[Harry Potter and the Cursed Amulet]
IV
Confessions
"Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth."
Oscar Wilde
Time kept marching on at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, despite the fact that Harry James Potter slept unwittingly on. The Quidditch season had started and Gryffindor lost their first game to Slytherin without their star seeker and, now, captain. Mid-year exams were also drawing nearer and nearer, with many students, especially one Hermione Jane Granger, stressing about the outcome. She was also worried Harry would miss them. Ron envied Harry quite a bit.
Nobody talked of the disaster that was the previous Hogsmeade visit. Dumbledore had cancelled any future trips, of which Severus Snape was quite glad, though he didn't show it. Instead, Dumbledore had declared that there was to be a dance for those in the third year or higher, something that surprised even the staff. The speech he made that breakfast was long, talking of how they could not be foolish and walk right into danger – Snape snorted at this point – but they still had to live their lives. This, he decided, was a suitable alternative. Most of the females seemed to agree with him. Some of the males did also, though some detested the idea. Ron, despite his atrocious dancing skills, quite liked the idea of a night dancing with Hermione. He asked her that very night, and she said yes. It sounded like the Yule Ball they should have had.
Both, while happy for each other, were deeply concerned for their friend. Hermione still couldn't get Ron to talk about it, and that wasn't a good sign. He was nowhere near as bad as what Harry had been, though, and he was still happy in all other areas of life. Hermione was hoping it would go away when Harry woke up. If that ever happened. Every day Hermione and Ron visited their friend and every day they hoped to see his eyes flutter open and his mouth form words they would rejoice in hearing. Every day they were disappointed when it didn't happen. Dumbledore couldn't tell them what was wrong or why he had been unconscious for so long, but the two students could tell that even he was worried.
Draco visited him almost every night, without anyone's knowledge. He had felt better after the first night, so he had tried again. The calming effect talking to someone had on him – even if it was a someone who could neither hear nor answer – became something he needed to survive. He had been able to stand food again, stand talking to people, stand listening in class and even feign interest in humiliating and degrading people. As much as he hated to admit it, he relied on his inanimate rival, even if his rival didn't realise it. Draco was probably the only one in the castle who truly didn't want Harry to wake up. He didn't know what he would do without a sleeping Gryffindor to confide in.
The night after Dumbledore made the announcement about the dance, Draco headed off to Harry's private hospital bed, as he always did. He moved down the corridors he moved down every night; he entered the hospital wing he entered every night. The doorknob to the separate room was located, just like it was every night, with each night taking less and less time. By now, he could almost walk right up and grasp onto it in the dark. Almost. Soon he was once again in the hospital room of Harry James Potter, sitting beside his bed with a wand sitting on the bedside table illuminating the room. The situation happened every night and was so familiar and dear to him, yet it still felt so foreign. He couldn't believe that he was actually here, confessing his darkest secrets to an unconscious Harry Potter.
"Hello Harry, I'm back," Draco began. "Did you miss me?" There was a pause. Draco knew well what Harry's real answer to that question would be, but he had not the heart to admit it to himself.
"Something interesting happened this morning. Dumbledore made another one of his little announcements. Don't worry" – Draco let out a slight chuckle – "there won't be any trips to Hogsmeade any time soon. It seems Dumbledore's learnt that lesson. No, there's going to be a dance. Isn't that exciting? Well, I find it exciting at least. It's a shame I'll have to go with Pansy, really. She's annoying me out of my mind at the moment, wanting to know what's wrong, being very... clingy." There was a pause as Draco thought; his voice taking on a more serious tone as he continued.
"You might know this already, Harry, but I'm in an arranged marriage. Have been since I was born, pretty much. My parents know what they want from me, and that's what they expect to be delivered. When I finish school I have only a few years before I marry Pansy and only a few more before we have to have a child. It's not something I like, having my life already planned out for me." There was a pause, as Draco thought about what he said, before he continued. "You understand that, don't you Harry. Having your life planned for you? I think you might..." Draco gave a weak smile, sitting in reflection for a few moments, before getting up and leaving.
-:-O-:-
"Well, I am your girlfriend, Ron. It is sort of expected that I would go to the dance with you." Hermione said, laughing slightly as she did so. Sometimes her boyfriend could be quite thick indeed.
