At Dawn

A quiet, ordered town is below those who soar with darkness and light, wisdom and impartiality. Rows of houses, each mimicking others after a while, line the center of the town. Flowers lie before them, along with carefully gleaming cars and boxed lawns. Along the outskirts of the town, the houses begin to echo one another once more, but in a different way. Most have lacework iron fences and missing shingles on rooftops. Some have lids and metal walls, cardboard and rags. The few cars that go through the area do so with apparent scorn, as if there were something wrong with missing shingles and getting by. The cars originate, and hastily return, to their glorified places at beautiful, dead homes, and it is in one of those homes that our tale is set.

The residence of Number 4, Privet Drive is one of boxed lawns and overflowing flowerboxes. It displayed the prospects of moderate prosperity, and it was empty. Not in a corporal sense; people inhabited it - an eager couple awaiting the birth of a new-born son. But in all that mattered to anyone but itself and those who inhabited it, the house echoed with its wide spaces.

The baby was born. The couple rejoiced. People trickled in and out in a stream of gifts, and the baby was coddled beyond reasoning. But the couple was happy, and the baby was slowly absorbing their particular brand of emptiness, like a sponge to water.

On a dark night, the lights went out on Privet Drive. There were hushed voices, heavily laden with meaning and a promise of something. Within the shadows, a cat, pointed hat, giant figure, and flying motorcycle were hinted at, subtly. All was quiet. Until dawn, when a scream of horror echoed through Privet Drive. A package had been delivered, and it was an innocent, bright-eyed child with a lightning-bolt scar, whom had already absorbed what was not empty in meaning.

"We can't keep this runt," said the husband angrily.

"Oh yes we can, Vernon. She may have been scum, but she was my sister, and he must be kept here," said the angular, strangely determined housewife.

"But Petunia - "

"End of discussion," Petunia replied in a crisp voice.

And that was that.

Baby Harry, for that was his name, was kept by the inhabitants of Number 4, Privet Drive, but neither kindly nor well. The emptiness became a frantic fear, and he was locked in a cobwebbed closet while his cousin, the little Dudley of Petunia and Vernon's dreams, became fat on rich food and emptiness.

As Dudley grew, so did Harry. But there were differences between the growth of these two cousins; while Dudley grew in cruelty and size, Harry shriveled from lack of love and grew in his capacity for pain, and suffering.

A morning dawns a few years later, bright and glorious, impartially benevolent to the small town it overlooks, thinking what a pity it is that a little boy in a cupboard could be deprived of its mercy while a fat child ate seven icicles in front of a starvling in rags under its light, and was commended by his parents for allowing the child to watch, and not being weak enough to offer any of his icicles. The cruel child smirked, and the sun frowned upon him and smiled at the little green-eyed boy, who had managed to escape the cupboard for a time and was in the garden, wondrous and fulfilled in the shining love it bestowed.

Soon after, both boys were forced into primary school. At first sight, Harry was innocently happy. The building he approached seemed light and airy, and his child mind was already dreaming castles in his shattered sky. But these castles were not to be fulfilled just then. Harry, in his oversized clothes and raggedy hair, was easy prey for bullies lead by his cousin. He soon learned that what was accepted was tidy hair and clothes that fit, and a cousin that would not tyrannize both the children and teachers into despising you.

One would think that Harry would be starved for love by now, and he was, quite desperately. Instead of becoming violent about it, or driven insane, he became kind and considerate, drawing on the love he had been given before the Dursleys, and hoping that he would be recognized as a good child. He wanted to be loved for who he was.

Alas, this was not to be during his time at Stonehenge Primary. With the exception of Mrs. Figg, the eccentric old woman who loved cabbages and cats, Harry was despised by the Dursleys for being a "nancy boy." This hatred towards Harry was reflected by Dudley, though not quite reciprocated. Nonetheless, Dudley's attitude towards Harry was apparent at school, and children followed his example.

Primary school was over at last, and left the cousins in varying states. Dudley was still cruel and fat, and beginning to believe that was his lot in life. He despised Harry because he was everything that he was not allowed to be, and by doing this became what was expected of him, for he had no desire to be shunned. Harry was a bitter child, but his capacity for kindness kept him sane during his stay with the Dursleys.

