Dark Stars: the Diary of Harry J. Potter

I can see the future

Shining dark above me

What would have been twinkling stars now obsidian

I can see it, waiting tantalizingly there

Just above

And I can't reach it

I need to reach it

Stuck where I am

Never again

I can't think

Why do the stars fade and blacken, light extinguished

I do not know

I must know

But I don't

And all I can see is blackness

And all I can hear is silence

And I float

In a bed of forgotten memories

Where all that matters is my future

Dark Stars

-From the Diary of Harry Potter

Dear Diary

Today I was thinking back over everything that's happened. I was thinking about First year, when I saved the Philosophers Stone.

And Second year, when I saved Ginny from the basilisk.

And Third year, when I saved Sirius from the dementors.

And last year, when Cedric died. Odd. I can easily write that Cedric died, but I can't talk about it? Hmmm. I'll have to think on that.

Anyways, it's just after lunch. I have Potions in a half-hour, so this will have to be short. I just came to write in my latest poem. Huh. Ron would laugh if he knew about my diary. Not to mention poetry. I mean, who would think. The Boy-Who-Lived writing poetry. Of course, its not little-lambs-gambolling-and-daisies-singing kind of poetry. I like to think of it as my feelings in a word form. I can't draw to save my life, so, yeah. I like to say "I draw with my words, not my hands." Weird quote huh? I made it up; along with the few thousandth other ones in here.

Well, I gotta go. Bye!

Darkness Surrounds

Pulsating Gently

Enclosing Walls

Nothingness Bars

Steel Strong

Silk Soft

Holding Lightly

Shaped Easily

Not Swayed

Pleas Resound

Slowly Gaining

Words Flow

My Consciousness

Harsh Imprisonment

Mental Pain

Dark Ink

Revels Delicately

Never Hurting

Loud Screams

Trapped Evermore

Black Circle

Draining Down

Whirlpool Thoughts

I am Trapped within my Mind

-From the Diary of Harry Potter

Dear Diary

I just noticed that I don't date my pages. I guess I don't need to. The poetry singles out my day. Actually, in this case, night. I just had another nightmare. Voldemort was torturing an old man. He was putting him under Crucio again and again until the old man had a heart attack, and then he laughed. Voldemort might be going a bit mad. I think he knew I was watching.

It was horrible, watching him being tormented. I wonder why Voldemort picked the old man? Of course, that's like saying, "Why am I a boy." Apart from the chromosomes, I mean. Totally random. Hmmm. I might have been Harriet Potter. That would have been weird.

But anyway, I woke up and for a moment all I could see was black and red. Strange.

Ah, well I should probably go back to sleep. I have a Quiddich game tomorrow, against the Slytherins. Bye!

Cry with me

As the world twists and bends

And the shapes blur and whirl

Blown by the hurricane curses

Spat from the thin white lips

Cutting through my shields

Desperately holding back tears

Until I am alone

And then the tears don't come

They dry like a withered leaf

And I can feel my soul shrivelling

Under the barrage of hate

The flows so easily from the mouths

Of those who don't need to worry

About being hurt again and again

Because they are the ones who mock me

And jeer with no reason except to insure their safety

Against the Masters temper

And they try again and again to make me weep

And sob out "Stop it, stop it!"

But I simply lie there in pain

And wait for them to exhaust themselves

And walk away from the tormented, huddled body

Lying there on the stone-cold floor

Silently screaming and screaming

But outwardly calm and cool

And all you need to do is look

At the flash of pain and hatred flickering

Like a candle flame in ice blue eyes

Soon gone and replaced by a numbing obliviousness

As I taste the calm metallic tang of blood

And wait, being hauled up violently

Removed to a crumbling cell

And I have no one to go to

And cry on their shoulder and sob

And I am no longer myself, a dried husk

Crumpled and dead with no source of help

And no one will

Cry

With

Me

-From the Diary of Harry Potter

Dear Diary

I had the oddest vision today. It was a girl, being tortured by the Death Eaters. But she wasn't an ordinary girl at all. She was tall, and thin, with silver-blue hair. Her eyes looked like chips of ice and her face was absolutely bloodless. She had a scar curving from her ear to her chin and the weirdest tattoo on one arm. It was a unicorn rampant, with some odd runes below it. On her hand was a black glove, and they were trying to take it off.

When that didn't work they tortured her, trying to make her say something I think. And then Voldemort came in and he was strange, putting her under Crucio again and again and, well, crooning to her. Calling her "his little Sapphire". He said at one point that she was mute, which made no sense if they wanted her to tell them something.

The strangest thing was I only felt slight pain from the curses. It was like I was being shielded. I hope that this girl, who and whatever she is, can escape.

I wrote the above poem in her point of view.

Well, I should get up. I need to finish of a Transfigurations essay. Bye.