"Yeah, I know that," Ron mumbled, with a goofy, little grin of his own. It had been plastered on his face for the last few minutes – ever since Hermione had accepted his offer to go with him to the dance. "Still, it's just... I didn't get to go with you to the Yule Ball and this'll be... like... our first date."
"Oh, Ron," Hermione said, a little blush creeping into her cheeks. Feeling amorous, she leant forward and gave him a short, but sweet, kiss on his lips. It was Ron's turn to blush when the wolf-whistles and hollers came from behind him.
"Seamus, would you knock it off!" Ron's voice exclaimed, not even turning to look at the culprit.
"Hey! it's not just me," Seamus replied defensively, flopping down on the lounge beside Ron.
"No, you're just the loudest," Ron returned, rather sarcastically.
"So, you're going to the dance together?" Dean asked with a smirk, sitting himself in a large armchair next to Hermione in the same unceremonious manner.
"You bet your life we are!" Ron hastened to reply, making Hermione laugh at his eagerness. "What?" he queried her.
"Oh, nothing," she replied, still laughing, before giving him a kiss, which settled his nerves quite a bit.
"Will you two knock it off?" Neville groaned, sitting himself on the floor in front of the lounge chair.
"No," Ron replied, kissing Hermione again, perhaps a little longer this time.
"When you're quite done," Dean said, rolling his eyes.
"Fine," Ron sighed, positioning himself so that Hermione could sit between his legs and lean into his chest. "So, who are you going to the ball with, Dean?"
"I don't know, mate, some of us don't have girlfriends they can ask that night. Some of us will actually wait until a more suitable time."
"Hey! it's only a couple of months before."
"Try three or four," Seamus retorted, complete with a smirk.
"Well I see no problem with it," Hermione said with a smile, turning slightly and kissing Ron quickly again.
"You wouldn't," Neville added dryly. Seamus and Dean laughed. Ron, having drawn Hermione into a long and languorous kiss, yanked a cushion out from under him and, after swatting Seamus in the stomach, threw it at Neville. "Hey!" a rather disconcertedNeville exclaimed, before throwing the cushion back. Unfortunately the cushion hit Hermione instead of the intended target.
"Neville Longbottom!" Hermione cried, breaking the kiss with a look of jovial furiousness in her eyes. The cushion was soon thrown back, and all hell broke loose. The rest of the common room just stared in amazement as five of their peers threw cushions back and forth in the small lounge area in front of the fire. It began as Seamus, Dean and Neville versus Ron and Hermione, but became everyone for themselves when Ron playfully hit Hermione on the thigh, and she reciprocated quite a lot harder. The couch and armchair soon became barricades; Seamus discovering they weren't the best when he moved up to launch his cushion – turned grenade – and four cushions simultaneously hit him in the face. Their fight ended when a seventh year prefect intervened. The five of them were quite disappointed.
-:-O-:-
Draco turned the doorknob he had turned many times before and entered the room he had been in many nights before. He hadn't been coming to visit Harry long, but already it seemed like he had all his life. These visits meant more to Draco than he could admit; the chance to talk about his screwed up life something he wasn't willing to give up. Casting Lumos once again he slipped into the chair and just sat there for a few moments, watching the boy he was supposed to hate.
"You know what I realised today?" he said, the process of vocalising his inner-most thoughts beginning once again. "I come and visit my worst enemy every night and tell him, while he is unconscious, why I hate my life. Strange, isn't it?" There was a pause before he continued. "Still, I like it, don't you? No, you probably don't, but I do. It gives me a chance to be myself; show someone that I'm not really that much of a heartless bastard. I'm not that much of a bastard, am I? I hope not." He paused, then sighed.
"I don't want to be, you know. I know I've told you before, but I hope you don't mind if I tell you again. It's just... so hard sometimes." He blinked away tears and swallowed, before continuing. "I don't know if I'm going to even be alive next week, or the week after that. If I slip up, that's it. I'm dead; or worse. I shouldn't forget the 'or worse', even though I try to. It's there, though. I'm scared of that probably even more than death. My father can do things I don't even want to think about, and the Dark Lord, well, one can only imagine what he's capable of. If either of them found out what I was doing now, or even what I'm telling you, they... they..." That was it, Draco couldn't continue. He broke down and cried. He cried in front of someone for the first time in his life – even if that someone was unconscious.
No matter how hard he tried to ignore, reminders appeared everywhere of just how awful his life had been.
