Title: Gravity
Author: Yaoi no Megami
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I don't own it. Get over it.
Word Count: 4,014
Summary: What will the Boy Who Lived do when the very darkness he tried so desperately to escape returns with a vengeance to tear at the crevices of his mind, ravage his body, and engulf his very soul? PreHBP. Eventual HPDM.
Warnings: Torture, Non-consensual sex/rape …
Notes: Please, I beg of you, go to my livejournal because it's my baby. The link is in my profile if you're interested. By the way, Attinet Sanitas means Pointless Sanity in Latin.
-:- .:. -:- Are the memories I hold still valid… or have the tears deluded them? -:- .:. -:-
Chapter Two: I Feel the Gravity of it All…
Harry couldn't sleep any longer after waking up in a cold sweat. It was a familiar feeling; his dreams were constantly plagued by nightmares of things he'd rather not remember at all. His eyes slowly fluttered open to stare at an excessively bright ceiling of a room that was decidedly not his bedroom. He stirred uncomfortably in the embarrassingly thin gown, rearranging the crisp sheets that could only belong to a hospital.
A muggle hospital.
Harry shut his eyes tightly and brought his good hand up to shield his eyes from the intense lights above him. The only sound which dared to break the silence was the steady beeping of a machine he could only guess was a heart monitor. It wasn't long before he began to register a dull throb of pain and became aware of the bandages wrapped tightly around his right arm. He could also tell there was something wrapped around his torso; when he shifted he could feel the fabric brush against his welts uncomfortably.
Shifting his focus from his bandage-clad injuries he glanced around the apparently empty room for a short while, immediately realizing his glasses were on a nightstand a bit away from the bed and he couldn't make much out anyways. Besides what he presumed was standard equipment the room seemed strangely empty. Harry always imagined a hospital being a bit more busy. He thought of nurses bustling around, perhaps an old wheezing roommate behind a flimsy curtain. But he didn't have a roommate.
Here, in this room, it was quiet. Like the world had stopped turning. He eyed the darkening sky through the window to the left of his bed warily; how long had he been unconscious?
A thin tube ran from his arm to an IV beside the bed, blood slowly draining from the bag. There was also a yellow rose in a vase on the windowsill, which Harry found odd since it was more than likely whoever found him didn't know him personally. The damp robe he'd stolen was draped over the chair beside his bed. Harry hoped against hope they didn't go through it— or he'd have a lot of explaining to do. Or they might just look at him strangely. After all, what was a stick to a building full of muggles?
Inspection turning inward, Harry tried hopelessly to sort through his blurred, distorted memories of what happened before he'd been kidnapped. He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, feeling the beginnings of a headache. Why couldn't he remember anything?
Harry sudden thought (an epiphany, really) made him freeze, gripping the sheets tightly… it had to be a memory charm. That was the only thing that could explain it. He slumped back into the pillows piled behind him, clearly frustrated.
A key rattled noisily in the door, effectively pulling Harry out of his reverie. He hadn't even realized the door was locked.
After a moment a rather plump nurse strode in, her wavy black hair swinging back and forth in it's ponytail with each step. She pushed a small cart filled with numerous medical supplies Harry didn't recognize. Apparently she hadn't realized he was even conscious until he spoke to her.
"Where am I?" Harry winced at the scratchy, almost raspy sound of his own voice. His eyes strayed to the large needle resting atop the cart, which was currently at his bedside.
"Oh! Good afternoon, sir! You're at St. Mary's Hospital; a couple brought you in early this morning. They've been incredibly worried— though they insist they don't know you." He cringed when she began to unravel the bandages enveloping his right arm. "Are you in pain?" Harry tried not to think about how her bubbly voice grated on his nerves, focusing his attention on what she was doing.
"A little."
At his words she paused to grab the needle from the cart. Harry simply averted his eyes, concentrating on the night sky just beyond the window. He was surprised he hadn't really felt the needle pierce his skin before she placed it back on the cart and resumed working the bandages on his arm loose. When she finally peeled the soiled gauze off and placed them in a nearby waste basket, a sea of shades ranging from black to pale yellow greeted him. He felt sick to his stomach just looking at his mutilated arm.
He found himself wishing he hadn't been found by muggles. If only he'd been taken to St. Mungo's…
He could feel the sharp sting of tears before he even closed his eyes, sinking further into the pillows propping him up— all but wishing they'd open up and swallow him. Whatever she injected him with was beginning to take effect, but even in his drowsy state he could feel her rubbing something cool over his wounds. Any pain he may have felt was numbed to the point that he could hardly feel it by the time she asked him to turn over.
How he hated muggle hospitals…
-:- .:. -:- .:. -:-
When Harry came to once again, waves of nausea washed over him— probably a result of all the muggle drugs they were feeding him. He could vaguely remember reading something about the negative affects of drugs, such as the ones they were injecting him with daily, on wizards.
