Chapter 19: Friends Like These
Things didn't get easier after the interview.
Harry had hoped that telling his story would give him some measure of freedom. He had hoped it would help him forget.
It didn't.
Talking about the graveyard had only made his nightmares worse, horrifying and visceral. He saw visions of blood and death in a never-ending cycle of violence. His father, his mother, and Cedric died over and over again, their screams echoing for hours after he awoke.
By Tuesday he had stopped sleeping almost entirely. He spent his nights under his invisibility cloak in the Restricted Section of the library, looking for information on the locket and the tiara.
He had been completely unsuccessful. There was nothing in any of the books that matched the properties of either object. He wondered if the Black Library might have more information. Harry was positive that this was the darkest kind of magic. Probably far too dark for the Hogwarts library.
He was feeling increasingly terrified of the mysterious objects. He could feel their hold on him growing stronger. He found himself being drawn to them, needing to touch them, needing to be near them.
It was just one more burden that he couldn't share.
Harry knew that his friends were worried about him.
They were right to be worried. He was a mess, jittery and anxious. He wasn't eating or talking very much. He was withdrawn and constantly on edge.
No matter how hard he tried to pretend, it just wasn't good enough. Harry had spent years putting on an act, but he just couldn't do it anymore. Something was wrong with him.
Something was seriously wrong.
It wasn't just the nightmares or the flashbacks. It was the way his scar kept bleeding, dropping red rivers down his pale face. It was the locket and the tiara, corrupting his mind slowly while he was powerless to stop it.
It was everything.
Harry had never felt closer to giving up. Some days he wanted to leave Hogwarts, go back to his cupboard, and forget. At least at the Dursleys no one expected anything from him. He wasn't THE Harry Potter. He was just the freak under the stairs.
He still managed to go to class, do his homework, and go to Quidditch practice. He still got up each day like everything was fine, but he couldn't hide his state of mind from those closest to him.
Hermione kept sneaking him worried glances in class and whispering to Ron when she thought he couldn't hear. Ron kept trying to feed him, piling his plate full at every meal. Luna gave him some radishes for a reason Harry hadn't quite understood, and Neville kept putting Chocolate Frogs on his bedside table.
Harry wished they would stop.
He knew they meant well, but their attention only succeeded in making him feel guilty. They shouldn't be spending so much time on him. He simply wasn't worth it.
He kept trying to pull back from them, isolating himself in the Room of Requirement and avoiding meals.
They simply wouldn't let him go.
No matter how much he tried to avoid them, they just kept trying. He loved them for it, and it made him hate himself all the more. He hated that he was making them feel like this. He was hurting them with his distance, but he didn't know how to stop. He couldn't stop the feeling that if he didn't keep his distance, they would pay for it with their lives.
They were such good people. They were so much better than him. He was a liar and a killer, a curse on everyone. He owed it to them to free them of the danger his friendship brought.
Deep down, Harry knew he was being an idiot. He knew that he needed his friends. He wouldn't survive long without them. But knowing that he was acting like an idiot didn't help him stop the feelings. Knowing his thoughts were irrational didn't make them feel any less real. Every time he saw his friends, all he could see were their dead faces, the life drained out of them.
It was torture.
He avoided them as much as he could, staying away from the Great Hall and the Common Room.
He could see the hurt in their eyes.
He knew they were better off without him.
It wouldn't be long before they realized it too.
He was a conflicted mess. He wanted to be with his friends more than anything. He wanted to talk to them and ask them to please help him before he completely lost his mind. On the other hand, he was terrified of putting them in danger.
He needed help.
His mind was like fractured glass, sharp and broken. His thoughts were betraying him, painting reality with terrors that weren't there.
He needed help.
He didn't know how to ask for it.
He just couldn't get the words out.
He pulled himself together as much as he could and just kept going. He ignored the sleep deprivation and the moments where he forgot how to breathe. He taught Defense sessions with a smile, hiding how much he wanted to disappear. He caught the Snitch at Quidditch practice, answered questions in class, and turned in flawless homework.
He tried to forget that he spent his nights in the Library, searching for some way to contain the Dark Magic that was invading his head. He tried to forget that he had never felt more alone.
