An hour later found Harry seeking solace out on the grounds of the manor, the stars his only company. They seemed to twinkle sadly at him, and he heaved a sigh up at them, his eyes focusing on the cloud of breath that appeared in the cold air before him. His lips pressed together in a scowl, and he looked away, back down at the ground. He wished to be out of the cold air, or that he had at least had the sense to slip on pants before rushing out into the night. Now that he was out in the moonlight, he might as well suck it up, and enjoy the sight of the stars.
The fragrance of a flower wafted up to his nose, and he glanced to his right, to see a single flower unfurling right before his eyes, reaching up into the night for the gentle embace of the moon. The pale, milky white flower looked silky to the touch, and his emerald green eyes were captured by the pure beauty, the utter innocence of such a thing. He wanted to carress the petals, but worries that he would be far too sullied to ever touch such a thing stilled him from doing so. Pressing his lips together, he looked back up at the sky, to find the stars and moon peering back down at him.
The boy didn't know what to do, what to believe. On one hand, he cared for Tom, and he believed (at one point) the man had cared for him. Eyebrows knitting over his sparkling orbs, he pleaded with the stars to share with him their wisdom, and tell him what he should do. "I... I'm so confused. I don't know what to do, what-well, who to believe." He shook his head, settling down on a stone bench. Pulling his knees up to his chin, he rested his forehead against his kneecaps. "I've been lied to and used all my life. I'm tired of it. Sick and tired of it," his voice broke, emphasizing on 'tired'. "I don't want to be lied to anymore, and To-," he licked his lips, shaking his head to correct himself, "Voldemort. Voldemort said he wasn't lying to me, that he would never lie to me, but what if that is another lie as well?
"What if this is the same as before, but just with new faces and names?"
Sighing deeply, he ran his fingers through unruly locks, tightening his grip to look up at the stars once more. "What if I made a mistake by coming here, by choosing him? Was I too hasty?" Pulling his knees closer to his chest, he scowled up at the sky. "What if I was wrong? What if they weren't lying to me, and it was Voldemort that led me to think that? What if they truly did care for me? What if I was wrong to come here? What if I was wrong about all of it?" He demanded of the moon, knowing that he would receive no reply from the floating orb of light.
So, it caught him completely by surprise when he heard a voice coming from his left, a familiar masculine voice, "But you don't honestly believe that, do you, my Prince?" His head snapped over to find Lucius standing in the path, obviously having heard every word he said. Scowling deeply, he felt his cheeks heat up.
"You know, eavesdropping on 'your Prince' isn't something you're supposed to do," his voice held a bite to it, though he wasn't truly upset, more embarrassed at being found.
The blonde's head dropped, a fist curling into his chest. "My apologies, my Prince. Please forgive your servant."
Harry's cheeks tinted darker and he waved a hand at him, "You can just drop that now, Lucius. You don't have to call me that right now. Just Potter would do. Or Harry, whichever." Looking away, he pressed his lips together, hoping that the man hadn't heard everything he had said, had only heard the end of it. "What are you doing here, anyway?"
The man approached quietly, his shoes making gentle scuffs on the cobblestone path. "I decided to take a leisurely stroll in my Lord's gardens, and happened upon my Prince. He seemed to be in distress, so I came to his aid."
"Drop the honorifics. Just call me Harry, Lucius; since I call you by your first name now, you can call me by mine."
Dipping his head, the man consented. "Very well, Harry, if that is what you wish, but only for now shall I call you such." Gesturing to the bench beside Harry, he asked, "May I?"
