Maybe it all wouldn't hurt so much if was one person, just one, who he could talk to without having to worry about privacy.

Maybe it would be okay if somebody, anybody, wanted him to succeed because his life depended on it.

Maybe if they weren't all so focused on teaching him the best way to kill someone else, they would see how it was slowly killing him.

He stares down at his lap, fingers absentmindedly tracing his forearms, feeling the old scars there, feeling the new scabs, feeling the smoothness of the skin yet to be marred.

He wishes desperately for someone to come to him, take him in their arms, tell him everything will be okay. He wants someone to hold him, to run their fingers through his hair and stroke his forehead and make all the hurt go away. He hopes and dreams for someone, anyone to reassure him.

That's all he really wants.

He knows that it's stupid and childish and immature to think this way. From the start, he's been on his own. He's made his own way in life, has done everything himself. He learned ages ago that that was how it would always be.

But he's never quite stopped wishing.

Author's Note: It's pretty obvious who this is about. And yes, I'm well aware that it's rather emo, however that was the challenge. So that explains that.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.