House: Gryffindor
Position: Prefect
Category: Additional
Prompt: Distress
Word count: 1200
Beta: CK and Tiggs. You two rock!
A/N: Trigger Warning: Mental Illness. This story is based on trying to overcome PTSD and how it changes your life. I know that mental illness impacts everyone differently but this is my take on it. An AU. This was written for The Houses Competition Y3R6
Snapshots
"What's wrong with him, doctor?"
His parents were huddled in the doorway staring at him. His mother was nervously wringing her hands as they discussed what was wrong with him. As they discussed how weird he was, how different he was from other boys. They wouldn't understand.
"He hasn't left the house since the incident. The mention of going anywhere sends him into a panic. He starts shaking, he hides in a corner and holds his head in his hands. Sometimes he screams; it's the only noise we ever hear from him anymore."
"He hasn't spoken a word since that day and the only sound we hear now are his distressed screams when we threaten to leave the house." Her voice broke. "I can't take it anymore, doctor. Please tell me there is something that we can do to make this better?" his mother cried.
He turned away from the image of his mother clutching the doctor's shirt, her eyes wide with hope even as the tears streamed down her face. He tried to block out the noise and stared at the fire. They wouldn't understand. His heart thudded in his chest as his mind turned to that day.
"It appears he has PTSD. There are ways to cope and make it easier for him," the doctor said soothingly.
His hands started sweating and he was breathing rapidly. He shut his eyes trying to banish the images from his mind, but they came all the same.
Flashback
The sun was shining and a gentle breeze rustled the trees. He had begged his mother to take Dennis and him to the park that day. He remembered the grin on his face and the feel of his small hand in his mother's much stronger one. He remembered her smiling down at him and laughing at his excitement when the park finally came into view. She let him run ahead and he immediately ran to the swings.
He had eagerly leapt on the seat and began to pump his legs when another boy had grabbed hold of the swing's chains. He had demanded that Colin get off the swing so he could play on it. Colin refused and tried to yank the chains from the other little boy's grasp but he refused to let go.
He had looked around the park frantically for his mother but couldn't find her. He had turned back to the boy to tell him to go away when he was pushed off the swing into the wood chips. His hands stung with some minor scrapes and his eyes narrowed in annoyance. That was his swing! He stood up and faced the boy.
"No!" He cried, "This is my swing!"
He felt his anger flow through him, an untamed power that was roaring through his veins. He clenched his fist and screamed at the boy to go away again. When he opened his mouth this time, the air from his breath raised the wood chips off the ground. Each sharp piece of wood aimed directly at the boy across from him. With the last no that Colin shouted, the wood pieces flew at the boy. The wood struck the boy, some pieces lodging into his arm or any unprotected flesh that it could fine. Blood began to spill from the wounds and pool at the ground. Colin screamed.
Present
Colin was screaming now. He tried to curl into a ball to stop the onslaught of images. That was why he couldn't leave, that was why he couldn't talk. He was a monster. He didn't know what had happened, why, or how; all he knew was that it was his fault. He had no idea what he would do next.
"Colin, we are leaving right now!" his mother yelled at him.
It had been six months since the incident and she was determined to break this 'silly little habit of his' by forcing him to leave their home.
She ran over and grabbed his arm and dragged him through the front of the house. He found it harder to breath with each step he took. His throat was dry and his head was pounding. The blood rushing in his ears was making it hard to think but he knew he couldn't leave. He dug his heels into the dirt only to be yanked further down the driveway and thrown into the car. Tears pricked at his eyes and he kicked at his mother as she tried to buckle his seat belt. She slammed the door on him anyway, locking him away and blocking any chance at escape.
As they drove away, he stared out the window. His heart was still racing but there was nothing that he could do. He wouldn't talk to anyone and he wouldn't look at anyone. He would do his best to make sure that nothing would happen this time.
The second they got home, Colin ran to his room and hid under the covers, exhaling a sigh of release. He had done it.
He heard a small knock at the door and peeked his head out from under the covers as Dennis walked into his room.
"You did great!" Dennis said. "Practicing is good."
Colin stared at him, not trusting himself to speak.
"Even if something is hard, practicing will make it better," Dennis said. "Mommy and Daddy say practice makes perfect. You should do that too."
Dennis gave him a quick hug before hopping off his bed to go play with his cars. Collin thought about it. Would it really be that easy?
He grabbed for a picture on his nightstand and stared at the smiling faces: his family. They weren't this happy now. They wanted him to get better and maybe Dennis was right, maybe practicing would help.
He first started talking to the pictures in the house. His parents noticed this change and immediately bought him a camera. Each day he would take a new picture of his family and talk to it for the rest of the day. Four months passed this way before he finally deemed it safe enough to talk to his family. He didn't look at them and instead chose to talk to the floor. His palms were sweaty and his feet were itching to run back to his room, but he had managed to whisper a few words to his mother before fear took hold of him and he turned back to the pictures instead. Each day he could utter a few more words, string together a sentence, and eventually hold a conversation.
With Dennis's urging, he slowly began to venture outside. Dennis would run ahead of him, snapping pictures of everyone he saw. He would bring back the stack of stranger's photos and give it to Colin so he could practice in case he ever met them.
Colin had to fight the urge to run away and hide every day. Eventually, he grew confident enough to take the pictures himself. He had to fight the stiffness in his arms to raise the camera to his eyes, but he did it.
Each day was an internal battle, but one that Colin was determined to win.
A/N: This story is an AU, but I think it could all be slightly plausible. The incident refers to Collins first show of magic which could be traumatic to any muggle born. I made his slightly more traumatic for affect. Colin had plenty of time to practice with his pictures and his social skills before Hogwarts and I think finding out he was a wizard would have made him less scared of what happened. I would like to think that he was slightly obsessed with Harry not only because he was famous but because he would be the only person that Colin would have been able to 'practice' talking to because his pictures would have been everywhere. Lastly, I do not have any personal experience with PTSD and I know that it impacts everyone differently and not everyone gets to 'practice' and get better. I hope that I did it some justice.