Content Warning: Nothing about this story is rated less than M, this chapter included. This story flirts with some very dark themes and is generally not suitable for younger audiences. If detailed violence of any kind, explicit language, or sexual content offends you, do us both a favor and find something else to read. Thanks!
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Jk Rowling owns everything.
Author's Note: Hello! I realize my chapter posting schedule is not going at all as planned. So, unfortunately, let's go with a bi-weekly update plan. I'm sorry, but I'm just too flippin' busy to get the chapters out on time. Anyway, I love you, all of you. You guys are wonderful and amazing. I want to let you all know that I do read all of your reviews and enjoy all of the feedback and thoughts and ideas you have for this story. I don't usually respond to reviews, which I'm sure some of you have noticed. This is for a number of reasons, the most important being that I'm much too tempted to spoil the whole story to anyone who asks the right questions. But, there was one general concern with the last chapter that I feel I need to answer. It was not the last chapter, not by far. Harry and the rest still have a ways to go. So, in short, no my friemds this is only the beginning. Stay tuned and enjoy :)
Fuck long author's notes, am I right?
Chapter 4: Homeward At Last
Nothing about Harry's state indicated that he had died. He felt one hundred percent alive, but as if in he were in some sort of fog. His brain was drowsy and didn't want to break through unconsciousness, but Harry fought against it, feeling frustrated by his inability to move. Glimpses of Pansy's knife jutting from his torso banged around Harry's mind. He began to panic, his paralysis an unwelcome reminder of his terrible past. An irksome beeping escalated in the distance and Harry felt his brow furrow. With a huge effort, he opened his eyes and stared at the blurred ceiling above. Sucking in sharp breaths through his nose, he found the pain in his ribs had mysteriously disappeared. Glancing about himself through cloudy vision, he saw the shape of what he desired resting on a bedside table. Unthinkingly, Harry reached with his right arm and snatched his glasses. Even without proper eyes, he couldn't miss the huge, white bandage wrapped snuggly around his arm.
The realization of what he had done flooded over him like a tidal wave, nearly crushing him beneath its pressure. With a weight in his chest, Harry took note of his actions and how they would be considered. This was, for all intents and purposes, a suicide attempt. What would happen to him now? Would Dumbledore have him sent back to St. Mungo's for psychiatric care? Harry shuddered away the thought. He couldn't bare the idea of having to spend more time in that hospital under the constant eyes of mediwitches. Though, as Harry gazed around the room, it became instantly clear that he was in a Muggle hospital. His heart clenched; perhaps he'd be forced to go to a Muggle mental institution where they'd treat him like he was as fragile as an egg and stuff him full of Muggle drugs.
The door to his room clicked open and Albus Dumbledore strode inside. Both panic and a surprising amount of annoyance began to battle behind his ribs. Harry was beginning to feel sick of his headmaster's prying fingers toying with his life.
"Harry," the man said softly, "What are you doing?" The question seemed clearly rhetorical, though Harry wouldn't have answered regardless. Instead, he fixed his eyes on the bandages wrapped around his arm and subconsciously pressed his lips tighter together.
"I'm checking you out of the hospital. Normally, there's a seventy-two hour lockdown on suicide attempts, but I convinced them that you're a special case." Dumbledore didn't look happy that 'convincing' the hospital staff was necessary in the first place. Meanwhile, Harry wondered where he was going now. Anywhere had to be better than the Dursleys, he decided.
"After a long talk with your aunt and uncle," Dumbledore said, plucking the thought from Harry's head, "They've agreed to let you go back and stay with them until the end of the summer holidays."
As the words sunk into Harry's still sluggish mind, Dumbledore appeared to be much farther away than he should have been. Harry felt as if Dumbledore had simply pressed a pillow over Harry's face as if it were nothing at all. The heart monitor gave away his emotions, the beeping accelerating noticeably. Harry glared at his bandage, mortified by the way his body betrayed him.
