Hari Potter knew loss and pain intimately. She knew the weight of it bearing down on her thin shoulders, pushing her down and down and down until she felt like the earth itself was swallowing her whole. She knew the bitter taste of unsung goodbyes it left on your tongue, like residue that would not wash away no matter how hard or fast you scrubbed and bleached. She knew the ache it wrought your muscles with, the clamp and twist a hurting heart bent and mutilated itself into. She knew all too well the echoes of silence that would ring your ears and imprint on your mind, leaving you alone even if you were standing in a filled room.
Despite all this, she could have never been ready for the absolution of loss and hurt that crashed upon her when Sirius Black slipped through her reaching palm and drifted into the Vale like a wisp of smoke on a summers breeze. His death, that smile etched on his lips, showing knowledge that he knew exactly what was going on, a calm, painless and peaceful death many would say, was in complete opposition to her own tempestuous and storming emotions.
She had burned.
The rest of the fight, the order and death-eaters going at each other's throats like dogs, clawing and howling for blood seemed nothing more than a soundtrack to her sorrow, like a T.V being left to play in the background simply for noise and nothing more. It all took back seat to the pain that washed through her as he drifted away, as Remus Lupin wrangled and wrestled her away from the towering carved stone arch, pinning her arms to her sides, barring her flailing legs as she fought to get free, denying her the urge to follow, to fight, to jump in, grab him and bring Sirius back to brilliant life.
She remembered crying, she remembered screaming, she remembered cornering a laughing Bellatrix, she remembered Voldemort's appearance, like snap shots taken from a shaking photographer until all she could picture was coloured blurs and smudged faces. None of it had mattered at the time, none of it had registered when locked in a loop her mind had created of Sirius's death, the only thing her tormenting mind could bring to clarity or even partially focus on. He was there, silken waistcoat brushing her fingertips only to fall too short, gone, slipping away. He was gone, with one spell, one word, one tumble, one too late outstretched hand, he had followed death into its eternal grip.
Her eyes had burned.
Hari had gotten used to that feeling, the feeling of something not quite right fogging her eyes, like sunglasses she had not known she was wearing having been taken off her eyes too fast, painting the world in vivid hues, too bright to be anything but the product of being in the throes of extreme emotion, being able to see things she shouldn't be able to see, sights nobody should be able to see, sight honed and sharper than possible, things, people, everything moving too slowly, moving strangely, as if watching rain falling upwards, back into the dark heavy clouds they had descended from.
She had felt it, that fire in her eyes, the first time Vernon had raised a meaty fist to her, coming in for a second blow only for him to jar to a halt as she glared up at him in defiance, as if frozen, purple and red in his flabby and overly puffed face. If her jaw hadn't have hurt as much as it had then, she was sure she would have appreciated the flicker of horror on his face more than she probably should have.
He had retreated that time, exchanging hushed words with her Aunt Petunia in the corner of the room, casting slanted gazes towards her, mumbling about priests and orphanages. It had stopped the beatings for awhile, a good long while in all honesty, until he had obviously gotten over the fear of what had caused it in the first place, after all, what could frighten a raging fully grown man away from a malnourished six-year-old? Hari did not know, but she hadn't questioned it either, only thankful for the month respite it had given her. And if it happened again, if her eyes had burned the way they had before when Vernon got Handsy in his parenting, then he didn't back down and away again, it simply made him angrier, made the blows harder, the time she was locked in her cupboard longer, until eventually, when she felt that flame flicker in her eyes, she came to hate it.
She had felt it when she first got her Hogwarts letter, that anticipation and excitement bubbling up in her veins as she released that maybe, just maybe, she did have somewhere out there where she belonged. She had felt it when she played quidditch, high in the air, midnight curls flying out behind her, adrenalin pumping through her as she locked sight with the snitch. She had felt it when learning of Sirius's escape from Azkaban, back when she had believed he was a mass-murdering psychopath and wanted nothing more but to see the man hang for his crimes.
