Harry failed that day, and the irony was lost upon no one, that the boy who usually succeeded in everything he did would fail at the one thing he wanted most. And so Molly bandaged his wrists until a healer could arrive, and Arthur gave Harry the remnants of the Blood Replenishing potion from last Christmas. They carried him from the bloodied bath tub and into Harry's bedroom. Harry, whose eyes still contained the look of death, did not move, nor did his body betray any likeness of life. There was nothing about the boy that testified to his being alive save for the faint, yet steady heartbeat they could hear in his chest. Lupin, followed by Hermione, Ron, Ginny and a few other Weasleys, carried Harry into the room. Lupin placed the boy sitting upright against the head board, but before he could take a step back from the bed a sharp snap, like the breaking of a tree branch was heard, and a magical explosion rendered everyone unconscious.
Lupin had unknowingly set Harry down upon his own wand which broke in half. Lupin realized this when he awoke moments later and saw the broken pieces sticking out of Harry's back pocket, and some sticking into Harry's leg. Harry appeared not to have moved or even blinked, and showed no signs that he was in any kind of pain from the wood now sticking into his thigh.
The others started stirring and Lupin looked around the room. With a sharp intake of breath Lupin saw that the entire room was covered in messy black handwriting that had not been there when they had carried him in. Lupin stood up and wandered over to one of the walls and examined one of the scribblings on the wall.
"She's closing in on me now, I've always wanted to kiss her but does she have to be crying when I do it?" Lupin read the thought out loud.
"I'm not going to die crouching behind a tombstone, I'm going to die like my father, facing my enemy…God, I don't want to die. I wonder if it will hurt" Hermione read aloud from her side of the room.
"Why won't he just let me go? I want to be with Sirius. Where does that veil lead anyway?" Ron stared dumbfounded around at a room covered in Harry's thoughts.
"I remember this one," Lupin said in an awed whisper, "When he opens that cabinet I will hear my mothers voice again, maybe even hear my father."
"I could just give him the stone, if it would bring my parents back, I mean I'd have to have it in writing or something, I don't know" Ron read aloud. "Is he talking about the Philosophers Stone?" Ron asked.
"It's all my fault, some hero I turned out to be. I swear I'll never be the hero again just please, God, send him back. Why can't he just come back?"
Hermione turned away from the wall, "It's awful. I never knew he felt this way." She ran out of the room.
"I'm going to be with Sirius and my parents again. Ouch, that hurt but what a pretty colour. Pretty soon I'm going to be with the people I love, and I wonder if they have Quidditch…" Ron gasped, "I think I'm going to be sick"
Lupin walked soberly from the room to find Dumbledore waiting on the other side. The old man looked tired beyond his years, and the sparkle in his eyes was now nothing more than the glimmering of not yet realized tears.
Dumbledore entered the room and shut the door. He was in there long enough to heal the gashes on Harry's arms and to diagnose the poor child as catatonic. When Dumbledore glanced down at Harry's leg he noticed that the cuts there had already scarred over, like magic. Dumbledore walked somberly from the room and headed down to the kitchen.
All the party guests had left, leaving only members of the Order and the Weasleys behind to wait for news about the boy. When he entered the kitchen it was to inform them of two things, that Harry was catatonic, and that he was leaving on urgent business in the morning.
Molly burst into tears and begged Dumbledore like an inconsolable child to fix Harry. Ron looked confused at the word catatonic, and Hermione let a guilty tear slide down her face before burying it in Ron's shoulder. Snape, who had arrived only minutes before, sunk into the shadows to be alone with his thoughts, which consisted of little more than chastisement for an overindulged, selfish boy.