"It's where you will be safest, Harry. I beseech you to understand that," Dumbledore murmured, his critical eyes appraising the heart monitor with subdued curiosity. Harry was decided. He didn't care about his own safety. He didn't care about anything. Harry was going to end his own life and no one was going to stop him.
Dumbledore strode to the door, only to hesitate before it, his hand on the knob. "Anymore reckless acts like this one, Harry, and you may not be so lucky. Had they tried to revive you with their...what do they call them...defibrillators, well, let's just say electricity does strange things to a wizard's body." Dumbledore left on that note, the door closing with a click behind him.
Harry gazed at the pea green curtains covering a large window. He'd never felt so far from life, so desolate, so lonely. No one must care enough to take him out of this bad situation. Harry had accepted the lack of love in his life long ago. However, why was it suddenly so much harder to face in light of everything that happened? The Dursleys should seem like child's play in comparison to what he'd been through. It was a question he couldn't answer, a question he could never answer due to his lack of a proper family. Harry leaned his head back against his pillow and began to fantasize about getting out of this place so he could try again. He'd gotten so close this time. Perhaps if he actually intended to die next time he'd be successful.
The door banged loudly open and a large black dog barged into the room. Harry jumped, startled, and gazed at the dog, his eyes widening when he realized who he was looking at. Not seconds after the dog's appearance, however, was Dumbledore strolling into the room on his tail. In one fluid motion the Hogwarts headmaster had closed the door with a sharp snap and began waving his wand, shielding the room from listening Muggles. When Harry's eyes returned to the dog, it had disappeared and standing in its place was a man he knew well. Sirius Black, clad in nothing but a loose pair of slacks and a large overcoat, was glaring furiously at Dumbledore.
"I've stood behind you on almost everything, Dumbledore. But, this...this is where I put my foot down!" Sirius said, his eyes burning with conviction. Professor Dumbledore glanced quickly at Harry who stared intently at his godfather with near rapture. Sirius went on, pacing animatedly around the room, "He needs to be with people who love him, Dumbledore. Did you hear what that Muggle mediwitch said? He had a broken rib! His face is bruised. Harry doesn't need anymore torture, blood protection be damned!" Sirius was fuming and Harry felt a twitch of gratification in his chest.
Once again, Dumbledore glanced at Harry, before heaving a great sigh. "The boy needs to be safe, Sirius. He is in grave danger now more than ever. Harry may just be our last hope."
With his heart clenching, Harry noted that he had no hope to give anyone.
"He's going to kill himself before Voldemort even gets to him. He's safest with people who want to protect him. Those Muggles could give two shits if Harry dies."
The headmaster's nostril twitched. Between tight lips he muttered, "You're not his family, Sirius."
"The hell I'm not!" Sirius roared. "I'm more family to him than that giraffe's pinky toe!" Harry almost had an urge to smile in response to Sirius's comparison of Aunt Petunia.
Dumbledore pinched the bridge of his nose, and Harry realized how uncharacteristic it was of him to show frustration. He turned to Harry then, who immediately sunk further into the mattress under his glare. "Wouldn't you rather be safe, Harry?"
Scoffing mentally at his headmaster, Harry glanced at Sirius who stared back at him. Closing his eyes, he suddenly began to feel very overwhelmed by the conversation. His lack of cooperation only fueled the men to argue further, however. Wringing his hands together, Harry attempted to block out the sounds of heated conversation. His mind drifted to the only safe place it knew anymore: Hermione. Where was she now? Was she well? He hoped fervently that she was at least doing better than him. The drone of the dispute faded into the background and Harry imagined sitting with Hermione on the edge of the Black Lake, joking and laughing about school things; although, Hermione would probably demand he quiz her on her rune memorization instead. He almost smiled at the thought.
"Harry," Sirius said, grasping his shoulder gently, "Just nod if you want to live with me, shake your head if you want to go with your aunt and uncle."
