Desperate memories collide and cluster. Reeling, confused and alone, in the dark of the abyss. There is no light, no pretence. Just the erroneous belief that there will be salvation.

But of course there isn't.

Stumbling, blindly, through the crushing silence, chasing a non-existent hope. How cold it seems. How aloof. How unaffected. The abyss can feel but it will not care.

Black, Red, White

Alone

We cannot interpret infinity.

Lie down and cry, boy. You once wanted to. But you feel you've overcome that, haven't you? Relying on other people to interpret how you feel inside... it doesn't matter who, you just give them hints and let them form their own conclusions.

You know how you feel, how you once felt. Do you care? Do you give a fuck?

Does it matter anymore?

You cannot speak the truth the way you want to. You hurt so badly inside, from the taunts, the aggression, all the guilt you carry.

You want to cry.

You need to.

You can't.

You've left it behind, locked it in a vault, never tried to find time to scream...

It's become habit. Everyone you know can speak the truth to themselves. Why can't you? Bottling it all up, stubbornly and unyieldingly. It'll hurt more.

Ah, but you don't care. All you want is a shoulder to cry on. Not love; just understanding. You think you know who, but they will shy, no, run away from you. It would be so unrecognised, going to him for help. You have both suffered silently, mindlessly, and you're sure that, if you were anyone else, they would understand... but he'll sneer and regard you as weak.

Besides... you couldn't let him close. You can't let anyone close, or they'll all go the same way as Cedric did. And Sirius did. And others will. They'll all die for you, and you'll have to watch and know you were responsible. You can't let anyone close... especially not one so important.

He could have understood -

Maybe. But can you let yourself be that vulnerable, especially to him? You don't respect him and he doesn't respect you, and there are too many doubtful questions about trust, and how would he react? Sneeringly, worriedly, pityingly?

His pity would feel like spit on your cheek. You want understanding, someone who can hurt with you and feel with you and help you both heal. Then you both can feel like the demons have been exorcised.

But you can't, can you? He wouldn't even look at you once. He would, with the air of someone concluding exhaustive research, pronounce you weak and foolish.

You're not. You know you're not. What you do know is that you are pressured with a burden that not even a full-grown man could handle, all this left to a child, a sacrificial lamb, someone who they can throw into the maw just to see themselves survive. So, you have no choice. Retreat into yourself once more.

Alone.

Again.