Title: Stand By
Author: Danea
Previously published under another pen name at a separate site
Summary: After the events of the TriWizard Tournament, Harry finds himself depressed and terribly lonely. Even his closest friends can't see what's wrong. A chance encounter over Winter Break with one of his greatest rivals (no, not Voldermort or Snape) leads Harry down a path he certainly never expected. Rated M for language, mention of abuse/rape (non-descript), slight AU.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. I am American, therefore any misuse of British slang is simply ignorance.
Author's Notes: This is the first chapter of a multi-chaptered story. This was previously published, though unfinished. I took it down to redo and tweak some plot holes.
The stairs creaked as Harry Potter made his way from his dorm tower to the common room. There was a fire lit in the fireplace, and here and there throughout the room there were candles lit as well. Aside from the light given out from the flames, the room was fairly dark. Harry whistled softly to himself as he walked, casually unknotting his school uniform tie. He slipped it off, tossing it onto the overstuffed red couch that sat in front of the fire.
Next, he unbuttoned his white collared shirt, sliding it off with one easy movement. It was folded and placed neatly beside the tie. Harry continued, toeing out of his shoes before bending to remove his socks. Both were tucked beneath the couch.
Dressed only in a white undershirt and black pants, Harry gently perched on the edge of a wingback chair which sat diagonal from the couch. His back was to the fire, which caught the shape of the chair and Harry's sitting form and tossed odd shadows across the walls.
The common room was empty, devoid of student life. It was Winter Break at Hogwarts School, and for the first time since Harry had begun attending the school, all students, from 1st year up through 7th, had gone home for the break. This included Harry's two closest friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. They had reluctantly announced their holiday plans days earlier and begged Harry to join them. He had turned them down, grateful to spend a quite Christmas alone in the castle.
And Harry truly was alone, almost. As far as he knew, every student had gone home for the break. The only ones left at the school were the teachers that elected to stay. Harry figured that most students had been ordered to return home. He also figured it had something to do with Headmaster Dumbledore's shocking end of the year announcement; the feared Dark Lord Voldermort was alive.
People were scared. It had been years since they'd lived with everyday fear in their lives. Though the Ministry of Magic still refused to acknowledge the truth, Dumbledore still had a strong following. If he said that Voldermort was back, then it was true. The fear they felt was evident on the sharp decline in student enrollment. There were very few 1st years compared to years past, and even some of the older years were missing students. Harry had heard a few students mentioning other witches and wizards going into hiding. Dumbledore had said on numerous occasions that if the Ministry didn't take control soon, there would be mass panic in the wizarding world.
But none of that truly mattered to Harry. Not anymore, at least. Once, he had been caught up in Dumbledore's fights. He had tried so hard to be the golden boy that the mass public wanted him to be, but no longer. Not since that night.
Just thinking of the events made Harry's stomach turnover. Still, the memories were never far from his mind. The night had been months ago, but every second seemed to burn an eternity. Harry sighed, pulling his legs up to his chest. Sometimes, when he thought hard about that night, he could feel it again; feel the cold grass as he and Cedric landed with an unexpected thud, feel the pain of the hexes the cast again and again. The worst was the sick sense of horror that he had felt as Cedric's lifeless body had fallen to the ground. Then, of course, there were the other memories. But Harry didn't dare try to bring those to mind. He remembered those well enough without any effort at all.
No one understood what he was going through. They tried the best they could. But even his close friends had started to grow a bit annoyed with him and his inability to let the events of the night go. They didn't know the whole story though. No one did. Even as Harry had recounted his story to Dumbledore, he had instinctively left out the worst of the nights events. He couldn't let anyone know how deeply that night had changed him. They saw him as Harry Potter, the famed Boy Who Lived. But in his heart, he felt nothing but a deep, black depression. Every night, Harry Potter dreamed of his own suicide.
He couldn't imagine how his friends would react to that. He was careful to smile just so, to keep the darkness of his mind separate from his friends. It had become routine to him; smile here, laugh there. And even then, they still found him to be more depressing that they could stand. Harry wondered what their reactions would be after tonight. After he killed himself.
He'd planned it as best he could, waiting until the dorm would be empty. Earlier, he'd begged out of dinner, claiming a headache, so no one would be looking for him until well into the next day. He'd taken full advantage of the luxury of time, washing in a scalding shower and carefully cleaning up his dorm room. But now, as the night progressed, he knew it was time.
On the couch, just left of his shirt and tie, a single blade lay, glowing in the firelight. It was cold to the touch, despite the warmth of the room. He reached for it, grasping it delicately between his fingers. It seemed to hiss as the cold metal met his warmed skin. Ever so gently, he placed the blade into his fist, pressing so that the edges caught the flesh, leaving dull marks on his pale skin. Any harder and he knew he'd draw blood. The sight fascinated him, the metal against his flesh. It was the image of a hundred dreams; a hundred nightmares.