Nearly two weeks after the interview with Magical Monthly, his friends seemed to have accepted that he needed space. They still sat with him whenever he showed up in the Great Hall, but they didn't try to make him talk. Hermione kept up her usual comforting banter, Ron continued his attempts to feed him, and Neville was just a comforting presence.
Harry had stopped trying to physically avoid them when he had realized that they simply weren't having it. He kept his silence as best he could, hoping that they would get tired of him soon enough. Everyone did eventually.
It was only a matter of time.
The one person who didn't seem to accept his desire for space was George. He was too stubborn and too observant. He was the one person Harry feared would never let him go.
Harry refused to engage with George beyond basic pleasantries, ignoring the ache in his heart when he saw the anger and hurt in George's eyes. He didn't yet understand that being around Harry was dangerous. He still saw the good in Harry that hadn't been there for a long time.
Harry knew that he was acting irrationally, cruelly even. He wanted to stop. He wanted to just ask someone to help him.
He just didn't know how.
After deciding that his only hope was figuring out a way to contain the Dark Magic of the locket and the tiara, Harry spent hours desperately searching through the Restricted Section. It was on the evening of the second Founders' League meeting of October that Harry found his answer.
In a book on advanced Warding was a Rune sequence that would allow someone to contain a Dark Magical object within a secure space. Despite appearing in an advanced book, it was a fairly simple Ward. The Rune patterns required a lot of power, but were simple enough to draw. Harry had brought himself up to OWL-standard in Ancient Runes over the summer, and that knowledge would be sufficient for this Ward.
He copied the Rune sequence into his notebook before pulling on his invisibility cloak and leaving the library. He felt hopeful for the first time since the interview. Maybe containing the Dark Magic would help him stop acting like such a fool. Maybe he would finally be able to feel happy again.
Immediately after classes ended on Monday, Harry retrieved the locket, the tiara, and his broom from his dormitory and headed to his chosen location: The Chamber of Secrets. He had needed a place to hide these objects where no one could possibly find them.
Since he was the only one who could gain access to the Chamber, it was the perfect place.
After politely declining Myrtle's offer to share her toilet, Harry opened the sink and slid down the tunnel.
The Chamber was just as he remembered it: dark and dank. He tried not to look too hard at the decaying Basilisk carcass on the floor. After two years, it was a truly gruesome sight, all putrid flesh and old blood.
He settled himself in the far corner of the Chamber and pulled out a small knife. He carefully carved the circular series of seven Runes into the stone, taking care to get the shapes exactly right. Seven was quite a small number of Runes for a Ward, but this Ward had a very specific purpose: contain Dark Magic. It didn't need to be complicated.
The Runes were those for "power," "darkness," "evil," "protect," "capture," "contain," and "trap."
Once he had triple-checked his Runes, Harry took a deep breath, trying to prepare himself for the insanity of what he was about to try. The reason this Rune had been in the Restricted Section was that the power of the Dark Object could actually overcome the caster if they didn't have enough power. People had died using this Ward.
He placed the locket and the tiara in the center of the Rune Circle, feeling the familiar tugging in his scar as he released them from his hands. He set his wand to the central Rune and reached for his magic, letting it flow down his arm and into the Rune Circle.
Now that the Rune was activated, it would pull at his magic until the Ward was complete. If he didn't have enough power, he would die. There was nothing to do about it now.
He tried not to think about how long his body would rot here before anyone figured out what had happened.
His magic was being drained at an alarming pace, flowing down his arm in burning tendrils of power. As the Ward began to take effect, his scar suddenly exploded in the worst pain he had ever felt.
He was being torn apart.
His head was about to explode from the pressure. He couldn't hold back a scream of anguish as the ripping sensation spread to his chest, burning through his rib-cage. It was a hellish tug-of-war as the objects dug their tendrils deeper into him, struggling to hold on. He didn't know how long he sat there, hunched over his Rune Circle, shaking in pain. His magic was beginning to ebb, faltering in the face of this task.
Just when Harry thought he might be beyond saving, the Ward materialized around the objects, ending the connection.
