|Danger and Beauty
| no pairing
March 1, 2004
| Harry philosophises.
Beauty. Danger. They are so abstract concepts, how can we fathom them? How can we put them into one word and believe that everything is said with that? How can we think that if something is beautiful, it is always the same? How can something dangerous always be the same? Danger comes in so many ways. Beauty comes in even more.
Some people find beauty in other people's faces, some find danger in other people's lives.
I find beauty in the eye of the beholder and I find danger in every breath I take.
I want to be like the others, trying to find the prettiest girl to go out with, trying to escape Filch after hours because they think that is danger. I know I'll never be that way.
For me danger will always be something more, something more deadly than just a simple detention or even just a broken bone, or even just death. For me it's not only my death, but also that of the people around me, the death of everything I hold dear, the death of the world as we know it.
Melodramatic you say? Perhaps. But better to be melodramatic and prepared than to be idealistic and surprised.
I think with the amount of danger comes a different appreciation for beauty. I see beauty and danger in everything. Neville once showed me one of his flowers. It was bright and blue and sparkled like a star, but if you got to near it sprayed you with poison.
Beauty and danger are mixed, because people usually wouldn't associate them with each other. Voldemort is ugly and he is dangerous... but everybody knows that. No, the true danger lies in those things that are beautiful and dangerous, like kittens playing with wool that grow to be tigers.
Beautiful but deadly.
That's why I'm not afraid of Voldemort. But that's also why I'm terrified of Veelas. Why I can't stand to think what their seductive powers could do to my senses.
Danger and Beauty, two words so abstract, nobody can give you the same definition.
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