Silver Dark

If emptiness is happiness, and happiness is riches, then surely I am the richest person in all the world. But it isn't, and I am empty. The shadows of my mind grow darker, and they close in on me, here where I sit. I curse him, as I love him, for the purpose in life he has given me. But now he has stolen it again, and trapped me here, in the inner chambers of my own imagination. Here, where I need no water or food, no air, no life, for I am only a figment of my own brain. Here, where I am dead to the real world. Here, where I once longed to be-alone.

***

The darkness had begun to come upon me just after Sirius died, as everyone expected. They all thought it must be alright now, though, because I do not cry. Some things are small enough to cry over. But losing Sirius, my last living parent, and everything else I have lost, is too great a thing to merely cry over.

I thought many times of killing myself, of ending the pain, so I could see Sirius again. I thought of it, and I tried to do it, but I never could. My traitorous hand failed to end my misery. I knew I had to keep living, to save this world from Voldemort's tyranny. I cursed him every day, for taking everything I had, and then refusing to let me do as I would.

***

When I next saw Harry, that first day back in 6^th year, his very appearance scared me. He had become white and skeletal, with long, bony fingers, and hollow cheeks. His eyes were the worst, though-they were empty and blank, with no feeling, like those of a dead fish. I longed to reach out and smooth the hair from his ghostly face, to kiss him and make his smile light up again. But Ron came on and didn't notice, so I went with them and sat silently, disturbed.

"Hermione, what's the matter? It's the first day back, and you're as quiet as a mouse!" he exclaimed, but I knew his heart wasn't in it. He, too, was upset, for Sirius was dead, but Harry wasn't only upset about that. There was something worse written all over his face.

"Ron...not now." Ron sighed audibly and slumped into his seat.

"Well, this is gonna be a cheerful year, I can feel it," he muttered.

***

I don't know what's wrong with Harry, but it's not my fault! I mean, I know Sirius died, but I didn't do it! I don't know why Hermione has to be so pissy. I mean, sure, Harry's all upset, he looks almost anorexic, but that's only to be expected isn't it? I feel bad for him, of course, and bloody hell, Sirius was great, but I am not in the wrong here.

Speaking of Harry, something is wrong there. What's up with him? He looks terrible. Could be those nasty muggles, treatin' him wrong, but what made him all white and ghostly looking? That was frightening, that was. Scary.

"Ron, you coming?" Harry calls back to me. No, I'm just gonna sit here on the train! But I don't say that. Harry's voice is deader than those horrible new singers, The Banshees, like he's sure he's about to be killed. What happened to him?

"Yeah, mate, wait up. Just gotta get Pigwedeon." Harry keeps walking, though. Didn't he hear me? It's like he doesn't care anymore! He better snap out of this quick, or we're in for a crap year at HoggyWartys.

***

Potter walks with the air of one long dead, but bidden to come down to Earth again, against their will. Can the death of Black have affected him so horribly? I must tell Father. He will be most pleased, as will the Dark Lord. Then again, Father might not tell the Dark Lord. He tells him little nowadays, or as little as he dares. The Dark Lord always seems to know when Father is lying. I used to weep when I saw the Dark Lord torture Father. Now I laugh, and remember the many times Father has used the very same curses on me. Revenge may be sweet, but this revenge is heavenly. Maybe I won't tell Father at all...

Potter stumbles as he walks, I notice. His misery is amusing. I cannot get the memory of Father out of my mind, of Father torturing me until I told him every last detail of Potter, down to the color of the soles of his shoes. May I live to curse Father into oblivion! But now I shall use Potter's misery not for Father's uses, but for my own. I shall tell him much, many lies, so he won't tell the Dark Lord, and then I will tell the Dark Lord myself. I am old enough to win favor. It is my turn, Father, to wield the whip! And wield it I shall, with the force of pain behind it!

Now he is talking to his friends. Granger-cursed Granger!-is beside herself with worry, I can see. Weasly tries to get them both into a lighter mood, but his laughter is strained. It has been hard for them. Let them suffer! They do not know real pain, real loss. I, who have lost my innocence to the hand of my own father, have felt true misery. Let them feel it, this they have reaped with their heroic pride!

