.....2am, where do I begin,
Just crying off my face again.
The silent sound of loneliness
Wants to follow me to bed…..

Whispers float like invisible will-o-wisps upon the air, oppressing, constantly reminding him. The darkness swallowed the room, leaving trails of shadows, which suggested horrors to his susceptible mind. He ached with a soul penetrating pain, one that had been festering in the recesses of his thoughts. A pain he had hidden from all. He was the ultimate actor. He could fool everybody, but himself. He dealt with his burdens alone, maintaining the image of strength and valiance to others while slowly withering away on the inside.

Against the stony back wall, facing a huge, almost floor length window was a dark shadow. However, unlike true shadows, which only gave life to imagined horrors, this one was different. The horrors where not imagined, but part of it. The strange glitter of light within its depths belied giving it the name of a shadow and suddenly gave shape of a person hidden in its folds. A boy, that had the eyes and soul of a man passed his age, if one looked closely enough.

His inky, messy hair was drenched with a cold sweat, weighing down the strands. With the non-existent light from the moon and stars that slithered across the web of beads, it looked both beautiful and deadly.

His emerald eyes stared unseeingly at memories only he could see. They were wild and feverish, flitting back and forth. His hands clenched and unclenched around the object he held like a lifeline. A sliver of moonlight gleamed off the sharp edge, adding to the omniscient air, predicting a sorrowful story, yet to unfold. It told of an end nearing. But would it be Final or would it be in the metaphorical sense? The end of an era? In essence, both were balanced on the edge of a knife.

Silent tears slid unknowingly down his face. He was weary. Bone weary. He couldn’t do it alone anymore. But like always he was on his own.

…..I’m a ghost of a boy that I want to be most.
I’m a shell of a boy, that I used to know well…..

He often wondered how one could feel so empty and yet feel completely bottled up with emotion. It wasn’t possible, was it? He had coped with it for so long, it became his constant companion. He didn’t know any different anymore. The numbness that invaded his self and took over often. He ran on automatic and zombie like. A smile here and there, when Hermione’s face lit up when discussing something or other, usually books or research. Or a laugh, when Ron pulled “The Face” when he usually told a joke. Or even the devious, misdirection one-liner, whenever they threw the “sly” worried looks at him. Changing both the subject whilst reassuring them. It was all soon forgotten.

And yet, at the same time, like an undercurrent, something ran through his veins. Emotions and feelings he locked up. Horrific thoughts and memories he had buried deep, looking for release and absolution. Sometimes they surface before he could get a hold on them. Like the time he had lost it in Dumbledore’s office. But he had learned at an early age to control his emotions. He was the epitome of a hero as far as everyone else was concerned.

But maybe he was just going crazy. How could he feel so many things and yet nothing simultaneously? He was just a freak.

…..Dancing slowly in an empty room,
Can the lonely take the place of you?
I sing myself a quiet lullaby.
Let you go and let the lonely in
To take my heart again…..

The moon had moved from behind the cloud, casting deeper shadows and dapples of light scattering the room. Yet he managed to stay hidden, as if the moonlight shied away from the shadow of the boy and the despair swirling almost visibly around him.

But he couldn’t hide the sudden downward motion of his arm. So quick, it was almost a blur of silver and black. A pause…and then his hand was dancing across the other arm. It was dreadfully mesmerizing to watch the intricate movements, moving to a rhythm heard only by him. His arm was the only movement. His body was stock still. He eyes finally rested their frantic flittering’s and peace slowly slipped in. Relief.

A haunting melody, softly hung in the air. Was in it his head? It was so delicate, he strained to catch it but despite this he managed to capture each heart-rending note. It was sung from the soul, from the heart. With honest feeling and emotion. It spoke of pain and misery and no hope. No hope?

It was him. Only then did he realise, that he was humming this melody. This song of his life. And then he let all his pain flow from him, bled from his soul, and heart and his song…and out from his arms. His life force, his lifeblood. He embraced the physical pain that ground him. He didn’t control it, it controlled him. It took his heart.

