"I know he didn't do it to hurt me. Dad would never do anything to hurt me. But I panicked, and I thought he would die. What if the next time he's put in danger I panic and he does die? It will be all my fault because I'm hiding in this blasted castle instead of facing him. But he never comes for me. He sends others. Why doesn't he just finish it?"
It's not that he wants to die. He's just so tired, and he feels so vulnerable. It's as if he can't stop himself from doing exactly what Voldemort wants him to do. And now he has the tournament stressing him out as well.
Then he feels that squeeze on his shoulder and he pales. His body tenses as he remembers the quidditch pitch and Fenrir. But this is not Fenrir. This is his uncle who would never hurt him.
His mind knows this, but his body doesn't seem to be convinced. It takes him a moment to force himself to breathe. Another to relax enough to process what he's been asked.
"I'm angry at everyone and everything at times, but mostly I'm angry with myself. They believe I'm special because of this scar. I believed I was special because I trusted my talents. Now, I'm not sure what I trust in. He keeps besting me, and it's just like he said in my dreams. He wants me to lose everything. I think he wants that more than anything."
In that moment his scar began to burn, his hand shot up to it, as he held on to it while struggling to catch his breath. He swears, for a moment, he hears laughter. High pitched laughter. Then it fades and he looks at his uncle and asks, "What is wrong with me?"
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It's not that he wants to die. He's just so tired, and he feels so vulnerable. It's as if he can't stop himself from doing exactly what Voldemort wants him to do. And now he has the tournament stressing him out as well.
Then he feels that squeeze on his shoulder and he pales. His body tenses as he remembers the quidditch pitch and Fenrir. But this is not Fenrir. This is his uncle who would never hurt him.
His mind knows this, but his body doesn't seem to be convinced. It takes him a moment to force himself to breathe. Another to relax enough to process what he's been asked.
"I'm angry at everyone and everything at times, but mostly I'm angry with myself. They believe I'm special because of this scar. I believed I was special because I trusted my talents. Now, I'm not sure what I trust in. He keeps besting me, and it's just like he said in my dreams. He wants me to lose everything. I think he wants that more than anything."
In that moment his scar began to burn, his hand shot up to it, as he held on to it while struggling to catch his breath. He swears, for a moment, he hears laughter. High pitched laughter. Then it fades and he looks at his uncle and asks, "What is wrong with me?"