Heart pounding against his chest, Harry stared at Sirius with wide, terrified eyes at being so put on the spot. He wasn't sure why, but the thought of even communicating with anyone made his throat dry up and his stomach churn. All thoughts of suicide aside, Harry had wanted nothing more than to live with Sirius since his third year. This was his chance to convey this. In a huge effort, Harry swallowed back his nerves and sighed deeply from his nose. Then, with tightly shut eyes, he nodded. Sirius let out a lengthy breath before a wide smile broke across his face. Harry forced his lips upward in response. The motion felt awkward and wrong, but Sirius seemed elated from the gesture.
"There you have it then!" Sirius beamed toward the headmaster, his hands clapping together in triumph.
Dumbledore's nostrils flared. "Fine. But if he dies, Sirius, the weight of the wizarding world =is on your hands."
He left the room.
There was an uncomfortable silence, at least from Sirius's perspective, that followed. He glanced at Harry, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, and said, "Thanks for giving me a chance, Harry. I..." Sirius steeled himself for a moment, determining himself to say, "I'll never be able to fully comprehend what you went through, but there are terrors in my past as well. If you are able to...you're more than welcome to talk to me about anything. And, I actually brought you something." He fidgeted inside of his coat pocket, withdrawing a small notebook and an inkless quill. Pressing his lips together nervously, he handed Harry the items. Harry looked at them, taking them with shaking hands, while his eyes lifted to the soft expression across his godfather's face. He bit his lip. Thoughtful and kind these gifts were, the significance of them were lost. They instead filled him with a sense of longing for Hermione who would cherish these items much more than he.
"I thought..." Sirius choked, breaking Harry off his train of thought, "I thought if you couldn't speak...well, you could write."
Understanding clicked in his head at once and Harry pushed the book and quill back at Sirius. With the color draining from his face, he shook his head roughly. He did not want any part of what happened to him documented in any way, shape, or form.
Sirius, however, pushed Harry's hands back to his lap and did not take the gifts back. "You don't have to write about what happened," he said firmly, "But maybe you could write notes about what's going on in your head. And if you want to share them, fine! If not, then I understand. This is a gift meant to let yourself out of your head a little without having to talk."
It was an unbearably kind thing of Sirius to do, Harry couldn't deny. But, that didn't change the fact that he felt dubiously at best toward writing his thoughts. Written words were even more permanent than spoken ones and he had made a vow to himself that he wouldn't communicate to anyone. That wasn't true. Harry had made a vow that he wouldn't speak to anyone. And writing wasn't speaking...right?
The heart monitor started beeping furiously again while Harry deliberated. Sirius waited patiently, taking a seat by his side. He moved to take Harry's left hand but several tubes were connected to a large needle protruding from the inside of his elbow and the heart monitor was connected to his finger. A shadow darkened Sirius's face at the sight of the unfamiliar medicinal methods.
"I need to get you out of here," he said suddenly.
Harry nodded again, this time much more eagerly. Sirius gave a fleeting smile, before standing and walking towards the door.
"Dumbledore will be back soon, I expect. He's already Confunded those bizarre healers into believing you're allowed to check out today." Sirius wrung his hands together, before opening the door a crack, peering outside for several moments. Harry watched his every move, trying to quell his fear that Sirius would leave him alone in this place.
"I see him," he whispered, securing the door with gentle force. Harry breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the door click shut and Sirius returned to his side. "Dumbledore was at the front desk talking to one of those mediwitches. He'll probably be back soon to let you come home with me," Sirius said with an eager smile.
Harry's fingers twitched as he glowered at the notebook. So many questions were rushing through his mind, but he was trapped, unable to ask them. Sirius seemed to realize where Harry's thoughts had gone. Snatching up the notebook, he pressed it into his godson's chest, his eyes wide and beseeching.
Once again, Sirius correctly read Harry's burning expression. "You can rip up the pages when you finish," he said, "Or burn them, even. Here." He pulled a metal lighter from his pocket and gave it to him. "You can't do magic outside of school, so you can get rid of your notes with this. Just, please, talk to me, Harry. I know you know you can trust me."
