The usual disclaimers that none of the places, characters, or names that die-hard HP fans recognize are mine. This is a short one-chapter piece that I have where it's late November of year 6. It has angst in it, so be warned. Harry is sixteen and struggling with recurring depression. His problem almost drives him to do something shocking until something lovely and unexpected saves his life in time…
Enjoy!
The Boy Who Lived Again
By: CNJ
PG-13
Harry:
Once again, as with so many nights, I found myself awake. The familiar sick, dull, sad feeling started in my stomach and slowly surged through me like a thick fog spreading over land. I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep again for the next couple of hours, so I lay there, letting misery seep over me. Why am I so sad? I wondered for the millionth time.
I suppose it's easy to say that it was because of my godfather's tragic death last May in my fifth year. Or my fear for my own sanity since most of the memories of what happened after Sirius' death has come back to me; I'd gone into a deep shock and had had to be placed in the psych area of the hospital wing for a day and a half.
Or I could say that it's the blatant corruption that's flooded the Ministry or the silent war going on between Voldemort and his evil followers and the Order Of Phoenix, a group fighting to preserve freedom and peace in the magical world we live in. Those things are factors, but there're so many other things.
Shivering, I turned over as I remembered vague disturbing nightmares that often plague my sleep. Here in the dark November night of the Gryffindor dormitories at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where I am a sixth year student, I found myself facing perhaps one of the worst internal crisis I've ever dealt with.
It's hard to say when it started, but by last year, it was clear that my confidence had plummeted; I found myself irritable and sad; I was less energetic than I used to be. Perhaps it was the end of year four when a classmate of mine Cedric Diggory died at the hands of Voldemort that I began to see how much hate and cruelty there is in this world.
I wish I could explain better. I'd always known there were cruel people in the world. I know because for fourteen years up until shortly before my fifteenth birthday, I'd had to live with an aunt and an uncle who really didn't know how to love. They were muggles and very prejudiced against magicals. Fortunately, I'd gotten away from them and now spend holidays with my Great Aunt Miranda, who's much kinder.
But I guess now that I'm older, I feel things more acutely. Even here at Hogwarts, I see how much nasty teasing there is by some students. Thinking about it made me think of Draco Malfoy, unfortunately. The boy's a jackass; he has such a talent for making my blood boil. He thinks he's above the rest of us and is very cruel to so many others. I could feel myself tense up just thinking about Malfoy, so I forced my thoughts to move onto other things.
Things had gotten bad last summer and my great aunt had worried about me. I'd lost weight and my appetite had been poor; I'd been lethargic and sad and cried at night. She knew it was depression that I was suffering from; I suspect she's talked to a psychologist about me. It makes me uneasy, but I think she was right. I'd timidly picked up a book on it at the library near her flat in Godric's Hollow and many of the symptoms sounded familiar. It scared me.
By late summer, I was feeling somewhat better, though I haven't exactly been the way I was before. I wonder if I'll ever be. But now here in November, the depression was back again. The terrible aching despair gnawed away at me and left me tired. Small things are upsetting me more and I'm close to tears very so often. Several nights, the tears have spilled over and I've had to cry, much to my embarrassment. When I'm sure everyone's asleep, I put a silencing charm around my bed and just give in to the tears.
Was anyone in school suffering as much as I was, upset as much as I am by what goes on around us or is there really something the matter with me? It's so hard to tell; during the day, I go to classes with my friends and classmates and I keep on a facade of normalcy. Does anyone else do that? It's so hard to say. Even my closest friends…Ron and Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger and I don't discuss what's going on deep inside of us, at least not verbally.
During the average school day, I'm Harry Potter, DA Head, Young Order of the Phoenix member who has his act together, a fairly good student, one that many of the younger students seem to look up to. A bit closed and rather reserved to most others; some would say even a bit aloof, but someone who has their act together. Someone who never needs pampering or reassurance, someone who's going places. You could also say that about my friends as well; almost everyone thinks all of us have it all together.
But I wonder if anyone even suspects that I'm falling apart inside? I think my friends suspect that depression is threatening to crush me, but will not say anything. More than once however, as we study together, I've seen a glint of worry in their eyes as they speak to me. I force an artificial smile that I don't think fools them.
A silvery shaft of moonlight glinted off the curtains surrounding my bed and I silently got up and headed down to the common room, listening to the soft keening of the wind. Like someone in despair, I thought sadly. I felt like joining the wind and crying. Reaching the common room, I softly lit the fireplace with my wand and sat on the floor in front of it, hoping that fire will soothe the storm of pain that is inside me. I watched the flames dance for a long time, willing the depression to quell at least long enough to let me sleep again.
I was glad tomorrow was Saturday. Looking at the clock, I realized that Saturday was here already; it was almost three in the morning. I also remembered that this was a Hogsmeade weekend; my friends and I were heading there tomorrow.
