A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed the previous chapter. I hope you enjoy this next one!
Chapter II – Misunderstandings
Harry groggily came to at six o'clock, following another sleepless night. It took him fifteen seconds to identify the feeling in his stomach as apprehension and a further fifteen to realise that this apprehension had nothing to do with Voldemort and everything to do with Marge's visit, scheduled for later that day.
He groaned and flopped back onto his bed, wishing that one of Marge's disgusting dogs had fallen sick and she had to stay to look after them. Then again, she'd probably just leave them with Colonel Filibuster, who had looked after her dogs last time. All this thinking of dogs brought Harry's mind back to Sirius. Sirius the Grim, Sirius the playful dog at the station, Sirius who had always been there for him since third year, Sirius who escaped Azkaban for him, Sirius. Just Sirius. Family. Dead family. Family Harry had murdered.
He wondered what would happen later today. Would they make him carry Marge's bags? Cook? He hadn't done that since last summer. Come to think of it, he hadn't done anything this summer. Well, that was an improvement, at least. He wasn't a human house elf, though how long would it last?
Something else had happened yesterday; what was it? He racked his brain, searching for the answer. He felt it was something important, something strange. What was it? What was it? His eyes fell on the pile of unopened mail that Hedwig and various other owls had delivered. Ah well, it couldn't possibly be that important if he couldn't remember it, could it? Yeah, those were letters from Ron and Hermione. Ginny, Luna and Neville had written to him also, but he couldn't muster the energy to bring himself to read meaningless words of condolences. They weren't going to bring Sirius back. Heaving a hearty sigh, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and went down to grab a piece of toast and some water before the Dursleys woke up.
Petunia groaned softly and looked at the clock. 6:13 a.m. Too early, she thought and rolled over, trying to get back to sleep. Vernon was snoring again. He always snored and it bugged her so much! The only way she could have a decent night's sleep was if she fell asleep first. One would think she would be used to it by now! Between her husband and stupid freaky nephew screaming his head off all night, she was lucky to get any sleep at all. Stupid freak. What the hell was his problem, anyway? As if it wasn't enough that he was contaminating their house, he couldn't even let decent people sleep.
She heard Dudley shuffling about in his room and frowned slightly; that was odd, Dudley never woke up at this time. Her poor Dudders, he had lost quite a bit of weight. That school of his didn't give him nearly enough food for a growing boy. His appetite had decreased, and his stomach was shrinking because he didn't get enough to eat over the school year. Poor, poor Dudley. And asking about the freak! The freak! Since when did he care about the freak? Maybe they had been too lenient with him this year. Yes, that was it, they had been much too lenient with him. She would have to mention it to Vernon when he woke up. Vernon would whip him into shape. Starting today, he was going to have chores again. He could start with the cooking today for Marge. Marge sure ate a lot. A woman shouldn't eat so much and drink all that wine she drank. Disgusting. She would never mention anything to Vernon, that was for sure, he wouldn't like that; at least she wasn't a freak like her sister. Back to the freak…yes, he would do the housework today, she deserved the day off. After all, she'd been doing everything the whole summer.
Harry finished the last bite of his toast and gulped down a glass of water. He brushed the crumbs off his shirt and took a quick look around the kitchen. The bin hadn't been emptied, nor had the floor been scrubbed. That bitch made him do those every single day when he was only six, and she didn't even do it herself. Pushing those thoughts aside, he went back upstairs to his room, cursing the day he was left on the Dursleys' doorstep.
Dudley was scared. He didn't want to admit it, but he was terrified, every fibre of his being quivering with dread. He didn't know what to do. He pulled open a drawer. Harry had scared him yesterday, he had been so…so…what was the word…unbothered about anything; surely that wasn't normal? Dudley had tossed and turned last night trying to find a solution to his dilemma. Ignore Harry as he had done for the past four years, and run the risk of him killing himself? Or talk to him and try to talk him out of it? He could still see all the blood in Michael's room. And if he did decide to talk to him, what the hell would he say? They'd never exactly been close and Harry was a good guy; after all the trouble he'd given him when they were younger, he'd still gone out of his way to save Dudley last year, even drag him all the way back home. That must've been hard; Harry had always been scrawny.
Where were they? He knew they were here somewhere. He slammed the drawer shut and pulled open the next one down.