Harry did trust Sirius, but that wasn't the problem. He couldn't break his silence. A sudden, unexpected urge to punch something had his hands squeezing into fists. He shut his eyes, the rhythm of his heart on display for both of them.
"I'm not forcing you, Harry," Sirius whispered, his face disfigured from misery, "I just want to help, but I can't unless you communicate to me what you're thinking."
Harry saw red. His hands snatched up the notebook and opened it to the first page; his movements were rough and violent. Sirius watched with a careful expression.
With the inkless quill, in furiously quick strokes, through the stinging pain of his self mutilation, Harry wrote four words in large script: 'You cannot help me.' With trembling hands, he ripped the page from the book and then proceeded to tear it into fine, tiny pieces. Strangely out of breath, Harry turned his wild, emerald eyes on Sirius trying to convey how badly he wished to no longer exist. The pieces of his shredded note felt like a weight in his clutched fist. Sirius seemed perplexed by Harry's furious actions, but it didn't deter him in the slightest. In fact, he seemed to take it as a success.
"Look, Harry. This pain you're feeling goes away. Not all the way, I won't lie to you. But, it does get better. You learn how to live with those terrible things playing over and over again in your mind. You learn to block them out. You still have so much to live for, so much to do and try and see. I want to help you with all of those things. I want to be there and talk you through it," Sirius murmured. His eyes were fierce, burning his compassion into Harry's mind.
Another sigh rushed from Harry's lips, his head falling forward and his eyes sliding shut. It was true there had been things, long ago, in another life that Harry wanted to experience. But that was stripped from him in the dungeons of his home. He didn't think it possible, regardless, that Sirius could help him in anyway. Sirius opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by the door opening. His eyes snapped to Dumbledore entering Harry's room.
Dumbledore spoke directly to Harry, "You're free to leave as soon as your transfusion is complete." He pointed a long, bony finger at the tubes connecting Harry's arm to a nearly empty bag of clear liquid. "At which time, a nurse will be in to get you ready to go home. Are you positive you do not wish to return to your aunt and uncle's, Harry?"
Harry looked at Sirius. He knew it would be much harder to take his own life while living at Grimmauld Place. He was sure Sirius would keep a very watchful eye on him. Though Harry had decided moments before that it was best to die, he nodded curtly at Dumbledore in full awareness of these facts. Perhaps he was not as ready to leave this world as he thought.
Dumbledore addressed Sirius then, "You'd best run along now. You wouldn't want the nurses calling their law enforcement officers on you. I can bring him to Grimmauld Place."
Sirius transformed into the great, black dog again and took a meaningful seat by Harry's side, for which Harry was grateful. True to the headmaster's words, the nurse entered Harry's room moments after the transfusion was complete. She kept sneaking odd glances at Professor Dumbledore while she removed the needle from Harry's arm.
"Dogs aren't allowed in this hospital," the nurse murmured, while eyeing Sirius affectionately, "But I'll make an exception for you, lad. You seem like you need the company." Her eyes were back to analyzing Dumbledore with mild concern, as if she feared Harry wasn't safe with him.
When she finished, Harry was free to leave. Sirius trotted happily alongside him, his tail wagging furiously at everyone he walked past. Acting as his opposite, Harry kept his hood pulled over his head and his face down away from any and all curious glances. He didn't show it, but the relief in his chest was real. He could feel it washing over him like a warm and even stream of water, while he tried and failed to comprehend how much gall it must have taken to stand up to the Albus Dumbledore. When they were outside, Dumbledore frowned at them.
"I leave you here. There is, of course, much I have to do." His voice had lost the harshness of the argument straining it minutes ago; his eyes were still somber, however, as they turned to Harry. "I hope you find peace this summer. I'm afraid your sixth year may be the biggest of your life. Be safe, Harry." With a furtive glance around himself, Dumbledore disapparated.
The two males shared a look before Padfoot was off, taking long strides down the pavement, his claws clicking ominously against the sidewalk with every step. It was a black night. With his stomach flipping nervously, Harry realized he had no idea how long he'd been in the hospital for. The street was scattered with a few pedestrians, though not many vehicles were in sight sans for an occasional ambulance heading to or from the hospital.
