When Harry finally pulled out of the trauma that ensnared his mind, he counted himself lucky that it was still so early in the morning. Once again, he'd beaten the sun, and was now staring down a corner in the ultimate darkness of the pre-daylight hours. What the hell had just happened? How? Why? Whatever he had felt hadn't been a dream. It was more than a dream, and more than a nightmare.
Oddly enough...it had seemed real. So incredibly real that for a single moment Harry doubted that where he now was could be called reality. He sat huddled on his bed, knees pressed tightly to his chin and arms wrapped in a vice like grip around his legs. Harry's muscles were tensed to the max, his jaw clenched like a bear trap. His brain was stuck somewhere between the waking world and the horror he had just bared witness to.
Part of him could still feel Sirius' arms wrapped around him. Part of him could still see that tear stained face that had stared with pain filled eyes into his own. He could hear Sirius' dry, cracked voice calling his name. Begging, pleading for Harry to stay with him. With all of them.
A warning bell rang in Harry's head, and he cast a fearful gaze in Ron's direction. The red head was still very fast asleep, his breath coming out in long hisses through his nose, like a small train whistle. His sheets were tangled around his legs with his right arm thrown over the edge of the bed. Ron was on the verge of slipping off of it, but Harry didn't care. He was too distracted with his own thoughts.
In a moment of sheer annoyance and confusion, Harry started grinding his teeth. His jaw muscles worked stiffly as his eyes cast a death-glare to the wall in front of him. What the hell was going on? He asked himself this same question time and time again, with Ron's whistling snores acting as his only answer.
Perhaps it would be wise to talk to Remus? Harry thought for a second, staring outside as the first rays of sunlight suddenly leapt past the windowpane and danced on the wall next to him. No, he decided at last. No I can't bother him with this. I can't bother any of them with this. This is my burden and I will bare it on my own.
'That's how you always do it,' answered a voice in his head. One that was not definitely his own. Harry raised an eyebrow.
So I am going insane then. Harry mentally laughed at himself.
'You always fight your battles alone. You think you can't trust anyone with the burdens you bare...too afraid to trust people.'
I am not, Harry thought defensively.
'I don't blame you, really,' it came again. 'After all you've been through. Your parents were murdered, at the fault of one of their closest friends no less...the people you lived with were less than civil to you your whole life...'
Harry frowned. Yes, he knew all of that. Why was his brain going through it all again? He decided he'd humor the little person that seemed to want to believe it was someone else, knowing he had little else to do. Harry mused for a moment; thinking that he might be developing into a schizophrenic, but then that may not turn out to be such a surprise after all the things he'd been bottling up these past few years. Having someone to talk to, even if it was only another part of himself, might not be so bad.
'You've lived through two teachers who tried to kill you; outsmarted Voldemort at his own game twice in your life; kept your sanity when you thought a mad man was out after you only to find that he was in fact your last chance at a normal life...'
And lost him as well, Harry added with bitterness, for the voice was referring to Sirius.
'You've faced dragons and Dark Lords, Dementors and Death Eaters, werewolves and basilisks; and you still manage to smile now and then. You've no proper family, and friends that will never understand what you're going through every day of your life. You have people who care about you, but will never reach out and be what you need them to be...'
This better be going somewhere, Harry grumbled angrily.
'And only because they're afraid.'
Harry frowned. Not only was this one sided conversation in the depths of his mind not going anywhere, but it had suddenly taken a very unexpected turn. Afraid? Who was afraid? What was there to be afraid of about Harry?
He looked down at himself and frowned deeper. Harry knew that he was far from intimidating, even at the impressive five foot nine he had now reached during these last few weeks during the summer. He was no longer skinny, but still thin, although he had some muscle from the constant Quidditch training he'd been enduring for the past five years of his life. People knew his strengths, and more importantly they knew what triggered his temper. But what would the Weasley's have to fear from him? What would Ron and Hermione fear him for? What did he mean by people being afraid of him? Unless, it was a different kind of fear.
'Afraid to reach out and try to take the place of something you lost.'
That hadn't helped at all either.
'No proper family, though everyone would be more than willing to make you part of their own if they could.' Harry wasn't liking where the voice was going. He pulled his hands up over his ears and tried to drown out the voice with soft humming. It didn't work. The voice kept going, on and on about things Harry didn't want to hear. He allowed himself to hum louder, but nothing could swallow the sorrowful words of the voice. He caught more dialogue through gritted teeth and a screaming mind; '...all been afraid to get close Harry, simply because we didn't want you to push away.'
What did it mean?
'...kept our distance; drew a barrier line for ourselves and waited for you to cross over it when you were ready...'
Harry bit his lip, hoping that the pain would distract him from the words.
'...wasn't the wisest thing to do, for although we were prepared to die for the new reign of Voldemort, we never planned on losing you too...'
Harry shook his head, his hands pressed painfully tight over his ears. He bit his lip harder, blood trickling in thin lines down his chin.
'Now we're faced with that possibility and we don't know what to do. I don't know what to do. I can only sit here and wish I'd done more when I could have.'
"STOP!" Harry screamed at the top of his lungs. Ron shot up, taking in long breaths and looking panic stricken at Harry, who had his hands pressed tightly over his head with blood running down his chin. The thin streams of light now coming through the window showed how pale he was.
"Harry?" Ron leapt from his bed and gripped his best friend around the shoulders, pulling him back down. Harry jumped at his touch and looked into the bright and glistening eyes of Ronald Weasley. He felt himself drift back into reality, and the voice died away in his head as though it never were. "What's wrong?" Ron asked, looking quite shaken.
Fred and George burst into their bedroom a few seconds later, wands brandished as though they had expected to find an attacker.
"What's up?" Fred frowned, looking slightly disheartened. "We were all ready to kick ass."
"Harry had another attack, I think," Ron answered.
"No, I didn't," Harry snarled viciously. He was so sick of people tending to him like a wounded child. He was anything but these days, or so he liked to believe. "Go back to bed, I'm fine."
George looked like he was ready to protest, but another glare from Harry and he was silenced. The twins left together with one last questioning glance back at Ron. When they had gone, Harry could feel the eyes of his friend laying upon him heavily.
"What's gotten into you?" Ron asked all of a sudden. "You've been acting strange lately."
You try hearing voices in your head and see how well you take it, Harry thought bitterly as he pulled the sheets of his bed up.
"Go back to bed, Ron." Was all Harry had to say. It was still early, and Harry wanted to log in a few more minutes of sleep before he started the day.
Ron sighed. "C'mon mate, talk to me."
Harry didn't answer.