But what could he possibly do? Tell them he was a wizard?
From their point of view his condition was only getting worse than it was when he'd first arrived, which obviously ruled out the option of checking himself out. There was no way for him to get help. The only thing that may be of use to him was a phone on a table at his bedside. Alas, that too was useless entirely due to the fact that he didn't know anyone's phone number. Hermione's number would've been especially useful, he was sure they would help a good friend of their daughter… not that it mattered now. Instead of wallowing in his sorrow, he gazed at the now wilting rose on the windowsill, silently wondering why anyone would even bother.
For what seemed like the hundredth time, Harry tried to remember how he'd managed to fall into harm's way yet again. He could clearly remember packing away everything for Hogwarts, sending Hedwig to reach the school on her own, and even Dudley's snide remarks! The car ride to King's Cross was where everything went blank. Harry frowned, confusion evident on his face. What could've happened during the miserable ride to the train station that would leave him in the clutches of a Death Eater?
A gentle rapping on the door pulled him from his muddled thoughts. He silently wondered who would actually knock on the door— nurses usually just strolled in.
In walked a couple, they seemed to be quite startled that he was even conscious. A short, thin woman with deep, wavy auburn hair and startling green eyes that could only be the result of color contacts came to stand beside his bed, smiling warmly. A man who was presumably her husband took to standing by the window, watching him with interest. His rich brown hair was slick with gel, parted and neatly combed to the side, leaving his hazel eyes in plain view.
"How are you feeling? The nurses told us you woke up a couple of days ago, but we didn't expect you to be awake. We were so worried when we found you—collapsed by the road, and all." Her Irish accent was so thick that he had trouble understanding her; Harry stared at her silently, contemplating whether or not he should answer her. The man pulled a fresh rose, carefully wrapped in plastic, from inside his jacket to replace the wilted one on the windowsill.
"Why do you even bother?" Harry finally questioned, fixing the man with a stare. He tried not to pay attention to his sore throat, swallowing several times to rid himself of the burning sensation.
"We only wish for you to get well," He responded a little too cheerfully for Harry's liking. "We have a son of our own; I imagine he's a few years younger than you. I can't even think of what we would do if something like this ever happened to him. I guess you could say that's why we care so much. I'm sorry but we have to being going, though. We only planned on staying a minute; we hardly expected you to be awake."
Anything they said after that was lost to him; he'd already slipped into sweet oblivion…
-:- .:. -:- .:. -:-
Harry blinked slowly, staring blankly at the ceiling. Merlin, how he wanted to sleep... insomnia's a bitch. He shifted for what seemed like the hundredth time that night, eyes drifting shut in a forlorn attempt to doze off. He knew it was pointless; he'd already had so many restless nights— it was a wonder he could keep his eyes open.
It had to be those damned drugs.
Minutes turned into hours, hours into days. Day and night seemed to fuse together to form a blurred version of something akin to reality. Everyday the couple who rescued him came and went, as did several nurses and doctors. Most people appeared as distorted figures in his haze of drowsiness. He was positive they were talking either to or about him, but he couldn't concentrate enough to understand what they were saying. He suspected it was his unfocused gaze and response (or lack thereof) that ultimately drove them all away after only a few minutes.
The silence the room had been draped in was unnerving. That was what really bothered him. He wished for something— anything— to break the silence which constantly surrounded him. It was like an annoying buzz from the depths of his mind which never ceased. They'd decided days ago he no longer needed to be monitored around the clock, leaving the room devoid of most equipment. He was basically on a plateau. His condition hadn't gotten any worse, but he hadn't gotten any better either. He sighed softly and shifted once more, blocking his view of the intense sunlight that was beginning to bathe the room in light.
Another sleepless night.
Harry didn't even realize anyone was in the room with him at first; he was content with staring fixedly at a spot on the wall. He involuntarily flinched when a familiar face appeared in his field of vision. This person stood out against all the rest, bringing Harry out of the trance he'd been stuck in for days.
Harry watched wearily as her hand inched out towards his face, questioning. Her hand was so close; he could feel the heat radiating from it. He couldn't move, he couldn't speak… he couldn't even think. It was as if he was frozen for a moment in time. Harry hastily withdrew from her touch as if she'd burned him.
He couldn't— he wouldn't let anyone touch him. It was too soon.
Her face bore an almost hurt look when he pulled away. Harry struggled to keep his face neutral and push his memories to the back of his mind. He wasn't sure he'd be able to face her now without completely falling apart. He wasn't ready for this. To see his friends. What would they think of him if they knew he'd allowed himself to be... raped?
They would pity him… think he was weak. How could he be their savior if he couldn't even defend himself against a rogue Death Eater?
