Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters or places in this story (said characters/places are property of JK Rowling).
The Eyes of a Child
"Your good health, Harry."
As Albus Dumbledore drained the goblet, a terrible sense of foreboding flowed down his throat along with it. He heard Harry beside him, asking him if he was alright. His eyes were closed now, a dark, murky cloud filling his subconscious. He pushed on, one thought in his mind- getting the Horcrux.
It wasn't until the fourth goblet that something began to take shape in the murky clouds in his mind. A door was opening, creaking on it's hinges. He felt small, entirely too small for how he had felt only moments before, and could feel himself shaking. Yet it wasn't him. He knew that much, at least. Someone else was there in his mind, terribly afraid of what was coming near.
He heard a far off voice, but didn't dare try to reach it. He heard the unzipping of a pair of jeans, and spoke out, terrified. "I don't want…don't make me…"
The door shut, and he was plunged into darkness once more. But the person who had entered in the light, the huge man, still remained, and although Albus knew full well what he was doing, he couldn't bring himself to say the words. "…don't like…want to stop…."
All of a sudden, he felt another plunge of murky blackness, and he was being whisked from the scene, his jeans back on. He was standing in a kitchen, being dragged towards the stairs by a woman, whose face was blurred in the juvenile memories. "No…" he whimpered, pulling back from the woman's grip, "I don't want to….I don't want to….Let me go…."
"It's all right, Professor," a voice whispered from far away, but he couldn't force himself to realize what was really happening, as the scene melted to the dark room was more. The woman was there now, though, but the activity was very much the same. Won't say it, won't say it, I can't, I won't, it'll be true…. "Make it stop, make it stop."
The murky blackness plunged through him once more, and he found himself in the middle of a living room, being kicked sharply on the back of the knees, falling to them on the rug. He stared at the ground, unable to look up at the person in front of him. His little eyes filled with tears, he tried to make them see reason. "No, no, no, no, I can't, I can't, don't make me, I don't want to…."
Once again, he was taken to a new scene, on the floor, right beside the door in the dark room, sobbing as he tried to buy his way out. "It's all my fault, all my fault," he cried, banging his tiny, scraped fists on the door, "Please make it stop, I know I did wrong, oh please make it stop and I'll never, never again…"
As if in answer to what it was he could've done that was so terrible, he felt himself plunged to a new scene, once again on his knees, but in a much different way from before. Behind him stood two or three children, shaking in fear of the boy before them all. A bicycle lay twisted and broken a few meters away. "Don't hurt them, don't hurt them, please, please, it's my fault, hurt me instead…."
The Bike Incident, as he seemed to know to call it in his mind, melted back to the scene where he sat next to the door, it being forced open roughly, hitting him in the head and knocking him forward on his hands and knees. He looked behind him to see the large man hovering over him, his intents clear. "Please, please, please, no….not that, not that, I'll do anything…."
Rapid images began to fill his mind, all very much the same, of the same three people, doing the same three things to him. "No more, please, no more…." He whimpered. Suddenly, he seemed to remember his eyes were shut and tried to force them open, but the thought was carried away as quickly as the rest, and he felt smothered and disgusting and he could take no more.
Suddenly, at once, all the images stopped and he found himself standing on the kitchen table, face stiff and stained with tears, fists balled at his sides. "I want to die! I want to die! Make it stop, make it stop, I want to die!"
He wasn't wearing a shirt, and his jeans were undone. He leapt from the table and launched himself on the large man, who was standing nearby and tumbled to the ground at the sudden attack. "KILL ME!" He roared at him, everything he had inside of him tearing at the force and emotions of the words.
The door to the kitchen opened, and he looked up. The woman stood there, right beside the refrigerator, with it's little mirror on it. He paused for a moment, staring at his battered reflection, black hair, slick with sweat, matted to his forehead.
And then, all of a sudden, as quickly as it'd began, it was over. Everything went black, but not the murky kind it'd been before. A sudden sense of alarming understanding overtook Albus, who once again understood who he was, and all he'd just seen.
"Sir, are you all right?"
"I've been better." Even as Albus said these words, all he could think was that this was not what he should be saying. As much pain as he was in, and as weak as he was, it was nothing compared to what he'd just discovered. He shouldn't be the one getting asked how he was doing, he should be the one asking.
He took a moment, just a moment, to look at Harry in the moonlight. The boy looked so strong, but so worried and caring. Caring…at least Albus could be thankful he hadn't lost that with all he'd been through. After all, all those terrible memories he'd just experienced weren't his own. The face in the mirror wasn't his. It was Harry's.
Stupify. As Dumbledore said the spell in his mind, knowing it could well be the last thing he'd ever say to Harry (well, not to him, precisely) he felt compelled to add sorry I'll never be able to help you the way you need, my boy.
A.N.: There you have it. This piece isn't as well written as I would like, but I was horribly depressed one night and this just sort of came out. Hope you liked it. Please review.