"Heart in the Hand"
Disclaimer : Not Mine.
Chapter One: The Hand that Saved
Harry Potter was fifteen years old. And in a few weeks more, he would be sixteen. Not like it truly mattered much to the British teen anymore. After all, who was counting at this point? Well, besides himself. He didn't think anyone else would be counting. There was no one else to count, or at least no one that was actually important.
Sirius Black had fallen through the veil.
Ron Weasley had succumbed to some poison. His face had been pale and drawn and dead.
Hermione Granger had been driven insane by the very same curse that had destroyed Neville's parents.
Neville... well, Neville couldn't go to school anymore. The other boy had lost his legs. He had heard, before Hogwarts had shipped the students out, that Neville's Gran was home schooling him from this point on. But even then, Harry had never seen handicap friendly places within the Wizarding world. He didn't think that was possible. Neville's life might as well be over.
Luna... well, Luna had disappeared.
The only one who had come back alive was Harry. Harry. Bloody. Potter.
Harry let his eyes slowly drift up to the dull yellow lamp above his head. The park bench he was sitting on dug in to his rear, but he didn't shift away from it. Because didn't he deserve this pain and suffering? He had been the cause of their... deaths. For they all might as well be dead to him. Even little Luna, who had probably been kidnapped by Death Eaters and... and... and tortured.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Harry hunched forward and buried his hands in his hair. He was such a stupid little boy. And yes, he had to be little. Because what good was he in the world of adults? He had just run in to the Ministry, thinking that he could make a difference. That he had been good enough to save Sirius. He hadn't been good enough; because in the end he had killed Sirius Black. And his actions had the results of even more people dying. From the Order members to his friends. No, he hadn't been good enough to save anyone at all. And he never will be.
Dumbledore's weighty stare burned in to him, even know. After weeks of separation and long after he was out of the old Wizard's sight. Harry had seen those eyes and he knew what the old wizard thought he was.
He was a failure.
He was a failure of a person. He was a failure of a wizard. And most of all, he was a failure of a hero. He couldn't save anyone. He was such a failure that even the Headmaster, who was so good and so kind and so accepting hadn't even been able to look at him once they returned to the school from the Ministry, let alone talk to him. With every particle of his being, Albus Dumbledore had rejected him.
His mind drifted to Ginny Weasley, and he can only feel the numb horror climb again. Because Ginny Weasley had been just as weak to Voldemort's possession as he himself had been. And when the little girl (even smaller and littler then himself) had followed after him when he had chased Bellatrix...
She had fallen when he had fallen. Both of them screaming as the pressure of Voldemort invaded their souls. And when Dumbledore freed them, Harry had curled up, unthinking. He hadn't had the mind to turn and check that Ginny was there.
One imperio by a Death Eater, and little Ginny Weasley was gone.
He hadn't seen any of the other Weasley children... or adults... since that night that had gone oh so terribly wrong. If there was a way for one night to go even more wrong then that one, Harry had no idea how that could be accomplished.
Hogwarts had been hell after he had... returned.
Alone. By himself.
And then the Newspapers...
Harry choked and pressed his face in to his knees, his geeky glasses digging painfully in to his face as he piled his arms on top of his head. He was such an undeserving little braggart, wasn't he? So cocky, so full of himself. Snape had been right about him. That spy had always been so right about him. The other had had the idea, hadn't he? Demean Harry when possible and take him down and off his pedestal.
Obviously, the other hadn't verbally abused him enough. Else Harry wouldn't have thought of himself so mighty to not be afraid of Death Eaters. Or maybe it was just that the last several years since he had entered the Wizarding World he had landed himself in horrible situations after situations that could have lead to certain death. Only, it hadn't. And each scathing situation he had gone through, he had always come out unharmed. With no one hurt.
He should have seen that pattern start to change with Cedric, though.
He hadn't. And look at what had happened?
Everyone was gone. Dead and gone and he was so, so alone.
Harry threw himself off of the bench, his awkward legs nearly buckling as he threw himself forward and stumbled away. The agony was becoming too much for him. This crushing weight of failure was drowning him. And there was obviously no way he could save himself.
And there was no one who would want to save him.
Before it got too much... he had to do it! End his own misery, and the misery of everyone else. Everyone would be happier with him gone (unfortunate that Voldemort was actually on that list as well) and he himself would be in... a better place. Because without anyone here for him, the weight of his sins were crushing. His breath rattled shakily in his thin chest as he fell against his chosen tree and he clutched the rough bark with his weak, clammy hands.
Maybe he should have waited till morning. So that the world wasn't tinged yellow when he died.
That didn't matter, though.
