Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Dumbledore's opening speech is more or less directly from the Goblet of Fire because it wouldn't have changed.
"Harry," Dr Jackson sighed, they'd been in this session for over twenty minutes now. Harry hadn't said a word. His mind was just rolling back images of the Quidditch World Cup. The muggles in the air, the screaming and the fires, someone slamming into him, the fear thinking he was about to die before realising it was Draco. He was still confused... confused as to why Draco Malfoy - of all people - had risked his life to save him. They weren't even friends. Not really. "I know that sometimes its hard to explain things - trust me," He said with a wry smile, glancing at a picture on his desk, "I know - but I need you to at least tell me how you're feeling.
"I understand if you can't tell me what's happened, if you think it'd get you, or a friend in trouble, or whatever, but... ok. Let's just start with the basics, yeah?" Dr Jackson continued and Harry almost grinned. Dr Jackson had a very strong Yankee accent, but throughout the years, during his time spent in England it had reduced down to less obvious, except for when he got flustered, trying to explain things. "Describe how you're feeling in one word. Just, one emotion."
Harry tapped his fingers on his chair. Recently he couldn't stop fidgeting, stop moving. Luke had suggested he was stuck in some sort of permanent 'fight or flight' response, that his body was still on edge, as if he knew he was in danger. Not that he was... it was over now. He wasn't in danger right now, in his therapist's office, or in his bedroom at home, or even in the park. Yet, somehow it felt like something bad was coming.
He blamed it on the Quidditch World Cup - of course he did. It had been a week since the Cup and he still woke up in sweats, nightmares plaguing every dream he had. The resurgence of Death Eater activity had terrified him, reminded him of who he was and how dangerous it was to be Harry Potter - and how necessary it was to keep that fact hidden. He was stuck in the state because of what had happened... not what was to come. The danger is in the past... right?
"Scared." Harry muttered, not even risking glancing up to Dr Jackson to see his reaction. He knew what it would be without looking anyway. A concerned frown, a reassuring smile and eyes full of understanding. He always seemed to understand everything, which was impossible of course... he was a muggle after all.
"Because of your uncle?" Dr Jackson asked, rifling through some notes, squinting as if he was struggling to read Harry's files. Maybe he needed glasses, Harry mused.
Harry froze. He'd been trying to put it to the back of his mind, and fortunately (or unfortunately) there had been a lot of things too distract him recently. His birthday, the trip to Diagon Alley, the ball at Daphne's house and then of course the Quidditch World Cup. It had all been useful to push out of his head any thoughts of Vernon Dursley. The man who's very name still instilled fear into him to this day.
Harry ruffled a hand through his hair, trying to ignore the way it shook. "I guess." Harry replied, trying to find little things to distract him from this conversation. Dr Jackson's office was full of random knickknacks, he was a self-proclaimed mythology nerd, and the office fully reflected that. His bookshelves were full of random mythology books, and classics like The Iliad or The Odyssey. On one of his shelves there was a random array of coins littering his shelves, but not normal cash, no pound coins or anything of the sort, they were ancient coins, like the ones you can find in museum gift shops, except they seemed oddly real.
The rest of his shelves were full of pictures, most of them of him and his wife, from when they were children to their wedding day, quite a few of them had a third boy in. Then there were others with people who Harry could only presume were his friends, one of him and his friend - a tall blonde boy with glasses, who somewhat reminded Harry of Draco - wearing togas (Harry had no clue why, perhaps it was some sort of theatre thing). Harry had spotted Dr Jackson looking at that one wistfully more than once, usually when Harry talked about Terry or Anthony.
"Harry..." Dr Jackson trailed off, clearly disappointed with his response. Harry hated how guilty he felt. How much he hated letting Dr Jackson down - how much he hated letting anyone down.
"I guess... I just feel on edge all the time, as though something bad is going to happen..."
"With your uncle or just in general?"
"Vernon, I suppose..." Harry didn't know what else to say, he couldn't exactly break the Statue of Secrecy for a bad feeling. His uncle was a good excuse anyway, perhaps he even was the reason Harry felt like this. Perhaps it had nothing to do with the Quidditch World Cup at all.