She had felt it when being chased by werewolves in the forbidden forest, sure death himself was nipping at her heels, pushing her faster and harder than she had ever ran before, darting between bramble bushes and trees. She had felt it when Dudley and his moronic group of followers played Hari-Hunting, all until she grew too fast for them, too sneaky to be caught. She had felt it when she had seen Cedric Diggory die right in front of her, Voldemort's own gaze locking onto hers in what could only be wonderment as something sparked his interest and subsequent taunting over her comrades death. She had felt it alright, multiple times.
But... She had never seen it.
She supposed that was the funny thing about eyes. They were meant to be a persons best feature, they were meant to flash and play emotions out for the world to see, yet, hardly anyone ever saw their own eyes in action. That was, for Hari, until that point in time, that fateful turn in destiny that was brought on by witnessing the death of a loved one. Under the unbearable heat of loss and pain, sprawled on the cold, onyx flooring of the Ministry of Magic, glass raining down around her hunched form from Dumbledore's and Voldemort's showdown, Hari's eyes had positively blazed. This time, unlike all the others, it hurt. It simmered like hot coals in her eye-sockets, like her eyes had been set alight with gasoline. Agony.
Face scrunched, fist's planted on the slabs of frigid stone, Hari thought the thick, boiling hot tracks of fluid that were dripping down her face were tears, that was until one lone drop fell onto her fist, too thick to be salt water, too hot to be tears. Opening her eyes, the first and only thing she could see was red. Poignant red drop on her hand, starkly contrasting against the ivory of her skin. Then... Then she saw her distorted reflection on the polished onyx and was hit with that singular colour again.
It wasn't tears pouring down her cheeks, dripping onto the floor into a puddle, no. It was blood. Her blood. She was crying blood. Then she saw her eyes. Gone was the Avada green she had become renowned for, replaced with that same rustic, vibrant red that was currently dribbling down her chin. Although, that wasn't all. Something black, a pattern, odd and swirling, linked like a Kaleidoscope was swirling, twirling, dancing in the vermilion depths. Her heart pounded, thudded, ricocheting off the cage of her ribs, picking up the bass in the drums of her ears and all she could think and see was one word. Blood. Then Voldemort's voice rang out over the twinkling of falling glass and frantic shouts of battling order members and death-eaters.
Her neck cracked with the speed in which her face swivelled to his direction. Eyes wide and open, staring, Vermilion clashing against Scarlett. The heat flared out of her eyes, smouldering her skin, scarring her. Then the flames came, bursting to life around them, licking at them, eating and marring everywhere she looked, everywhere her pupils focused on.
They say eyes are the window to the soul, her soul must have been made out of hell-fire, pain and blood. She didn't remember much, not much at all. She heard screams, she remembered Voldemort's face, for once showing something other than contempt and malice. Fear. The look suited the snake faced bastard better than any she had previously seen him adorn. She remembered the roar of the flames. Then nothing. Blackness. Voids. Blank.
Just like Sirius... Gone.
~THREE DAYS LATER~
When Hari awoke, she felt the stiff linen under her, rough and overly starched sheets draped over her prone body, the quiet swoosh of an open curtain when a soft wind breezed through, ruffling her bed-riddled hair. She blinked owlishly, swearing her eyes were open but still saw nothing, something tight wrapped around her face.
In a moment of unabashed panic, thinking she had gone blind, Hari had scuttled up the bed to a sitting position, clawing at her face with shaking hands, nails dragging against the fabric that was wound around her eyes tightly until another pair of hands, old ones, withered and aged, tugged hers away, a voice, not one belonging to the hands rang out, rushed but placating, trying to calm her and her agitated movements. She knew that voice, had heard it every day since her arrival at Hogwarts, her friend. Hermione.
"Hari! Hari stop, you're fine! We're in Hogwarts! You're safe!"
Hari's breath came in staggered huffs, even as her fingers lost their frantic tugging and pulling, the other pair of hands fading from her limited world of touch, sound and darkness. Even before he spoke, she knew whose those hands belonged to, knew only one with a grip so tight yet deceivingly gentle.
"Miss Granger, why don't you head back to lessons, you've missed quite a lot and I wish to have a private word with miss Potter here. I'm sure you two can catch up at dinner."
