Disclaimer: don't own, don't sue
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Ron, I've been thinking," Hermione said.
"Well that's unusual." Hermione ignored his comment.
"There must've been a *reason* Snape and Dumbledore took Harry's potion away."
"Like what?"
"Well, I don't know... There must be some side effect or something."
"Like what?"
"I don't *know,* we haven't covered side effects in potions yet."
"He must've really needed it, though, it he went off and got it like that."
"Probably true. Hey, I have an idea. Let's Cheering Charm him. You can do that whenever he wakes up so he won't get more potion very often, because we don't know what it does to him." Ron nodded in agreement.
A few days later, Quidditch practices began. Hermione got Harry to go by discreetly Cheering Charming him from behind a book. She looked at her watch, knowing the charm would wear off in about an hour, and the she or Ron would need to perform again to prevent the obvious consequences.
Harry was the new Quidditch captain, because he was a fifth year, the same age many people are when they become captain, and had the enthusiasm and natural talent required. With the effects of the cheering charm, he was thrilled.
Hermione the prefect left the common room almost an hour later, to find a window from which the quidditch pitch was visible to renew the cheering charm. She went rather than Ron because she was a prefect and no questions would be asked.
They were secretely relieved but not surprised when Harry came back into the common room and told them the good news.
"That's great, Harry!" said Hermione.
"Hey, think I could get on the team?" asked Ron. Harry grinned. It was a sight unseen for months.
"Maybe. You should try out."
"I will."
Harry sat up in bed, breathing heavily, woken from a dream in a flash of green light.
What have I done? He felt chilled, and sick. He groaned and sat up in bed. He shivered. He hung his head and wallowed in despair. He hated watching people being tortured and murdered, and knew all of it was his fault. He rubbed his aching scar.
What have I done? he thought again. I don't deserve to live...
He sat there like that for a long while. Then, suddenly, a most peculiar thing happened. Voldemort... the dreams... didn't seem very important anymore. Harry's whole mood became... cheerful. It was odd. Harry couldn't figure it out, but he was too happy to really care at the moment. He'd try to figure it out later. He decided to go back to sleep.
Again Harry sat up in bed, panting.
Oh, Cedric. I'm so sorry I dragged you into this and got you killed. What have I done? It's all my fault.
Voldemort's returned... with my blood. His return is my fault. Harry felt sick. Oh, I can't stand this. He held his head in his hands. I killed Cedric. I brought Voldemort back. I killed all those people. He reached for his pocketknife and opened it up. He didn't really know what to do next. He only thought, "Where no one can see." He decided on rolling up his sleeve and cutting his upper arm. The pain shot through him and seeped into him as the blood ran down his arm. It was such terribly wonderful pain and he became nothing but the pain for all to short a while. It was comforting.
Harry spent a lot of time the next few days researching potions in the library. Specifically, dreamless sleeping potions.
The Draught of Living Death. That one might be nice. Just sleep and sleep and sleep... Actual death would be better, though. That would have a better chance at solving my problems. With the Draught I would wake up sometime... and it would still be the same. But with death, I could be free. There would be none of this, I'd be with my parents, the world would be rid of me.... He sighed, and kept looking through the books. He eventually checked out a few. Madam Pince looked at him suspiciously. Does she suspect anything? He hid the books under his bed to the baby-sitters(Ron and Hermione) wouldn't find them.
"Hey Harry," said Fred in the locker rooms at Quidditch practice, "what happened to you?"
"What?"
"Your arms." Harry looked at his arms. Damn.
"Oh! Dudley pushed me down the stairs," he lied quickly. Come to think of it, Dudley *had* pushed him down the stairs before, but not since knowing he was a wizard. That was a good lie, I told, and very quick, too, he thought to his cheering-charmed self.
Harry found himself, much to his disgust, in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. However, much to his relief, she was ignoring him. He was sitting on a seat, a book propped open on his lap, trying to decide which potion to make. He could go for the good, ordinary dreamless sleep potion. Or, he could try something more original.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Ron, I've been thinking," Hermione said.
