Chapter 4

She pretends not to see the way they look at her, the frightened expressions, the pitying glances, the nervous flashes of panic that mar their familiar features. They all look at her like she's someone else. Perhaps she is.

She feels changed. Broken. Mutilated. Malformed. Everyone else must see it too.

A handful of people flit in and out of her room after Snape drops her off in the infirmary. They all tiptoe around her. They say I'm so sorry. They whisper to each other when they think she's asleep. But she doesn't sleep. Not really.

She doesn't do much of anything anymore.

Madame Pomfrey tries to make her talk, wanting to know if she's in any pain. Harry doesn't tell her that she feels pain everywhere, that the pain seeps into her blood and flows through her veins, that she hurts so much that she barely feels anything at all. She can't tell the mediwitch that even though she's given her multiple potions to numb her injuries, she still feels Him on her and around her and in her. So, she answers by slowly shaking her head.

Dumbledore tries to make her talk. He wants to know what happened in the graveyard, how she survived, what exactly Voldemort said. He stresses that every detail of what occurred is extremely important, and she needs to tell him everything. She could reveal what she experienced, but she knows that Snape was there, and he has undoubtedly relayed that information already. She can't tell him how she survived, because she doesn't have the slightest idea. She refuses to repeat the vile words that He spoke. Harry does everything she can to keep Voldemort's voice out of her head, but it reverberates through her subconscious, taunting and laughing and moaning as if it's playing on repeat. Instead of answering any of the questions, she rolls over in the cot to stare at the wall, claiming that she's too tired and she doesn't remember.

Fudge tries to make her talk. He wants to know what really happened, why she's spewing ridiculous stories, and why Dumbledore is pretending to believe her. She can't bring herself to respond to the man. He's seen her medical charts. He knows she's been injured. Yet, he seems hellbent on proving that she's making the whole thing up. The Minister eventually storms out of her room after she stares blankly at the wall without responding for nearly half an hour.

For all others who visit, terse responses are all that she offers; Yes, no, maybe, and I don't know. She does not recount the events that transpired, not even to herself. Harry tries distancing herself from it as far as she possibly can. On some level, she knows this is not healthy, but she can't bring herself to care.

Today, Ron and Hermione are allowed in to see her for a few minutes. Hermione becomes instantly distraught when she sees Harry, crying and fussing as if she's dying. Ron doesn't say much. He stands off to the side uncomfortably.

She knows that they have no idea what really happened to her. She'd made Dumbledore promise not to tell anyone the details of her injuries. However, she can't quell the gnawing feeling that they know, that they can somehow see through her dressing gown, and make out the name carved into her flesh.

Harry tries to make small talk, tries to make herself forget what has happened so she can prove to her friends that she's alright, but the words won't come. She ends up staring awkwardly at them with her arms folded protectively across her chest.

Her friends are still standing there when Sirius bursts into the infirmary. He crosses the room in seconds, his face ghostly-pale and full of concern. What would he think of her if he knew?

Her godfather strides past Ron and Hermione and pulls her into a tight hug. She can't stop the immediate grenade of panic that explodes in her stomach at the sudden contact. She feels trapped within his sturdy arms, and the comfort that she hoped to feel never comes.

"Oh, Harry," he whispers into her hair. "I was so worried about you."

He cups her face gently with his hands, assessing her for injuries. "Are you alright? What did they do to you? I swear, I'll kill them all."

He stares into her eyes intently, and she struggles to decide which question to answer, but she can't focus. There are hands on her.

"I… uh," she stutters, gasping for the air that seems to have left her lungs.

"Harry?" He questions, his eyes wide. He takes a step back from her, giving her room to breathe.

This is just enough for Harry to maintain her composure. She presses her lips into a firm line and says, "I'm fine." Her tone is not confident, nor convincing, but Sirius looks too frightened to argue with her. Instead, he pulls a chair up to her bedside and plops down in it.

"Harry, what did they do to you?" He asks seriously. "Dumbledore barely told me anything."

She keeps her mouth closed tightly, her gaze wandering first to Ron and Hermione in the corner and then back to her somber looking godfather. She can't tell them. No one can know.

"I'm really tired. I need to go to sleep," she murmurs, sinking down lower in the bed and shutting her eyes tightly. The room is tense and quiet as its inhabitants shuffle around awkwardly. After a few moments, they are all escorted out by Madame Pomfrey.

In the empty room, with her eyes clenched shut, she sucks in several shaky breaths.

In… and out…. In…. and out…

She has to keep reminding herself how to breathe. Whenever she relies on her body to do the work itself, she becomes light-headed very quickly. As she is taking in air robotically, a set of footsteps break the silence in the room. They grow closer and closer until she can tell someone is right beside her. Her breathing hitches, but she doesn't dare open her eyes.

She hears something being placed on the table next to her bed, and then the intruder retreats. The door clangs shut, and she hesitantly scans the room. A vial of purple liquid rests next to her cot. A small label attached to its side reads: Dreamless Sleep Potion.

So, it had been Snape.

The man had come back to visit a few times, bringing various potions to the mediwitch and being careful not to look Harry in the eye. She couldn't pretend that his lack of acknowledgement hadn't hurt. It made her feel like even less of a person. But she couldn't blame him for not looking at her. He had been there, and he knew everything.