-:-O-:-
"How is he, Ron?"
"Same as always, Hermione, same as always." The girl sighed as she sat on the closest side of her friend's bed. He was right, she could see that as she looked across at their sleeping companion. Harry looked like he always did – completely out to the world.
"I don't know how much longer I can stand this waiting, Hermione," Ron said sullenly. "I know he'll come out of it eventually, but I can't help worrying."
"Me too, Ron, me too." Hermione's sombre voice was interrupted by the opening of the door.
"How is he, mate?" Seamus asked. Behind him stood Dean and Neville.
"He's sleeping like a baby," Hermione said. "I tell you, he must be tired." Despite the gravity of the situation and the sobriety of the room, everyone couldn't help but laugh. Somehow, it seemed like all that they could do. This room had been quite morose place to visit for all of them these past couple of weeks, even though they knew that Harry was technically fine and would recover in perfect health. Laughter managed to dispel the tension that was thick in the room; laughter managed to soothe everyone's harrowed nerves.
"You know, the Quidditch team's not doing so well without you, Harry," Dean said, moving over and sitting next to his sleeping friend. "We're doing quite miserably, actually."
"Now, Dean, we aren't that bad," Ron chided.
"Well, no, we can still score points and part of the team's doing pretty good," Dean explained slowly, almost apologetically.
"What he means is that you're the only Seeker in the school who can beat Malfoy, mate," Seamus explained quickly, moving around to the far side to the bed and ruffling his sleeping friend's hair. "You're the only bloody Seeker Gryffindor's got!"
"I wouldn't say that exactly," Ron said, furrowing his brow.
"Please, Ron," Hermione said, rolling her eyes, proving she was quite capable at melodrama. "Even Ginny admits she's nowhere near the standard of Harry and the others."
"All right," Ron conceded, "maybe not quite as good as the other Seekers..."
"Ronald Weasley! Don't you dare!" a shrill voice in the doorway shrieked, Ginny swatting her brother over the back of his head. "I suck and you know it." She jumped onto the bed – lightly, so as not to disturb Harry, of course – between Dean and Hermione and proceeded to say to the sleeping boy, "You better wake up fast, or we'll lose to Hufflepuff, Harry." There were chuckles around the room coming from everyone except Hermione, who rolled her eyes, even though she knew it was meant in jest.
"You know, we're all jealous with all the school you're missing," Neville spoke up for the first time from his position beside Seamus.
"Hermione's not," Ron said with a smirk, moving and sitting at the end of the bed, between Neville and his girlfriend. Unfortunately, that meant he was within her hitting distance.
"Not funny Ronald," she said, even though she was finding it hard to suppress a grin. These days, it hurt little when one of her friends teased her for her love of learning – especially Ron.
"Besides, Ron," Dean added, "Hermione will probably help him with studying, seen as he's missed so much. He'll be getting the good grades."
"Lucky bitch," Seamus said, looking over at the sleeping boy he was referring to. Hermione couldn't stop gaping.
The friendly banter continued; the conversations stretching on throughout the rest of the afternoon. Everyone had a good time, even though one of them was unconscious in a magical coma. Somehow it didn't seem to bother them. They knew that this is what Harry would've wanted; Harry would've wanted them to keep laughing and having fun. Though, as Dean thought about it, he wasn't so sure. That was what the old Harry would've wanted, but the Harry of this year was completely different. The Harry of this year was one he didn't recognise; there was no telling what he would have wanted.
Eventually, Hermione was forced to break up the avid conversation, reminding them all that curfew was fast approaching. Dean walked back to the common room quietly, still pondering the changes that had occurred in his friend. Ever since the Sorting Feast he had been withdrawn and morose. He had started to get better as the term had gone on, Dean remembered, but then started going back downhill. There was no way of telling why, at least not without more knowledge. The problem was, Harry wasn't very forthcoming with more knowledge.
"Hey, Dean, you all right? You've gone a little quiet," Seamus said, not loud enough for any of the other Gryffindors to hear.
"Yeah, fine," he replied, "just thinking."
Of course, the trip back to the common room couldn't be as simple as they had planned. In fact, it had to be a lot harder than they had planned. One Draco Malfoy decided to come strutting along, his usual aloofdemeanour in place. Not only that, but he was followed by Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini and Nott; Pansy Parkinson draped over his side. Dean couldn't help but roll his eyes as the Slytherin band approached the Gryffindor band. No matter how much they detested each other, they always seemed to want to be together.
