Pieces of Me, Scattered to the Wind

Cracks in the Glass

What does one do when they reach their capacity of what they can handle? Where do you go from there? Is it down? Do you break the threshold and continue to try and handle more and more until you burn up? Or do you break. Shatter into a million pieces, never to be repaired, changed forever.

You can only handle so much before you break, is what he was slowly coming to figure out.

Only so many expectations.

So many eyes upon him.

So much faith in him.

Only so much abuse he could handle.

Starvation.

Blood loss.

But what was worse than any of that? He could handle the punches, the beatings, the ache of his stomach turning in on itself in the depths of hunger as he went a week with only 2 meals. He could handle the weight of the world upon his shoulders. But one thing he could not handle anymore was the death of his loved ones.

Death followed him, it always had for as long as he had been alive. His grandparents died before his first birthday. His parents died in their attempt to save him. Cedric. He choked at the thought of his first love. Cedric had died trying to protect him. And now his poor Godfather. He cursed people with death as if he were a plague scouring the streets and stealing souls. Perhaps it was only so long before Death swept all his friends away in its current- in the destruction he sowed by simply being born.

What had been the last words his parents uttered to him? No one would know- he was too young to remember. What had been the last thing his Godfather had said to him? Everything was so hectic, the screaming, the curses being thrown, the fight for their lives. What was it that he had said? 'Keep your head down' was the top contender in his brain, it seemed the most likely given the context of the situation.

Death always took those he loved. Collecting them like charms on a bracelet.

Death crept along in each of Harry Potter's footsteps.

Harry's memories of the fight at the ministry were hazy at best. Fogged over, but by what he didn't know. His entire life at Hogwarts felt that way too. It was as if the experiences of his life were only available for him to view through a moderated lense. Like someone else was controlling what he remembered and what he saw. Harry had emotions bubbling over in his chest but he didn't know why he felt some of them. The whispers in the back of his head chastised him,

'You don't want to be this way'

He shook his head, pushing the unwelcomed companion from his mind. Sirius had been caught by Bellatrix's curse- he knew that for sure. What else happened? Had he cried? Screamed? He had chased after Bellatrix. Voldemort had been there. There was more fighting. Dumbledore was there too. Why was it all fuzzy? The lack of clarity only drove to frustrate Harry further. The pit of his stomach churned- not with hunger or nausea. No, it was something darker, more deadly. Had he done something in the fight? He felt different but he couldn't pin down why. After the fight Dumbledore had said things to him. What was it he had said?

'Sirius wouldn't want you to be like this'

Yeah, well Sirius probably wouldn't want to be dead either and yet here we are, Harry thought viciously. The pit in his stomach burned. Whenever he thought of that night, his anger was always quick to react. Thinking back on that night was common for Harry. Being wide awake at 2 in the morning left Harry with plenty of time to mull in his thoughts. To fill with hatred.

Harry rolled out of bed. The air in the house was stifling, crushing him. He had to get out of there. Quietly he worked on unchaining his window- fortunately it no longer had iron bars- and threw open the window, cringing when it clattered against the side of the house. He paused, holding his breath, trying to see if he had awoken Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia. He couldn't hear anyone. Thank fuck.