The flames were soothing and somewhat hypnotic, almost like music. I smiled a soft sad smile as I thought about my bariol, a magical instrument I often play. Music is another thing I find so relaxing. Staring at the flames, I imagined the flames dancing to a melody and worked out a soft melody in my head. It felt sad, but it did help to ease the pain inside of me enough to enable me to put out the fire and head back to bed.
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"Ron, you have a warped sense of humor," Neville Longbottom joked as my friends and I sat at the round table at Three Broomsticks having tea. My three closest friends were there along with two of our other friends, Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood. We were laughing; my laugh, however, was weak and rather faltering. Ron's joke about his attempt at making potato pancakes one Christmas was funny.
"Thank you, courtesy of my older brothers, Forge and Gred," Ron grinned, referring to his twin brothers, Fred and George, who are good practical jokers and are two years older than Ron. The November day was cold, cloudy, and windy, so it was a perfect occasion for a cup of hot tea. I sipped mine slowly, mostly listening to my friends silently. I'm generally a quiet person, so that's not so unusual for me. Depression of course still hung over me, but I felt it less acutely here with my friends in a very public, rather noisy place.
A bit later, we shopped around. Ginny, Ron sister, who's a year younger than Ron, needed more broom polish, so we headed there first. We got to wandering around and slowly separated, agreeing to meet back at the Hog's Head Inn at five if we didn't see each other beforehand.
I had my broom with me, a Nimbus 2010 since I'd hoped to get a little flying in the field and mountain area of Hogsmeade. I slowly walked down to the open area at the edge of the village and mounting my broom, rose into the air. This area was mostly quiet. A few others were broom flying and down around a particularly high mountain, a group had a mini-Quidditch game going on.
I watched it a while, remembering our first game of the season at Hogwarts a couple of weeks ago. Ron and I are Beaters for the Gryffindor team while Ginny's the Seeker. This last game had been a bit crazy. Ron and Malfoy had gone neck-to-neck vying for the most attention on the field; they'd bashed into each other and fiercely tried to block each other. Meanwhile, Malfoy and Ginny were butting shoulders trying to catch the snitch. The three of them had sped on and off the fields like mad.
Then Ron had nearly hit the bleachers and had to make an abrupt turn and stop. Ginny had crashed into him from behind; Malfoy had swerved and crashed into Ginny and the three of them had fallen off their brooms and landed in a huge pile on top of each other. Unfortunately, it was Malfoy who'd caught the snitch. Naturally, he'd gloated nonstop until Ron and Ginny had told him to shut up. Madame Hooch, the Quidditch coach had bawled all three of them out for "hooliganism" on the field.
Later, Ron had ended up feeling horrible and guilty. On top of it, he'd been deeply disappointed that the first game of this season had been a loss to Slytherin. My friends and I had found him in the bathroom bawling later on that day, which had surprised us since he normally doesn't dissolve into tears over things like this. It had been weird. I'd wound up putting my arms around him quietly and just holding him until he regained his composure.
I think that game displayed some of the symptoms of what is going on now in the outer world, the people who claim to want the high-ranking positions so they can make a difference, but once they get there, are only interested in themselves and their titles, the people who are power-hungry and will do anything to get there, no matter who they have to step on and hurt to get there. That thought brought the depression seeping over me again.
It came on acutely and quickly and my stomach tightened painfully. The depression's always below the surface, but at night and times like now, it comes to the surface and washes over me, leaving me feeling helpless. I tried to struggle against it by thinking of other things, but it didn't work. I felt tears come close, but as usual when I'm out in public, I managed to quell the urge to weep. But the gray feeling wouldn't leave me alone.
How long am I going to struggle with this? I wondered miserably. Am I going to wake up feeling depressed every morning for the rest of my life? Am I ever going to be able to sleep peacefully through the night? Just the thought of being in this state when I'm twenty, thirty made me really feel worse.
Come on, Harry, you have too much to live for! I chided myself. You're in training for an auror; you're blessed with musical talent. But the awful thought of living out my future under this terrible cloud of despair pressed in on me. Looking down, I could see fog and gray mist gathering around the bare trees. Just like the gray mist inside of me, I thought mournfully.
I realized how high I was. Over three thousand kilometers. If I fall, I could die, I realized. To die. What's it like to be dead, to not feel pain, not feel anything? If I fall, the depression, the crushing sadness will be gone.
The Quidditch game near the mountains had broken up a few minutes ago and now there was no one up here with me. No one would see me fall; it would be classed as an accident. Just thinking about it filling me with an odd feeling of relief. Just one small slip, pulling my leg over and slipping off could free me of this awful feeling that's persisted inside of me. Just three small movements, I thought, feeling oddly surreal and calm. My leg was lifting, lifting and I was tilting. My heart was hammering wildly inside of me and my palms were sweating like mad. No one has to know, a small voice inside of me urged. They'll find your body on the sidewalk and…
I wonder if that made it happen, but suddenly a vision of my friends' faces floated in front of me. Oh, Harry! I thought in horror. No! Don't!
