alone him disturbing their quite, calm night of sleep. How nice that would be right now. If only he could just rest... As he came to think of it, the more and more he desired to rest, the more his scar reminded him of its persistent presence, as, yet again, a searing breach of pain crossed upon it once again. A brisk, faint image flashed through his mind. A green light, that's all it took, and he was gone. Gone forever. Forcing the following memories of torture and despair out of his mind, Harry settled down against the window sill. He looked into the sky. The moon continued its everlasting glittering, shining brightly above the muggle roads. He glanced around, hoping for a second, for any sign of escape. Contact with anybody. Hedwig was out at the moment, hunting, Harry had managed to persuade the Dursleys into letting her out as she screeched and made a bizarre mess in the house, followed by the endless screeching of his aunt, Petunia, so Hedwig wasn't an option. The only living creature that made him company. He felt apprehensive once more, what if she didn't return soon...? He looked out the window again, hoping to see a fast, gleaming and advancing white speck moving towards him. Nothing met him but darkness and the glistening glow of the moon.