silk ties

it was a regular day in the gryffindor common room. well, a regular day as a sixth year in the common room, really. hogwarts has been very dull for harry recently, the only events being the same as before. however, in the current war, he’d say that there is a lot happening. lovely to know that it has nothing to do with him or his parents, thankfully. 

he did hope for an exciting change in his regular schedule, really. the only thing he was afraid of was actually wishing for it. harry remembers when he was almost kidnapped by death eaters for the first time. it was when sirius and remus were paying for some school books, when he was a first year. 

maybe those death eaters just wanted to bring their lord’s arch enemy so they could be rewarded greatly. harry couldn’t blame them, greed is something that is all-devouring sometimes. 

harry was wearing his earmuffs, ones that were unbelievably fluffy with bear ears. leaning against an empty classroom’s door, with two people arguing. just like the usual, those two just can’t seem to stop arguing. ron and hermione. 

sometimes, he wonders why they’re his best friends. 

maybe he shouldn’t wonder why. he made the choice, anyway.

* a butterfly larvae on a pale swallow-wort leaf, slowing hatching.

“harry potter.” when his name was called, he faltered for a moment. he nervously stepped towards the stool, as the silence of the crowd terrified him. it wasn’t easy to blend in when you were the only one who stood out.

he sat on the stool, waiting anxiously for that..hat to be placed on him. the sorting hat, mum told him. the hat touched his head, but the only sound he heard from it (or around) was an awkward creak.

the hat didn’t say anything but—

“GRYFFINDOR!” 

harry—in his own words, really, he can adapt easily, or so he hopes so, to new environments. maybe it was only that one time that he was brought to the ministry for an interrogation—

You have the ability to bloom in the most inhabitable. That’s just barely considered a gift, on the sliver of a curse.

once something merges with the dark, it won’t come back untouched. and it’s whether or not if the object touches the dark at all or not, or just a single particle of the void. regardless, the web at the bottom will eventually capture the object. it doesn’t matter if the object is living or not. 

but all you need to know—even if you know it is the most truest lie,

you are loved.

“harry potter.” his name could be said in many tones, in a dangerous one, a stern one, you name it! people have said his name all over! they whisper his name like something precious, or maybe like he’s a pest. (not that he doesn’t mind the never-ending fame his name holds. harry wonders what he’ll be when he grows up.) 

voldemort says his name like professor mcgonagall does when she’s disappointed. it’s not bad, but it’s not good either. 

but it still instills fear into him, somehow. harry just wants to live life as he used to, with his parents. they used to be so nice, it almost sounds weird to say they were at all. it’s like he was an orphan, almost, with how little they payed attention to him. 

his mom and dad just kept him for the fame.

maybe if he died now by voldemort’s hand, the pain in his head would fade away. maybe the stress would just disappear while the guy shoots a killing curse at him. it would be so funny to see his parent’s reactions. they’re honestly so—

carefree. harry can’t say anything bad about his parents.

they’re great people. they care about their son, who is the boy-who-lived.

they’re not neglecting him.

then how did harry always end up in a situation with voldemort, all by himself? there’s never a single soul by him whenever he faces the dark lord, it’s almost embarrassing to face voldemort sometimes without squeaking at least once. 

“harry potter.” 

of course he has to be the boy-who-lived. why couldn’t neville just be the boy-who-lived? he’s so much braver than harry. 

death doesn’t scare him. it never has. 

it’s only the consequences of dying that scare him so much. he doesn’t want to leave the world without answers, without any sort of genuine purpose either. actually, harry’s much more afraid of granger than he is voldemort. she’s very irritated all the time. 

harry wonders what she would say if he died. actually, he should ask ron that.

“hi…voldemort.” harry awkwardly replied after a brief moment of silence. the guy literally stared into his soul, which obviously terrified harry. “so are you gonna say anything or?..” 

the supposed ‘dark lord’ smiled at him like a creep. (real) “no, i suppose not.” 

and there went harry’s vision—

an empty void of darkness engulfed it.

—

“i don’t necessarily need legal adoption papers if i can just kidnap him, do i?” voldemort muttered under his breath, looking at the unconscious teenager in a bed with a beige, fluffy blanket. the dark lord shrugged it off nonchalantly. “the potters are shit at taking care of him anyways.” 

the room was very cozy, it had candles lit all over the room. 

almost looked too warm and cozy for a dark lord to have sitting around in his manor. the dark lord noticed the teenager’s uncomfortable shifting, which prompted him to walk over to the bedside. 

“..bub..ba..” the boy’s hair isn’t actually a mess this time around, it’s just fluffy in a way that’s easy to comb through. surprisingly, because whenever voldemort sees the boy-who-lived, his hair is practically a bird’s nest in every way possible, like his father’s.

voldemort personally thinks he kidnapped the wrong person.

harry wakes up to a very warm, and—

holy shit, that’s not right. his room is almost never warm, because he’s always freezing. where the hell is he then, is he dead right now? did voldemort knock him out cold and then avada kedavra him on the spot?

“good morning,” a very, very familiar voice murmured from the distance as harry struggled to comprehend his surroundings. apparently, he was in a very cozy bed that practically felt like heaven. harry hasn’t felt anything softer than the gryffindor dormitory room beds ever in his life. was he even being kidnapped at this point?

harry didn’t reply to voldemort, of course he didn’t. he was tired as shit, and here he was, in one of the most comfiest beds he’s ever been in. 

most random thing ever, but he had the most weirdest dream ever. harry had this dream with an older brother..well, older sibling? he didn’t know, their image wasn’t very clear, or maybe he just can’t remember it.

in the dream, apparently he called them something very incoherent. like..something with a b. or something that sounded similar.

(bubba..) 

wasn’t he just in the hallways just a moment ago? then harry must’ve been kidnapped, or he’s just having a lucid dream or some shit. 

“we don’t even need him, james! we could just sell him off, or drop him off at one of those orphanages, and we could just say that he died! we’ll still be considered heroes as well, without as much as the work!” 

“lils, we’re in the wizarding world. they’ll eventually track him down if he’s alive.” 

“ugh, fine. it’s not like we need to care for the brat anyways.” 

‘till your tired eyes, 

and my lullabies

have carried you softly to sleep