Failure to Disengage: Part I Hermione
A.N: This is the squeal to Fifty and Five, I do hope you like it.
Disclaimer: Will never own.
Harry stood outside the grey building, at the edge of the sidewalk. All around him people flowed toward the blue double door of the high school. He pulled the oversized black jacket closer and stepped from the curb walking toward what he could only compare to hell.
The day was a blur of names and faces none of which he was going to remember, he made it to all of his assigned classes yet he knew he'd get just as lost the next day. He didn't speak unless it was necessary- it hardly ever was. His mother's hopeful exclamation of, "Make new friends!" was ignored; he opted to sit alone for lunch. He didn't bother setting foot in the lunch room, rather he straddled the long wall that ran parallel to the bus lane. A heavily duct taped pair of head phones blocked out the nearby students chatter.
As first days go Harry Potter's wasn't a huge success, it was far closer to a dismal failure. He was angry and was planning on taking it out on anyone and everyone he could. He wanted to make his parents as hurt and angry as he was and knew he was still going to be the only one suffering but god damn it this sucked.
His mood only worsened as the day wore on. After the school day had finally ended he ended up huddled under the overhang in front of the school, he'd missed the bus.
Rain pounded the pavement, the large drops splashed back up after they hit, and he wondered if he should call his mother- he wouldn't have to walk home, but she'd scold him and then ask the sort of questions that'd make him want to hit something. They'd argue, she'd cry, and then his father would get involved and it would all go to hell.
He'd rather walk. He stood and brushed off his pants, and stepped into the down pour, he shuttered as the large cold drops hit his skin. He pulled the black jacket even tighter around him, the sleeves were rolled over at the cuffs: it had been one of Marcus's. Harry hadn't realized he'd had it until the night before and he hadn't taken it off since he'd found it.
The walk home wasn't as long as he thought it was going to be, he pulled his phone from his pocket, turned it on, and watched as the rectangular screen lit up and the phone buzzed. He scrolled through his messages; it was from Bella, "Don't sulk, you wanker. Make some replacement mates. Also call Marcus; he misses you even if he won't admit it. Love- B"
He smiled, and clumsily typed out a reply, saying he didn't want replacement mates, and he missed them and yes he would call Marcus. But as he thought about it, Bella was right, he needed to stop sulking and not make a shitty situation anymore shitty than it need to be. He could at least try to make friends, not that he really had any previous experience. Marcus didn't count.
He pushed his soggy black bangs out of his eyes, and climbed the steps to his front door. It was locked, his mother wasn't home. Score.
He let himself in and trudged up stairs, not caring about tracking mud all through the house. He hung Marcus' jacket on the back of a chair; the rest of his wet cloths ended up in the bath tub in the adjoined bathroom. He dressed quickly; he planned on making use of his mother's absence. He kicked his door closed, and bent and dug around under his mattress, "Yes!" he muttered, his fingers closed around what he was looking for. He extracted a not very crushed pack of cigarettes, pulled one free, and opened his window. He sat on the ledge and lit up, leaning heavily against the wall. This was not how he planned on spending his junior year at all.
His held his phone in his hand, and after starring at it for what felt like an eternity, gave in and flipped it open. It rang and rang, and eventually he got to the message machine, but just hung up.
"Fuck..."he muttered, he pulled his knees to his chest. He just wanted to go home.
The next day dawned far too early, Harry had been up half the night, doing nothing all that important, unable to sleep. He was ready to murder his overly perky mother when she woke him the next morning, but swallowed his biting retort as he was still on thin ice with his parents. His reaction when he was informed of the move hadn't gone over well at all.
Thinking back on it, he really could have reacted better. Harry remembered that day far clearer then he would have liked. He argued with his father earlier, about something stupid. That's all they seemed to do anymore was fight about the stupidest things. He had been sitting at his desk, his feet propped up on his desk, texting Marcus when one of his parents knocked on the door.
"What?" he called, still irritated from his earlier argument.
"Harry-dear, we need to talk to you," his mother's soft voice floated through the door.
