Not Exactly Voices

Help me, Harry. Please, George wrote. I'm not myself. I don't know who to be.

How? Harry wondered. If only he knew. He wasn't himself either, and he too had lost his identity that early morning in May. He was only just beginning to feign normalcy again as his environment became familiar once more and he fell into a routine. Everything was falling into place. He was required to pay attention in class, do his homework, and work hard at understanding and keeping up with his education. He got up every morning, ate breakfast with Ron and Hermione, he attended class, he skipped lunch, electing to spend it in his dormitory or in the library, never venturing out to the grounds. The weather had not yet turned completely sour but Harry couldn't find it in himself to go into the sun. He ate dinner early, before the Great Hall grew full, and returned to his dormitory, passing though the Common Room without a sideways glance.

The first Quidditch match of the season was looming, Gryffindor versus Slytherin, and Harry realised that his old team had gone on without him. Ginny was captain of the team, playing Chaser, and a new seeker had been appointed. He hadn't attended trials, although he had seen the notice on the board. He didn't even consider it. Hermione urged him to try out, confident he would be given his old position, but attending would have meant facing Ginny. Hermione thought it would be good for him to get on a broomstick again, even though he no longer owned one. He had lost his Firebolt on the night of Seven Potters and hadn't bought a new one.

Without the distraction of Quidditch, which part of Harry missed desperately, he had more time in the evenings to focus on his schoolwork. Part of Harry never wanted to mount a broom again, knowing it would only remind him of simpler times. The thought made Harry smile sadly. Simpler times… There was no such thing. If anything, his life had gotten infinitely simpler since his flying days. On a broomstick, he had been horribly injured, more than once. He had faced a Hungarian Horntail. He had flown away from Privet Drive to the home of his Godfather. In spite of this these thoughts, he wished for flying and Quidditch to remain pure, a wholesome memory for him to reminisce about fondly but distantly.

The night of Halloween, Hermione decided to head to the feast with Ginny, leaving Harry and Ron alone together. Harry badly wanted to say something, but the silence between them had turned from a minor gap into a gaping chasm, and he had no idea what to say. Where would he begin? Sorry for breaking your sister's heart? I wish you and I could go back, but we both know we never can? I miss you? I miss you terribly? All of it was true.

Harry opened his mouth to say something – even as he inhaled he wasn't sure what was going to come out of his mouth, but Ron interrupted.

"Don't. Just… don't"

"Ron, I-"

"I said don't, Harry. I don't know what you want to say but-"

"How could you? You can't be bothered to listen"

Silence. Long, awkward, tense silence.

"I'm sorry, okay? I don't know what I want to say either" Harry said. He was frustrated with Ron but even more so with himself. "I guess I just want to talk again"

"Well, it's something" Ron replied. He kind of smiled.

Harry's face split into a grin for the first time in ages. The pair went to the feast together.

Ron took a seat beside Hermione, across from Ginny, but Harry, still feeling emotionally overloaded from his almost-conversation with Ron, couldn't face her yet, so he took a seat several seats down. No one sat next to him. He kind of wanted to floor to open up and swallow him.

Just as he was contemplating getting up and leaving again, a voice whispered to him, "You can sit with us if you want". He looked over his shoulder to the Ravenclaw table where a group of three girls were giggling, sitting slightly apart from the rest of their house. He wasn't sure which one of them had spoken.

"Er…"

"It's a feast, the teachers won't mind a little inter-house merry-making" the same voice said suggestively, cocking her head to the empty seat beside her. It was the blonde girl.

Harry briefly considered it. His gaze travelled to Ginny who was chatting idly to Hermione. He could not hear what they were discussing. He glanced down at his empty plate. He had not eaten a thing yet.

"Um… I've already eaten. Thanks though" he said as he got up to leave. He scurried out of the Great Hall, unaware of the many eyes that followed him out.

He strode across the entrance hall, contemplating visiting Hagrid, whom he hadn't seen at the teacher's table. Once again his courage failed him and he climbed the marble staircase, heading for Gryffindor tower, again unaware that he was being followed.

As he reached the seventh floor, he heard the same voice from earlier call out "Hey!" softly. He spun on his heel. The girl trotted towards him, stopping about a metre away from him. "Hey" she said again.

"Hey" Harry responded tentatively.

"Look… Harry… I know you don't know me – I'm Gina by the way, Ravenclaw – but-" she drew in a deep breath, "I've been wanting to meet you"

"Er… Why?" he asked, feeling slightly uncomfortable.

The girl laughed as she looked down, her hair cascading over her shoulder, "Just" she stated simply. "So hi" she suddenly seemed shy.

"Hi" Harry raised his eyebrows.

There was an awkward silence. Harry thought dully that he'd had enough of those for one day.

"Well, bye" she said, smiling, and walked off, not waiting for a reply.

Harry gave the password to the Fat Lady's portrait, feeling as though he might see more of this strange girl, even if he wasn't sure he wanted to.

Harry dreamt of Ginny that night, popping up around corners as he walked around in circles around the school. "Hey" she called out to him. "Hey" again. "HEY!" she shouted. She was crying. Her eyes were bleeding. "Sectumsempra!" she slashed her wand like a dagger as blood spurted from Harry's chest. Harry caught his intestines and cradled them in his hands. Suddenly the bloody bundle of blood in his arms turned to a baby. Harry pulled it closer to him, wanting to protect it, but as he looked at it he realised it was the sick, reptilian form he had seen at the white King's Cross Station in his mind, the shard of Voldemort's soul. Harry dropped the bundle. As it hit the ground, it transformed to a dismembered head, golden blonde curls cascading around it. The head bounced almost comically and rolled to a stop, Ginny's dead eyes staring coldly back at him.

Harry woke with a start, covered in sweat. The dorm was quiet. Too quiet. Harry sat up and pulled the hangings of his four-poster open but was met with darkness. As his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, he saw that Ron's hangings were closed. He listened carefully. He could hear breathing, but not the slow, steady breathing of a person deep in sleep and Harry knew that Ron was awake.

Deciding that even though they had been kind of speaking again for not even a full twenty four hours, their friendship was strong enough that he could talk to Ron in the middle of the night. Before Voldemort's fall, Harry would never have done it, wanting to appear strong and in control, but things were different now. "Ron" Harry whispered loudly.

"Ron!" he whispered again. Ron's hangings opened a fraction.

"Yeah?" Ron replied in a loud whisper.

"Erm… Nothing" Harry said defeated. His friendship might have been strong enough, but he wasn't yet.

"Harry?" Ron called softly.

"Yeah?"

"Who is Gina?"

Harry froze. He was quite sure that if he had spoken in his sleep, he would have said Ginny. It didn't help that the names were so similar. "I don't know" Harry replied, laying back down again. "Goodnight Ron"

Ron closed his hangings again.

x

Harry found that overnight, his life had become even more stressful. He was now not only avoiding Ginny, but Gina too, although that too proved to be easier than expected. The Gryffindors and Ravenclaws only shared a few classes and it was easy enough to miss her at Breakfast and dinner by going early. That was his new strategy for killing two birds with one stone.

x

Find a distraction. Focus on work. Do something. Do anything. Maybe yourself will return, Harry wrote. He knew George wouldn't believe that last part any more than he did. He scratched it out untidily. Maybe… Maybe you'll stop remembering, even if just for a moment at a time, who you were, and maybe you won't feel so guilty about not being yourself anymore. Harry thought his words sounded insubstantial, but he didn't know what else to say; what George needed to hear. Maybe you don't have to be you.