The Beautiful People

They make me sick. You've seen them; they're so perfect and flawless, so right and just and fair, so poised and wonderful, amazing and resounding in your every thought. You know who they are, the few beautiful people, the blessed ones, the sweet ones, the unique and seemingly immortal. He's one of them, Merlin; he's beautiful without all of the other qualities. His raven hair and his sparkling eyes are enough to make any girl melt, despite the lovely person behind it all. Harry Potter.

You've seen him, walking down the halls; you watch him at mealtimes, him and his annoying smiling face, with those two perfect friends of his, and you wonder what makes you so unlike him. Bloody hell, your grades are better, you have more friends and less enemies, you aren't condemned as crazy even if a scary Dark Lord is out for your blood, although Fudge and the rest of society will never believe you until Voldie himself shows up on their doorsteps as a singing telegram and his red slits for eyes and the unforgivable curses that make it into his little song-and-dance number give him away. Sure you believe him; your family is strong in that sense, no one else seems to though. But you want to be him, you want to be like him, you want people to fawn all over you and them to look at you as some sort of celebrity. You want to be friends with the smartest person to Hogwarts ever, and even friends the biggest bloke ever. They're the beautiful people; you refuse to believe anything else. You mustn't destroy the image. Admitting that they have flaws would bring your world crashing down.

You've talked - really talked - to him on more than one occasion. He really is a beautiful person, the way he speaks, his sweet knowledge and knowing ways. Emerald eyes like x- rays through you, helping you no matter what. He's a kind soul, someone who everyone, except those from Slytherin, likes. Too nice for his own good at times, you've seen his faults after all, yet you still refuse to believe that he's not perfect and beautiful.

What you don't know is what happens behind closed doors, what secrets he hides so carefully, the scars that he guards, the pain the one he can't hide causes him, the way the he constantly asks "Why me?" to everything around while tears form in his eyes or he draws the knife across his skin again. You don't see his anguish, maybe you can't or maybe if you tried you could, but you won't. You're too selfish. He isn't beautiful; he's so far from it that it should scare you. And it does, but you don't see that he isn't beautiful; you just see that he is. It hurts to be confronted with what you've been running away from, doesn't it. He knows how it is; it happens every time someone does a double take or every time someone's eyes flick up to the mark on his forehead. He feels the pain that everyone else does, if not more so. But to you and everyone else, he's beautiful and will always be. No need to destroy what keeps you striving each day, even if it could keep him alive.

Think it again, how could anyone with what he has be sad and anguished, imperfect and unbeautiful? Think about what he doesn't have. You have parents; people who love you surround you year round. You have people you can talk to about your most serious issues, his are more serious and he can speak to no one. Just think one more time that he's a perfect, beautiful person. Once more time of people thinking that could kill him. You wouldn't care, now would you? One more time is what he thinks every time he draws the razor across his flesh. You refuse to believe it. To you, he'll always be beautiful.