Hermione must have nodded, the sound of fabric ruffling ringing out as Hermione bent down to pick up her bag, Hari guessed, though, she must have stalled a bit, looking back a few times before the click of a door snapped through the air, as loud as a bullet. Hari sat up straighter with shaking limbs, yanking the thin cotton sheet away from her legs as she swung them over the edge, never letting them drop to the floor though, ending up perching on the edge of the bed as her fingers wrangled into the sheet, twisting and twirling into the cloth, clinging to a life line, grounding her to the present and not what her mind kept trying to show her.
When she had first awoken, she had thought it was all a giant misunderstanding, a dream, a nightmare. However, faced with the silence, the churning in her gut, the tension that smothered the atmosphere, she was pounded with the honesty of it all. Sirius was gone. Dead. Her voice was broken and gruff from restrained emotions when she finally did speak.
"He's gone isn't he? Sirius is... He's gone... He's dead."
Her fingers twisted in tighter, despite not being able to see through the think gauze covering her eyes, they screwed shut anyway, trying to shut out the truth her mind was blaring at her. Perhaps, if she told herself Sirius was alive enough, her will would make it so. She felt the hand, warm and large, a map of wrinkles and untold stories land on her shoulder. She tore herself away from the offered comfort with a harsh jerk of her shoulder. She felt the warmth of the hand hover for a moment or two, before leaving all together. Leaving her to the cold, bereft void she had awoken to.
"I'm afraid so, but that is not the sole reason for our talk. There are more... Pressing matters to attend to first. Hari... Hari, what do you remember before you lost conciousness?"
Hari scoffed, turning her head away from the direction the voice came from. Pressing matters? Was Sirius's death not pressing? If not, then why did she feel like the loss would crush her? She didn't want to be here, she didn't want any of this. She never wanted any of this. Her family, Sirius, the last tie she had to her family, a family and happy home, was gone, gone because she had been foolish. A ripping shattered the silence, the fabric in her unforgiving hands finally having given way to her fingers and grip.
"I don't know. It all seems like a dream. I remember Sirius falli-... I remember crying. Then... Blood. Blood and fire... But the flames... They weren't right. They were wrong, they were-"
Harry gave a jolted nod, the memories in her mind nothing but a broken and static filled silent movie. It gave her vertigo, made her queasy with just the knowledge that her tormented mind, her grief had not conjured it up like she had hoped it had. She heard the tap, tap, tap of Dumbledore walking, stopping somewhere in front of her, baring down upon her with his inescapable presence.
She just wanted to be left alone.
"Have you ever felt like you did then? Mayhaps not the same level, but have you ever... Felt different? Your eyes, have they ever felt similar to what they did then?"
Hari wanted to tell him to fuck off. To back away. To leave her alone. All she wanted to do was rest... She was so tired. She had been tired for a while now, that kind of tired that seeped into your bones and slowed all movement, all thought. Everything felt sluggish. Maybe that was why she felt no need to fight Dumbledore on his questions, why she answered them in monotone. She felt so disconnected from everything, from everyone. Cold and numb. She just wanted to sleep and pretend none of this had happened. In dreams, she could escape the horrors of her reality.
"Sometimes. It comes and goes. It normally happens when I get too emotional, too happy or sad or hurt... But never like that, there was never those flames, just the same feeling, like my eyes have opened for the first time. It's like I'm seeing truly for the first time, like I'm a newborn staring at the world."
It was odd to explain it, difficult to say the right words that adequately described the feeling and even the ones she had chosen fell short. Hari had never been brilliant with words, she normally fell back on sarcasm and dry wit, but she was tired. For once, she didn't want to know the answers, didn't want to know how or why she had done what she had done. She didn't care. How could she? How could she focus on such drivel when Sirius, wonder-struck and dimpled Sirius was gone, forever and a day away from her? She couldn't. She didn't want to.
"I thought so. Hari, let me tell you a story."
The bed at the side of her dipped, telling her Dumbledore had sat down. She could faintly hear the tweet of a bird singing its song to the sky and the twitching smell of lemon drops that always accompanied Dumbldore's presence. She knew where she was, from the creaking of the iron cot, the stiff fabric, the hospital gown she was in, it didn't take two guesses to point out it must have been Hogwarts hospital wing, not when the stinging smell of Skele-Gro drifted up her nostrils and clung there like sweet bleach. Dumbledore once again shattered the silence and peace Hari was trying to wrap around her like a well-loved cloak.
