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The summer started in earnest as soon as Harry got back from the graveyard in Little Hangleton, this was ironic because all the people who knew the truth were themselves stuck in deepest winter, running around to build a solid shelter to survive the weather that was sure to come. Harry thought this was a good analogy. The hot weather served only to make him feel worse about what had happened. Dumbledore had ordered that no one question him about it, but even worse, now people avoided him like he was diseased. Even though Harry didn't particularly want them in his life, human companionship was what he needed most. Like when he just sat silently with Ron and Hermione. Dumbledore had also ordered that he went back to Privet Drive for the summer, and that hurt worse than anything, he needed his friends at that moment, and to be honest he didn't care anything for his safety, looking back he thought that it would have been best if the priori incantatem spell hadn't saved him that night. The line that was prominent in his head at that time was from a muggle song, 'I suppose its just a point of view, but they tell me I'm doing fine' it wasn't true, they told him it at least once a day, how brave he was, how like his father, it wasn't true, if only they really knew.
Dumbledores speech at the leaving feast had somewhat freed him in mind, but this was a temporary effect, the weight of everything hit him tenfold as he saw his uncle Vernon at the barrier at Kings Cross, trust his relatives to make everything worse. What he wished for more than anything in that moment was that someone would kill him before he left the station, anyone, a muggle, or a wizard, even Voldemort. It didn't happen, no assassins waiting in the shadows to be his salvation.
Harry ended up back at Privet Drive, his relatives had ignored him all the way home, but it wasn't like he had tried to speak with them either, he knew it was useless, and what was the point in talking to anyone anymore, he just wanted to curl up and let the world pass by, and preferably leave the world. He knew that no rescuer with a gun, or deadly curse could come to Privet Drive, wasn't that why he was there after all?
When Harry got to his room this year he found that the metal bars were back on his window, and that his door locked from the outside, his uncle yet again locked his trunk under the stairs, but not before locking Harry in his room. The only thing Harry had now was a set of Dudley's old clothes, the clothes he was wearing - robes - he hadn't bothered to change as was common practice amongst students, especially those going back to muggle families, and his wand which he carried everywhere at the moment.
Hedwig had stayed at school that summer, and in a way he was glad that he didn't have his trunk with him, it only reminded him of the world he lived in that was about to become as screwed up as him, and that was something he'd rather forget, in fact if he had been offered a memory charm that would block all memory of the magical world he would have taken it at that moment. The only object he missed was the knife Sirius had given him, he knew his Godfather wouldn't like the purpose he wanted it for, but Sirius had left him just like everyone else, they all just dropped him over the summer, except Ron who had him to stay for a few weeks usually, this year Ron had dropped him too, he had been forced too. If he had the knife with him he would had run it along the length of his arm, to see if it hurt, to see if that would be a viable way to end his life. He was a solitary Hero, entirely untouchable.
The sun blazed in through the window, it streaked his room in light and shadow where it bounced of the bars, and created a strange effect on the carpet. The bars reminded him of isolation, no owls could reach him now, and in a way his wish had been fulfilled in this room he could hide from the world, now to work on leaving it.
There was a constant nagging in the back of Harry's head, and like an itch that he couldn't scratch it made him uncomfortable. This was Cedric, and the thought that just wouldn't go away, guilt. He knew that everyday he woke up that little nagging grew bigger and bigger, he also knew that guilt would overcome him soon; his dreams told him so.
Dreams were the worst part of it mainly, for if it weren't for dreams Harry would have attempted to sleep as many hours a day as he could, sleep and not think about anything, if only he could make dreamless sleep potion he would use it 24 hours a day, who gives a damn if its addictive? As it was his dreams were his memories, but only worse, distorted and warped, and they always woke him up with a start, guilty as hell. These were the dreams of the third task, but they weren't the only dreams, there were the vision that Voldemort sent too.