Padfoot began to speed up, breaking into a quick trot. Harry struggled to catch up, the pain in his left leg flaring. Each step had him fearing the delicate bone would give out and snap. His heart pounding, sweat gathering along his hairline, breath whooshing out of his mouth, Harry watched the foggy, evening streets of London transform into four stone walls in the castle of his school.
With trembling fingers, Harry clutched his right arm carefully avoiding the tender and scabbing flesh perfectly resembling the letter T. His head rested against the hard wall behind him, sucking in sharp breaths between his teeth. A high, metallic clank rang in Harry's ears, startling him to gaze in the direction of the thick iron door sealing his cell. Argus Filch poked his head inside.
"Pst, you, boy," he hissed, his eyes wide and dangerous. Harry stared at him, his green eyes betraying his dislike for the caretaker. Filch paid his expression no mind. "Come with me if you want to live."
Harry was rooted to the ground, unable to move. Was this some sort of trick? Filch sighed.
"I won't do nothing to you," he said, "But we don't got much time. You have to hurry."
By this point, Harry knew the reward greatly outweighed the risk in this situation. Standing to his feet, he edged toward the open door. Harry stepped over the threshold, bracing for the blow. It never came. Instead, Filch was grasping his shoulder with earnest while his eyes darted up and down the hallway.
"Listen here," he whispered, "Get to the Three Broomsticks and ask Rosemerta to use her floo. Don't stop moving, not for anything."
Harry stared at him with wide eyes, the rhythm of his heart pounding in his ears. Could this really be happening? Was Filch really setting him free? He had no time to wonder, but his questions were answered shortly regardless. He sprinted down the hallway - faster than he'd ever ran in his life - his bare feet producing hardly any sound along the dark corridor. Wind whipped through his hair, dirty with sweat, oil, and blood. His muscles were tired; he hadn't had a proper meal in weeks. His heart was pounding, anticipation lightening his battered spirit. Full of adrenaline, Harry pushed his legs as fast as they would move. The hallway began to brighten. Somehow, he moved faster. He jolted past Snape's classroom, up the stairs, into the Entrance Hall. The sun blinded him, but he kept moving. The vast double doors were in sight. A sudden thought had him freezing on the spot, however: Hermione. There was no way in hell he'd leave without her. He spun around.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
Harry collapsed to the floor, completely frozen. He'd fallen head first, the bridge of his nose snapping against the rocky ground beneath him. A boot clad foot hooked around his ribs and rolled him onto his back. Pansy Parkinson stared at him, her face expressionless.
"Stupid boy. You never should have stopped," she said, "No matter, I caught you in time. Lucky Umbridge has me on her side or you'd be long gone by now."
A small crowd of students had gathered around the two of them. Many were gasping Harry's name with either horror or relief. Behind the cloudy confines of blurry vision, Harry could make out none of their faces.
"Umbridge won't be happy about this, Harry," Pansy murmured softly. She stunned him; everything went black.
...
"Finite Incantatem!"
Harry gasped awake, his nose aching, dried blood clinging to his cheeks. His hands were bound and he took this as a very bad sign. Opening his eyes wasn't necessary to know where exactly he was.
Something cracked against his ribs and Harry jerked away from the sudden pain, finally pulling back his eyelids enough to see Umbridge's flats inches from his face. The skin of her feet bubbled over the edges of the dainty shoes, nauseating him at the sight.
"Get up," she barked. Harry did so with a tremor distorting his movements. Finally on his feet, he gazed into her eyes, not daring himself to blink...nor to allow his mind to wander. He knew what would happen and he knew it would hurt.
"Filch!" Umbridge barked. Harry blanched, swallowing quickly and ducking his head. Filch hobbled over, sweat gathering along his bald head.
"Can you tell me why Mr. Potter has escaped? Have I not explicitly assigned you as his guard?" she hissed between clenched teeth.