"Well, well, well," a sneering Malfoy began, "if it isn't the leaderless Gryffindors. How is he these days? Still slacking in the infirmary, is he?" Malfoy: he was most certainly an enigma. Almost like their Harry, except more cruel. Dean had noticed a change in the young Malfoy. When Ron had told him about Malfoy's response to his jibes, or lack thereof, Dean had been interested.He had noticed a few times that Malfoy seemed to no longer provoke the Gryffindors, or anyone else for that matter. It had been odd, but worse was that he had just started doing it again. One day he just magically became Malfoy again: taunting all he could and acting above everyone else.
"I wouldn't say that, Malfoy," Ron spat back. "He blocked a Killing Curse. You ever done that? Takes a bit out of you."
"Yeah, whatever." It was Blaise Zabini who spoke up. "Can't say we have a love of saving annoying old fools who deserve to be dead." That got the Gryffindors riled up.
"You watch your tongue, Zabini, before I hex it off." Ginny's eyes flared with anger; her wand was already up and waiting.
"Mature response, Weasel," Parkinson sneered. "Couldn't think of a smart comeback, so just resort to threats, did you?"
"Don't talk about my sister like that, Parkinson."
"Oh, I'm so scared. Draco: save me!" The sarcasm in her voice was almost tangible. Her laugh that followed was worthy of Bellatrix LeStrange.
"As you should be, my dear," Malfoy said, his voice almost dripping with sarcasm. "Those second-hand wands work wonders with making people vomit slugs." The Slytherins all laughed; Ron went red, remembering his second year.
"At least he's not an asshole, Malfoy," Hermione retorted.
Malfoy just let out a, "Ha!" and added, "whatever, Mudblood." The hoard of Slytherins moved off.
"Come on," Seamus said, motioning the Gryffindors to move off also. "Malfoy's a jerk, anyway. The lot of them are."
"Crabbe and Goyle were as articulate as ever," Dean added in, trying to lighten the mood and appease the tempers. It worked. The Gryffindors went back to their common room laughing.
-:-O-:-
Draco was later than usual. It wasn't his fault, really. Pansy had decided she wanted to talk. He decided that it should have been a labour of Hercules to sit through that. There was a lot he wanted to talk to Harry about tonight, too. The confrontation with the Gryffindors had been quite disconcerting. Somehow it had reminded Draco of what life would be like after Harry woke up once again. It hadn't taken him long to reapply the pretence of hatred that had slipped, but pretending to hate Harry and sneer at him seemed like a daunting task. He saw Harry as a confident; Harry saw himself as no such thing.
Entering the hospital wing as he always did, he noticed something odd. There was light coming from behind the door to Harry's room. His instincts took over quickly; his wand was drawn without him even noticing. He skulked over to the door hunched, hiding in the shadows. Carefully and slowly he leaned in to the door and listened to what was going on on the other side. Someone was in there, Draco could hear their voice. Straining just a little he could hear the conversation.
"Harry, you have been unconscious for several weeks." It was a voice Draco recognised easily: the voice of Albus Dumbledore. "I must say we were starting to get a bit worried." Draco couldn't help the butterflies from fluttering around inside his stomach. Could this possibly mean that Harry was awake? Surely not. Surely Harry was still...
"I don't care at the moment, Headmaster." Draco blanched. Yes, it did. For the first time in about three weeks, Draco heard the voice of Harry Potter.
This couldn't be real, this couldn't possibly be real. His confident couldn't possibly be awake! He had finally found a way to live; he had finally found a way to maintain the Malfoy façade. Yet, what happened now? Harry had to go and wake up! Draco couldn't believe it. He was shattered. He pulled himself up onto a nearby hospital bed and sat, leaning against the wall, listening to the talk continue.
"Please, Albus, he's only been awake a few minutes, and already you are down here with him. Give the boy a moment or two."
Only a few minutes; and Draco had been late. That meant that, if Pansy hadn't wanted to talk to him, he would've probably been at Harry's bedside when he had woken up. His stomach twisted in fear at the idea, yet his heart fluttered with wanted relief. Part of him thanked the almighty deities – and Pansy – that she had kept him at the common room so late and he had escaped being found out and the shattering of his lifesaving mask. The other part of him wanted to curse Pansy to hell for preventing him from being there, forcing him to explain to Potter why he was and letting him in on his secret, making him Draco's confident for real. At this moment, he didn't know which part of his was greater, which outcome he wanted more. Right now he couldn't make out much through his clouded mind.