So far there had only been three, he had watched the head of Durmstrang, ex death eater, Karkaroff be killed in a most horrible way for betraying his 'master', then he had watch his potions professor be tortured for hours for the crime of not being at the 'rebirth party' at which Harry had been 'guest of honour'. It almost made him cry to watch others go through the pain Voldemort caused, but in a way he was jealous of them too. Mainly Voldemorts wrath had come down on his death eaters, in some attempt to reorganise his army in preparation for the war that would surely come. The only other deaths had haunted Harry, a few nights ago, Voldemort had gone to St. Mungo's hospital, and killed the aurors Longbottem who were insane from the cruciatus curse. This had been some twisted way to honour the loyal four death eaters who had attempted to find him all those years ago, and landed themselves in azkaban for the long haul. One who had received the dementors kiss. Harry remembered clearly the vow Voldemort had made that night, to free those of his loyal supporters in Azkaban, it made him shudder with fright for the terror he had released on the wizarding world he had once so loved.
Being awake was only slightly better than being asleep, after all the memories still played over and over, but he could at least make attempts to block them out when awake, asleep he was at their mercy.
This summer the Dursleys saw fit to feed him twice a day, usually cold food, unappealing, but Harry couldn't have cared less, if it had been from a five star restaurant he wouldn't have touched it, all food was sent back uneaten. Harry just couldn't be bothered to eat, he didn't deserve to either, or so he thought. No he just sat there on the floor, at least twenty hours a day, either thinking about the wizarding world, else day dreaming of ways in which to be dead.
So far he had come up with slitting his wrists; unfeasible, he had no sharp objects. Overdosing, but on what? Hanging; but how? Jumping from a great height; but even if he could open his window the most damage jumping out of it would inflict would be a broken leg. A curse; but he didn't know how to use Avada Kedavra, in any case that would have bothered him, as it was the way his parents were murdered, and just reminded him how his mum had died for him. No he would not think of that, he hadn't asked her too after all.
Over the long hot days he tried to think of other ways to kill himself, he sat on worn carpet, sweating in the sun, just fantasising of his own demise, how would it feel to run a knife through his arms, or jump of the highest tower at Hogwarts. After considerable musings he decided that these were the two options which were most appealing, and spent days from there on working out plans on making these things happen smoothly, asking questions like whether he would write a note to let them know what happened, or sometimes musing about who if anyone would miss him. He came up with the answer that not many would, after all he had seen no owls even attempt to deliver a message to him. The only human contact he had was his aunt letting him use the bathroom day and night. This suited his sombre mood.
One day, unexpectedly Harry's door opened at what he could tell was early morning, his uncle came in, and Harry had not seen his uncle since he was left in his room.
'Get up boy, its time to take you back to that freak school of yours, I wouldn't bother, but you cost us a fortune to feed, and you don't even eat it, ungrateful brat, Get Up!' his uncle yelled.
Was it September 1st already? Harry didn't know the day, he hadn't kept track, he supposed he must be fifteen then, to him it may as well still be June, the time in his room seemed timeless, and this was a startling entrance back in to the real world that Harry wasn't ready for. He could have cried, but he still cared enough not to do that in front of his uncle. So he got to his matchstick legs and followed his uncle, who thrust a trunk at him, nearly knocking his frail body to the ground.
Harry had not eaten the entire summer, save a piece of burned toast some time ago, when his stomach felt so terrible it tore him apart. Nowadays he just didn't get hungry, and he enjoyed the empty feeling and gurgling noises that came from his stomach, it was soothing. The downside to this was that he was drastically underweight, and people would notice, and that would not do just yet, they would worry and fuss, not an option.
In the car Harry worried on this matter, and decided that he would attempt to hide on the train and perform that concealing charm Mcgonagall had gone through last year, he just hoped he was good enough at magic, he had a feeling that as his body was drained, his magic might be weak too.
When they got out of the car, his uncle had thrust his trunk at him yet again, with the warning to be sure to tell his 'freak people' that he had been given food, and it was him who hadn't eaten it. In other words the truth, but Harry had no intention of letting them have a need to ask.