"There is this nation, I believe they call themselves the Elemental countries, just off from Japan, hidden from the rest of the world. They're a lot like us in many ways, so much so that one could surely live in either world and find not too many obstacles or differences between what we can do and what they can. We met once, thousands of years ago, our race and their's still in their infancy... But jealousies and petty gripes tore us apart. We were jealous of their lack of relying on wands to aid them and they were greedy to know about our extended life spans. Without saying, it ended with both races laying an excommunication against the other and baring all contact. It... It wasn't a pleasant goodbye Hari, not from either sides."
Her gut sank as if a cannon ball had been shoved down her throat, acid and bile climbing up her esophagus and strangling her. She knew Dumbledore, better than most she would say. He was just as much a viper as Tom Riddle was. Instead of coveting immortality, Dumbledore hoarded knowledge. He didn't part with it easily or willingly, only giving you snit-bits when the need absolutely called for it, and even then it was only crumbs, nothing more, always just enough to tide you along to do his bidding. To have Dumbledore sitting by her, telling her this... It didn't bode well. It meant it was instrumentally important and had something to do with her... Hari almost laughed. When did it not have anything to do with her? She could not stop the humourless chuckle from breaking free, even as she spoke.
"This isn't a just a story is it?"
She felt more than heard Dumbledore's heavy sigh. No. This did not bode well at all. But she was tired of being in the dark, left to feel her way around only to fall through a trap door, yet, she didn't want to know either. It was all too much, too soon, she was so very tired. If Dumbledore had just told her of the prophecy, Sirius wouldn't be dead. If he had just told her many numerous things, so many disasters and lost lives could have been diverted. But he didn't, Dumbledore never will or would tell her the full truth. She didn't think he had it in him. Long gone was when Hari saw Dumbledore through rose tinted glasses, now she saw the man underneath, the man who was as flawed and broken as the rest of them. A man who had lived through three wizarding wars and had been shaped and moulded by them. A survivor. However, sometimes, being a survivor did not equate to being a good person. Funny, the one time she was blind, eyes covered from the world, was the only time she was actually seeing straight. Irony was a bitch.
"No. You see Hari, in short, in these countries, there is a clan... A family if you will. They're called the Uchiha. In particular, there was one family. A mother, a father, a son and a set of twins, a brother and sister. I was travelling at the time, incognito of course, our two worlds are still not on speaking terms so to speak. I was trying to find resources for the upcoming war against Tom and hoped to find the answer where no witch or wizard dared to venture. The family seemed to be a happy one. But the youngest, the girl, she had eyes of green, it stood out against her family, so similar to another young witch I knew, it caught my eye-"
She was going to be sick as the cannon ball dropped in her gut and tore through her intestines, spinning her world on its head. If what she was reading between the lines were to believed, you had to read between the lines when Dumbledore was involved to get anywhere, everything she had ever known, everything she would have sworn black and blue to be truth seconds prior... Was a lie. Her life, her family, herself... It was all a lie.
Despite her lack of sight, the blackness swam around her like an oil filled ocean, the bed beneath her disappearing leaving her to free fall. Lie after lie after hidden truth. When did it end? Hari felt like it never would. Was she just a weapon? Something to pick up when needed and thrown to the dirt and bugs when her usefulness ran out? Her words were like broken glass when she spoke, sharp, reflective, jagged.
"The girl... That girl... It was me wasn't it?"
Silence reigned supreme for heart pounding seconds, a lifetime, Hari couldn't tell how long it had been before Dumbledore regretfully broke it, tone even and calm, hiding the pain underneath. Her pain. This time, when something hot and moist trailed down her cheek, breaking through the gauze wall, Hari had no doubt it was a tear.
"Yes, Hari. Desperate times call for desperate measures and I'll admit, at the time, I was a very desperate man."
Desperate times call for desperate measures... Something shattered and broke to the side of them, a vase by the sound of it, a result of her lashing out magic. Or was it even magic? If what Dumbledore was telling her to be fact, which it likely was, then she was no witch, no Potter... She didn't belong. She didn't belong here, in this castle, in this world, in this place, with these people who kept taking and taking and never giving back.