***

I am old now, and older I grow. I cannot preside over this school much longer, and I am weak. My love for Harry has made me weaker. Every time he is hurt, my back bends a little farther. Every time he feels pain, my knees become a little creakier. It is long since I have felt this bond with anyone. It is long since I have had a son, or a boy to love as a son. I am not ready for it. For all my long years, living to see the end of my line, I am not prepared for this.

Harry and his friends enter The Great Hall, and I see the pain spread across Harry's face. He is too young to feel this deeply! Surely it will kill him! If only I could reach out a hand and remove all his sorrows from him...I would do it, even if it meant that I, Albus Dumbledore, must take them on myself.

I speak to the school, but I am not conscious of what I am saying. The students never pay attention anyway. I focus on Harry. I see only his bedraggled face, and his too-thin body. I want to sweep him into my arms and fix him all up. I want to make him better.

***

Dumbledore stares at me intently all through the feast. What can be on his mind? I know I must look terrible, but I don't care. I don't about anything anymore. There's nothing left to care about. There's nothing left for me, except to finish off the evil that has smote my life. And yet, somehow, I don't want to. Because if I do, I will no longer have a purpose to live. I will die.

I barely eat. The food is good, I know, but I have no taste for it. I want to eat, I want to smile, I want to be happy, but it won't come. The happiness is dead to me. I don't know the meaning anymore. It is lost to me.

Hermione senses something is wrong with me, and I have a feeling Ron does, too, and they are scared. Well, let them be scared! Let them sit there, watching fearfully as the madness slowly slips into my brain and grips it with poison tipped fingers! Let them watch in horror as the shadows lengthen, expand, and grow till they cover all of my thoughts. Let them see as death creeps up on me. Let them know the feeling of true suffering.

***

Harry doesn't look at Ron or I all through dinner. As we go up to the Common Room, he continues to face the wall. Doesn't he know that we, too, feel sorrow? I can feel the concern i felt earlier turn to anger. "Harry!" I cry. He stops, and Ron looks at me curiously. "Don't you know that we're upset, too? We feel your pain! You don't have to give us the silent treatment all night!" I complain. There is no flicker of recognition in Harry's dead eyes. Nothing changes. He just stares at me until I flinch and look away.

"If you suffered as I suffer, you would die screaming after one night of it. If you felt the pain I feel, you would wilt like a dandelion before a lawn mower, and you would die. You don't know what it is to be me, and to face my horrors. So leave me alone," he says. His voice is ice daggers, and every word he speaks cuts into me. I feel myself bleed as he talks. Then he walks away, as calmly as if he hadn't said anything. Ron follows like the loyal, whimpering dog he is. Curse Ron! He doesn't even care about Harry.

***

Hermione is glaring at me as if I made Harry say those things. New flash, Hermy! I can't control what Harry says to you! As if I would make him say the horrible things he said! But I'm not angry at him. I...I pity him. I used to want to be him. How strange it feels now...Argh, stop glaring at me Hermione! Why does she always blame me?

So I ran after Harry after he said what he did, but Harry needs help! How can she expect me to hear Harry's near-death wish and not want to do something about it? If she were in my shoes, she'd have done the same. I'm amazed she didn't!

Harry can't really be suffering as much as he said, though, can he? Harry's only human! He's not that much greater than Hermione or I. Surely, if he can face that pain, then we can, too. He doesn't have super hero powers or anything.

***

I watch Potter closely now, for whatever details I can bring the Dark Lord. His confession to Granger was so satisfying, I almost licked my lips as a cat might. No one, of course, could die from his misery, of course. I have seen misery beyond the reaches of St.Potter's imagination, and the men who suffered from it have survived even to this day, except if the Dark Lord chose to kill them.

I wish I could stride out into the open to gloat over his pain, but there are still things I can learn tonight. The Gryphindor password, for one! All that I can tell the Dark Lord will bring me higher and higher in status. Ironic, how I must lower and degrade myslef to the rank of a slinking spy, only to claim a higher place among my peers! It amuses me to think of the honor I will recieve for this sneaking about and breaking of rules. One day, I hope, I will take such a high seat of honor that I will be greater than the Dark Lord himself, and even he will fear me. I will be ruthless-and Voldemort will die.