"I have to get out of here."
He had to flee back to his room: his safe house, his haven. Stumbling back across the infirmary and down the corridors, he eventually made it to the Slytherin dormitories. Once inside his private room, the wards were erected and he collapsed on his bed. He was confused, he was angry, he was distraught. Despite his troubled mind, he soon fell asleep, succumbing to the rest he needed to sort out the mess that Harry's awakening had created.
-:-O-:-
Darkness. Infinite darkness. Day after day, night after night, the complete blackness surrounded him. Not that he could tell day from night; both were indivisible, both were identical. There was no telling how long he was down there, no telling how long he survived in that shadow. It just continued, minute after minute, hour after hour, day after day, until it finally started to lift. Perhaps that was the wrong word. It didn't lift; he lifted himself out of it.
After exactly seventeen days in the darkness, he created a light. There was no incantation or spell, just a flow of strange, strong magic and an overwhelming hate. Harry could feel it; it consumed him. Every horrid memory, every lustful sin, every hating sneer ran through his mind once again. Every wrong done by him, every hand raised against him he saw and the hate he felt towards them fuelled the light as well. He detested life, he abhorred happiness and he loathed love. The light got stronger and stronger until he had, at last, gotten what he knew he wanted. Harry's laugh was twisted and mocking, sneering and jeering. He screamed as his own face came into view. It was a twisted face of evil.
Harry's scream continued into his consciousness. It didn't last for long, but it was loud and terrified. He tossed and turned in the unknown bed, clutching his chest, tears starting to trickle down his cheeks. His chest ached with pain and an anguish that wouldn't leave.
"Mr Potter!" It seemed that his scream had been loud enough to wake Madame Pomfrey from her slumber. In an instant she was in action, telling him to calm and stay still, casting diagnosis charms and giving him calming potions. The calming potion helped. He still felt agitated, but at least he could lay still and be examined. Still, he couldn't help this hollow numbness that seemed to fill him.
"Mr Potter, I'll be back in one moment, I just have to firecall the Headmaster. I'll be back soon." With that, Madame Pomfrey left the small, private room.
Harry lay there and thought. He had to be in the infirmary, that much was clear, though he'd never seen this particular room before. What he was here for, he couldn't remember. Wait, he remembered something about a battle. He strained his mind to remember more, but he soon shook his head. That wasn't going to be possible. Instead, he let his mind wander to what he'd just witnessed, what he'd just experienced. That dream.
"Was it really a dream? It felt so real..."
"Of course it was a dream! What else could it have possibly been?"
"A vision..."
It had been dark, and he didn't just mean he had had trouble seeing. That hatred, that lust for power, he had felt that. It had felt so tangible, so real, as if it was his own. But those eyes! When he recalled those man's eyes, he couldn't help but shudder. They had held nothing but hate; held nothing but malice. Harry would've preferred Voldemort's eyes to those, and that was truly saying something. All of a sudden, he felt uneasy. He bit his lip, rolled on his side, wanting to go back to sleep, but fearing what he would see if he did so.
"Harry, the Headmaster's coming," came Madame Pomfrey's voice as she re-entered. Harry sniffed in response; she seemed to notice he was upset. Though she continued checking on him, making sure he was well, she did so quietly, letting him have a few moments to himself. She couldn't help a stab of sorrow hitting her heart and said quietly, "It'll be all right, Harry."
"No it won't," he replied quietly. There was a sneer in his voice that shocked the healer. In all of the times Harry had visited the hospital wing – and with Harry's knack for trouble, that seemed to be quite regularly – she had never heard that malevolent undertone in his voice.
"Hello Poppy," the Headmaster's voice at the door said. He had been fast in getting down here; it had been only a minute or two since Harry had woken up and even less time since she firecalled him. She could tell he hadn't heard his pupil's voice. She couldn't determine whether that was a good or a bad thing.
"Evening Albus," she replied, despite the fact that it was a little later than evening. Harry had chosen a rather inconvenient time to wake up. Poppy Pomfrey continued to move around and perform her duties, yet one could tell she was flustered. She still couldn't get over that sneer in Harry's voice.
