Title: L' Estate di Suicidio
Author: Clynn
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me, and I'm not making any money off of them.
Author's Notes: That's right, another chapter already. I'm proud... Anyway, thank you all for your wonderful reviews (especially crockywock, who submitted 3 reviews since I posted the last chap...) and I hope you enjoy the new chapter. Also, several people have asked since I last posted this in chapters 5 and 10, so one more time, this particular story will not be slash. More angst for you in this chapter, enjoy and review.
Chapter 23
Screaming. A high pitched voice wracked with pain and terror. I blink and find the source of the voice, a girl, maybe 6 or 7, writhing on the floor. Her face is contorted in an agony I remember too well. A vision, then. Voldemort is out looking for fun. I try to run and help the girl, but it is no surprise to discover that I am unable to move. I look around, carefully cataloging everything I see in case it is of some use to Dumbledore. I try to ignore the pressure and heat rapidly building in my scar, making concentration difficult.
We are in a small house, definitely muggle. We must be in the den, there is a small television against one wall and a large fluffy sofa against the other. There is a small coffee table in the middle of the room, scattered with magazines and junk mail. One of them gives a London address, but I can't quite make out the street. My vision is blurring as the pain grows, and I know it is only a matter of time before I wake up screaming. I've avoided looking at the tortured girl for as long as I can. I need to be able to identify her if Dumbledore asks me to. Bracing myself, I stare down at the child. Brown hair, braided. Her eyes are tightly closed, I don't know the color. She has on purple pajamas, the kind with feet attached. No parents in sight, maybe they tried to hide her and were killed somewhere else. She is crying so much now. So scared, in so much pain, never ending pain that her small body can't handle, that I can't handle, the kind of pain that makes me realize that death is a relief, that breathing hurts, that all I want is for this to be over, and oh Merlin, I think I am dying, I pray that I'm dying...
I wake up bathed in sweat, head throbbing and throat raw. There is a telling silence in the dormitory, and I debate with myself over what to tell my terrified roommates. Finally a shaky voice cuts through the uncomfortable quiet. "Alright, Harry?" Neville asks. I grin into the blackness. Trust Neville to be the one Gryffindor brave enough to say something.
"Yeah, I'm fine," I mutter, "Just a nightmare. Sorry to wake you." My voice is rough and shaky, but for one blissful second no one questions me.
"I saw you take Dreamless Sleep earlier," Seamus finally blurts. Shit. I knew that, he'd walked in on me and questioned me about what I was taking.
"I must have made it wrong, that's all. I think I'll go see if Madam Pomfrey is up and get some from her stores." At least now I have an excuse to leave the dorm, and I can go talk to Dumbledore or Snape. I struggle out of bed, grabbing the bedpost to keep myself from falling. Neville jumps out of bed and grabs my arm, giving me some much needed support. Maybe a visit to Pomfrey wasn't such a bad idea after all.
"I better come with you. You don't want to run into Filch or Snape after curfew without a prefect." I try to protest, but I'm leaning heavily on Neville and can't stand on my own. I don't imagine I will have much luck in convincing him, so I don't bother trying. Besides, it probably won't kill me to be walking the halls at night with a prefect's permission for once.
"Alright," I answer, "Come on." Neville begins to walk slowly out of the dorm, guiding me to the stairs. Stairs. Oh hell, if I'm having this much trouble putting one foot in front of the other, how am I going to navigate stairs? Neville, however, appears to be one step ahead of me. He moves around so that he has a hand on each of my shoulders and begins to walk down the stairs backwards, ready to catch me should the need arise. I don't have enough faith in Neville's coordination to feel any safer, but I do appreciate the gesture.
We make it safely out of Gryffindor tower and stumble down the hall, Neville clearly getting tired of supporting my weight. He slows down, taking deep breaths. "So, are you going to tell me what is really going on or are we going to pretend that everyone finds themselves unable to walk after a bad dream?" Neville's voice is soft and prodding, and for the first time I hear real confidence and maturity from him. I'm impressed, and find myself wishing for a moment that either I'd befriended Neville that first day on the train or Ron had whatever epiphany had clearly hit Neville over the summer.
"I think we will have to pretend for now, Neville. Its not that I don't want to talk to you, or that I don't trust you, but this involves a lot of people, and I don't know that I can make the decision about involving you on my own. I hope you aren't offended." Neville stops altogether, and I can feel his eyes on me in the dark.