She had never felt so alone.
"So... You took me. Why... Why would you do such a thing?"
Why did you leave me on this path littered with loss and dead bodies? Why was he telling her this now? No. She knew why to that question. He had no other option, not after what had gone down in the bowels of the Ministry of Magic. Dumbledore had been backed into a corner and only then had he come somewhat clean, no doubt he was leaving things out, he always did. What she did... Those black flames... Did that mean her family could do that? Was it a family trait? Like the Snape's with their excellence at potions, the Longbottom's with herbology, the Lovegood's and their devination? Hari's idle wanderings were cut short by Dumbledore's voice, unfortunately, with every word that passed his lips, it only angered her further.
"We... You heard the prophecy didn't you Hari? After some investigation, I found the twins fell into its boundaries. Born as the seventh month dies... I thought if there was more than one child born as the seventh month dies, not just Neville, Tom would not act. It would confuse him, give us enough time to plan a counterstrike. Lily and James Potter had come to me with their own troubles, Lily was infertile you see, all they had wanted most was to start a family, so a family is what I gave them. As I've said, it would be almost impossible for anyone to tell the difference. I thought from the sorrow of one family, two could be saved, the Longbottoms and the Potters... It has been one of my many mistakes, and for that, I am sorry."
Hari loathed that single word. Sorry. Sorry fixed nothing. Changed nothing. It made nothing easier. It healed no wounds, physical, emotional or mental. Hari would have preferred him holding his hands up and saying my bad.
"Sorry doesn't change anything. It doesn't give me a chance for a family... A family you and Tom have stolen from me twice. It doesn't bring Sirius back... The power Voldemort knows not, It's my eyes, isn't it? That's why you took me. Not because they are green, not for Lily and James, not for the Longbottoms, but for what they can do."
The answer shattered what little self-esteem, hope, a dream of a future of being just Hari and not the girl who lived, or the saviour or any other redundant titles strangers threw upon her world-weary shoulders.
"If that is what makes this easier for you, then yes, Hari. I took you for your eyes."
To be whittled down to a body part, her importance, her life, her usefulness, to have that all laid down on one singular part of herself, a genetic trait at that, it was degrading, in-humanising, hurtful. If they wanted them that bad, if all her worth laid in her eyes, if it stopped anyone else from needlessly dying, she would gauge them out and give them to them... If only to have a family.
But... She had a family.
Dumbledore had not told her they were dead, he would have if that had been factual. They could still be out there, living, happy, laughing and joking. All she had ever wanted, all she had ever dreamed about in her cubby hole, it was out there, at her fingertips. Sirius was gone, Lily and James too, but she had family out there, blood out there, waiting. Vertigo hit her all at once again. Dumbledore may have taken that from her, but it wasn't gone, it wasn't out of her reach. She could get it back.
Family... Hari had a family.
But she couldn't get to them. Not now. Maybe not ever if she died by the wand point of Voldemort. But the hope, the dream, it was there, flickering in the wind like a candle. If she lived through this, if she survived, she could find them. Still, the pain of knowing that could all be nothing more than a dream, never to become a reality, it hurt that much more than if she had thought them all to be dead. Bitter, Hari snarled at Dumbledore. She was nothing but another trinket to stash away in his office. Nothing but a chess piece on his board.
"You're just like him, you know? You're just like Tom and you can't even see it... I hate you... I hate you so much. "
The hand landed on her shoulder once more and this time Hari didn't fight it, couldn't garner up the strength to. Dumbledore was calm when he spoke, brutal in all his honesty, and oddly, Hari was thankful for the words he said next.
"I know you do Hari. I wouldn't expect anything less."
His hand slipped from her shoulder like a tablecloth from a table and Hari was left in the abyss that was trying to swallow her whole. She felt weak, like a kitten, shaky and gangly limbed still learning to walk. The problem was she couldn't be weak, not now, not ever. If she was going to survive this, as much as it hurt her to say it, she needed Dumbledore and his little tokens of information. Of course, he likely knew that too and was one of the reasons he had thought to tell her the truth now rather than before.