"Hello Harry, nice to see you awake and alert," the Headmaster said, moving around and sitting on the only chair in the little room. Harry made no effort to reply, but just lay there, turned away from his Headmaster and mentor. Albus Dumbledore didn't frown – Albus Dumbledore never frowned – but he came close. Harry was not normally so anti-social, or so rude.
"Harry, you have been unconscious for several weeks," he said, trying again to provoke a response. "I must say we were starting to get a bit worried." Dumbledore moved forward in his chair, leaning closer for a response. What he got, shocked him. Harry rolled over slightly to glare at his mentor, a glare of malice Dumbledore knew only few could produce. Dumbledore had not seen his usually happy, cheerful and peaceful student show such vehement hatred. Ever.
"I don't care at the moment, Headmaster," Harry snarled, before pulling the covers of his bed tighter around him and turning his back on his Headmaster once more. The old man to which he spoke just sat there, stunned, for once at a loss for words. There was silence for a moment, where no one knew what to say, or didn't want to say a thing.
Madame Pomfrey broke the silence, saying, "Please, Albus, he's only been awake a few minutes, and already you are down here with him. Give the boy a moment or two." Albus nodded.
"Yes, Poppy, I think you're right." He stood, going to leave, before turning back and adding, "Harry; I'll let you rest and recover tomorrow, adjust to things." He was sure there was a snort from the boy at this point. "I'll make sure your friends do not disturb you, but they'll be itching to see you by tomorrow afternoon. If Madame Pomfrey says you'll be all right, you can go back to Gryffindor tower then." There was a hint of sadness in his voice as he said it all. He left the hospital wing biting his lip, deep in thought.
Madame Pomfrey continued to work quietly. She could sense something was wrong with the boy she was treating, but she could also sense he didn't want to talk about it – and wasn't going to, for that matter. Finishing up what she had to do, she turned to leave. Just before she left, while standing in the doorway, she, too, turned.
"Sleep well, Mr Potter." There was no reaction, although she not expected one.
Harry was glad when the healer finally left. Pulling the blankets even tighter around himself, he tried to fall back asleep, but he knew it wouldn't come. The memory of what he'd seen still haunted him; the remnants of the emotions still present in him. It was like his trips into Voldemort's head, except the happy thoughts didn't take over and the hatred didn't subside. Instead, it just lingered, infesting his thoughts and his words. As much as he hated to admit it, this wizard, whoever he was, was much much worse than Voldemort. The power Harry had felt, could still feel, far surpassed anything he could have ever dreamed of. The malice Harry felt from Voldemort was pitiful compared to this wizard's sheer, undeniable hate. This wizard, Harry thought he could say with confidence, was pure, unadulterated evil.
He closed his eyes, but all he saw was that set of eyes that made him shiver once again. It seemed that he had been right; sleep was not an option at the moment. Instead, he thought. He had been lying in this bed, unconscious, for over two weeks now. There was much he did not know and plenty he now had to catch up on. His mind wandered through rudimentary things – school, his friends, even the weather – until he finally managed to drift off to sleep. Even though he did not dream of the wizard, his sleep was restless nonetheless.
-:-O-:-
Harry woke late the next morning. It wasn't long before Madame Pomfrey brought him his lunch: soup. Apparently it would help ease him into eating once again, as he hadn't done so in a few weeks. Her statement had brought back memories of his childhood, when he would be starved for weeks and, when finally given some food, he would throw it up because he wasn't used to it. It took him some time to learn that lesson, but he did it the hard way.
He still didn't feel like talking to anyone; the memories of that hatred and those eyes still plagued him. No matter how hard he tried, the bitterness and resentment wouldn't leave him. The powerful emotions of hatred and loathing had left him during the night, but they had been replaced by their lesser, though more permanent, cousins. While these emotions allowed him to talk civilly to Madame Pomfrey while she attended to him, they could easily flare up to their more raw and malevolent state. He had found that out when the nurse accidentally spilt a potion on him – she was still nervous around her patient – and he had his wand out ready to hex her, anger in his eyes and sharp words on his lips. Luckily, he had realised what had happened, performed a quick Scourgify and hastily tucked his wand away, mumbling apologies as he did so. That was when the depression first surfaced.