"NO!" I howled out loud and pulled my leg back in place, my broom wobbling. I began to shake violently and sweat all over. Who the hell did I think I was fooling? I just absolutely couldn't do this to my dear friends! I felt a sick feeling inside at what I'd just nearly done. Tears stinging my eyes, I shakily flew down, landed hard on my feet and ran to the nearest loo to pull myself together.
Guilt filled me. How could have had incredibly selfish thoughts? Sure, I'd end my pain, but I'd cause my friends and dear, dear Aunt Miranda untold pain. In addition, I'd also hurt Remus Lupin, who was my late godfather's friend. He already had had enough to deal with when Sirius died; what right did I have to add to his pain? God, my thoughts were no better than Wormtail, who'd betrayed my parents and facilitated their murder by taking the coward's way out. Racing to the nearest toilet, I vomited in it, thinking that I very nearly pulled a Wormtail.
You really would be a coward then, Harry Potter, I told myself, catching my reflection in the mirror as I rinsed my mouth. I was shaking uncontrollably; my face was flushed and my eyes were haunted and frightened. My thick dark brows were slanted and I tried unsuccessfully to relax them. My unkempt jet black hair was even more rumpled than it usually is. Merlin, Harry, how could you! I told myself.
Not only would I have caused my friends pain, but what about the rest of Hogwarts? How could I leave them with one less person to fight the injustice and cruelty in this world? How could I have even thought of doing this to Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall who'd done so much for me and who needed all of us to stay strong and unite for the sake of the school?
I coughed a few times as I fought to calm myself. But I was very, very frightened of my own behavior just now. To think I almost did something so unspeakable, so cowardly…
I coughed several more times, so to clear any remaining matter out of my throat, I cupped my hands under the faucet and took several deep gulps of water, my throat stinging. As I left the loo, I made a solemn promise to myself. If I hoped to be a strong person, I'd fight this depression and never let it push me to doing the awful thing I almost did today. Never. You're not going to win this, depression, I silently told the enemy inside of me.
It was almost five, so I headed to Hog's Head Inn to meet my friends. The depression was still there, but I was able to will it back when I saw Hermione and Luna there. Smiling shakily at them I sat and we waited for the others.
"Harry, are you all right?" Luna asked. I nodded.
"You look like you saw a dementor," Hermione told me.
"Just…some thoughts…" I muttered. No, but something worse than a dementor is inside of me and nearly drove me to do something so dreadful that it's almost too horrifying to think about. A shudder ran through me as I shoved back thoughts of what had happened up there above the village.
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It was later on that night, after the others had gone to sleep that thoughts of today came rushing back. I still felt this awful despair and I don't know what to do about it. But one thing I do know is that I'd have no business inflicting pain on others, maybe worse pain than what I was feeling now. That would be something the likes of Voldemort, Wormtail, and Malfoy would do...take the easy way out for themselves and leave others to pick up the pieces and suffer because of their actions. There is no way I will ever, ever be like them in any way. Never, I told myself in determination.
My mind flashed back to something my former girlfriend and now a casual friend of mine told me…Cho Chang had told me about a counselor here at Hogwarts that she'd seen when she was dealing with Cedric Diggory's death. She'd mentioned that this counselor doesn't actually wheedle people to talk out their feelings always, but will employ more nonconventional methods. If I could just…
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I pushed the weekend out of my mind and went on with classes the following week. Going on with classes, homework and bariol practice, I could keep the despair under control. But nights and weekends were still hard. And never did I want to experience what I did on Saturday. If Dr. Muloy could help me prevent that, it would be a relief.
Thursday afternoon I was shaking as I went up to her office, which is near Professor Dumbledore's office. I was sweating when I came in. She was in session with another student, so I idly thumbed through a Potions magazine as I waited, struggling not to bite my tongue.
Finally, the door opened and Dr. Muloy poked her head out. "Harry Potter?" she called. Her smile put me a bit at ease and I smiled nervously at her as I walked shakily in. I knew rationally that anything that came out in there would be strictly confidential. Once we were in her office, I pulled out the pensieve, which had saved my bariol playing.
"I take it you have trouble verbalizing your deep feelings?" She smiled warmly.
"Yes," I told her. "You knew by this pensieve, right?"
"Right," she nodded. "Many of my students do, so it pensieves and other nonverbal instruments help greatly." I felt myself relax. I don't know how effective this counseling would be, but if it could prevent the tragedy that nearly happened last weekend, it would definitely be worth it, if not for myself, but for my friends and the school.
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The sessions were noneventful, but gave me reason to think. I talked very little, but played out the music I'd composed for Dr. Muloy. I still was depressed, but I didn't feel as helpless or frightened as I had before.
It was Friday night sitting
by the fire with my friends having tea that I looked at them and realized
that it was the love of my friends, Lupin, and Aunt Miranda that had actually
saved my life last week. I'd read in Magical Psychology magazine
that friends are often the best medicine. Now looking at Ron, Hermione,
and Ginny, I realized how absolutely right that article was. Without
even knowing it, these precious friends saved my life.
Storyline Copyright by CNJ