"That's why some things don't come to me, isn't it? And why others come easier? Why every time I use a wand, it feels so wrong I could be sick? You... You tore me out of my own home, away from my family, from my own world to fix your own. I don't know who is worse, you or Tom, at least he is honest about who and what he is."
Dumbledore chuckled, lacking all humour and warmth, derision aimed at himself. Hari wanted nothing more to never hear from the man again, but she couldn't, she was as trapped in this course as the earth's orbit around the sun. Dumbledore, Voldemort, fucking fate and destiny had done that. She would play her part in the dance others had constructed for her, she had no other path to walk but this one. But by Merlin almighty himself, if she was alive at the end of this, her life would finally be her own. No Voldemort. No wars. No Dumbledore. No manipulations.
"I never claimed to be a good man Hari. I do what I must for my people. I will pay for my vast mistakes, for that I am sure. Your differences Hari will be what saves us, it will be what finally brings down Voldemort, what you did at the ministry only proved that."
Hari scoffed but it came out more like a growl from some wild beast that haunted the forbidden forest. Her fingers were cramping from the pressure being pumped into them, the skin taut over knuckle and bone, white like porcelain.
"So what? I fight your war, the one you thrust me into, and if... If I survive I get to skip off into the rainbow?"
This time Dumbledore patted her back as if she was some puppy about to retrieve a treat for being a good little girl. Hari wanted to bite his Merlin damned hand clean off. But it wasn't just Dumbledore's war, neither was it just Voldemort's and the death-eaters. It had been Sirius's, it was Remus's, it had been Lily's and James's. For them, for Sirius, she would carry on. She couldn't... Wouldn't let him die in vain, not when it was her fault he had died in the first place, due to her foolhardy and headstrong nature. For him, she would have walked to the ends of the world.
"You'll live Hari, I have every faith in you."
Hari's answer was muted, nothing but an exhale of breath.
"You're the only one..."
Yet, it wasn't just the fallen one's war either. Hermione, Ron, Neville, Luna, they would all be swept up into it too if Hari didn't act. Even if she did act, they could die, some will die, that was the way of war but if she sat out, if she ran off to find a family that could have very well forgotten her, she could never live with herself, knowing she had turned her back on those few who meant so much to her.
After all, these Uchiha was it? She had been gone fourteen years, what was a few more on top of that?
"Fine. I'll fight. Not for you or Voldemort or anyone else, but for my friends, for the few loved ones I have left. For the hope I still have left that one day I'll find peace."
She would fight for a dream. For a hope. It was the only thing she had left, the only thing that would keep her going after the loss of Sirius. For Hermione, for Ron, for a chance at finally finding and holding that one elusive thing that had been denied her since she could remember.
"You have a goodness in you Hari that is almost blinding... It's been a tiring day, have some rest, those bandages should come off in a week or so. Goodnight Miss Potter. One last gift, here, take it. It was the only thing I took that night I also took you."
Hari could hear Dumbledore come to a stand, the sound of his long robes swishing on the stone flooring. Then something was fluttering into her lap, forcing her to let go of her sheets, her fingers tingling at the release of pressure to grab a hold of the object. It was thick, glossy on one side and rectangular. A Photo. Her fingers nearly tore into the paper when that pressure in her limbs came slamming back into her muscles. She heard the tap of Dumbledore retreating steps, slowly fading but before he could go Hari's tongue acted on its own and she shouted at his back.
"I'll find them!"
The absence of sound told her he had stopped in his tracks, so Hari carried on, soldiered on. After all, that was what she was best at, wasn't it?
"I'll find them... The family you took me away from? I'll find them. When all this is said and done, if I still have breath in my lungs, I'll find them. My brothers, my mother, my father, I'll find them all."
Hari heard no laughter but she could hear the jovial twist in his tone, the happiness leaking from his words like nectar from a flower. Dumbledore was not inherently bad, no, he just did what he thought he must. He was born and wrung from three wars, living through that, it had hardened him, turned him cold in some respects, but not evil, not like Tom Riddle. To a man like Dumbledore, nothing was above for the greater good. He was no hero, just a human and like all humans, Hari included, they had flaws.