"How'd you find me, Hermione?" The sound of his own voice stunned him, sounding strange to his own ears. Though talking left his throat feeling raw and scratchy his voice was steady and almost languid, the complete opposite of the turmoil within.
He cursed himself for letting his thoughts wander to something so trivial and focused his attention on the silent woman standing before him. He stared at her curiously, she looked quite different from the last time he'd seen her. Over the summer she'd filled out quite nicely— it was more obvious in the muggle clothes she was disguised in. Her once bushy mane was now noticeably tame and a bit shorter, just brushing against her shoulders in soft waves. She even looked a few inches taller from where he was laying.
There was that annoying buzz again… how Harry hated silence.
Hermione stood still for a few moments, seeming to search his soul with that simple gaze. The only warning he had was the slightly glazed look of her eyes before she literally pounced on him, pulling him into the tightest hug he'd had in a while. He unconsciously tensed, hissing at the pressure on his already sore ribs, not to mention the protests from so much weight his tender back.
"Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry!"
He wrinkled his nose at the hair tickling his face, ribs aching fiercely from the weight settled upon his chest. Where was that annoying nurse when you needed her?
"If I hadn't found you when I did, it might've been too late! You could be dead by now!" She sobbed into his shoulder, her tears drenching the thin hospital gown. Harry tried to find the strength to tell her it was getting difficult to breathe, but she didn't give him the chance. She pulled away slowly and sat on the edge of his bed, mumbling an apology and daintily wiping her tears on her sleeve. Harry settled for giving her an odd look.
"How long have you been here?" For the first time since she'd entered the room Hermione spoke calmly.
"I'm not sure… maybe a week? I've been out of it for days."
"We were all so worried about you. I've been searching for you high and low ever since your trunk was found on the train. We thought maybe you'd sent it ahead, but when you didn't show…" Hermione only shook her head sadly, as if trying to clear her mind, eyes glistening with tears once more. It took her a moment to compose herself again, "We need to go to St. Mungo's— or Hogwarts at the very least. You need medical attention soon… the medicine they've been giving you here will only make you weaker until…" Her voice broke on the last word and she sniffed slightly.
"I'm not going to St. Mungo's."
She extended her hand to Harry like she knew he would say that anyways, "Come on, we've got to hurry."
Harry looked at her warily, shifting uncomfortably. Part of him wanted to stay. It would be so much easier to just stay here and let himself die… but he had to remember that he wasn't just living for himself anymore. He was living for the sake of the entire Wizarding world in its. Under normal circumstances he wouldn't even consider going with her; what was the point of living after—?
He slid his hand into hers, gripping her small hand in his own instinctively, hoping she wouldn't notice that he was trembling. Harry busied himself with slipping cautiously out of the bed, careful not to aggravate his wounds. Lost in the moment, it took him a while to realize why she was staring so intently at his forearm. Harry gently tugged his hand free, wrapping his arms around his middle in a protective manner to hide the dark scabbing.
"What happened to your arm?" Hermione questioned softly, brushing stray hairs behind her ear in a nervous habit. "When I asked them what happened to you at the front desk they wouldn't give me a straight answer."
Harry tried to swallow the lump forming in the back of his throat. "I'll tell you later… l-let's just get out of here." He lowered his eyes, afraid they'd give away the truth.
He knew he'd never tell her.
Hermione looked as if she wanted to say something else, but she simply nodded. She began digging through the messenger bag he just realized she was carrying with her. She handed him a plain white shirt and black jeans, obviously a disguise, "I brought you some clothes to wear out of the hospital. I wasn't sure if you had anything else to wear and they're probably the wrong size, but it was the best I could do."
Harry thanked her profusely; grateful he wouldn't have to wear the oversized robe filled with so many unwanted memories. While he changed she began searching the insides of the robe draped over the chair. Pleased that the clothes weren't too loose on him, Hermione held out the worn wand for him. "I know you're not used to using this wand, but we can't just leave it here… and you might need to defend yourself." He quickly shoved the wand into his back pocket, hiding it from view with the slightly ill-fitting shirt.
The trip to Hogwarts proved to be a rather uneventful one. They took a cab to King's Cross where, unfortunately, they had to wait well over an hour for the next train to come. Of course, once they were comfortably on the train, Harry promptly fell asleep due to exhaustion.
-:- .:. -:- .:. -:-
Unconsciously feeling the weight of someone's eyes on him, Harry shifted uncomfortably on the stiff bed. He groaned at the unexpected glare of the sun that threatened to wrench him from the safe haven only sleep could provide. Next to the bed a chair scrapped noisily across the floor, alerting the somnolent boy to someone's presence. Harry was content to just lay there until he fell back asleep but curiosity began to eat away at his exhaustion. It urged him to find out who was in the room with him— who so desperately didn't want to be seen.
