Delusions- Chapter Eight
I do not own Harry Potter, nor am I receiving a profit from this.
A/n: Just to let you readers know, I have slightly revised all the chapters, except two, prior to the writing of this. I just wanted to fix some things I had brought up but no longer liked and the usage of the Floo network in the Dursleys' house (I stupidly forgot that it was no longer connected).
~
Wait, Master says, his voice laced with jubilance. He wants something from the boy and believes it will be achieved if he remains trapped. Master is very pleased, that is good. Very happy with me. He knows his plan is coming to fruition and that I was the missing piece. The one who was the difference between victory and defeat. We will win, and may those in our path quake with fear.
~
It was dark and dank, different than before. Harry gazed around in a befuddled sort of way, trying to squelch the despair that was multiplying in his body. It was weird to now be aware of his body, being entombed in his head. Harry didn't quite know if he was in a sort of physical place inside his head—a sort of holograph, perhaps? Smelling the air delicately, Harry almost gagged. A stench of defecation and bile reached his nose, powerful and disgusting. The quiet titter of a faraway rat sounded faintly through the room. Something skittered over Harry's hand, which was in something unpleasantly slimy. His Gryffindoric bravery kept him from yelling out loud, but his legs were shaking too hard to support his weight. He was surrounded by four close walls of grimy brick, cracks and holes marring the surface. He was sitting on a cool cement floor, grime collecting on his clothes and something wet seeping through the fabric. Voldemort's words came back to haunt him with the choice they had described. He could not choose—was it better to save a man while giving secret information, or to see a man killed for keeping said information quiet. Nothing he could think of justified either option.
Something pulsed behind the wall, cracking the brick further. A rounded protuberance pushed its way through the dirt, and something rose beneath him, twitching slightly. He tried to move, but the space was too tiny. A small, purple tentacle poked its way through the holes and crawled along the wall, thickening with every inch, making the bricks crumble. Five emerged in all—one for each wall and one for the floor.
…Best you can do? A familiar voice echoed through Harry's head. "No," Harry said in an anguished whisper. "Stop it." Wands out, d'you reckon? Not Harry! Please—I'll do anything— Bow to death, Harry. …but your mother needn't have died… she was trying to protect you. Harry lowered his head into his dirty hands, gripping his ears tightly. He whimpered softly, and the living ropes on the walls shifted from their resting place. Harry shut his eyes and pictures burst into view on his eyelids. They flickered before becoming vivid. Cedric dead on the ground… A hundred Dementors swarming towards him, stretching out their scabbed hands with rattling breaths… Sirius—Sirius falling through the archway… Everything blurred into one color before another set of pictures became apparent. Hermione, her head separted from her body, surrounded by puddles of sticky blood… Ron, his eyes gouged out, unseeingly staring to the heavens as blood pumped out of his body… Hagrid, his heart ripped savagely out of his chest cavity, a spear jutted through his nose… Luna cut cleanly in half, her two parts three feet from each other, her protuberant eyes blank… And Neville, his intestines hanging out of a gaping hole in his stomach, twisted and twirled into something that look like slick spaghetti, his teeth red and stained with the blood that was trailing thickly down the sides of his mouth. Your fault, Harry, all your fault. A scream tore through his mouth.
The tentacles moved from their stationary position on the wall and shot towards Harry. They wrapped around his arms and legs, shocking him with bursts of electricity. He screamed louder. They let go of him, dropping him to the ground with a thud. "Not real," he told himself faintly. "This is just—just my imagination." The memories of those pictures then came back and he emptied the acid in his stomach onto the floor, dry-heaving for about two minutes after that. Vomit spattered onto his clothing, mixing with the slime and blood that had already accumulated. And for the umpteenth time in his life, he wanted to die.
~
He didn't understand. He never understood what Harry went through; just that he seemed to get all the attention that he, Ron, craved. He never considered what his best friend exactly went through. And this was a horrible eye-opener. Yes, he had realized that Harry had had a horrible time last year. However, Ron didn't see the full extent of the pain. For him it was surreal. He had not seen the life ripped from Cedric's body. A lump rose in his throat, making it hard to swallow. He could hear the faint, urgent whispers of Order members below as they surveyed the situation. Ron could not see anything helping. Harry was lost to him.
A faint knock sounded on the door but Ron did not acknowledge. Still, his mother let herself in, shutting the door behind her with a soft click. "Ron?" Her voice was quiet and shaking, full of sympathy and fear.
"What?" Ron answered coarsely, running a hand through his hair.
"I know this is hard, Ron, but you must—you must know that we're doing everything we can at the moment."
"Yes, we're doing loads."
"Ron—"
"WE'RE JUST SITTING HERE WHILE HARRY COULD BE DYING OR—OR BEING TORTURED!"
"Well what do you want us to do, Ron? We have no idea where You-Know-Who's layer is. Even Dumbledore isn't sure of the specifics of the situation. We haven't heard from Professor Snape either. Everything is very worrying, and I know you're scared."
Ron turned back to the window. "Leave me alone."
Mrs. Weasley strode across the room and put a hand on Ron's shoulder, which he shook off. She retreated, hurt.
"Stop it, Ron!" she exclaimed shrilly. "Do you think that I don't care about Harry? Do you think I'm not out of my mind? You can't—" Her voice faltered for a moment. "Just stop, Ron. Just stop." She left wearily, and Ron dropped his head to his knees, gripping his carrot hair.
~
"He will not be allowed back in my house! I've put up with him long enough!"
"Mrs. Dursley, I fear you do not understand. Harry was not in his right mind when—"
"I don't care! He's a danger to my family! My son could have died!"
"My reasoning, Mrs. Dursley, is solid. He needs your protection." Dumbledore's voice had grown in power, making him sound very formidable. Petunia, however, did not falter.
"My freak sister's son can die for all I care. She never did anything for me. You cannot threaten me!"
"You'll find that I can, Mrs. Dursley." Her voice rose indignantly, but Dumbledore stood up. "I feel we cannot talk properly until you have calmed down. I will ask Madame Pomfrey for a soothing potion."
"I am not taking any of your magical—"
"Mrs. Dursley, I am afraid it is not your decision to make."
~
End of chapter
A/N: Bit gory, I say.