Harry collapsed to the ground, trembling from pain and exhaustion. The burning in his scar had not yet faded, and he could still feel the hot blood on his face from where it had been bleeding.
It was with a great deal of effort that Harry got to his feet. It took nearly all his remaining strength to keep from falling over, but he managed to drape himself over his broom and fly up the tunnel into Myrtle's bathroom.
He cleaned the blood off his face, ignoring the fact that he looked like a corpse. He knew that he had just done something very stupid. He could've died down there. He could only imagine how angry Sirius and Remus would be if they knew what he'd just done.
He felt himself start to panic at that thought. He really was a terrible person. He knew it would kill Sirius if he died, and he had just played with his own life like it was nothing. There really was something wrong with him.
Once he had recovered a bit more, he cast a quick Tempus Charm. To his horror, it was nearly Midnight. He had been in the chamber for nearly 6 hours.
It was after curfew, and he hadn't brought his invisibility cloak.
Great.
Now he had to walk through the corridors in the middle of the night, carrying his broomstick over his shoulder.
He had made it most of the way back to the Tower when he ran into one of the last people he wanted to see at that moment: McManus.
Harry couldn't deal with this right now. He was absolutely wrecked, and he had practically no magic left. He kept his head down, trying to move past McManus.
McManus blocked his path.
"Look who's out after curfew," he said, gleefully.
"Who has Potter done in tonight? Another one of my friends?"
He looked right into McManus' face, a sudden rage burning in his veins.
"Leave me alone," He spat.
That was not the right thing to say.
In the dark hallway, Harry didn't see the fist coming at him until it was too late.
McManus was a big bloke, and he hit like one. The blow sent Harry smashing into the wall.
Before he could be hit again, Harry whipped his wand out, lit it, and turned back to face McManus. He was just in time to duck another punch.
He was angry at McManus, but he didn't want to hurt him. Harry understood why Cedric's friends would hate him. In fact, he almost agreed with them. He had been partially responsible for Cedric's death.
He ducked another punch, but failed to block the kick to his leg. His knee buckled and he dropped to the ground just in time for McManus to land another punch to his face.
Hoping that he had enough magic left for just this one spell, Harry pointed his wand at McManus.
"Petrificus Totalus."
McManus went stiff as a board and toppled to the ground.
The wave of exhaustion that passed over Harry was so intense that he had to grip onto the wall to pull himself back to a standing position.
Harry turned back to McManus. The spell would wear off in about 20 minutes which would give Harry plenty of time to get back to Gryffindor Tower.
He approached the older boy, needing to say this.
"Look, McManus. I-I know you think that I k-killed Cedric, but I d-didn't. It w-was my f-fault that he was there when V-Voldemort came back, but I never m-meant to hurt him. I just wanted him to take the Triwizard Cup with me. We were both going to win."
Harry took a gasping breath, finding it very hard to keep going.
"I understand if you're angry. I probably deserve it, but I'm really sorry he's dead. I w-wish it'd been m-me instead."
Despite the Full-Body Bind, Harry could see McManus' eyes widen at that last statement.
"I'll understand if you want to keep waiting for me like this, but I really wish you wouldn't. I'm really not worth the effort."
With that, Harry turned away and made his way back to Gryffindor Tower.
He had expected the Common Room to be empty.
It wasn't.
George was sitting by the fire, looking more dejected than Harry had ever seen him. His head snapped up when Harry entered, his expression morphing from sadness to anger before the Portrait Hole had even closed.
"What the hell happened to your face?"
Harry raised a hand to his face, trying to cover the split-lip and blossoming bruises he knew must be there.
"Nothing. I just ran into a wall."
"Don't. Lie."
"I'm not,"
Harry's breath was speeding up. He couldn't do this now. He was so tired.
"You are. You've been lying to all of us for weeks, trying to pretend you're fine when you look like you haven't slept in months."
"I'm fine, George! How many times do I have to tell you that?"
George was standing now, his face red with anger.
"UNTIL IT'S TRUE!" he shouted, his voice cracking.