"I understand. We all have secrets. Just be careful, and I'm always here if you need to talk, alright?" I nod gratefully, and we begin walking again. After what seems like hours, we finally reach the hospital wing.
"Thank you," I say before we enter, "For coming with me. For not pushing me. For understanding." Neville grins and pushes the door open. The hospital wing is deserted, but there are a few lamps always left burning for students. Their soft glow casts an eerie shadow over the starched white bed linen, and I can feel Neville shiver a little beside me. Its almost reassuring to know that he hasn't changed so radically after all. Still afraid of the dark.
Neville leads me over to one of the beds and makes me lay down, then leaves to look for Madam Pomfrey. I sink back into the soft pillows and try to ignore my still throbbing scar and the pain that has spread steadily through my whole body. It strikes me how much stronger Voldemort must be now. Last time I had a vision, the pain was measurably less and faded quickly. My eyes feel heavy and I burrow further down into the bed, every muscle in my body screaming in protest. Moments later, I feel a hand on my shoulder.
"Mr. Potter? Come on, get up now, you'll have to wake up if you want me to help you." Madam Pomfrey's voice is crisp and sharp, but either my hearing has somehow been affected by my vision or she is speaking very softly. I open my eyes slowly and meet Madam Pomfrey's gaze. Much to my surprise, her face shows a great deal of concern not evident in her voice. "That's it, Mr. Potter, up you get. Mr. Longbottom, I can take care of Mr. Potter from here. Why don't you go wake the headmaster and ask him to come down here, then return to your dormitory?" Neville looks ready to protest, but Madam Pomfrey continues quickly. "No sense in all of us being tired tomorrow, and I am fully capable of taking care of your friend. Now off to the Headmaster, if you please." Neville nods silently and shoots another concerned glance in my direction before leaving the room.
"Now, listen, Mr. Potter, I am under strict orders to tell the headmaster whenever you end up in my care, no matter what the reason. Whether you would like to explain to me the circumstances that brought you here tonight now, or wait for the headmaster to arrive, we are both going to know what is going on before the night is over. You are seriously hurt and need treatment, and I won't deny that knowing what is wrong with you immediately would probably help your treatment, but I will understand if you feel the need to speak to Professor Dumbledore first." Madam Pomfrey's voice is even and controlled, and she makes a great deal of sense. I am tempted to tell her immediately what has happened. She obviously knows something of what is going on already, or it wouldn't have occurred to her that I would want to speak about whatever ailment I have with Professor Dumbledore rather than herself. Still, I don't think that this is my decision to make. If I give information to the wrong person, how many lives will I ruin? And despite my shaken faith in him, I trust Professor Dumbledore with this. I trust him to lead the fight against Voldemort and put any information I give him to good use. As much as I believe the same of Madam Pomfrey, my experience with her is limited, and I can't say that I have any more faith in her than I did in Moody or Quirrel or any of the other professors.
"I think I'd better wait for the headmaster," I croak. Madam Pomfrey nods as if she had suspected as much and gently pours some water down my throat. I smile gratefully, for her calm acceptance as much as the water, and a distinctly ruffled looking headmaster sweeps into the room.
"Good evening, Mr. Potter, Poppy. What on earth has happened?" Dumbledore sounds tired and worried and I feel a brief pang of guilt for rousing him. I glance nervously over to Madam Pomfrey, and seems to pick up on my nervousness.
"I believe Mr. Potter wants a word with you alone, Headmaster. I trust you will keep it as brief as possible, as I need to treat this boy quickly." Madam Pomfrey waits for Dumbledore to nod his assent, and then walks swiftly out of the room.
"Harry?" Dumbledore looks down at me, his face etched with concern. "Was it another vision?" I nod and take a deep breath, forcing myself to focus.
"A muggle, a little girl, he was torturing her. Cruciatus. She was so small..." I choke back a sob and try to detach myself from the images in my head. I tell Dumbledore all that I can remember, knowing that it probably won't be of much use. How many muggles are there in London, how many little girls with brown hair? How will Dumbledore be able to track them down based on that? And even if he does, what will it really matter? Voldemort isn't stupid, and there may be a reason that he chose that particular family to torment, but it is also possible that there was no logic at all to the attack and he was just trying to amuse himself, explore his new strength. Finally I finish my tale, and Dumbledore places a reassuring hand on my shoulder.