"It says here he's being released in a week." Dr Jackson said and Harry nodded. This date had been engrained in his mind for as long as he could remember, it had always felt like ages away, but now it was close enough to touch. "You know that there is a restraining order, so he can't legally come and see you, and he has to report to a patrol officer."
"Legally." Harry replied quietly, drumming his fingers on the wood of the chair.
"You're scared he will hurt you again?"
"No. I don't think he'll hurt me..." Harry swallowed. Time for the truth, even if it's only a small part of the story, a small reason for his fear and stress. It was still true. "I'm scared he'll kill me." Harry took a deep breath, before forcing a wry grin onto his face as he stared into Dr Jackson's dumbstruck face. "So, does that warrant a new prescription?" He asked, his hands still nervously tapping his seat. Dr Jackson just nodded slowly.
Harry considered it lucky how events lined up. Vernon Dursley was being released from prison after seven years incarcerated. He'd originally only been sentenced for five years - the maximum amount of time for his crime - but after bad behaviour his sentence had been extended for an extra two years. Luckily, on the same day Harry was on the train to Hogwarts. An unplottable castle as far away from Vernon Dursley as possible.
It didn't stop him from thinking about it constantly though. The entire car ride he'd been looking out of the window as if he was expecting to see Vernon just walking around on the streets of London. He hadn't. He wasn't even sure how he would recognise the man anymore. He'd likely lost an extraordinary amount of weight in prison, and his likeness to a walrus had previously been the easiest way to identify the man - the monster.
Even when Harry had gotten on the train he couldn't fully immerse himself into the normal celebrations of being back to school - not that he was excited for the classes, and the early mornings, or the copious amounts of homework, but Hogwarts... It was just... perfect. The castle, the food, the dorms, his friends. The magic. He couldn't wait to be up in his bed, surrounded by whatever haul of sweets Anthony had certainly brought with him, discussing Quidditch - hopefully Mike would be on the team with him this year - and just... just being home.
Hogwarts was his home after all. Not that Epsom and their small house there wasn't home, or the high street and his football club... It was just different. It was still in Surrey, the same county he'd lived in with the Dursleys. Luke still worked at the same hospital Harry was admitted to when he was seven, the one he didn't leave until years later. He was happy with Luke, and Luke felt like his family, like his father - even with Dudley, he felt like family now - but there were too many reminders of Harry's life with the Dursleys for him to truly be content like he felt at Hogwarts. Even with the mass-murderers and the basilisks and Dumbledore, as soon as he was in the dormitories, or in the library with his friends, he felt content. It felt like home.
Then Dumbledore said the fateful words and ruined Harry's year. Ruined Harry's home. He said those words and Hogwarts went from his sanctuary to a graveyard. Everything was ruined and nothing would ever be the same again.
"It is also my painful duty to inform you that the inter-house Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."
"What the hell!" Michael yelled, his voice drowned in the roar of noise which surged up at this announcement. Harry's eye caught Draco who seemed to be simmering in anger, furiously whispering something in the ear of a fifth year who Harry barely recognised. He might have been the Slytherin Chaser. Roger Davies put his hands in his head, his Quidditch Captain's badge glinting angrily in the candlelight. Even the normally obnoxious Weasley twins seemed shocked by this notice their mouths agape in disbelief.
"This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers' time and energy - but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely."
"We enjoy Quidditch immensely." Davies yelled, slamming his fist on the table, to the approval of many other students, but Dumbledore just ignored them.
"I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts -"
Thunder clapped outside, drowning out the hall as the noise echoed around the hall. Then the doors slammed open. Later - when Harry got to knew the man - he'd laugh at the dramatic nature of the action, but it was exactly like Professor Moody to do something like that. 'Constant Vigilance' He'd yell a hundred times a lesson, each time making the class jump.
He was a grizzled old auror, well-known from his efforts in the war. He was the one man, with his scarred face, single eye and wooden leg, that would strike fear into the heart of a Death Eater, but now... well now he was stark mad. That's how he got his nickname... Mad-Eye Moody.
He stood in the doorway, unmoving. A mere silhouette who seemed unfazed at having the entire attention of the Hogwarts' population directed on him. Even as students got over their shock and whispers began creeping around the hall he stood there, still.
