A Month Ago
When Harry had first heard about the void beyond the castle walls, he was intrigued. He didn't really know why. At the time, he supposed it was because anything that took his mind off the fact that they were effectively trapped in the school was as good a thing to ponder as any. Nevermind that the void was the most apparent reason they were trapped. It seemed to hold some kind of possibility in its nothingness that called out to Harry. They said it was dark and quiet in there. They said that there seemed to be no consciousness or feelings of any kind in there. To Harry, that meant no grief, no anger, no doubt, no crazed, clawing desperation that leaked from him like viscous sweat these days.
Even before the siege Harry had been secretly gnawing away at his own mind, trying to displace the feelings that had no business there. Every passing day he was acutely aware of the feelings gaining purchase and every passing day he shut down even more. If he kept out any external stimuli, he reasoned, there would be nothing for the doubts and fears to feed on except for a few ragged memories. Even those would be eaten away soon enough, if only he could endure the pain for now.
He spent most of his days contemplating Sirius' short life. The man had owned only, what, twenty years of happiness? He was barely a man when his whole world had been smashed to bits. And just now, as he had been on the brink of returning to some semblance of a normal life, it had all been taken away from him again. If only he had fallen to the left or to the right; if only he hadn't taunted Bellatrix; if only Harry hadn't impulsively tried to rescue something that wasn't even in danger. Sirius might have been a hero after that night. Everyone would have vouched for him; he could have had his life back. Instead, he was soundlessly drifting somewhere behind that deceptively innocent-looking veil, lost to the world forever. If only.
He also spent time thinking of his parents, and occasionally of the startled look on Cedric's face as he had taken his last, sharp breath. He thought about Peter Pettigrew and about Snape and about Kreacher. He thought about selfishness and cruelty and the basest elements of human nature. He thought about these things and about how they were slowly demolishing his world.
His friends noticed a striking change in his behavior when he returned to Hogwarts for his sixth year. No longer was he the angry, impetuous teenager who lashed out at the slightest provocation. Nor was he the wide- eyed innocent with puppy breath who blushed and demurred at any mention of his unsolicited fame. This Harry was a different creature altogether. He was silent almost all of the time, with a hard, bitter look behind the glasses and a voice devoid of tone whenever it was forced from his throat. On those rare occasions that he had spoken voluntarily, it was to only make a snide comment and watch with sick amusement as his friends tried to ignore or explain away his behavior.
Ron and Hermione had stayed up on many late nights discussing his welfare; they were worried about him, this he knew, but there was nothing they could do. Dumbledore had tried to speak with him twice, but Harry had sat in his gilded office, glowering at Fawkes and refusing to make eye contact with his headmaster. There was nothing he wanted any of them to do, and that was the worst part. He wanted to fester and rot away, to dry up and crumble to ash, to leave all of it behind him.
When the castle had been taken, it had been a nice diversion. People had left him alone, especially that grinning, twinkling idiot Dumbledore, whose disappearance Harry noted with a satisfaction that bordered on outright glee. Glee, Harry had to remind himself, was not an emotion that he wanted to feel anymore. He pushed it down to the pit of his stomach, where it remained fat and smug.
A week after the Death Eaters withdrew from the school, Harry was feeling better than he'd felt in a long time. Everyone around him was miserable and frightened. They were scared and dirty. There were no more houses or degrees of purity. Everyone was on equal footing, except for Harry, who still reigned as their prince and supreme deity. He was now their glorious Prince of Despair; the Boy Who Suffered.
When Harry had first heard about the void beyond the castle walls, he was intrigued. He didn't really know why. At the time, he supposed it was because anything that took his mind off the fact that they were effectively trapped in the school was as good a thing to ponder as any. Nevermind that the void was the most apparent reason they were trapped. It seemed to hold some kind of possibility in its nothingness that called out to Harry. They said it was dark and quiet in there. They said that there seemed to be no consciousness or feelings of any kind in there. To Harry, that meant no grief, no anger, no doubt, no crazed, clawing desperation that leaked from him like viscous sweat these days.
Even before the siege Harry had been secretly gnawing away at his own mind, trying to displace the feelings that had no business there. Every passing day he was acutely aware of the feelings gaining purchase and every passing day he shut down even more. If he kept out any external stimuli, he reasoned, there would be nothing for the doubts and fears to feed on except for a few ragged memories. Even those would be eaten away soon enough, if only he could endure the pain for now.
He spent most of his days contemplating Sirius' short life. The man had owned only, what, twenty years of happiness? He was barely a man when his whole world had been smashed to bits. And just now, as he had been on the brink of returning to some semblance of a normal life, it had all been taken away from him again. If only he had fallen to the left or to the right; if only he hadn't taunted Bellatrix; if only Harry hadn't impulsively tried to rescue something that wasn't even in danger. Sirius might have been a hero after that night. Everyone would have vouched for him; he could have had his life back. Instead, he was soundlessly drifting somewhere behind that deceptively innocent-looking veil, lost to the world forever. If only.
He also spent time thinking of his parents, and occasionally of the startled look on Cedric's face as he had taken his last, sharp breath. He thought about Peter Pettigrew and about Snape and about Kreacher. He thought about selfishness and cruelty and the basest elements of human nature. He thought about these things and about how they were slowly demolishing his world.
His friends noticed a striking change in his behavior when he returned to Hogwarts for his sixth year. No longer was he the angry, impetuous teenager who lashed out at the slightest provocation. Nor was he the wide- eyed innocent with puppy breath who blushed and demurred at any mention of his unsolicited fame. This Harry was a different creature altogether. He was silent almost all of the time, with a hard, bitter look behind the glasses and a voice devoid of tone whenever it was forced from his throat. On those rare occasions that he had spoken voluntarily, it was to only make a snide comment and watch with sick amusement as his friends tried to ignore or explain away his behavior.
Ron and Hermione had stayed up on many late nights discussing his welfare; they were worried about him, this he knew, but there was nothing they could do. Dumbledore had tried to speak with him twice, but Harry had sat in his gilded office, glowering at Fawkes and refusing to make eye contact with his headmaster. There was nothing he wanted any of them to do, and that was the worst part. He wanted to fester and rot away, to dry up and crumble to ash, to leave all of it behind him.
When the castle had been taken, it had been a nice diversion. People had left him alone, especially that grinning, twinkling idiot Dumbledore, whose disappearance Harry noted with a satisfaction that bordered on outright glee. Glee, Harry had to remind himself, was not an emotion that he wanted to feel anymore. He pushed it down to the pit of his stomach, where it remained fat and smug.
A week after the Death Eaters withdrew from the school, Harry was feeling better than he'd felt in a long time. Everyone around him was miserable and frightened. They were scared and dirty. There were no more houses or degrees of purity. Everyone was on equal footing, except for Harry, who still reigned as their prince and supreme deity. He was now their glorious Prince of Despair; the Boy Who Suffered.