Ten years after Harry had been left on the Dursleys' doorstep, it was Dudley's eleventh birthday. He was showered with gifts and the praise he craved, and Harry made his birthday breakfast, cleaned the house, and retreated to his cupboard, both out of instinct and force. He spoke to the spider who had been in his cupboard for as long as he could remember, and was told tales of a Forbidden Forest, where magical creatures awaited.

Emptiness became fear, and the flight began. Dudley and Harry, both children for once, wondered why Vernon was so afraid of envelopes, and why those envelopes followed them everywhere, in increasing numbers. That question was answered on the Hut on the Rock, in the sea, where a shaggy giant, who greatly resembled the shadow of a giant ten years prior, revealed Harry's destiny, and the source of his love-starved childhood. Harry Potter was a wizard.

The Dursleys were left behind as Harry attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Enemies were made, and, for the first time, friends. His closest were Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley, who would be with him until the end of what he was fated to accomplish - the defeat of the wizard who had killed his parents, and made the stay at the Dursleys a reality: Voldemort.

Voldemort was a wizard so evil that most feared to speak his name. Once a boy named Tom Marvolo Riddle, he was just as loved-starved as Harry had been, and had decided to lash out at the world rather than follow the path Harry shadows. While dabbling in the Dark Arts, the worst sort of magic, he became immersed in them. Torture and pain soon followed, along with a following that destroyed lives, both literally and figuratively. They were called Death Eaters, and the title fit them well.

One Halloween night, a couple and child were ferreted from their hiding place with the aid of one whom was considered a friend. The couple were murdered trying to protect their son with the killing curse, Avada Kedavra. Lord Voldemort, as he was called by his acolytes, turned his powerful wand on Harry, who was the infant son of the deceased couple. The killing curse was said, and Voldemort was about to walk away when he was hit by the curse, which had rebounded upon him. The curse was supposedly unblockable, and he was ripped into something less than a ghost by the curse he cast. He did not die, for immortality was his goal, and steps had already been taken to assure the success of his obsession.

Fascinated and furious with Harry for setting him back, Lord Voldemort eventually rose again, and began to battle the Light once more. But there were setbacks. A force had grown against him, born from the ashes of a disbanded group who had fought him during the height of his power, before love strong enough to throw life to the winds had been bestowed upon Harry by his mother, and before the curse had rebounded. This group was the Order of the Phoenix, which Harry and his friends soon became a part of, despite their tender years. Voldemort had pursued them at Hogwarts, and they were no strangers to his wrath and machinations at their demise.

Because he had survived the Killing Curse, Harry was the "boy who lived," the hero and beacon of light within the wizarding world. Bearing the weight of this upon his narrow shoulders, Harry grew into a man. Alongside him grew his friends, and their love and loyalty for each other grew with them. They were the Trio, and nothing could separate them.

Or so it was believed, until the final battle. War was waged between darkness and light, and many were killed. Children tripped over their robes as curses were shot by full-grown adults. Forced to choose sides, Housemates and brethren fought against each other, killed each other and were killed by those they had grown up with. Terror and despair, hope, bravery and death were all apparent on the battlefield, which was a school of nurturing and demolition. Mired in corpses, blood, and tears, people regained hope despite their allegiances, gazing upon the dome of brightness that encircled the heroes of their dreams, locked in a deadly battle, enclosed by a dome of their own making: Harry James Potter and Tom Marvolo Riddle.

The battle was over. Many had died during that endless night, including the fiercely gentle giant who was both friend and confidant to the young boy who lived, now a man. Among those who had died were Harry's friends and mentors, classmates and rivals. The Dursleys had been murdered long ago. Evil reigned, as did good.

Among the ruins of lives and aspirations stood a tall, shadowed figure. His eyes were a haunted emerald, and the scar on his forehead was fading, slowly and painfully. He gazed upon the battlefield where he had lost what was left to him as dawn approached, wondering why it was he who had survived, while others he had loved were no longer with him.

"What is the point of living when you have nothing to live for?" the man thought softly, his anger spent.

Slowly, the man turned and walked away from the dawn.