The color also drained from Filch's face and he spluttered, "Y-yes, ma'am. I was just doin' some moppin' and-"
"No!" she screeched, slapping him across the face, "Pansy Parkinson saw you let Mr. Potter out of his cell and run away. Quite lucky it was that she was there." Pansy smirked at Harry from behind Umbridge's right shoulder, her face glowing with conceit.
Umbridge grabbed Filch by the collar, and began to speak very menacingly. "If this boy gets out and they catch wind of what's really going on here, we're going to have a serious problem. And might I remind you how deeply you're involved in all this?"
"This is never what I wanted! This is torture, this is!" Filch roared, throwing Umbridge's hands from off his robes. "If they send me to Azkaban, fine! I deserve it for what we've done to this boy, and the rest of the students. I'm out!"
"Think again," Umbridge snarled, "It's you or him, Argus. Are you truly willing to sacrifice yourself for this good for nothing boy?"
"What do you mean?" he asked, his face loosing its conviction.
Umbridge grinned, sensing his weakness. Strolling around Filch, she grabbed Harry by the neck. She began to push him towards the wall, Harry struggling against her. Though she was nearly a foot shorter than he, her weight and his weakness gave her the advantage. Harry's black cotton clad back touched the wall behind him and he could feel the icy temperature even through the fabric. He continued to grab at Umbridge's fingers as he ran out of breath. The headmistress waved her wand; Harry's wrists unstuck themselves only to be clasped in the iron shackles hanging from the stone. She released his neck and Harry coughed.
"What I mean, Mr. Filch," Umbridge finally responded, "Is that I won't kill you if you help assure me that young Harry here will never try and escape again."
Filch's face grew even whiter. "K-kill me?" he gasped.
"Yes, kill you. You defied me. I have no interest in those who stab me in the back. However, I will allow you to live if you just do me one small favor."
Filch gave her a long look, his face screwing up as if he were trying to interpret ancient runes. Ultimately, he said, "What's the favor?"
"Smart man," she said. Umbridge strolled to a long table and retrieved what could only be described as a sledge hammer. Harry clenched his jaw again and again, not allowing himself to wonder what she was going to do with it. Umbridge handed the hammer to Filch.
"Break his leg."
"What?" he whimpered.
"He can't run away if his leg is broken. So break his leg," she commanded.
Filch looked at Harry, then back at Umbridge. His face becoming more stricken by the moment, he said, "You won't kill me if I do this?" Umbridge nodded, grinning. He lifted the hammer. Harry closed his eyes. The next thing he was aware of through the ringing silence was the sickening, horrible crunch and the agony that followed.
Harry's stomach lurched and someone's scream was piercing his ears. It took several moments before he realized it was his. Through a cloudy mist, Harry opened his eyes and saw Umbridge cut out Filch's tongue.
Harry found himself standing in an alley. Sirius was talking very seriously to him, seemingly completely unaware of what had just happened to him. His heart fell in his chest nervously as he realized he had no recollection of walking down this alley with Sirius. His leg ached but he was unsure if that was because of the running or that terrible flashback he'd just experienced.
"Harry?" Sirius said, finally registering the sweat on his face and the terrified, feral expression burning in his eyes.
Harry leaned against the wall, ignoring his godfather, and slid down to the slightly wet ground. Struggling to control his breath, Harry clutched his shoulders, squeezing himself.
"They...they really did a number on you...didn't they?" Sirius crouched low next to him. "The papers didn't tell us anything about what happened to you...just that something was happening. We had no way to get in touch with you. What really happened, Harry?"
Harry didn't answer, nor did he give any indication of registering Sirius's words. That was a conversation he'd never have. Instead he got to his feet and stared at the ground.
Sirius resigned himself to Harry's silence. "Come on, it's best we get going. Like I said, it's important that no one sees us. Could mean a lot of trouble if they know who I am," Sirius murmured and grasped Harry's forearm. With a lurch, they disappeared and then reappeared in front of twelve Grimmauld Place.
"Welcome home, Harry," Sirius smiled.
Thanks for reading. ~Charlie