The summer started in earnest as soon as Harry got back from the graveyard in Little Hangleton, this was ironic because all the people who knew the truth were themselves stuck in deepest winter, running around to build a solid shelter to survive the weather that was sure to come. Harry thought this was a good analogy. The hot weather served only to make him feel worse about what had happened. Dumbledore had ordered that no one question him about it, but even worse, now people avoided him like he was diseased. Even though Harry didn't particularly want them in his life, human companionship was what he needed most. Like when he just sat silently with Ron and Hermione. Dumbledore had also ordered that he went back to Privet Drive for the summer, and that hurt worse than anything, he needed his friends at that moment, and to be honest he didn't care anything for his safety, looking back he thought that it would have been best if the priori incantatem spell hadn't saved him that night. The line that was prominent in his head at that time was from a muggle song, 'I suppose its just a point of view, but they tell me I'm doing fine' it wasn't true, they told him it at least once a day, how brave he was, how like his father, it wasn't true, if only they really knew.
Dumbledores speech at the leaving feast had somewhat freed him in mind, but this was a temporary effect, the weight of everything hit him tenfold as he saw his uncle Vernon at the barrier at Kings Cross, trust his relatives to make everything worse. What he wished for more than anything in that moment was that someone would kill him before he left the station, anyone, a muggle, or a wizard, even Voldemort. It didn't happen, no assassins waiting in the shadows to be his salvation.
Harry ended up back at Privet Drive, his relatives had ignored him all the way home, but it wasn't like he had tried to speak with them either, he knew it was useless, and what was the point in talking to anyone anymore, he just wanted to curl up and let the world pass by, and preferably leave the world. He knew that no rescuer with a gun, or deadly curse could come to Privet Drive, wasn't that why he was there after all?
When Harry got to his room this year he found that the metal bars were back on his window, and that his door locked from the outside, his uncle yet again locked his trunk under the stairs, but not before locking Harry in his room. The only thing Harry had now was a set of Dudley's old clothes, the clothes he was wearing - robes - he hadn't bothered to change as was common practice amongst students, especially those going back to muggle families, and his wand which he carried everywhere at the moment.
Hedwig had stayed at school that summer, and in a way he was glad that he didn't have his trunk with him, it only reminded him of the world he lived in that was about to become as screwed up as him, and that was something he'd rather forget, in fact if he had been offered a memory charm that would block all memory of the magical world he would have taken it at that moment. The only object he missed was the knife Sirius had given him, he knew his Godfather wouldn't like the purpose he wanted it for, but Sirius had left him just like everyone else, they all just dropped him over the summer, except Ron who had him to stay for a few weeks usually, this year Ron had dropped him too, he had been forced too. If he had the knife with him he would had run it along the length of his arm, to see if it hurt, to see if that would be a viable way to end his life. He was a solitary Hero, entirely untouchable.
The sun blazed in through the window, it streaked his room in light and shadow where it bounced of the bars, and created a strange effect on the carpet. The bars reminded him of isolation, no owls could reach him now, and in a way his wish had been fulfilled in this room he could hide from the world, now to work on leaving it.
There was a constant nagging in the back of Harry's head, and like an itch that he couldn't scratch it made him uncomfortable. This was Cedric, and the thought that just wouldn't go away, guilt. He knew that everyday he woke up that little nagging grew bigger and bigger, he also knew that guilt would overcome him soon; his dreams told him so.
Dreams were the worst part of it mainly, for if it weren't for dreams Harry would have attempted to sleep as many hours a day as he could, sleep and not think about anything, if only he could make dreamless sleep potion he would use it 24 hours a day, who gives a damn if its addictive? As it was his dreams were his memories, but only worse, distorted and warped, and they always woke him up with a start, guilty as hell. These were the dreams of the third task, but they weren't the only dreams, there were the vision that Voldemort sent too.