Absently brushing off tree bark that clung to his shirt, Harry moved around the tree, coming to the plastic trash bin he had carried over from the other side of the park. He looked up at the... noose, that hung there on the branch.
He had tried other ways, sure.
He had thought about overdosing on pills. But he hadn't been able to get his hands on any pills. There had been, of course, the idea of taking a blade to his body. He had little spot scars on his arms for the attempt when in the tub. But the pain had been horrible, and he had never gotten far with it.
Even if the motto had been 'down the street, not across the road', Harry hadn't been able to do it.
There had been plenty of poisonous substances in his potions supply. Unfortunately, none of them seemed to work on him. Harry had tried ingesting some household cleaners. That seemed the way to go... and he had suffered, sure. But he hadn't died. The worst stomach pains of his life followed by two weeks of sickness. He had thought he was going to die. But Harry had lived. He had always lived.
Hanging himself wasn't the last resort, but... But it was what he had come up with for this attempt.
Clambering on to the bin, Harry righted himself once he had found his balance on the not-quite-solid trash container. It put him eye to hoop with the noose he had made. He had guessed a lot on how to make it... and had taken the rope from the garage at the Dursley house. It was neon yellow and it matched with the poor lighting.
Harry took a moment and squeezed his eyes shut. He had read horrible things in his history text about hanging. That if he didn't do it right, he'd just suffocate to death. He had to break his neck. Make it quick, make it painless.
... and he'd see all of his family again in heaven.
... or, that was what he wanted. He was probably going to Hell for this, but he couldn't take living anymore!
Lunging forward, Harry caught the noose with both hands and moved to shove his head through the circle. His body was already moving forward, and his momentum would take him through it, no backing out now!
... and the bin under his feet buckled.
Harry shrieked as his feet slid out from underneath him, his upper body being thrown back as he fell, back first on to the harsh green plastic of the bin... and then he tipped over backwards and accidently back flipped off the end of the bin to land heavily on his face in the ground.
And then a heavy tree branch fell on to his back.
Groaning and coughing for air, Harry opened his eyes and looked to his hands... and found that when he had fallen, he hadn't let go of the noose at all and it was clenched tightly around his fingers. Slowly, carefully, he eased his now pained fingers from the trap and then he reached behind himself and shoved the tree branch off. His back ached, and he slowly pushed himself up on to his knees. He groaned again and righted the glasses on his face before he surveyed his surroundings. The bin, the cheap plastic that it was, had crumpled on to itself. And the branch he had tied the noose on had been too small and hadn't supported his weight. Seeing his hastily made (yet planned) attempt fail again made something just crack inside of his head.
The laughter that sprang from his mouth was hysterical. But this was ridiculous.
Harry found himself breathless and unable to stay quiet as he slowly moved on to his feet. Ridiculous, ridiculous.
Ridiculous. Riddiculous. Riddikulus.
"Ri... Riii... a.. ahha... Riddikulus..." He couldn't stop laughing.
This whole situation was insane. Totally insane. And Harry choked for air and merely laughed again as he sagged on to his feet and pulled himself up with a wooden like quickness. No, no... he definately couldn't take this anymore!
Escaping Dudley had always required skills... certain skills that allowed him to disappear anywhere.
Climbing the tree was insanely hard. Harry was out of practice, and he was laughing himself silly. How could no one hear his ruckus? Ridiculous. Riddikulus...
Giggling, Harry climbed as high as his concentration would allow. Several feet off the ground could work just fine. If he landed on his head. That would be fine. He didn't want to go climb his Primary school and jump from the roof. It was too far from where he was right now. But maybe it's be easier if he did do so. Falling on to the solid, black tar of the play ground was an instant death sentence. Nothing would be able to save him if his brains were splattered across that black patch one hard ground. And most of all he didn't want to be saved.
But he was already in the act of climbing and he didn't dare back up and survey himself once more. He had to finish this, and finish it now.
He pulled himself up from the crouch he had on the branch, breathless with giggles. He had climbed fairly high up along the main trunk of the tree and had located a suitable branch that would hold his weight long enough for him to shimmy over to a good falling spot. He was careful as he slowly moved further and further out on to the branch. Careful of the sounds of the tree and careful of where he, himself, went. Because he had to be careful. If he fell wrong then he would live. And above all else, he didn't want that! It took time, concentration and breath that Harry didn't have much of. But he managed, it seemed. For soon he had reached the perfect spot. The perfect spot to reach and the perfect spot to fall from. He threw his arms out like an acrobat, waiting to do his next trick.
It was going to be the last trick he would ever do. For the world at large... and the remainder of the people in it.
