Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Summary: 'How foolish we mortals be,' I thought fondly. 'For there is none more foolish than I.'
Warning: Slash; Lemon; Lime; Angst
_ Envy _
His eyes are like liquid emeralds. His voice reminds me of the sweet, sweet melodies of happiness long gone. His smile radiates a silent forlorn misery. This boy's, no, man's name is Harry Potter.
My heart had gone numb when I had first laid eyes on him; this fragile, lost, little boy who looked to be the age of eight. I knew everything I had thought I would ever want to know about this lonely child at that moment.
Harry Potter, at the age of eleven, was not a sight to behold. He was always so disheveled, unkempt, and the clothing he wore could put the Weasley's to shame. His jet black hair lacked any sort of luster; his skin was gaunt across his bones and reflected a sickly white color, and his overall stature reached a pitiful four feet.
I cared not for this so called savior of the Wizarding World.
By the end of my first year at Hogwarts I had become even more withdrawn; Mother had remarried. However, at the end of that same year, Harry had successfully saved the school, the Sorcerer's Stone, and the Wizarding world (once again).
He was also leaving with a broomstick, a first year's knowledge of spells and wand waving, the start of a pleasant tan, brighter eyes, and a small smile.
It would be a lie if I said I did not envy him. For who did not? It was right about then, I think, that I began to despise him with a hate so white-hot and impure that I surprised myself.
'How foolish we mortals be,' I thought fondly. 'For there is none more foolish than I.'
In youth I have known one with whom the Earth
In secret communing held - as he with it,
In daylight, and in beauty, from his birth:
Whose fervid, flickering torch of life was lit
From the sun and stars, whence he had drawn forth
A passionate light - such for his spirit was fit -
And yet that spirit knew - not in the hour
Of its own fervour - what had o'er it power.
"In Youth I Have Known" 'First Verse' by Edgar Allan Poe
© 2010 Inyx Dawn