Thunder boomed and seconds later lightning struck down, illuminating the hall. For a second Moody's face was visible, and Harry saw his face for the first time. He didn't think he'd ever forget the first time he saw that face. Each scar seemed to represent a battle fought, his eye a battle lost. It seemed like a symbol. A symbol of the war which had passed, and a symbol of the war that was looming on the horizons - not that Harry truly knew, or was willing to believe, that then.
The lightning seemed to spur him into action, and he clunked his way down the hall, each second step echoing as the wooden lug thudded into the stone ground until he finally reached Dumbledore's lectern. The two exchanged a few words with hushed urgency and no façade of warm greetings, before Moody made his way to a vacant seat. Every single set of eyes in the hall were fixed on the auror, watching in fascination as he speared a sausage with a knife, and began tearing into it with his teeth.
"May I introduce our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher," said Dumbledore brightly, no one was paying him much attention, still enraptured by Moody and his glass eye which roamed around the hall, "Professor Moody." Dumbledore introduced, clapping his hands together. Only Hagrid joined in - and it didn't last very long. It seemed everyone either knew of Alastor Moody's reputation, or knew that this man was not just some new Defence teacher.
"As I was saying," Dumbledore continued, desperately trying to regain the attention of his students, "we are to have the honour of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event which has not been held for over a century. It is my great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be talking place at Hogwarts this year."
"You're JOKING!" one of the Weasley twins exclaimed, breaking the hushed silence that had settled over the hall like an fog.
"I am not joking Mr Weasley, though, now you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag and a leprechaun who all go into a bar -" Dumbledore started but McGonagall cleared her throat pointedly, "Er - but maybe this is not the time... no..." said Dumbledore, peering at McGonagall over his half-moon glasses. "Where was I? Ah yes, the Triwizard Tournament... well, some of you will not know what the Tournament involves-" Dumbledore begun, starting a long-winded explanation off the tournament and its format.
Terry echoed the important information in Harry's ear in a hushed voice: "Death toll", "Mortal danger", "A THOUSAND GALLEONS?!" - the last one was less of a whisper, but fortunately the rest of the hall was also clamouring at this new information, a life-threatening tournament apparently sounded more appealing to some now that money was involved. Harry had no idea so many people were so easily bought.
It was as though some people thought "glory" was worth your very life.
Harry disagreed. Strongly.
Harry turned over in his bed, half-wanting to punch the pillow itself, as if it was to blame for all of his problems. 'Dumbledore strikes again' he thought, another life-threatening competition at Hogwarts school. Fuck. Who in their right mind would choose now to re-establish a tournament which had originally been cancelled for having too high of a death toll? It was, frankly, insane.
Not that he'd be entering this damned tournament, or would even be able to - Dumbledore had gone on to explain how there would be an age limit of seventeen and over, much to Harry's relief. He'd seen a glint in Michael's eye and for a second worried that his friend would be enticed. He seemed relatively annoyed at the news, not that Harry had any clue why he would think he'd be the person picked anyway. It wasn't that Michael wasn't talented, or powerful, or whatever characteristics you need to compete, it was just that he was a fourth year, and how could a fourth year ever feasibly compete against a seventh year who'd already completed their NEWTS and were legally adults.
Fortunately his groaning had stopped after Terry whispered something in his ear which made his face blanch.
That had been about an hour ago. The rest of the fourth year boys had gone to bed only ten minutes after that, yet Harry lay in his bed wide awake, his brain seeming to have no sympathy for how tired he was. Instead it kept running over the announcement, despite it not being at all relevant to Harry.
At least he was at Hogwarts now, he thought wryly. Because Hogwarts was somehow his safest option right now - his home, sanctuary. Harry almost scoffed at the thought, remembering rumours of a dragon in his first year, than the debacle with the Philosopher's Stone and Quirrell dying, then of course the Chamber of Secrets - because who could forget that lovely experience - and then Sirius Black of course. Then this year Dumbledore decided they should host a tournament that had previously had a death toll.
Perhaps Harry was feeling this anxious out of habit then, even if he was safe, he'd gotten so accustomed to something wrong happening - but maybe, just maybe, he'd already had his bad luck for the year. Surely the Quidditch World Cup, and Vernon being released, would be the sum of his misery... surely?
As long as Harry kept his head down he might even enjoy this year, despite the bad feeling Moody had given him, and the pit of anxiety boiling in his stomach about the goddamn tournament. Maybe it would be good. Maybe he would be ok. Maybe...