Harry snorted, "riddikulus..."
Closed his eyes.
And let himself fall.
He never hit the ground.
A pair of arms pillowed him shortly after he had let himself go and those arms-thin and strong and there-had carried him back down to the ground. Landing as softly as any bird. But all of these tender mercies were lost on Harry, as the hysteria rose within him once more, like a rotting hand taking hold of his heart. What was there about him that just didn't like him die?
"What the hell do you think you're doing!" Those gentle arms weren't so gentle anymore and Harry soon found the world spinning, his feet on the ground and his shoulders in a crushing grip as he was violently shaken by the person who had caught him (saved him when no one else could, or wanted to) and the surprise itself was enough for Harry to open his eyes.
The world was spinning, and his glasses were missing (when had they fallen? Before or after he had climbed the tree?) and all that he could see were shapes tinged in the yellow of the lamp that was overhead.
As it was, it took a few moments before he could figure out what the person (male, tall, strong) was saying as the other continued to shake him. The accent in his words was thick. But it wasn't British, nor did it sound like the man was from Ireland or the other European countries. There was just a certain lack of syllable to some words that made his head spin. Or maybe that was the shaking. Feebly, Harry reached up to try and paw the iron grip off of his shoulders. But the man's hands wouldn't have it.
The shaking did stop though.
Harry cringed back as the person loomed in, the closeness did not save the man's face from his blurry vision, though. The man (was it really a man? His voice wasn't that deep) took a deep breath, let it out and stated in a slow fashion, "What. The. Fuck. Were. You. Doing. Kid?" Harry believed that he had offended the man, because he had spoken to him like he was a child, and had even called him 'kid'.
It took a slow, long moment where the weight of the other's stare was communicated through feeling, rather then sight and Harry slowly unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth. There was a foreign feeling welling up in his belly now, and he didn't really understand what it was. It was familiar to how he had felt during the battle of the Ministry, but at the same time it wasn't the same. "U.. um..." Working his jaw took ages and Harry stumbled around a tongue that felt ten times too big.
The man's fingers tightened even more, and now Harry could feel the other's fingernails digging through his thin shirt.
"D.. dying..." Harry eventually stuttered out, and the fingers loosened enough that Harry could feel the blood start to return to his arms.
He felt that, along with other things. Saying it out loud, to someone else (a stranger) was almost like a sin. "I'm killing myself." The words were slower, but smoother and all the more painful to say. It was just one thing to do it, but actually saying it was like he was breaking some hidden rule of his misery, of his own business and he felt like a small child again, trying to hide behind his Aunt's legs only for her to turn him away from any comfort. The silence of the act was denied to him and the hands were moving.
The hands of the yellow shape that was the man rose and landed on his shoulders and roosted there, tightening down. Harry was startled by the feeling, suddenly his knees were protesting the weight and he fought against the weight to keep his back up so he wasn't pushed to the ground. But he felt grounded all the same, now. He and the feeling of weightlessness couldn't be more further apart then right now.
"Why." The man breathed the statement that demanded an answer.
And Harry answered, because he was grounded. Because there was nothing to lose and there was no one to hide behind or turn to. Because it might as well be a stranger to know what become of Harry Potter.
"Because I'm drowning."
"Drowning?" Was that a frown?
"I'm drowning and there is no one to save me."
Harry felt tired, burnt out... and heavy. And with each passing moment his head slowly lowered as the gravity of the past few weeks took hold. An idle thought went through his memories and he wondered which order members were on watch during his suicide attempts. Fletcher seemed a good suspect for tonight, but then again he didn't know if anyone would want to save him anyway.
"Kid... you don't need to kill yourself. There is so much to live for. I mean, well..." The man stuttered to a hault himself, words thick and slow and foreign, "ah.. like... like... like family! You can't leave your family and friends. You'd have to be some kind of cold hearted bastard for doing that!" The man seemed to think he was brilliant for coming up with that idea.
"My family and friends are dead." Harry distantly heard himself speak, his voice so bland and whisper loud.
The man's hands seemed to falter, to lighten up and for one horrifying minute Harry thought he was going to float away. Instead, the hands tightened and he spoke again, "C'mon... Hell, I mean, isn't there something you have to do... some dream? C'mon, kid, tell me your dream. Just think of it, you want to achieve it, right?" The man had to be grasping at straws or something, and Harry guessed then and there that the man was not from his town, as if the other's thick accent didn't give him away.
