TITLE: Panic Attacks - Drarry, Short Story
RATING: T
DATE: October 17th, 2016, 7:37 PM: Pacific
SUMMARY: Getting locked in a dark closet with his mortal enemy isn't the worst thing that has happened to Harry Potter, but maybe it was a better thing.
Harry, at six years old, had his first panic attack.
He didn't know what was happening - all he knew was that Miss Patts had turned off the lights, sending the class into complete darkness. His chest tightened, making it hard to breath; tears filled his eyes, but Harry had been taught not to cry, so he held it in. At least, until Miss Patts asked him if he was okay - than the waterworks began their job, sending Harry into a mess of snot and tears.
Miss Patts calmed him down, telling him it was okay. That they didn't have to watch the movie in the dark. A girl came up to them - blonde, short, and smiling. She promised Miss Patts that she would help Harry - her older brother got the "not breathing thing" whenever he was alone, and she - Sarah - had learned how to help him. She wrapped her small arms around Harry, showing him the breathing exercises her brother's therapist had taught them both. And it worked - for a bit, at least.
At ten, it stopped.
He was washing dishes, humming a nice song he had learned at school under his breath. His family was in the next room over, laughing about something and leaving him to do the chores around the house. He did so without complaint, but when his uncle's booming laugh echoed in the kitchen, Harry felt his mind go numb. Breathing became hard, so difficult that he couldn't even force them out of his chest. Harry began panicking, telling himself to breath - but it didn't work. He dropped the plate in his hand, alerting his family that something was wrong.
Harry could barely hear them yelling at him over the blood rushing in his head. He didn't feel his uncle kick him all the way to his cupboard, but he did feel the pain in the later hours of the night while they ate dinner without him. His breathing slowly became normal, and Harry went on for a while, perfectly fine.
Anxiety was a strange thing - it was a small word, but it's definition closed in on you, making it hard to breath. Hard to think, to talk, to cry. Harry never really thought much of them, because he had a panic attack every month. Soon every month became every week, than every day. He couldn't help it - the knowledge of what he had been through, of what he had put his friends through, constricted him, forcing out shaky breaths. Hermione, being the observer she was, always asked if he was okay. Always seemed to know what to do whenever he couldn't breath, couldn't talk. They never told Ron about it - never told anyone, really. It was there own little secret.
So when Harry and Draco got locked into a dark closet, things weren't going to go pretty.
Harry didn't know how they had got there - one minute, they were running from a stampede of ghosts in the Great Hall, and the next they were locked in a broom closet, the handle disappearing. Harry, despite the darkness, could see Draco glaring at him, grey eyes narrowed as he looked his mortal enemy over. Harry returned the gaze, trying to scoot as far away from Malfoy as possible. "Oh course I'm locked in a closet with Harry bloody Potter - because my life couldn't be bad enough!" Malfoy complained, voice echoing around the room. Harry flinched as the booming noise, feeling his chest tighten.
Crap. Crap, no no no, not now. Please, not now!
His breaths became shaky, hard to get out - Harry felt Malfoy's eyes looked at him, turning from an angry stare to a confused one as Harry leaned against the wall. He ran his pale hands through his dark, curly hair, pulling at the locks as their situation crashed down on him. Stop it. Stop it! You're out, they can't hurt you anymore! But it was suddenly very hot in the room, getting even harder to breath. Malfoy bit his lip, looking torn between asking what was wrong and leaving Harry to throw a fit - with a sigh, he nudged Harry's foot, trying to get his attention.
"Potter ... are you alright?" Harry nodded, green eyes holding in tears that wanted to fall. But he refused to let himself cry in front of Malfoy, of all people. He wished Hermione was with him instead - she always seemed to know how to calm him down. "Well, obviously not, if you can't bloody breath! What the hell is wrong with you?" Malfoy demanded. The tears suddenly came hard and fast, turning Harry into a blubbering mess.
"I-I can't breath! I don't-don't know what's wrong. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God," he whimpered. Malfoy jumped back - as much as he could, anyway - when Harry began crying, no knowing how to help. He reached out a hand, gently patting the Golden Boy's back as a way of comfort. Harry barely felt the touch, so caught up in his worries that he couldn't protest. "I keep seeing them everywhere I go and I hate it - I hate them! Why can't they just leave me alone?" Malfoy, in a moment of worry, pulled Harry into his arms.
"It's alright. You're going to be okay," Draco murmured against his cheek, running a pale hand through Harry's hair. Harry nodded, his tears beginning to subside. They sat there for a while, even when the door was unlocked and they were allowed it - Draco continued to hold Harry until it was near curfew, whispering comforting words. Hermione was the one that found them, waking the boys with a smile. Harry shared a look with Draco, one that begged him not to tell anyone what had happened. And Draco agreed, of course.
He wasn't an ass, after all.