Half-lidded eyes barely caught a glimpse of the blonde before he was gone. Through his fatigue Harry blinked in confusion; he had to be dreaming.
"Finally awake are we, Mr. Potter?"
Harry visibly flinched at the voice that startled him from his thoughts, accompanied by a most unwanted hand on his arm. He quickly jerked out of reach, the deafening sound of his heart pounding in his ears, somehow ending up on the floor in his fit of panic. She looked like she had half a mind to help him back to bed, but thought better of it when he only flinched at her approach. The worried eyes of Madam Pomfrey stared down at Harry's shaking form, "… Back to bed with you, now. Excuse me while I inform Dumbledore that you're awake." She stiffly walked into her office.
Flushing with embarrassment, Harry idly listened to the hum of hushed voices from Madam Pomfrey's office while he climbed back onto the bed. His thoughts wandered back to Michael of their own accord as he climbed back onto the stiff hospital bed. Since the… incident he hadn't had much time to actually stop and think about every that'd happened.
All he wanted to do was forget… but something about the whole situation irked him.
If the Death Eater was really serious about holding him captive, how was it that he escaped so easily? He didn't realize it at the time but thinking back on it made him realize something. It was all too easy. A Death Eater would make sure his captive stays captive. A Death Eater would never leave his wand lying about so carelessly. A Death Eater's lair would be well protected. A Death Eater—
"Mr. Potter?" Dumbledore's warm voice drew Harry from his thoughts. "How're you feeling? Quite a few people have missed you the past two weeks. Not only has the school, but the entire Wizarding world has been in a frenzy due to your absence."
At this new information Harry perked up a bit. He'd really been missing for two full weeks?
"I apologize for our incompetence… so much could've been prevented if we'd thought to search the muggle world as well. Be sure to thank Ms. Granger— without her it's not likely you would've survived at all."
Harry kept his eyes trained on his hands, which were neatly folded in his lap, vaguely wondering what would've happened if Hermione hadn't show up when she did. Would he have died peacefully in his sleep? Or would he have been in agony until his very last conscious second?
Honestly speaking, the latter sounded more fitting for the Boy-Who-Lived.
"… I'm sure you're glad to know Poppy has flushed all the drugs out of your system; she had a bit of trouble with that when you first arrived. And the scars... Poppy couldn't remove them; something about the way the muggles healed them..."
Harry tuned out Dumbledore's rambling so he could get a better look at his 'scars.' While his forearm was no longer the sea of various hues and flaking scabs it was when he last saw it, Michael's name certainly stood out. The name stared back at him in a hideous shade of pink, still as bold as it was the day it was carved into his skin. He glowered at his arm in disgust; the least they could do was get rid of such obvious reminders.
"When can I leave?"
Dumbledore paused, a look of surprise etched onto his aged face, apprehension creeping into his dull blue eyes. It seemed oddly out of place on the old man; Harry was so accustomed to seeing those eyes twinkling and full of life. "As soon as you're feeling well enough, I suppose. However, before you leave I would like to ask you some questions about exactly where you've been these past two weeks as well as the curious... scar on your arm. Ms. Granger has already informed me that you were checked into the hospital for nine days. So, the question is: where were you the other five days?"
Bowing his head to conceal the resentment he could feel bubbling to the surface, Harry slid off the bed indignantly. He clenched his fists tightly as an uneasy feeling settled itself in the pit of his stomach. After such a traumatizing experience he needed time to readjust to school life, repress the raw emotions from such an emotional roller coaster. Why should he have to tell Dumbledore anything? It would be like sticking his finger into an open wound! He just wanted to be alone. Was that too much to ask?
With his defenses firmly in place, Harry mumbled that he was leaving and made his way to the door as calmly as he could manage. He didn't care to notice the troubled blue eyes that followed his shaking form out of the Hospital Wing.
"The password is Attinet Sanitas." For a moment Harry paused outside the door, thoroughly puzzled, until he realized Dumbledore was calling out the common room password.
Pushing his anger aside, Harry tried to concentrate on more important matters— like what time it was. The halls were silent and empty, causing his footsteps to echo eerily as he walked towards the kitchens. He wasn't ready to face everyone just yet.
Drawing his lip between his teeth in thought, Harry slowed his brisk walk to a more languid pace. There was a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach urging him to believe that something terrible was about to happen… it was unsettling to say the least. He felt as if he was on the brink of sanity and the fates were incessantly trying to shove him off when he least expected it. Harry wasn't sure how much more he could take.
So sitting on the cold kitchen floor, eating the food the house elves had graciously supplied him with, he couldn't help but wonder if being at Hogwarts was truly the best thing for him right now. He was almost positive tomorrow would be a living hell… people staring at him, whispering incessantly, not to mention the slew of work he had to make up.
It wasn't like he had much of a choice anyway.
