She walks to school with the lunch she packed
Nobody knows what she's holdin' back

oOo

From several parts of Little Whinging children were walking towards the elementary school, talking to each other, laughing with each other. But on the road from Privet Drive, a small boy was walking alone. The child looked like he had just started at school that year, but he was attending his fifth year. The boy had a small, torn back-pack on his back. Within it he had nothing but a small lunch box containing some of the food he had made yesterday for dinner. His large, emerald eyes had a shadow within them, as he stared sadly at the ground.

oOo

Wearin' the same dress she wore yesterday
She hides the bruises with linen and lace

oOo

As he entered the school grounds, he could hear the snickers and giggles following him. They were laughing because of his overly large clothes. He'd gotten them from his cousin, who was ten times bigger than himself. However, he was glad for their huge size. That way, they'd properly hide the bruises and scars, and the fabric didn't rub against his open wounds quite as much as they would, if his clothes fit him. But the problem with the clothes was that they were so torn; so terribly torn. And he wouldn't get any new clothes until his bruises started to show under the layers of clothing on his small body.

oOo

The teacher wonders but she doesn't ask
It's hard to see the pain behind the mask

oOo

The small boy noticed his teacher looking at him. She always sent him sad glances in the first class every day. She seemed to be concerned for his health and well being, but she had never brought her concern of abuse up to him, or anyone of authority; which he was quite glad for. However, he felt quite sad about it as well.. That she was worried, but not worried enough to actually bother with finding out the truth. Her glance was rewarded with a brilliant smile, as always. She smiled in returned, before she turned back to the blackboard and continued talking. He didn't receive anymore attention from her that day.

oOo

Bearing the burden of a secret storm
Sometimes she wishes she was never born

oOo

The small black haired boy curled up into a small ball; the wounds on his back burning fiercely. How he hated that belt... Tears were streaking down his face, silent sobs coursing through his small body. How he hated this! Why couldn't he have died in that car crash along with his parents? Or better yet, why did he have to be born at all? A spider scurried past the unconscious figure, tears of pain and desperations still running down his face, his features screwed up into a grimace of extreme pain.

oOo

Through the wind and the rain
She stands hard as a stone
In a world that she can't rise above
But her dreams give her wings
And she flies to a place where she's loved
Concrete angel

oOo

The small boy with the baggy clothes grew as the years went by. He was accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry when he was eleven years old, where he gained his first friends. In his first year, he saved a stone from the man that had murdered his parents. In his second year, he killed a gigantic snake, and saved his best friend's sister. During his third year, he met his Godfather, who had been in Azkaban for twelve years, and was now on the run, so he couldn't live with him. And last year, he had attended his fourth year at Hogwarts. It had been the darkest year yet, and he had watched a boy that was in seventh grade get killed before his eyes. And the man that had killed his parents had gained back his body. However, every summer, he had to come back; back to his personal hell at Privet Drive, Little Whinging. He'd managed to keep his situation a secret from his friends. However, he had no idea how long his secret would remain just that, a secret.

oOo

Somebody cries in the middle of the night
The neighbors hear, but they turn out the lights

oOo

A loud crack echoed through the house. Mere milliseconds later, a loud heartbreaking scream could be heard. Hit after hit, kick after kick and the cracking sound as a whip hit flesh. This seemed to last for eternity in the boys mind. It seemed to never end. Another ear shattering scream that broke the hearts of all the neighbors that heard it. The boy hoped with all his heart that someone could come to rescue him. Either that or that he'd just die there and then. His friends… His teachers... His neighbors... None came to his rescue.

oOo

A fragile soul caught in the hands of fate
When morning comes it'll be too late

oOo

"My boy..." An old man with a long snowy white beard looked at his grumpy employee and friend. "Would you mind doing me a small favor?" Blue eyes twinkled. "Even if I did mind, you'd make me do it anyway." Was the responding drawl. "Yes, well.." The man continued, "Would you mind telling me why you dragged me up here, away from that Wolfsbane you wanted me to prepare for that werewolf?" The man's voice was annoyed and slightly accusing. "I want you to go and check on the boy tomorrow morning." The man's jaw tightened, but he reluctantly agreed.

Neither of them could have known that in the morning, it would be to late.

oOo

Through the wind and the rain
She stands hard as a stone
In a world that she can't rise above
But her dreams give her wings
And she flies to a place where she's loved
Concrete angel

oOo

Black eyes widened at the mess that he found in the smallest bedroom. He couldn't take his eyes of the sight, no matter how repulsing it was. The man quickly rushed over to the small, bloodied, battered body of the boy. He knelt down beside him, and checked his pulse. A single tear slipped down his cheek. He had not only failed the headmaster and the boy, but he had failed her. He'd let her son die right under their noses, in a place where he was supposed to be loved and spoiled silly! He was so sure that the boy was surrendered in luxury. Slowly, he lifted the mutilated for of her son. The son of the woman he had loved. Carefully, like he was carrying a sacred treasure, he walked out of the house.

He had to bring the boy's dead body safely to Hogwarts..

oOo

A statue stands in a shaded place
An angel girl with an upturned face

oOo

The graveyard at Godric's Hallow was truly a beautiful sight this time of the year. The trees were tall and in full bloom, the grave stones were very well taken care of, and sparkled slightly in the sunlight. There were hundreds of people gathered here on this beautiful morning, the burial of a boy, that some of them had never even seen when he was alive. None, but the boys friends and teachers, had been told how he died. Nearly all of the people's eyes were filled with tears, crying and sobbing loudly, for all to hear.

oOo

A name is written on a polished rock
A broken heart that the world forgot

oOo

A bushy haired girl was standing beside her friend, a tall red-headed boy. They weren't crying, but their eyes were bloodshot, as though they had been crying for days, which they had. But they would not cry in this funeral. Just like every other person that had truly known the boy.

This wasn't the boys funeral. This was the funeral of the hero. Not the boy. And it wasn't the hero they would miss, it was the boy. The bushy haired girl looked sadly at the gravestone, where the name of her best friend was engraved. The boy had been forgotten by the world. The world itself only remembered a hero, an icon.

But a group of a selected few, remembered who he really was. A boy, a small boy, who had only wish to have a family that loved him..

oOo

Through the wind and the rain
She stands hard as a stone
In a world that she can't rise above
But her dreams give her wings
And she flies to a place where she's loved
Concrete Angel

oOo

"Professor? Who was that boy? What was his name?" A fifth year Ravenclaw asked. The professor smiled at her. "His name was Harry Potter." She said simply. "Harry Potter! The boy who survived the killing curse?" A Slytherin called out. "Yes." The professor said, a sad smile upon her face. "Why did you tell us this story about him?" Another Ravenclaw asked. "Because it is the truth; this is how he died. It never became known to the public. All of us has tried our best to keep it a secret. But I've told this story to all fifth years for the last few years. It is told, so that you can understand who he really was."

She took a deep, shaky breath, as though she was in pain. "I want you to know, that he wasn't a hero. He wasn't above humanity. He was more human and humble then most of us.. I want you to know the real him. The small, scared, abused boy that he truly was. The only reason I know the whole story, or at least parts of it, is because of a diary that was found in his bedroom, three years later."

There was silence for a long time. No one dared to say anything. Until one Slytherin spoke, not bothering to rise his hand. "Did you know him, Professor?" His voice was soft, as though he hardly dared to break the silence. "Yes." She whispered, "I was one of his best friends when he lived..." She took another shaky breath. "And the only thing I wish for above all else, is that he finally got the family he deserved. The family he craved. And a family who loved him.." At that, the teacher in History of Magic, Hermione Granger, sat down on her chair, and cried.