So far there had only been three, he had watched the head of Durmstrang, ex death eater, Karkaroff be killed in a most horrible way for betraying his 'master', then he had watch his potions professor be tortured for hours for the crime of not being at the 'rebirth party' at which Harry had been 'guest of honour'. It almost made him cry to watch others go through the pain Voldemort caused, but in a way he was jealous of them too. Mainly Voldemorts wrath had come down on his death eaters, in some attempt to reorganise his army in preparation for the war that would surely come. The only other deaths had haunted Harry, a few nights ago, Voldemort had gone to St. Mungo's hospital, and killed the aurors Longbottem who were insane from the cruciatus curse. This had been some twisted way to honour the loyal four death eaters who had attempted to find him all those years ago, and landed themselves in azkaban for the long haul. One who had received the dementors kiss. Harry remembered clearly the vow Voldemort had made that night, to free those of his loyal supporters in Azkaban, it made him shudder with fright for the terror he had released on the wizarding world he had once so loved.
Being awake was only slightly better than being asleep, after all the memories still played over and over, but he could at least make attempts to block them out when awake, asleep he was at their mercy.
This summer the Dursleys saw fit to feed him twice a day, usually cold food, unappealing, but Harry couldn't have cared less, if it had been from a five star restaurant he wouldn't have touched it, all food was sent back uneaten. Harry just couldn't be bothered to eat, he didn't deserve to either, or so he thought. No he just sat there on the floor, at least twenty hours a day, either thinking about the wizarding world, else day dreaming of ways in which to be dead.
So far he had come up with slitting his wrists; unfeasible, he had no sharp objects. Overdosing, but on what? Hanging; but how? Jumping from a great height; but even if he could open his window the most damage jumping out of it would inflict would be a broken leg. A curse; but he didn't know how to use Avada Kedavra, in any case that would have bothered him, as it was the way his parents were murdered, and just reminded him how his mum had died for him. No he would not think of that, he hadn't asked her too after all.
Over the long hot days he tried to think of other ways to kill himself, he sat on worn carpet, sweating in the sun, just fantasising of his own demise, how would it feel to run a knife through his arms, or jump of the highest tower at Hogwarts. After considerable musings he decided that these were the two options which were most appealing, and spent days from there on working out plans on making these things happen smoothly, asking questions like whether he would write a note to let them know what happened, or sometimes musing about who if anyone would miss him. He came up with the answer that not many would, after all he had seen no owls even attempt to deliver a message to him. The only human contact he had was his aunt letting him use the bathroom day and night. This suited his sombre mood.
One day, unexpectedly Harry's door opened at what he could tell was early morning, his uncle came in, and Harry had not seen his uncle since he was left in his room.
'Get up boy, its time to take you back to that freak school of yours, I wouldn't bother, but you cost us a fortune to feed, and you don't even eat it, ungrateful brat, Get Up!' his uncle yelled.
Was it September 1st already? Harry didn't know the day, he hadn't kept track, he supposed he must be fifteen then, to him it may as well still be June, the time in his room seemed timeless, and this was a startling entrance back in to the real world that Harry wasn't ready for. He could have cried, but he still cared enough not to do that in front of his uncle. So he got to his matchstick legs and followed his uncle, who thrust a trunk at him, nearly knocking his frail body to the ground.
Harry had not eaten the entire summer, save a piece of burned toast some time ago, when his stomach felt so terrible it tore him apart. Nowadays he just didn't get hungry, and he enjoyed the empty feeling and gurgling noises that came from his stomach, it was soothing. The downside to this was that he was drastically underweight, and people would notice, and that would not do just yet, they would worry and fuss, not an option.
In the car Harry worried on this matter, and decided that he would attempt to hide on the train and perform that concealing charm Mcgonagall had gone through last year, he just hoped he was good enough at magic, he had a feeling that as his body was drained, his magic might be weak too.
When they got out of the car, his uncle had thrust his trunk at him yet again, with the warning to be sure to tell his 'freak people' that he had been given food, and it was him who hadn't eaten it. In other words the truth, but Harry had no intention of letting them have a need to ask.