Stowing his phone, he glanced around the room making sure his parents wouldn't accidentally see his cigarette stash; he knew whatever she wanted to say he wasn't going to want to hear.
"Fine- come in." he sighed; he didn't understand. For the first time ever he was happy, he had friends but they always said he was doing something wrong. He just didn't understand.
His mother opened the door; she pursed her lips, but didn't comment on the mess of cloths on the floor. She sat on the edge of the bed, and smoothed the deep blue comforter. Harry was watching her, but he could see his father standing in the door way, leaning on the frame.
"Is there a problem mum?" he asked, tilting his head bangs falling over his eyes.
His father scoffed from the door way but Lily silenced him with a very pointed look. Harry didn't like this at all. "Well dear-," his mother started, she bit her lower lip.
James interrupted, "Where were you last night?"
"James!" Lily snapped, her green eyes flashing.
"I was out," bit back Harry.
"That wasn't what I wanted to talk to you about. Harry," she started,
"Well. That's what I want to talk about." responded James.
It went downhill from there, Harry remembered, yelling at his father, asking why it mattered where he was. He had friends, for once, James should be happy for him. James had laughed bitterly, saying that anyone who hung out down Knockturn Alley was a low life, not worth his time, and that's when he told Harry they were moving. Harry could still remember the exact words, "It doesn't matter whether you think about those losers. After next week you'll never see them again, and they'll just forget all about you."
He had frozen and stuttered out a question, to be told they were leaving for America the next week. He hadn't stayed for the rest of the details. He had run, and only stopped when he collapsed onto Marcus' floor.
Marcus had opened the door; he looked confused to why his boy was standing panting on his door step face tear stained. "You ok-Christ! Harry!"
Harry lay panting on the hard wood floor, his chest heaving, he could barely breath. Each breath ripped through his lungs, and sobs racked his body. His vision blurred with tears. Afterward Marcus wouldn't admit it but he had been scared seeing Harry lie there, a total mess.
Marcus kicked the door shut, and dropped ungracefully to the floor. He pulled Harry into his lap and held the boy close to his chest. He used the wall for support and wrapped himself around the sobbing boy.
Harry didn't remember what happened afterwards very well, he remembered Marcus holding him, and he remembered crying for a long time, but then everything started to blur together, but he knew Bella had been there, and Marcus had been angry, and that in the end, he had made Harry go home. He'd said that Harry was too good to drop out like he had, he needed to go with his family.
Harry had returned home not only in tears, but furious. His father had been livid, and since the relations in the house had only moderately improved he had stood outside the school, a cold dread settled into his stomach. He wasn't going back, it wasn't a dream and he wasn't going to wake up on Marcus' floor.
And with this realization the pain of losing his only friends dulled slightly, because he had to face reality now and he walked through the blue double doors, head held high. Directly to his left was the front office, to his right a hall leading off somewhere he hadn't been yet. Past the office the school opened creating a large open space.
The windows of the library lined one side; near the middle was a crooked looking set of stairs. The students flowing into the building with Harry broke off from the pack and migrated to the tables and couches spread sporadically around the room. The largest, and by far the loudest, was congregated under the stairs. Instead of awkwardly trying to join one of the groups Harry headed up the stairs in search of the locker he had been promised.
He wandered aimlessly, he soon realized that the second floor was a large square, and he was back where he started. He did manage to find his locker, but wasn't able to open it, something he didn't consider to be much of a loss. He was leaning against the un-open-able locker when the bell rang, and his day officially began.
He pulled the wrinkled schedule from the depths of his bag (that he hadn't put into his locker). Apparently, he was due to be in English, which just happened to be on the other side of the building, somewhere on the first floor. Harry headed off in what he assumed was the right direction, eventually (long after the tardy bell had rung) finding the right room.
The teacher had yet to arrive, and he was able to slip in mostly unnoticed. He took the empty table in the back, and blocked out the surrounding students chatter, he was rooting trough his bag for his phone, when he heard hurried approaching footsteps, and heard someone fall into the chair next to him. He looked up. That was how he met Hermione, the first friend he ever made for himself without having kissed them first.