Title: Whistle Back Home
Prompt: Written for the 'And the Tears Streaming Down Your Face' Challenge and 'HedwigBlack's Weekly Challenge' and 'Your Favorite Hogwarts House Boot Camp' (Take me with you) on HPCF
Warning: Self Harm, Substance Abuse, and Character Death
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is a trademarked brand owned by J.K Rowling and Warner Brothers. Any material used belongs to the aforementioned parties. This material is only used in recreational purposes and I receive no monetary or material rewards from using it. Please don't sue me.
Stephen Cornfoot is handling it. It being the suffocating depression that threatens to consume him every time he closes his eyes, opens his eyes, takes a breath… Stephen inhales deeply, lifting shaking hands and whistles loudly.
'Get a hold of yourself,' he chides mentally as he stares at the vial sitting in front of him. 'It all ends tonight.'
Wayne and Megan are worried about him. Stephen wishes they wouldn't be, even though their worry might be a little bit justified, because it only serves to make him feel guiltier.
Stephen Cornfoot doesn't deserve to be worried over, because Stephen Cornfoot should not be so broken.
"Stephen, wake up!" The Hufflepuff jerks awake, staring wildly into the darkness as he struggles to sit up. His unadjusted eyes struggle to focus on something, but he stills once he recognizes the familiar profile looming over him.
"Wayne?" he asks uncertainly, finally noticing that the sheets wrapped around his torso are the cause of his limited mobility. "Is that you?"
"Yeah," comes the cautious answer. Wayne Hopkins squats next to his bedside, unmasked concern clear in his grey eyes. "Are you okay?"
Shit, shit, shit! How much did he hear?
"Sorry. I'm- yes, I'm sorry. I just had a nightmare, but I'm good."
"Are you sure?" He picks up a black and yellow comforter which, Stephen notices belatedly, he's managed to throw halfway across the room in his terror.
"Because I could go and get someone to-"
"NO! I mean," Stephen backtracks quickly as Wayne pins him with a suspicious look.
Deny, deny, deny.
"Really, it's fine. It was just this once, I don't need anyone or- I don't need anyone."
It's embarrassing. That's why Stephen doesn't want anyone's help.
It's embarrassing how effected Stephen was by the war. And maybe it would be more understandable if Stephen had actually played a major part in the war: had fought in a battle or was injured or kidnapped... but he wasn't.
His mum pulled him out of Hogwarts the moment she heard about Professor Dumbledore's death and kept him on house-arrest during the entire duration of the war. The only being she gave permission to leave the house on a regular basis was the family house elf, and even then, only occasionally for supplies.
Such restrictions could never stop Thalia though, ecspecially when she was on one of her 'righteous missions'.
The crying four-year-old refused to be consoled, looking back into the trees fearfully as he babbled his tale to his rescuer.
"Shhh," Thalia Cornfoot whispered, hugging her little brother reassuringly. "It's okay Stevie, I've got you."
"It was dark," he whimpered, tiny fists clenched in his sister's shirt. "And- and I didn't know where I was. You weren't there! I couldn't find you!"
"Oh munchkin," Thalia said in that soothing voice that comes from babysitting experience. "I told you not to wander off! What if you'd gotten lost?"
"I didn't mean too!" Stephen insists, finally starting to calm down. "But I saw a jobberknoll, and Wendel Andrew's said that if I could get one to land on my head it would tell me a secret!"
Thalia sighs but doesn't attempt to correct him. "How about the next time you see a jobber, we'll go after it together."
Stephen squints at her before carefully studying her heavy-soled boots and the chunky jewelry she's chosen to wear; Thalia already knows the point he'll raise before Stephen can voice it.
"You're too loud," he says simply. "You'll scare them away."
Thalia offers one more solution. "Okay then." She settles herself more comfortably in the soft grass. "Do you remember the special whistle that daddy taught you?"
Stephen nods enthusiastically; he lifts two pinkies to his mouth and lets out a high pitched siren-like whistle with each blow.
Thalia smiles in recognition of his achievement. "Good job. Now, the next time you go exploring and you're not sure where you are, you whistle just like that and wait. I'll whistle back and we'll take turns until we find each other. Sound good?"
The little boy nods happily before wiggling from his sister's grasp, running back into the forest that surrounds the Cornfoot property.
Her body was never found.
"Missing in action." That's what the investigating auror called it.
Is he traumatized? Stephen doesn't think so. 'Pathetic' would be a more appropriate moniker, at least in his eyes.
Megan's Jones's arm was cursed off. Lavender Brown was mauled by a werewolf. Susan Bones has lost her entire family.
Stephen definitely doesn't need or deserve any pity or sympathy or even a listening ear. He doesn't need anyone or anything, because he's handling it.
(All by himself in the dead of night and with the help of a highly scrutinized sleep aid, but he's desperate.)
And it's well known to anyone with any kind of experience in Potions, Magical Medicine/Healing, or Wizarding Law that Dreamless Sleep potions are highly addictive, and when used over a long period of time, can cause the user to build a tolerance against them. They would also warn against excessively potent doses.
Stephen is a pure-blooded, rather well educated young wizard, and so is well aware of the dangers of the innocent looking vial of purple potion clutched in his hands.
(He just wants it all to stop.)
It's with nervously twitching fingers that the Hufflepuff peels off the wax seal that rims the edge of the flask.
(That this dose of Dreamless Sleep potion was brewed for someone with four inches and sixty pounds on the seventh-year's thin frame is an 'accident'.)
He's just so tired. All he ever wanted to do was get a full night's sleep. Was that so much to ask?
He swallows the thick purple fluid in one go and immediately, his eyes start to droop.
(He just wants to go home.)
The brunette sluggishly lifts his hands to his face and lets out one last piercing whistle.
Deeply satisfied, Stephen allows his body to drop back to his bed as sleep overtakes him, waiting peacefully for Thalia to hear the noise and come looking for him.
She'll bring him home.
(She always does.)
I have to admit, this came out a lot differently than I though. I originally wanted this to be a long, drawn out multichapter, but I don't think my skills as a writter are quite to that point yet. Maybe someday... but not now. :) Anyway, thanks for reading! - Cadid423