I stayed locked up in Sirius' old bedroom for a while after I confessed.
I really didn't do anything doing those five days. Lethargy had wormed its way into my limbs, melted my sinews into dust, and I found myself quite incapable of doing any activity. I simply lay on the floor, staring into space.
The one thing I avoided doing at all costs was to think. I couldn't allow myself to. If I did, the world would come crashing down around my shoulders. The void in my chest would gape, rise, swallow me up forever, and I wouldn't have any reason to live.
I lived in a constant sate of Occlumency. Continually breathing, clearing my mind, and desperately keeping demons with red eyes and skull-like faces away. When I was fatigued enough to slip into a restless bout of sleep, I would see his spidery hands reaching for me, lacing around my neck lovingly. I saw them squeeze. Felt them take away my life.
During those days, I built up more hatred for Voldemort than ever before. Whenever I thought of him, my very blood seemed to igniter, my eyes burned, and an all-encompassing need to kill surged through my psyche. My hands twitched and I caught up whatever fabric I could, curling my hands around it. I pretended it was his neck. It felt wonderful while the anger was there, but later, the feeling of being a helpless, trapped animal overrode my soul and an aching desire to fly way on my Firebolt took possession of me. But I couldn't. I couldn't go down stairs.
'Coward.'
I couldn't stand the thought of them staring at me as if I were some freak, a thing they didn't want to associate themselves with. Trust me, I know this: when it comes to survival, humans usually throw away all thoughts of companionship. I've felt that way so many times when staring Voldemort down, but I never allowed animalistic desires to envelope my mind. It was what separated me from the rest—my loyalty. I couldn't face them after I'd blown up at Neville like I did.
I've stared down the cold eyes of opposition before. There have always been people at Hogwarts who would rather I was dead, but my friends were always on my side. They were the comforting presence that told me that some parts of the world were okay to live in. Seeing them turn away from me would be akin to a death blow.
I suppose I was being selfish. I knew I should have separated myself from them the moment I found out. I should have ended it on my own terms.
But I was a selfish idiot and didn't. The feelings of shame and despair fogged up my vision; depression closed in on me like a dark, restricting blanket. Perhaps it was the hunger, but it felt awfully good to close my eyes and slip in and out of consciousness.
A small part of my mind whispered that I was killing myself. I told it to shut up.
88888888
Loud voices outside of my sanctuary disturbed my sleep on the fifth day. I opened tired eyes to the grey scenery inside the room, looking up at the bed and the windows from the floor where I lay. It occurred to me that I hadn't moved from the spot where I had initially collapsed. The thought brought a slight smirk on my face.
'That's right. Think of stupid things. Don't focus on anything important. Don't go crazy.'
My mind was fuzzy from lack of nutrition. I couldn't see very properly either. My glasses were a few inches from my head, but I lacked the sense of purpose to reach for them. I simply stared at them, noting how very round they were, and how their black rims had a bit of green on them.
"That's it, Hermione! He's been up there for five days! He's coming down now!"
Was that Ron yelling? Yes, I remembered Ron. Good, slightly awkward Ron. He'd always been my friend, except for a brief bout we'd had in fourth year but we'd smoothed that out. He'd always been by my side, the awesome right-hand man. He'd always taken my side, always believed in what I believed in. He'd even been willing to stare down Voldemort's wand for me.
"But Ron! Harry's probably very worked up right now! We should wait!"
Hermione. Wonderful, neat, ingenious Hermione. The one who had always been there for me, the one who had always had complete faith in me, the one who was, sometimes, that sole voice of reason in a sea of my anger. She had always looked out for me, always included me, always worried for me.
A pounding at the door startled me.
"Open up, Harry! I know you're awake! Open this door now!"
"Oh, Ron, please, don't force him! Harry, open up! It's all right if you don't talk or anything, but we have food."
Five years. Five years worth of memories swirled around in my brain, each lighting before my eyes. Ron and I playing chess. Hermione looking over our homework. Hermione running into the common room, face alight with words of S.P.E.W. Ron paying Quidditch with the team. Ron throwing up snails. Ron and I talking with Aragog. Hermione nagging me about the Marauder's Map.
Defining moments. Defining time.
They were the first people ever to acknowledge me as a friend, the ones to stay by my side.
The thought of what Voldemort could do to them froze my blood.
The pounding on the door continued, increasing in intensity.
I squeezed my eyes shut. 'Don't talk, don't look, don't think! Don't talk, don't look, don't think! Don't talk, don't look, don't think! DON'T THINK!'
The mantra didn't work. My mind was slipping. Tears formed themselves at the corners of my eyes, and I ground my fists into to them, willing them to stop, stop the pain, stop the nightmares, just stop!
'Stop the images, the memories! Stop throwing these horrible things at me! Save me from this Hell inside of me!'
For the first time in my life, I curled up into a little ball and prayed for salvation.
And it came in the form of the door swinging open and crashing into my head.
Author's notesHere you go! I've decided to extend this ficcy a bit. I hope it works…twiddles thumbs Oh, and please remember to review!