It should at the least be interesting meeting all of the foreign wizards and witches coming from France and wherever Durmstrang was - they were infamously secretive about their location. Terry thought they were probably from Bulgaria, or Hungary, but no one really knew. Perhaps Harry would try and find out.
Harry was pulled out of his thoughts by a small noise. For a second he thought he hadn't heard anything at all, or presumed it was just a light snore from one of the others - some sort of taunt, saying 'I'm asleep and you're not' - but then he heard it again. A stifled murmur, but this time the noise sounded different, higher pitched maybe.
Harry grasped at his bedside table until finally landing on his glasses and shoving them haphazardly on his face before pulling back his curtains. There was a small light creeping out from underneath Mike's covers. "Mike?" Harry hissed, trying to keep his voice low to not wake the others.
A head peeped out from between the curtains. "Sorry," Mike whispered, "Did I wake you?"
"No, I was already awake - what's going on?"
Mike just gestured his head towards his bed, gesturing for Harry to come in to the little area. Harry frowned, but followed him nonetheless - it wasn't like sleep was a good alternative.
"Lizzie?" Harry asked, squinting, taking off his glasses so that he could see properly before realising how stupid that was - he was far too accustomed to wearing contacts.
"Hi," A meek voice replied - meeker than Harry had ever known the girl to be during the two weeks at the Quidditch World Cup.
"Hey, what's wrong?"
"She's feeling homesick," Mike explained, "came to see her favourite big brother."
Lizzie stuck her tongue out at him - any shyness clearly sacrificed for her desire to tease her brother. "Only brother." She replied.
"Her favourite though." Mike responded, winking in Harry's direction.
"As if." she responded, her tone laden with the sass which Harry knew the eleven year old to possess.
"Sibling love," Michael said sardonically to Harry.
"Looks fun." Harry replied, a smile teasing at his lips, despite his anxiety about everything that had occurred in the past week. It must be nice to have someone like that, somebody who will always be with you, without having to be your parent - an ally, a friend. Just somebody else.
"You have Dudley." Lizzie replied, picking up on Harry's tone, much to his surprise. He thought he'd done a good job at keeping any jealousy out of it, but it seemed as though the youngest Corner was more perceptive that he'd originally presumed - then again, she was sorted into Ravenclaw, perhaps he should have known.
"Dudley's... it's different. He's family, sure, but our history is complicated, and I honestly only reconnected with him two years ago." Harry replied, surprised at his ability to be honest whilst skirting around the fact that him and Dudley weren't adopted siblings as they'd claimed when they were at the World Cup.
"You don't have any other siblings?" Lizzie asked, clearly much more comfortable talking about Harry's problems than delving into the reason she'd rushed to her because she felt homesick. Harry half-heartedly wondered what that would be like, to have lived in a home for eleven years that you felt genuinely sick when you left it. That you just missed it that much.
"Nope. Just me."
"Lucky you." Lizzie replied, once more poking her tongue out at Mike who ruffled her hair, much to her irritation. She quickly launched herself at him, tackling him to the ground. She was small, tiny actually - the Corner's didn't have any height in their genes apparently - yet she managed to take Michael by surprise, and he ended up falling backwards off the bed, taking both Lizzie and the curtains with him.
"Shit!" Harry exclaimed through laughter, as the curtains ripped off their railings. Michael got up, an affronted expression on his face as he slowly walked over to his dresser, picking up his wand and muttering 'reparo'.
Lizzie, quickly untangling herself from the curtains as they tried to move back to their positions, jumped back onto the bed, winking impishly at Harry who was still unable to contain his laughter.
"Little devil." He whispered, his tone one of annoyance, but Harry could sense that Michael was amused. "You've probably woken everyone up now."
"Anthony's still asleep." Harry whispered, gesturing to his bed where the sound of snoring came from.
"What about -"
"I was sleeping." Terry interrupted angrily, his hair pulled in disarray over his face as he stood, arms crossed at the foot of the bed. Everyone collapsed into laughter.
Yes, Harry thought, it was good to be home - not at Hogwarts, not even in the Ravenclaw common room, but up here, with his friends, safe and sound in the Ravenclaw dormitory. His sanctuary. His home.