The bitterness and resentment never truly left, but every now and then they gave birth to their child: depression. Generally, it would come on quickly, but there was no telling how long it would take to subside. Perhaps a few moments, perhaps several minutes, at one point almost an hour. When it was brief, it tended to be brutal; a sudden wave of despondency that struck him to the heart, but soon subsided. When it was lasting, it tended to be gloomy; a perpetual sadness that refused to budge and left one with the impression he was moping.
Between all the members of this family of emotions, Harry was not having a particularly happy day. That was one of the reasons Madame Pomfrey decided he would not be going back to the common room that afternoon, but remain one more night. She thought he needed a little break; he thought he needed a distraction. Not that he would find one. He had had enough trouble finding a distraction before he fell into the coma – with little success, too – and those emotions had been far weaker.
When Harry woke the next day, he woke with the remnants of a dream in his memory. It had been horrific, but he didn't think it had been a nightmare per se. The shards of remembrance left before he had a chase to decide, however, and his activities began as they had the previous day. He felt no change from the day before. Madame Pomfrey didn't either, apart from the fact that she could now start him on food with more substance. Still, when Dumbledore pulled her aside and talked with her, she acquiesced to letting him return to his dormitory that night, seen as he was technically better.
That night, Dumbledore came into Harry's room and tried, once again, to talk. Harry was civil and responded, but the answers he gave were short and delivered with contempt. Dumbledore didn't push too far. Instead, he let Harry go back to his dormitory. He thanked Madame Pomfrey for all she had done, even though a troll could figure out the words of gratitude were hollow, before taking the few things of his that he had with him and following Dumbledore back to Gryffindor tower. They didn't talk on the way, that hadn't been the intention. Dumbledore was there to ensure no one accosted Harry.
"Well, Harry, here you are," Dumbledore said as they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady. "I believe the current password is 'Bouncing Ferret'." Even that didn't soothe Harry's foul mood.
He muttered the password and passed into the common room without another word to Dumbledore. Dumbledore merely frowned and, once again, bit his lip in thought as he walked away.
Once he was inside and away from Dumbledore's protective gaze, the accosting quickly began. Hermione was the first, followed quickly by Ron and then Seamus, Dean and Ginny. The rest of the Gryffindors just gaped and stared.
"Harry! you are all right, aren't you?"
"When we heard you had to stay another night, well..."
"We might actually have a chance at Quidditch now!"
"Guys, please." Harry silenced them with his hand; his voice held the slightest hint of a snarl. Thankfully, it seemed his friends were too worried to pick up on it, or they dismissed it for now. "Let me get settled first." With that he made his way through the crowd and up the stairs to the boys dormitories. The few things he had brought back from the hospital wing were soon deposited on his bed.
"So, Harry, you are all right, aren't you?" Hermione asked tentatively, standing in the doorway.
Harry sighed, but replied, "Yes, Hermione. I'm all right." He knew he wasn't.
"Good, mate, we were getting worried." Ron smiled affectionately as he said it.
"Can we talk now, or should we come back later?" Dean said, concern and consideration in his voice. Harry swallowed and nodded. He felt like screaming at them to leave him alone and curse them into oblivion, but that probably wasn't something he should tell them. Besides, he may as well get this over with, he reasoned. The people standing in the doorway shuffled into the room. Harry noticed Neville had joined the group. They all sat on the end of their beds – some choosing to lie on them with their heads at the end – which formed a circle they could talk in. Hermione sat with Ron; Ginny with Neville.
"Before we start, Harry," Hermione said, "Ron and I need to tell you something." They looked at each other, slightly nervous expressions on their faces. "Harry, we're, sort of... well..."
"We're going out," Ron stated bravely, turning from his girlfriend to look at his best friend.
"I know," Harry said, furrowing his brow. He was confused; the rest of the the room shared confused looks as well. "I've seen you together plenty of times," Harry went on, slowly.
"Harry, we've only been going out since you... ummm... 'fell asleep'." Hermione sounded nervous. Harry blanched as he realised her statement's implications.
It was true. His only memories of them together were in a small room sanctioned off from the rest of the hospital wing.
-:-O-:-
Author's Note: Deathly Hallows comes out in two days! I hope you're all excited. I know I am.
Might I note that whenever I see DH, I automatically think Draco/Harry instead of Deathly Hallows. Is this a problem other people seem to be having? Is this a sign for what the book will contain? (I'm hoping for the latter).