Molotov

Sometimes, he liked to think of himself preserved in a jar. The analogy, which he had to admit was odd even for him, had first occurred to him during his days in the cupboard under the stairs. In his bed at night, eyes half-closed and sleep close by, he would inhale the kitchen scents pervading his small space and feel as though he were floating in the flavors. The thick aromas of pot roast, steamed vegetables, and fruit pies wrapped around him, above and under and through the thin scratchy blankets, and soaked into his skin, his hair, the fibers of his body. He would invariably wake smelling of the previous night's dinner. He never had quite enough to eat, but he always felt full, not just his stomach but his entire being filled with the flavors of food.

Imprisoned in his tiny cupboard next to the kitchen, locked away with bottles of preserves and cans of vegetables, permeated by the rich essence of dinners he never quite got enough of, it was no wonder he came to envision himself as just another jar on the shelf. Locked away out of sight, gathering dust in the cupboard. Petunia's Pathetic Pickled Potter, between the sauerkraut and grape jelly.

He had been brought out of the cupboard into a world he never dreamed existed, a place of wonder and mystery and adventure. The bounds of his former life seemed to dissolve into nothingness. All except one. At Hogwarts, out of the cupboard and away from the invasive aromas, he was still firmly ensconced in his jar. Instead of being shut away in a corner somewhere, he was on display for all to see, like the specimens lining the walls of Professor Snape's dungeon. Bizarre and grotesque oddities, preserved forever in unknown solutions, exhibited for the benefit of bored schoolchildren, inevitably thrilling and disgusting at once.

Instead of being ignored in his little jar, he was admired, scrutinized, and held up to the light for closer inspection. Set aside carefully, to be used at a later date. And there he remained, frozen behind a thick sheet of glass, separated and shielded from the rest of the world despite its painful proximity.

Suddenly it was all over, and he was still here in the jar. He had been saved, preserved, set aside for one purpose. It was done, he had fulfilled his destiny, but the transparent prison remained. No longer was he a reject, gathering dust in the back of the cupboard, nor was he a biological oddity, for display only. Now he was a historical relic. His purpose served, his course completed, he had done what was necessary and expected. Evil was defeated and everyone could move on with life. Everyone except Harry, who had been consigned to a shelf of a different kind now. Here he sat, in a cabinet in the back of a museum where nobody ever went except the occasional curiosity seeker. Future generations would come and marvel at him, all alone in his little jar.

But then one day someone new came to see him. No, not new but different. This was no tourist, no morbid historian. He felt that they had always known each other, had always existed in opposition to one another. He felt those clear gray eyes on him and knew that they pierced the glass barrier as none other had. Indeed, it seemed that those eyes did not see the barrier at all, that between them there was nothing but space, diminishing faster and faster each second, bringing them inescapably closer together. He was pinned by the gaze, trapped in an excruciatingly new way. He became suddenly aware of himself, the weight of his limbs and torso interacting as they never had before. He lost the protective floating feeling which had surrounded him for so long, permeating and cushioning him from external threats.

With that gaze upon him, striking through everything to his very core, awareness came swiftly. This barrier had been created long ago by indifference and hatred, and fortified through concern and apprehension, but it was maintained now by his own fear and trepidation. As the cool silver penetrated his refuge and the shock of understanding burned within him, his lungs filled with oxygen in ragged gasps for what felt like the first time. The two eyes boring into him were now all that existed in his universe. He felt a wave of panic sweep through him, followed quickly by acceptance and then, with the sound of breaking glass ringing in his ears, the soaring sensation of pure, perfect freedom.