"I'm sure you will Hari."
The click of the door shutting resonated through her skull, ringing like a church bell, whether shouting a birth or a funeral, Hari couldn't tell. It felt ominous all the same, like a nail being driven into her coffin. After a few moments of silence, Hari jumped into action, tearing off the bandage wrapped around her eyes, blearily blinking as she looked at the photo in her hand.
It was a pretty picture to be sure, a happy one with cursive writing at the bottom, five names proudly boasting the inhabitants, her name last in the line up, startling her when it was paired with a name not Potter but Uchiha.
A man and a woman, the man stern but with a twinkle in his eye that spoke of hidden merriment, the woman nothing but smiles. At their legs stood a boy, his mother's features prominent but his father's stern facial expression and colouring just as potent. In the woman's arms lay a bundle wrapped in jewel blue, almost a mirror image of her with her ebony blue hair and dark eyes, a trait the whole family possessed but one, a chubby thing with a gummy smile and flushed cheeks. Almost in a polarizing position was the last member of the family, wrapped in red cloth, thick ebony curls, the only one to have curls it seemed, the same colour as the woman's blue/black peeking out, same chubby and toothless smile and rosy cheeks but eyes the shade of spring green, safely held in the father's arms, one arm free from the cloth prison and reaching for the camera with what looked like a frozen giggle.
Her. This was her and her family. They looked happy, even the stern little boy standing in front of the couple could not hide the upturn to the edge of his lips. You could tell just by looking at them they were related, and even grown up and in the cusp of adult-hood, given the photo of the woman, Hari was almost her mirror image all apart from her eyes and rambunctious curls... It was almost eery. No. Not almost. It was down right chilling.
The truth hit home, the loss of Sirius still aching, her world disintegrating around her, Hari let out a cry that sounded more like a war shout than anything else as she crumpled in on herself, clutching at the picture. The picture showed everything she had ever wanted, all she had ever hoped for... All that had been stripped away from her because she was born on a certain day. Hari slid off the bed, knees whacking unforgiving on the stone mason flooring, crying as the picture pressed closer to her breast and pounding heart.
For the first time in a long time, since the first time Vernon had locked her in that cupboard for 'miss behaving' Hari sobbed until she heaved. She had a family. A family she could not find until Voldemort was dead and gone or she was, she couldn't drag them into this war, couldn't risk them after only just finding out she had a chance at a family. They would be prime target if Voldemort ever found out. It felt as if you had put a glass of water in front of a desert survivor, telling them not to drink it. But that didn't change anything, didn't change that she had a family out there, somewhere.
That spark of hope turned to a full blaze in her sternum as her sobs eased and spluttered to a messy stop. A family she would one day find. She promised herself that, come death, hell-fire, high water, Voldemort's army, she would find them. She swore it.
As the breeze picked up, fluttering the hospital wings curtains, as a little dragonfly sizzled passed the window, perching on it's pane, Hari could have sworn she heard a word carried to her through the wind and wings of the bejewelled dragonfly.
This is a sort of companion piece to my other fanfic, Windows to the soul. You see, I did a poll and the pairings (Top two,) came neck and neck at a whopping 261 votes each! So, instead of just picking one and ditching the other, I thought I would simply do two fics. As the chapters build up, the plots will start to diverge and even in this chapter, there is differences from the other until eventually it will be two completly different stories. In short, this is the pairings for each fic:
Windows to the soul- Kakashi/Hari
(Which means Uchihacest people! As in this fic Hari is an Uchiha, so if that turns you off, leave now! I repeat, abort! abort! Count this as fair warning!)
If you read windows to the soul, don't worry, I'm working on this until I reach the same point as windows to the soul and then both will be updated weekly, so a new chapter should be very soon! I've recently just got over a bad case of pneumonia, and well, I've been really sick. However, I'm well now and hopefully everything, updates and all, will return to normal.
If you have a spare moment, be a star and drop a review, they make my day and also get the chapters out faster!
Thank you for taking the time out of your day to read my mad musings and I hope you enjoyed it. Until next time, stay beautiful!- AlwaysEatTheRude21