The moment seemed perfect. He'd spent the day preparing the room, casting stain-repellant charms. When his body was removed, there would be no mark left to indicate that Harry Potter had ever existed within the dorm walls. All his belongings were packed into a wooden trunk, which was set to disintegrate when opened by anyone other than him. There would be nothing left, which was exactly what he wanted.
"I'm sorry," he whispered to the empty room, his voice thick with pain. He hadn't intended to speak out loud, but the moment had overwhelmed him and there was much left unsaid. "I'm sorry for the fear and the pain that seemed to accompany me wherever I went. I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to take that bastard out with me. I'm sorry for so many stupid, little things. The Quidditch games I cost us, the house points I lost. For making Snape hate Gryffindor that much more just because I had the nerve to be sorted in. And for Cedric..." Harry paused, feeling something heavy fill his stomach. "Mostly, I'm just sorry that I wasn't the sort of person who makes the world better. I only seemed to mess it up worse."
His voice drifted off into a sigh. No one was there to listen; his speech was pointless. And he's wasted enough time already; 15 years too many. The blade was against his wrist now, poised to make the first cut. He had the vague thought that he should say something in respect to goodbye, but there was nothing to say. So, with one determined motion, he drew the blade down his arm. The cut had been a good one. Blood welled up quickly before spilling over the sides of his arm.
In a moment, spots appeared before his eyes. The blade fell from his hand, landing in a growing puddle of blood. He was sleepy, and he knew if he closed his eyes, they'd never open again. He'd done exactly what he wanted. Harry Potter had killed himself.
Harry was so lost in what he thought was his last moments of life, he never even heard the entrance to the dorm rooms. "Oh my God!" came the sudden cry from across the room. It startled Harry back into reality. "What the hell did you do, Potter?" the voice continued. Harry felt a wry smile tugging at his lips, though he lacked the energy to bring it fully forth. He would recognize the slightly whiny voice anywhere.
"Malfoy, get out!" Harry cried, his voice too weak to support the threat he'd intended it to carry. Instead, it came out as a slurred mess of words which Draco Malfoy seemed to grasp the gist of.
"You're trying to kick me out now?" Draco snorted in disbelief. "What, are you trying to off yourself, Potter?" Draco seemed immensely overwhelmed by the situation, his silver eyes dancing with emotions. "I always knew you were a nut!"
"Shut up," Harry moaned. He was starting to feel very dizzy, the room tilting dangerously before his eyes. Draco's interruption had drawn him from the safe cocoon he'd been in, and now the reality of the situation was quickly becoming too much for Harry to take. He felt as if he would be sick, but his body was to drained to put forth the effort. "Just go!"
"Yeah, right," Draco snorted. "Look, Potter, we've got a little problem here. Dumbledore sent me up to fetch you for dinner. He knows I'm here. So how well do you think it will go over if you wind up dead?"
"Go..."Harry cried weakly.
"Would you shut up? You sound like a dying kitten!" Draco growled in frustration. "I'm trying to tell you something important here. I'm not taking any chance on being blamed for this little stunt of yours. So either I start screaming bloody murder and get every professor in the castle here, or you heal up your little cuts and play nice until after dinner. It's up to you, Potter."
Harry felt a swell of tears in his chest. He'd been so close, and then Draco had come in to ruin it all. Draco seemed too serious for Harry to ignore. It would be horrible if Dumbledore, or any of the professors saw him in his current state. At least he knew Draco wouldn't try to stop him again. The choice was pretty obvious.
There was only one problem. Harry didn't think he had the strength left to preform even the simplest healing spell. Already his arms and legs were numb, and the numbness was starting to creep up his abdomen and into his chest. Even if his mouth could form the words, his body didn't have the energy to carry a spell.
"I can't..." Harry managed to say, trying to gesture at his weakened body. For a moment, he was sure Draco was about to start screaming for help. But then he seemed to grasp Harry's dilemma.
"God, Potter. I have to heal you too?" Draco rolled his eyes in annoyance. "This is turning into a real pain in my ass. Couldn't you have just waited and done this on your own time? Trust Potter to screw up killing himself!" As he spoke, Draco was already pulling out his wand, readying the healing spell.
But darkness was closing in on the edges of Harry's sight. The loss of blood was starting to overwhelm him. His vision narrowed to a pinpoint, focusing on Draco's mouth as he began to speak. Harry never heard the words, though, as his body gave in to the exhaustion and pain, and he slipped into unconsciousness.