"I..." Harry started and trailed off, what was his dream? The man leaned in and Harry grasped around for something as an answer. Anything at all would work. But for some reason he was coming up as empty. Dream after dream had been crushed since he had entered the Wizarding World. At first he wanted to be like his parents. Snape had crushed that one when he found his father to be a bully and a jerk. His mother had been wonderful and smart, but he could never attain her skills. He wanted to be an Auror, but the recent events at the ministry had crushed that, too. He'd never be strong enough for that. He wasn't good enough at fighting for that. He hesitated too much.
He had been living for years off the dreams and wants of other people. Hermione, who had secretly wanted adventure. Ron, who wanted to be rich and famous and strong. Ginny, who wanted a hero. Hogwarts, who needed someone to watch. The Wizarding World, who needed someone to blame.
"I am empty inside." Not that it made anyone bad... but what was there that was 'Harry'?
The hands tightened and Harry, for some reason, searching again to find something to please this man. Because who else was there? And he hadn't felt so connected in such a long, long time. He hadn't talked to someone this long without any threat around for so long. "I..." What did he want to do? Above all else, what did he want to do?
"... I want to kill... a certain man..." Voldemort had to die. Anyone could do it, but Harry realized that he wanted to kill the other. Bring the man to his knees and repent for all that he had done. For his parents, for Ron, Hermione... everyone...
He raised his head against and looked out, the sudden feeling of purpose bringing a tingling feeling to his limbs as his crooked knees straightened and he felt something inside of himself click. He had never seen himself as someone who would hurt other people. There were rules and laws that kept the world at peace. Who was he to disrupt something like that for something petty like revenge? Of course, revenge wasn't petty anymore, and it was more then that.
The last few weeks felt like bad memories and dreams as something new a heavy became a weight in his chest. Purpose.
"H. .hey..." The man stuttered and his hands loosened and slipped. He held on to Harry's elbows, but Harry didn't need the other to ground him anymore and Harry felt his face move, and realized belatedly that he was smiling. "Hey, that's not a very nice dream. I mean... shit..." There was weakness and sternness in the other's voice now.
Those hands were rough against the soft skin of his elbow, and Harry could feel that the long digits easily wrapped around his skinny arms and then some. They felt slender and rough but at the same time wide and gentle. Kind of like the other's rough language contradicted the soothing manner that he spoke in.
"Hey... kid, don't cry. I mean, H.. hey..."
Harry hadn't realized he was crying until he reached up and touched his face with his skinny, bony fingers. It was wet, how long had the tears been going?
"I mean, you don't need to live to kill someone. Living is for something else. Revenge won't lead to anything. You'll just... you'll just hate and hate and when it gets down to it, what'll you do afterward? I mean, you shouldn't focus on that. Just... you need to set down new roots, like a tree! Find new water.. ah, I mean, new friends. New people to be your family. It's not hard, you look like a good kid..." The man trailed off as Harry shook his head.
He couldn't become a moving tree. "No.. .there aren't any new people for me. Not yet. I..." He wanted to live now, and that feeling equaled in just how much he wanted to kill Voldemort. Hurry and do it before someone else did.
Harry rubbed at his face and took a step back form the other, and the hands let him go.
"I have something to do now... thank you." Harry said, and the man stood there wordlessly, watching him. Harry turned away and started the long task of finding his glasses. Surprisingly, he found them within a few moments of wandering.
When he looked back, the man was gone.
But the feeling remained.
He had been Saved.
Purpose.
A/N : ... well, I'm not dead. And yes, I did wait till the end of the chapter to state that. I'm not dead and my brain is scattered. I have trouble focusing on my ideas for fanfiction and I have little chapters of just about everything laying about. I'm engrossed in school, burnt out and uninspired for the most part. I love fanfiction, believe you me, but for some reason even reading some of the stuff isn't enough to get me in to the writing mood. As it is, I'm having trouble. Not enough time to Re-Read Lord of the Rings has put a temporary hold to 'At Rest'. I am not up to date with Naruto, or any manga in particular. I started Spring Semester and haven't recovered yet. I still have a month left before that ends and my grades are horrid. I'm just so damn tired all the time, even when I sleep for 8 to 10 hours... Ah, well, this wasn't meant to be a rant. I just want to say that Fanfiction isn't a priority to me. I do it because I enjoy it for the most part. Even then I have trouble sharing what I write. I need one of those beata people or something...
Anyway. Thank you everyone for being patient with me. For reviewing and reading and watching me. I'm sorry that I'm just having so many problems with writing. I never give things up, but it'll probably all take so much time... Happy Late Easter, everyone. Thank you once again.
... and if any of you are fluent in the ways of House M.D. and Full Metal Alchemist... send me a message? I have a one-shot that needs to be done and I need help organizing it. I'm getting nowhere with it...