…..To afraid to go outside
For the pain of one more loveless night.
But the loneliness will stay with me
And hold me til I fall asleep…..

And then his hand went limp. He could do no more. A cloud had once more wrapped itself around the moon, soaking all it’s light. The bone weary pain, had once again returned, almost as if it had been sucked back in as the moon’s rays dispersed. The haunting melody faded mid note, leaving memories once again to fill the room with it’s shadows. He huddled tighter to himself, wrapping his arms across his knees and laying his weary head upon them, in a position of self-reassurance. One he seemed entirely too comfortable with. The loneliness had wrapped around him like a blanket, ushering him to sleep, to his nightmares.

…..I’m a ghost of a boy that I want to be most.
I’m the shell of a boy that I used to know well…..

He was just a freak, this non-entity that no-one really knew, not even himself. Even in his mind, he found no rest, no identity, nothing.

…..Dancing slowly in an empty room,
Can the lonely take the place of you?
I sing myself a quiet lullaby
Let you go and let the lonely in
To take my heart again…..

His nightmares danced tauntingly within his mind. Graceful twirls and movements. Flashes of each, mocking and haunting him. His melody, played softly in the background, giving purpose to his thoughts that seemed to exist solely to hurt him. He felt betrayed by them. Even his own mind was against him.

He raced through his thoughts, pushing them aside, desperately searching for relief, for an escape. But for every one he shoved away, ten more replaced it. He was suffocating within his own mind. And then he saw it. A globe of darkness. His escape. His peace. He reached out with tentative fingers, relishing in the astonishingly quiet nothingness. No pain, no hurt, no memories, no thoughts. Nothing. Opening his heart fully, he embraced the darkness wholly, breathing deeply and …

…..Broken pieces of
A barely breathing story
Where there once was love
Now there’s only me and the lonely…..

…Outside of his tumultuous mind, the unconscious form of the boy, was silent. His last breath hovering like a silver mist, ominously just above the boy in the darkness. Born of love and saved by love, he was slowly dying on his own, alone, with only the loneliness to hold him, as death’s embrace came to welcome him into its folds.

…..Dancing slowly in an empty room,
Can the lonely take the place of you?
I sing myself a quiet lullaby
Let you go and let the lonely in
To take my heart again…..

With a burst of vigor, the moon shone cleanly through the clouds, bathing the room in a bluish light. The shadows fled. Hope was renewed. Upon the rays of light, a haunting melody softly lingered. Polished footsteps echoed methodically through the room, almost like a tap dance, without the natural joviality that came with it. Skidding to a halt near the inert form he threw himself down. Blackness naturally radiated to the man like bees to honey. But the almost magical quality of the moon, dispersed this with ease, throwing light to the obsidian eyes, gazing worriedly upon the boy. Elegant eyebrows drew together in concentration, and his pitch-black hair, gave a bluish shine in the light.

Nimble fingers checked for a pulse, eyes widening when he realised there was no faint patter of one beneath the cold, clammy skin. Time was ticking… letting go of the boy’s arm, he felt something sticky and warm. Holding his elegant hand, stained from years potion making, in front of his face up to the light, seeing only the deep red of blood, obscuring his usual stains.

Quickly pulling the boy’s arm up, he saw innumerable cuts on the underside, from elbow to wrist. And many more scars. Understanding and sorrow filled his eyes. Producing his wand, and muttering countless charms to aid healing and stop the blood and finally tipping the boys head gently to pour a deep purple potion down his throat, he breathed a sigh of relief as the boy’s chest started to move faintly. He was alive. For now. But they weren’t out of troubled waters just yet.

Scooping up the far too light boy, he rushed to the hospital wing, thanking whatever entity led him to this unused room with a haunting song and promising to save the boy from himself… and The Lonely.

As the door shut behind them, motes of dust swirled in the air. The moon suddenly sunk behind the cloud once again leaving the room with shadows lurking menacingly. A pool of congealed blood was the only indication that the room had witnessed any such event.

Death mourned the loss of his victim, but the The Lonely lay in wait, knowing he wasn’t done yet with his.