What's it like to be a statue? What's it like to just simply be immoveable, immobile, cold, hard stone? To just be forced to forever stand in one position? Never to move or even twitch a single muscle. Always forced to stare at the exact same spot. Even eye movement denied to you.
Well. You can just ask Harry. The real Harry. Not the kid that used to be an adult. But the statue of him just standing in a basement as a cold, hard, stone figure. Or not. Even if the real Harry wanted to respond, whatever words he would use in such a conversation, would be stuck inside his mind. His vocal chords don't exist, and neither do his lungs. He's completely made of stone. All the way through. And stone he shall remain.
The secrets of a conscious statue can only be guessed at. If you're claustrophobic, it would be the worst kind of hell. Even if you're not, it might still be the worst kind of hell.
Deep in his mind, Harry tries to move. Anything. At least, for the first three months he does. But anytime he tries to move any part of his body, it's always inevitably met with imprenatrable resistance and a sort of achy numbness of that part. His internal mental anguish and panic rises and falls.
When he's not panicking, he's sort of mentally "relaxing" in his role as a statue. The longer he remains a statue, the longer these relaxing sessions are. At first, they only lasted a few minutes at a time. Every three months that passes by, he's in his relaxation state for an hour longer on average.
When he "wakes up" (he's always awake); or rather, becomes more aware of himself and the world around him; "the world around him," which is just a damp, dark, and dank basement with a single square of light shining on different parts of the wall in front of him depending on time of day and year; he starts panicking. Trying to thrash about, as his statufied body remains completely still and silent against the wishes of his mind. Externally, nobody is aware there's any sort of consciousness of the statue of the boy; much less the violence of extreme panic going on inside.
Basically, what happens is this:
Harry sort of "accepts" his hard immobile body for what it is. Not really in words. But just simply in a zen-like emotional way. He's fully conscious, of course. He cannot sleep. But he's mentally calm as he just stands there for hours on end, staring at a single spot on a wall in front of him. Unmoving. Unblinking. No real thoughts occur to him. He's just a "thing" with the ability to just simply see, hear, and feel.
Then, suddenly and unbidden, a thought occurs to him. It could be any thought at all. Suddenly realization that he's "bored." Or a question like: "why am I just standing here, wasting the day away?" Or wondering what time it was, and how long he's just been standing there.
Then comes the involuntary attempt at moving. Having the desire to do something other than just stand there staring.
Then comes the total lack of response from his body. Even his eyesight completely still glued to that one single spot on the opposite wall he was facing. His facial expression totally unchanged. Feeling like a mask he cannot do anything about!
Then comes a second attempt at movement. And a third. Then the growing realization:
"I'm a statue! Oh God,! I....can't....MOVE!!"
Then a growing need to move. Anything! His mind thrashes about, trying to will ev n the slightest of movement. A shadow crosses over the window behind him and is cast on the far wall for a moment where he's been stuck staring at the entire time. He instinctually tries to shift his gaze, but even his line of sire stubbornly refuses to budge even the slightest amount.
And so, he just continues to stand and stare in the lonely, dark, and dank basement. Even as small insects periodically land and crawl on him. That's some of the worst torture to the little guy. When he can feel something crawling on him and he can't brush it off. Or reach to scratch the tickling itch. He was at the mercy of insects! Inanimate objects, of course, are lower than even plants. Even objects with a consciousness trapped inside.
And that's about it. There really isn't much to tell about the life of a statue. Other than the fact that the mind of a statue fluctuates between being "comfortable," to panicky and terrified. But it's expression and pose always remains exactly the same. Never to budge. And never the slightest peep to escape from the terrified and tortured mind within.