Stolen Wings

This is my first attempt at a fanfic ever. This is the introduction, and may be a little confusing, as it sets the scene, but I hope it's clear enough for you to get the jist of what I'm trying to say.

I do not have a beta, so any spelling or grammer mistakes are mine and mine alone... and how do I love them!

I also so not own anything that belongs to the Harry Potter world, nor am I making any money off of this. This is purely for my enjoyment, and the enjoyment of those who are reading this.

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It started out as something unexpected, and yet, one could not help but wonder why it had not happened sooner. Nobody ever dreamed that it would have turned into what it had, to have grown so much and so strong over such a short period of time, especially not those involved. Yet somehow it did, and it seemed as if the most natural thing in the world.

It began when the Light grew strong and sent the Darkness back into the shadows. But we all know that no matter how much Light there is, there will always be a sliver of Darkness, and those who fear it. Such is what happened to The Boy Who Lived. He drove the Darkness away and became known as The Boy Who Killed Voldemort. One would think that with He Who Must Not Be Named finally defeated, that things would settle down. Unfortunately, that was not so. Those who were first to congratulate our Hero, were also the first to make him the next target, now calling him The Boy Who Is Feared.

You see, all great Heroes, no matter how much Light they have within, also have Darkness. This is what helps to keep them balanced, to be good, without being righteous; to make them humble and courageous. To help them overcome the Darkness they must face, both within and outside of themselves. The Boy Who Lived became The New Great Threat, because in his infancy, he had been marked by the Dark Lord himself, a curse of death, instead transferring His Darkness onto the Innocent.

This was enough to damn the boy Hero, and turn even his friends against him. Some held out as long as they could, but most soon accepted the propaganda stacked against this boy, and soon jumped on the bandwagon to hunt him down and imprison him before he could turn against them. Fear blinds people, even good people, and causes them to do unspeakable things. It was only months after the defeat of Lord Voldemort, a time when The Boy Who Lived thought, and hoped, that he could finally have a normal life, was betrayed by his best friends.

There was no trial, even though the papers had said there was, such a wonderful story they told of our Hero confessing that he was on his way to following in the Dark Lord’s foot steps. In actual fact, he had been taken to the old Prison of Azkaban, and locked away within one of the deepest cells, far away from others, and nearly forgotten.

A year passed, and the wizarding world went on it’s way as if nothing had happened. The Boy Hero was never mentioned, most choosing to forget him, and what they had done to him.

Within the prison, the boy fought at first, demanding to know what he had done to deserve this; what crime he had committed to be sent here. Eventually he stopped asking, nobody ever gave him an answer. Soon the solitude took over, playing with his mind, convincing him that everything his Aunt and Uncle had told him was true.. that he was nothing more then a Freak that nobody wanted. Quickly his spirit was broken, as he gave into the Depression. He was sure he had been forgotten, even by himself.

However, over this year, there was one who did not follow the masses. One who did not believe the swill the Sheep were fed, in order to persecute this young boy; no, this Young Man, who had been a Hero to them before he even knew. This one also had Darkness within him, but he also had Light. He had worked by the side to help rid the world of the Dark Lord, but remained in the Shadows of Glory; preferring to remain nameless, to spend his time with his potions.

He had sneered at those who locked up the Young Man, but was helpless to stop them at the time. So instead he kept quiet, and waited for his chance to save the Betrayed Hero, once again. Going over his plans with the same meticulous obsession that he had given to his potions; there was no room for error.

On the day of the first anniversary of the Dark Lord’s defeat, he knew when his chance would be; and so he prepared for the day that had been forgotten, about a boy who had been erased from most memories.