Perhaps that was why he had been so patient with her earlier and why he'd spoken with such a strange emotion in his voice. Was it guilt? Could the git who'd tormented her for the past four years actually feel bad for not helping her. Had he wanted to step in? It seems ridiculous, but she can't help wondering if it's true. After all, the man had saved her life several times within the past four years. He'd never been happy to see her, but he made sure she was alive, and he'd even protected her from a werewolf last year. If he hated her as much as he pretended to, he probably would have let Remus tear her to bits.

She'd even heard him talking with Madame Pomfrey last night. They had believed that she was asleep, but her eyes darted wildly behind her closed lids as she listened to the Git of the Dungeons asking about her condition. He sounded genuinely concerned, and he offered the mediwitch several different potions he thought could improve her condition. So, maybe he isn't a traitor.

Or maybe it is all an act. Perhaps he is just waiting for the perfect opportunity to take her back to Him. She shudders.

Despite her concerns about his loyalty, Harry still picks up the vial and takes a swig of the purple potion. She instantly feels calmer and settles back onto the pillow. Her eyes drift shut and a peaceful wave of sleep crashes over her again.

Harry wakes far too soon, feeling no more rested than before. It's as if she's constantly drained of energy. She stares out the window for several hours, wanting to cry, to let out some of the pent-up emotion that she's been feeling, but her eyes are dry.

"Good morning, Ms. Potter," the mediwitch greets, striding over to her. She hands her the pain potion that tastes strongly of dirt, and Harry chokes it down without saying a word.

"It's the last day of term you know," Madame Pomfrey says casually. "I'm sure Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley will be by to see you soon."

Harry continues to stare out the window. From this angle, she can see the twinkling, blue lake reflecting sparks of sunlight. It's actually rather pretty, but she can't seem to enjoy it. It just reminds her of the second task… and Cedric.

"You don't have to see them," the mediwitch continues. "If you'd rather not have company, I can tell them that you're not feeling well."

The older woman seems to be waiting for an answer, and when Harry doesn't give one, she sighs and turns back to organize a shelf of vials.

It isn't long before Ron and Hermione burst through the doors and plop into the chairs at Harry's bedside.

"Hi, Harry," Hermione starts as if she's talking to a small child. "How are you feeling today?"

Harry had planned to block out the conversation, but at Hermione's words she wants to scoff. How is she feeling? How is she feeling! She feels like shit. She feels like her fucking soul has been sucked out of her body. Like someone has raped her and taken a fucking knife to her chest. Rage bubbles in her cloudy eyes.

Hermione must not see the change in her demeanor because she reaches out to gently place her hand on top of her friends.

Harry flinches backward and nearly falls off the side of her cot. "Don't touch me," she hisses sharply.

"I.. I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't think."

Madame Pomfrey steps closer and looks at Harry strangely. "It's alright Ms. Granger. She's still quite shaken after what happened. She won't let me or anyone else get near her either."

Harry hears the sound of sniffling coming from Hermione. For Merlin's sake. She's so emotional.

"Mione, maybe we should go," Ron suggests.

"You're right," she says sullenly. "Bye Harry. I hope you get to feeling better. I promise I'll write you this summer. You can talk to me about anything. Nothing about what happened if you don't want. I just mean that I'll always be there if you do… want to talk about it."

"Bye, Harry," Ron adds sadly. He looks like he wants to say more, but he seems to recognize that Harry wants her space.

Harry watches their retreating forms until they disappear behind the closed door. Then she turns back to the window.

Sirius comes by to visit a few days later, bringing along a bottle of butterbeer and a tray of treacle tart. Ordinarily, she would have appreciated the gifts, but now, she ignores them, and they sit untouched on her bedside table.

He tells her a few stories about her parents, but she doesn't bother to listen. His voice sounds like a constant ringing in her ear. She wishes he would leave.

But then he says something that throws her off guard. "Guess this'll be the last time I get to see you for a while. Albus said it wouldn't be safe for me to visit at your relatives' house. I think I've got somewhere I can stay for the Summer though. Maybe you could write to me if you're feeling up to it."

The Dursleys. They were really going to make her go back to the Dursleys. What about all the potions she needed and her checkups? But now that she thinks about it, Madame Pomfrey hasn't been giving her many potions anymore, not even the dreamless sleep, and her checkups haven't been nearly as thorough either. She must be nearly healed.

"I have to go back to the Dursleys?" she asks. Her voice sounds shaky as if she's almost forgotten how to use it.

Sirius seems startled by the sudden noise, but he turns calmly toward her.

"I'm afraid so, kiddo."

"But why? Can't I just stay here or go with you?"

"I'm sorry. I already asked Albus. He said it's not safe for you to live with me yet. But like I said, we can write. I should be able to stay in better contact with you since I'll have a permanent place to stay."

Sirius is smiling warmly at her, but she wants to scowl or better yet, sob. He's really going to throw her to the wolves. He knows how much she hates the Dursleys, but he still won't let her stay with him. Who cares if it's not safe? It's not that safe with Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia either. They hate her!

She stares at him coldly, and his smile disappears.

"It'll be alright. It's only for the Summer. You'll be back at Hogwarts before you know it."

Harry rolls over to the other side and curls up beneath the covers. She shuts her eyes and pretends that she's asleep. No, not asleep. Dead.