"You look terrible, Harry. You clearly need help, and I don't know why you won't let us in. Let us help you!"
Harry took a step back from George, feeling as if the room was shrinking.
"I really can't do this now," He whispered, keeping his eyes pointed at the floor.
"You can't just ignore this, Harry. If someone hit you, that's important. You can't just ignore it."
Harry shook his head furiously.
"It doesn't matter."
"It DOES matter, Harry! If someone is hurting you, that MATTERS!"
"IT'S NEVER MATTERED BEFORE!"
It was out of his mouth before he could stop himself.
Silence fell. Neither one of them spoke.
"It does matter, Harry."
"It really doesn't, and I don't want to talk about this now."
"You NEVER want to talk about it, Harry. You have to talk to us!"
"I CAN'T!"
Harry didn't really know why he was shouting. Everything was too much. He was feeling too much.
"Harry…"
George reached out a hand, trying to take one of Harry's
"Don't touch me."
It came out as a growl, a desperate sound. George let his hand drop.
Before he could say anything else, harry pushed roughly past him and ran up the stairs to his dormitory. He collapsed fully-clothed onto his bed, shaking badly. He kicked off his shoes, closed the curtains, and buried himself under the covers.
Harry spent the whole night awake, trying to erase George's devasted expression from his memory.
Harry didn't go to breakfast the next day. He couldn't handle being around his friends right now. He had acted like such a freak last night. George had probably figured out what a mistake knowing him had been.
Harry arrived late to Transfiguration, sliding into a seat beside Blaise. The Slytherin gave him a very odd look. Harry guessed it was because he had woken that morning with a lovely black eye to match his dark mood.
To his shock, Professor McGonagall didn't take any points. She simply stopped by his desk and quietly told him to meet her in her office at 7 that night. Harry nodded stiffly, just wanting her to go away.
Harry wasn't sure how he made it through the day. By Potions, the last class of the afternoon, he was barely standing. He felt spent.
He had no energy left.
No emotion.
He felt almost dead.
Even Snape seemed to sense his mood. The professor didn't insult him once during the entire class.
Harry didn't even care.
He skipped dinner, spending his time in the Library doing homework for Binns' class. At ten minutes to seven, Harry grabbed his bag and headed to McGonagall's office.
She was waiting for him, sitting behind her desk with an incredibly determined expression. Harry was surprised to see a steaming bowl of soup and a glass of pumpkin juice sitting at the seat across from her.
She gestured for him to sit. He did so, still incredibly confused by the food.
He just sat there, awkwardly fiddling with his tie, trying not to meet her eyes.
"Eat, Potter."
He started at the command, nearly knocking the bowl of soup off the desk.
"Professor?"
"You weren't at dinner, and you can't afford to be missing any more meals than you already have. Eat."
Not wanting to cross Professor McGonagall, Harry picked up the spoon and started to eat.
She regarded him critically for a moment before she spoke.
"Tell me, Potter. Do you have Amnesia?"
"Um, No?"
He had absolutely no idea where she was going this.
"Then you must remember the conversation we had in my office several weeks ago. The conversation where you promised to ask for help if you needed it?"
Oh.
"Professor, I'm really fi…"
"If you even think about saying you're fine, Potter, I will take 1000 points from Gryffindor."
Harry stopped cold.
"You need help, Potter."
"I don…"
"You do."
McGonagall was looking at him with such understanding that Harry felt himself wanting to tell her everything.
"It's okay to need help, Harry."
Harry nodding, keeping his attention on his food so he didn't have to keep looking at her.
"Your Godfather struggled in a similar way when he was your age."
Harry jerked his head up, staring at her in disbelief.
"Really?"
"Yes. As I'm sure you gathered from meeting his mother's portrait, he didn't have the best situation at home."
Harry nodded. Mrs. Black was a nightmare.
"He sometimes struggled with his emotions. When that happened, he would come talk to me."
Harry was floored. He had never known this. Professor McGonagall gave a slight chuckle at his flabbergasted expression.
"I want you to do the same, Harry. You're clearly not very well right now, and you need someone looking out for your well-being."
Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"I would like you to come here every Tuesday and Thursday after dinner. You can tell me about your week, you can do homework, I can even help you with your progress in the Animagus transformation."
Harry choked on his mouthful of Pumpkin Juice. How did McGonagall know he was trying to become an Animagus?
"How…?"
"Your last essay had far more detail on the Animagus transformation than anyone else's. I had a hunch. You just confirmed it for me."
Harry blushed. It was a very good thing he wasn't a spy.
"Are you willing to meet with me, Harry? I really think it'll be good for you."
Harry knew she was probably right. And if it had helped Sirius, it couldn't be a bad thing.
"Alright," He murmured, hoping that she really could help him.
"I won't keep you for any longer tonight, you're clearly exhausted. We'll address that bruise on your face another day."
Harry brought his hand up to his face, trying to cover some of the damage.
"Right now, you need to sleep."
Harry shook his head almost unconsciously.
"I know you're not sleeping, Potter. Anyone with eyes could see it. I have a Dreamless Sleep Potion for you. Madame Pomfrey agreed with me that you needed one."
Harry suddenly felt very embarrassed. He had thought he'd done a better job of hiding how exhausted he was. Professor McGonagall seemed to sense his distress.
"There's nothing to be ashamed of, Harry. You've been through something terrible. This is a normal reaction. I know it doesn't feel that way, but there's nothing wrong with you."
Harry nodded. She was probably right. Professor McGonagall was pretty much always right.
"Before you go, I just wanted to ask you to please talk to your friends. I've gotten more visits from Ms. Granger and various Weasleys this week than I thought possible. They're all very worried about you. George Weasley was almost in tears, in fact."
Harry felt the guilt returning in waves. He was such a terrible friend.
"Talk to them. Even if it's just for my sake. Now, go to sleep! I don't want to have to tell your Godfather that I let you collapse on my watch."
Harry smiled a little.
"Thank you, Professor." He said, meaning it.
"You're very welcome, Harry."
He left her office and made his way back to the Common Room.
Ron, Hermione, Neville, Fred, and George were all sitting together in one corner of the room, clearly working on homework. Harry walked over to them on shaking legs, his heart hammering in his chest. He slid into an empty seat and pulled out his homework.
"I'm sorry." He said quietly.
They smiled at him, nothing but understanding in their faces.
Harry smiled back.
Around 11 pm, Ron and Neville headed to bed. Hermione and Fred followed shortly after, seeming to sense that George and Harry wanted to be alone.
"I'm sorry" He said again, trying not to look at George.
"I'm sorry too. I pushed you too far."
Harry shook his head, lifting his eyes to lock onto George's.
"It's not your fault. I'm just…I'm kinda messed up."
His voice cracked on the words.
George moved to sit next to Harry on the sofa, turning so that they were facing one another.
"That's not true."
"It is. I'm…I'm not really okay, George. I'm not sure I know how to be."
George reached out and took his hands, squeezing tightly.
"Then, we'll help you figure it out."
Harry shook his head, trying to stop himself from crying.
"I-I really think I might be broken. I don't know how to talk to people about stuff like this, and I'm just…I'm scared, George. All the time. I don't know if I can keep doing this."
Harry suddenly found himself being pulled into a hug. He leaned into it, resting his head on George's shoulder.
"It'll be okay, Harry. You're not alone."
Harry didn't know how long they stayed like that, but when they finally broke apart, Harry felt lighter than he had in weeks. He was still far from okay, but he no longer felt like he was sinking into a lake with no bottom.
He wasn't alone.
As he took the Dreamless Sleep Potion that night, Harry said a silent thank you to the universe for giving him friends like these.
A/N: Harry will have ups and downs with his mental health, but this chapter is definitely one of the darkest places he'll be in. He won't always be this despondent, but I really think he's been through too much to be completely fine all the time.
Next chapter will be a LOT fluffier. It's going to be my first attempt at writing a Quidditch Match (hopefully it's not too terrible). There will be more George, more McGonagall, AND the first real appearance of MALFOY!
Thank you so much to everyone who has commented, liked, or followed. You guys are the best! I love hearing from the people reading this fic SOOOOO MUCH!