He realised now that Harry had been helping him. What would Dudley have done in the same situation? Laughed at him? Watched from afar? Ran away as fast as he could? He certainly wouldn't have saved him or gone out of his way to help him home. What kind of person did that make him? He hated to admit it, but he was a selfish brat who had been terribly spoiled by his parents. He understood now what people had seen all these years ago, what everyone except he and his parents had believed. But he also knew that things were changing; that counsellor at school had helped him. A lot of things were going to change. He was going to become a better person, his own person, with his own opinions. He wasn't going to follow blindly what his parents said, and he was going to make his own decisions, even if his parents didn't like it.
Aha – here they were: the leaflets they'd given him at school.
Depression:
Symptoms of depression include:
continuous low mood, or sadness
Well, Harry's mood was low, and sad.
feelings of hopelessness and helplessness
Hopelessness and helplessness? Maybe, he didn't really know about that. Did Harry feel helpless and hopeless?
tearfulness
Did crying in your sleep that count as tearfulness? Because Harry cried all the time in his sleep.
feelings of guilt
Guilt? About what? Did Harry feel guilty? Maybe Dudley should ask him.
feeling irritable and intolerant towards others
Yep, definitely irritable and intolerant.
lack of motivation, and little interest in things in general
That explained the shitty replies Harry was giving him.
lack of enjoyment
What did Harry enjoy, anyway?
suicidal thoughts, or thoughts of harming someone else
Oh, God, please no, did that mean Harry was suicidal?! Oh no! He had to do something. Okay Dudley, stop panicking. Deep breath, just carry on reading the rest.
slowed movement and speech
Yeah, he was slow, kinda dopey as well.
a reduced sex drive
That elicited a small smile. How the hell was he supposed to know?
change in appetite and weight
Well, he'd always been skinny, but Dudley hadn't seen him eat at all summer.
unexplained achesand pains
He didn't know about that.
taking part in fewer social activities, and avoiding contact with friends
Avoiding contact with everyone, more like.
difficulties in home and with family life
That had always been there, but yeah.
Mental disorders (particularly depression and substance abuse) are associated with more than 90 of all cases of suicide.
Oh no!
The warning signs of suicide
Some of the warning signs that can signify people with depression are considering suicide are outlined below.
Making final arrangements
Talking about death or suicide - this may be a direct statement, such as 'I wish I was dead,' but often depressed people will talk about the subject indirectly, using phrases like, 'I think dead people must be happier than us,' or 'wouldn't it be nice to go to sleep and never wake up?'
What was it Harry said in the park? "Wouldn't it be nice to just sleep forever"?
Self-harm
A sudden lifting of mood - this sudden lift of mood could mean that a person has decided to commit suicide and feels better because of this decision.
If you see any of the above warning signs, you should:
get professional help for the person
let them know that they are not alone and you care about them, and
offer your support in finding other solutions to their problems
Yes, he could do that. He was going to make sure Harry didn't think he was alone. Harry was not going to commit suicide. Maybe he could get Harry to talk to Paul, his counsellor. He had his number; he would call him later today and see what he could do. And with a plan and an idea of what he would do, he could sit back and relax till the real morning started — anything before ten wasn't really morning.
Harry jumped slightly, but otherwise didn't move as the door to his room crashed open to admit his uncle.
"Boy, you will be doing chores for the rest of the summer. I don't care what your freaky friends said, this is my house, and you will live under my rules. Your aunt will tell you what has to be done. Get your lazy arse downstairs now."
Vernon turned and left the room, teeth clenched tightly. He hated that little freak.
Harry groaned inwardly and dragged himself with great effort off the bed. He had known it wouldn't last. As if he didn't have enough to be dealing with, he had gone and jinxed himself. At least it isn't anyone else, he thought. He washed his face in the bathroom and resignedly went downstairs to get his list of chores.
The first item on the long list of chores was the hoovering. He bent down to get the vacuum cleaner out of the cupboard under the stairs and felt a strange sense of nostalgia, accompanied with a strong twinge of resentment. Life had been much simpler when he had slept there, not that that excused the Dursleys from treating an innocent child in their care in that way, normal or not.
Dudley threw the covers off his body and mentally checked through what his plans for the day were. He was going out with Piers at about two, since Piers wanted a new pair of trainers and he was going along for the ride. He needed to talk to Harry again, he had to call Paul, but first – breakfast.
He made his own breakfast for a change. His mother was out shopping and Harry was changing the sheets in the guest room – not that he would have told Harry to make breakfast for him or anything. He took his phone out of his pocket and shifted slightly so that he could see into the hallway to make sure Harry wasn't anywhere within earshot and dialled Paul's number, still listening intently for any sign of Harry. Getting the ring tone, he abruptly stood up and decided to take his conversation into the garden to reduce the risk of Harry walking in on him.