"Well that's unusual." Hermione ignored his comment.
"There must've been a *reason* Snape and Dumbledore took Harry's potion away."
"Like what?"
"Well, I don't know... There must be some side effect or something."
"Like what?"
"I don't *know,* we haven't covered side effects in potions yet."
"He must've really needed it, though, it he went off and got it like that."
"Probably true. Hey, I have an idea. Let's Cheering Charm him. You can do that whenever he wakes up so he won't get more potion very often, because we don't know what it does to him." Ron nodded in agreement.
A few days later, Quidditch practices began. Hermione got Harry to go by discreetly Cheering Charming him from behind a book. She looked at her watch, knowing the charm would wear off in about an hour, and the she or Ron would need to perform again to prevent the obvious consequences.
Harry was the new Quidditch captain, because he was a fifth year, the same age many people are when they become captain, and had the enthusiasm and natural talent required. With the effects of the cheering charm, he was thrilled.
Hermione the prefect left the common room almost an hour later, to find a window from which the quidditch pitch was visible to renew the cheering charm. She went rather than Ron because she was a prefect and no questions would be asked.
They were secretely relieved but not surprised when Harry came back into the common room and told them the good news.
"That's great, Harry!" said Hermione.
"Hey, think I could get on the team?" asked Ron. Harry grinned. It was a sight unseen for months.
"Maybe. You should try out."
"I will."
Harry sat up in bed, breathing heavily, woken from a dream in a flash of green light.
What have I done? He felt chilled, and sick. He groaned and sat up in bed. He shivered. He hung his head and wallowed in despair. He hated watching people being tortured and murdered, and knew all of it was his fault. He rubbed his aching scar.
What have I done? he thought again. I don't deserve to live...
He sat there like that for a long while. Then, suddenly, a most peculiar thing happened. Voldemort... the dreams... didn't seem very important anymore. Harry's whole mood became... cheerful. It was odd. Harry couldn't figure it out, but he was too happy to really care at the moment. He'd try to figure it out later. He decided to go back to sleep.
Again Harry sat up in bed, panting.
Oh, Cedric. I'm so sorry I dragged you into this and got you killed. What have I done? It's all my fault.
Voldemort's returned... with my blood. His return is my fault. Harry felt sick. Oh, I can't stand this. He held his head in his hands. I killed Cedric. I brought Voldemort back. I killed all those people. He reached for his pocketknife and opened it up. He didn't really know what to do next. He only thought, "Where no one can see." He decided on rolling up his sleeve and cutting his upper arm. The pain shot through him and seeped into him as the blood ran down his arm. It was such terribly wonderful pain and he became nothing but the pain for all to short a while. It was comforting.
Harry spent a lot of time the next few days researching potions in the library. Specifically, dreamless sleeping potions.
The Draught of Living Death. That one might be nice. Just sleep and sleep and sleep... Actual death would be better, though. That would have a better chance at solving my problems. With the Draught I would wake up sometime... and it would still be the same. But with death, I could be free. There would be none of this, I'd be with my parents, the world would be rid of me.... He sighed, and kept looking through the books. He eventually checked out a few. Madam Pince looked at him suspiciously. Does she suspect anything? He hid the books under his bed to the baby-sitters(Ron and Hermione) wouldn't find them.
"Hey Harry," said Fred in the locker rooms at Quidditch practice, "what happened to you?"
"What?"
"Your arms." Harry looked at his arms. Damn.
"Oh! Dudley pushed me down the stairs," he lied quickly. Come to think of it, Dudley *had* pushed him down the stairs before, but not since knowing he was a wizard. That was a good lie, I told, and very quick, too, he thought to his cheering-charmed self.
Harry found himself, much to his disgust, in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. However, much to his relief, she was ignoring him. He was sitting on a seat, a book propped open on his lap, trying to decide which potion to make. He could go for the good, ordinary dreamless sleep potion. Or, he could try something more original.