"Alright, Harry. Thank you for telling me first, but from now on when this happens, come straight to Madam Pomfrey and tell her what is wrong. I won't deny the importance of this insight into Voldemort's activities, but I won't have it if it endangers you. I can't stop your visions, but Poppy is capable of treating their effects, and you must allow her to do her work. I will not take any further chances with your well-being." I nod briefly, silently promising to return to the infirmary after my visions. "Good. I will go tell Poppy that she may come in and talk to you now, be sure to do exactly as she tells you. Then I will go and tell Severus what has happened." I open my mouth to protest. I've woken too many people tonight already. Dumbledore seems to anticipate my feelings, though, because he cuts in quickly. "Severus would never forgive me if I didn't tell him what was going on, Harry. Can you imagine if he found out tomorrow that you were in the hospital wing and no one had bothered to inform him?" Dumbledore is right, Snape would hate being left out of the loop. I nod again, grimacing in pain at the movement. Dumbledore seems reminded that he is supposed to be in a hurry, and rushes out of the room to find Madam Pomfrey.
"Now, Mr. Potter, are you ready to tell me what happened?" Madam Pomfrey's words are clipped and business-like, but her eyes betray her concern. I don't give her the same details that I gave to Dumbledore, instead I tell her that I had a vision of Voldemort torturing a muggle and felt the pain of the Cruciatus curse he cast on her. I can see the horror on Madam Pomfrey's face for just a second before she regains her composure. She clucks worriedly as she begins bustling around, looking for the appropriate potions. Professor Snape walks in just as she sets a goblet down in front of me.
"What are you giving him, Poppy?" Snape's voice is soft and tense, and he approaches my bed softly.
"The same thing I give you after you come back from one of those dreadful meetings, Severus. I don't know how else to treat him except to assume that he felt the curse because he was under it just as much as the person in his vision." Snape nods approvingly and pulls up a chair by my bedside as I down the distasteful potion. I have a sudden flashback to the last time we were in these positions and wince. Madam Pomfrey is saying something about me staying in bed for at least another day or two, and Snape keeps staring at me in that unnerving way of his, but I ignore them both. My entire body aches and I'm exhausted, the last thing I need is to have these stupid memories haunting me. I push the empty goblet away from me and sink back against the pillows again. Dammit, how many times am I going to be in here this year? How many times will Voldemort decide to torture someone and put me right back in this room for a few days at a time? How am I supposed to pass this year if I spend most of my time in the hospital wing? Snape reaches out and shakes my arm, pulling me out of my thoughts.
"Harry? Mr. Potter!" I turn and face Snape, anger written clearly across my face.
"Look, Snape, I'm tired and I'm hurt. If you want to talk it can wait until morning." Madam Pomfrey makes a noise deep in her throat that sounds suspiciously like laughter and wishes me good night and good luck before leaving the room. Last time she wished someone good luck it was Snape, and he was trying to convince me not to off myself. Merlin, will this never end?
Snape doesn't bother with a reply, he merely waits until Pomfrey leaves and sits down beside me on the bed. He pulls me against him and I'm too weak to fight it. Despite my best efforts to the contrary, I can't help but feel comforted by Snape's presence and I relax into his hug. I furiously fight tears as I huge sigh escapes me, and Snape rubs my back gently. Groaning inwardly, I give up and begin to sob helplessly. Its not like he would leave before I let go anyway, and its so hard to hold it all in. I trust Snape and I need him, and it is terrifying to admit that, but I'll eventually have to admit it anyway, might as well do it now. Snape continues to hold me silently, and I'm grateful not to have to tell my story again.
"Did you take the dreamless sleep potion?" Snape finally asks. I nod. "It didn't work?" Obviously. I don't bother replying. "Alright. Will you be okay if I go back to my room? I have a bit of research I'd like to do." I nod again and finally meet Snape's gaze.
"Tomorrow. Do your research tomorrow. You look as exhausted as I am." Snape chuckles and lays me back on the bed.
"Okay, I promise I'll sleep tonight if you promise to come and see me as soon as Poppy lets you out of bed. You may be too tired to talk tonight, but that doesn't mean you are getting out of it altogether." I give Snape a reluctant yes, and feel my eyes drift shut as he sweeps out of the room.