Paul picked up on the third ring. "Hello."
"Hi, Paul. This is Dudley."
"Oh, hi Dudley, how are you doing?"
"Yeah, I'm fine, Paul, but I wanted to talk to you about something, is that okay?"
"Of course it is, Dudley, you know that. What is it?"
"It's my cousin Harry. You remember him? I told you about him. He lives with us. Remember?"
"Yes, I remember, his parents died in a car crash, right?"
"Yeah, that's right." He paused. "I'm really scared, Paul," he admitted in a whisper. "Harry is behaving really weirdly, I think he's depressed. Remember those leaflets they gave us last year? Harry fits the description of depression, I think he's gonna do what Michael did. I think he's going to kill himself! I don't know what to do, Paul, what am I supposed to do? You've got to help me!" he said, his voice rising hysterically at the end.
"Dudley, calm down. What you're saying is really serious. Are you sure?"
"Sure about what? 'Course I'm not sure, but I've seen him, man. He's lost so much weight, you should see him, he's just bones! He has nightmares every night, and he never comes down to eat. Paul, I don't know what to do!"
"Have you tried speaking to him?"
"Not really, I mean, we're not exactly close or anything. Actually, we're not close at all. I was really evil to him before. I did apologise yesterday, but…"
"But what?"
"But he was just, like, nothing. He said it was okay, but that was it, he didn't say anything else, he didn't shout, scream, nothing, just 'Okay.' "
"Have you spoken to your parents about your concerns?"
"What? No way, man! No way! They hate Harry, they would push him to do it."
"Dudley, I think the best thing for you to do right now is try to make Harry feel as though he is needed, make him feel supported, try to be his friend. People who are depressed tend to shy away from company. Don't force him into anything, but encourage him to maybe go out with you somewhere or do something together. Don't push him to talk, but make sure he knows that he can trust you if he wants to. It's not going to be easy, especially if you haven't gotten along well in the past."
"Okay, I'll do that."
"Anything else?"
A pause, in which Dudley mentally repeated what Paul had said. "No, I think that's it."
"Okay then. Remember, if you need anything you can always call me. If you're still worried about Harry, give me another ring and we'll see what we can do. Maybe you can bring him to see me, or something. It's possible he may need professional help, so keep an eye out."
"Okay, thanks, Paul."
"All right then Dudley, see you around, take care of yourself."
"You too, Paul, bye." He pressed the end call button and went back inside, feeling much lighter now that he'd talked to someone and had some idea of what to do.
The day passed fairly normally for Harry, until around three in the afternoon. Vernon had already left to get Marge from the station and Petunia was gone to get ready for her arrival. Harry had been washing the dishes; the repetitiveness of the job appealed to him as he rinsed the soap bubbles from the last of the plates. Dudley had come in to the kitchen at some point and was standing around watching Harry, and it was starting to grate on his nerves.
"What do you want, Dudley?"
Dudley jumped. He obviously hadn't been expecting conversation. "Ah, Harry," he said, before shuffling uncomfortably. "I just thought that I should tell you that you're not alone."
What? Harry thought, stiffening, immediately becoming alarmed. There are Death Eaters here? How on earth have they found me? "Where? Who's here?" he said, eyes wide. "Where are they, Dudley?"
Dudley stared at him, baffled. What on earth was Harry talking about?
"Dudley! What did you see? Who told you that?" he said, abandoning the dishes and coming to stand in front of Dudley, dripping soapy water all over the kitchen floor.
"Harry…Harry, what are you talking about?"
Harry replied, taken aback, "You just said they were here."
"No, I didn't, I said you weren't alone," Dudley said slowly, as if talking to a child.
"Exactly, so where are they? Dudley, where are they? This isn't a game. Where are they?"
"There is no one here, I just meant…that if you need anything…I'm here…" he replied hesitantly, his face reddening.
"Oh. Okay," Harry said, deflating.
"Yeah…well…I'll just…be upstairs, then," Dudley muttered awkwardly, and fled from the kitchen.
Harry stared after him in shock. "If you need anything…I'm here…"
What was that supposed to mean? Did he really expect Harry to confide in him? The idea was so laughable he would have laughed out loud, had it not been for the sound of the car backing into the drive. Marge was here.
A/N: Thank you for reading. Please Review.
