One Step at a Time
Summary: Finding his most dangerous enemy in an unexpected place, Harry Potter has to figure out a way to fight his own battles. This new-found routine is not easily unlearned and might just prove to be the one thing keeping disaster at arm's length - especially as Harry's definition of 'his own battles' changes and his odd brand of warfare gains support. Canon compliant up to the end of GoF.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine. I mean, seriously, who would want to own that kind of trouble?
Trigger Warning: Depression - ugly, degrading, surreal, eye-opening; call it what you will.
AN: Hi there! As much as I'm all for letting the work speak for itself, I'm also aware that this first chapter might be quite misleading when it comes to what you're bound to expect to follow once you finish reading it. So you should know that this story is not going to be an angst-filled pity party. Depression, while undoubtedly a great part of the first few chapters and my Harry's life, is merely used as a tool to teach him a valuable lesson - one necessary to the plot. Not to mention it's not exactly an improbable development considering a forcefully isolated, freshly traumatized teenage boy with too much time on his hands. Anyway, hope you read on and enjoy the story!
~o~o~o~
1 - Get out of Bed
Harry Potter needed to pee. Green eyes scanned the part of the room in their line of vision for some conveniently shaped, easily washable object. As nothing fitting those requirements was found, said requirements were promptly stripped of luxurious pretences. With 'conveniently shaped object' in mind tired orbs were laboriously pushed through the motion again – up, ahead, down. Shoes.
Yuck!
Who cares?
From his position, the battered grey trainers were out of his reach, though. He would have to sit up, stand, walk at least two steps, crouch down-
So many things to do.
Tired.
Come to think of it, he did not mind holding it all that much.
~o~o~o~
He woke up to a dull ache in his underbelly. It would have made him squirm except squirming meant moving and moving meant exerting energy – something Harry Potter was sorely lacking.
Judging from the somewhat dimmer light coming through the window, it was around nine. He had probably dozed off for an hour or two. Harry could not remember when he had last had full eight hours' worth of sleep. Between nightmares and endless moments of staring into the wall or the ceiling or the wardrobe door, there was only so much quality sleeping time one could squeeze in.
He could not remember when he had last eaten, either. Calling upon his old experience with going through the first few stages of starvation, he evaluated the pain in his stomach and concluded that he had been without food for nearly two days. That could be about right – those birthday chocolates had come in the morning, now it was evening and there had definitely been a night somewhere in between.
Or maybe two? Probably just one, since he didn't think he had been to the bathroom during that time. Not using the loo for three whole days and ending up with only a mildly painful bladder was nothing if not highly unlikely.
That reminded him that he had had his last glass of water that morning, too. Damn. He would have to get up, walk all the way to the bedroom door-
So many things to do.
Tired.
But damn did he need to pee. Was it really necessary to move to do that?
Gross!
Who cares?
Fact: If I don't get some fluids in the foreseeable future, I die of dehydration.
Who cares?
I do.
And Harry Potter got out of bed.
~o~o~o~
AN: Not your cup of tea? Well, I should hope so. I know you might not feel like it after this first taste of One Step at a Time but pretty please, review? Longer chapters coming.
