Delusional

Jessylane318

It was dark, incredibly so, despite the kind flickers of the lamp. It made him miss his wand all the more. A simple Lumos spell would have not gone unwanted on the moonless night.

He walked slowly when a slight whimper broke against his ears. Harry turned towards it slightly, his green eyes searching the darkness from behind the broken frames, trying to judge the source.

"Bob?" He called slightly, his voice as strong as he could muster despite the cold chill that permeated around him. "Bob is that-"

He broke off at the loud neigh in the distance and an inhumane shriek. Hooves clattered like crushed echoes of thunder swept about by the chilling autumn wind. He couldn't leave Bob out there! He had to save the little hobbit... He couldn't loose him like he had his other friends...

Hermione...

Ginny...

The name brought the image instantly to his eyes. Crimson hair tossed about the unearthly pale face. Brown eyes closed shut, and lips parted slightly in an almost silent scream, lying limply. Cold. Next to the dead Basilisk. Next to the open diary.

Next to Tom Riddle.

Anger flooded his body and Harry moved faster towards the barn, his heart racing as he did; the distant sound of horses echoing in the wind.

"Bob! Bob!" he saw a flash of movement in the corner of his eye and move towards it, only to see a strange clump in the middle of the grass. Moving cautiously nearer, he allowed the light of his lamp on it.

He gasped in shock, dropping the lantern and loosing his only light.

The image still remained regardless, pale brown eyes opened wide in fear—just like Ginny's. Dead. Blood and vomit, mixed with mud. Dead. Dead. Dead...

Bob was dead...

He couldn't think. Couldn't feel, couldn't breathe. The world was spinning, he had to get away. Away... Bile, rising in his throat. He stumbled backwards, half crawling half running. The image wouldn't leave. The blood... the skin... glossy eyes gray and grim.

Somehow, Harry managed to make his way back to the inn.

Harry couldn't sleep, the image of the dead hobbit once more on his mind. He had to go, had to leave. He was going insane. He had to get back home. Had to save Ginny and help Hermione. Had to stop Riddle and rescue Ron. He had homework to do, McGonagall would want it on time. And Dumbledore need to know about the diary.

He needed to go.

Find Gandalf.

Harry packed as much food as he could carry in a stolen bag, numbly leaving his entire earnings on the table for Butterbur. When the old bartender awoke, he'd find a simple letter saying he had gone and that he doubted he'd ever return again. In that same spidery scrawl, Harry signed his name at the bottom in an inelegant mess.

When dawn's first light began to rise, Harry left the inn and walked into the woods, his mind numb as he carried the heavy sword that defeated the Basilisk and many other easily forgotten foes. Bob's bloodied face still haunting his every step.

"Harry? Where are you? Why'd you leave us?" cried a bushy haired girl with kind brown eyes shrilly. "Don't you want to come home, Harry?"

"Yes Hermione!" he tried to shout back despite the huge gap between them. He watched her face in the distance awash with tears. "But I don't know how! Hermione help me, please!"

"Harry!" called another voice, he turned at once on to his side to see red hair vibrant and freckles. "Come home Harry! Come home!"

"But Ron! I don't know how!"

"Magic Harry..." called the voice as he got further and further away. "Magic..."

"Magic..." Harry murmured before he awoke with a start. Magic...

Sighing, Harry sat up tiredly, rubbing beneath his eyes with dirty hands. Having been on the road for little more than a few days, Harry discovered he did not like it. No, Harry did not like it at all.

Sleeping on the ground where ants and mosquitoes and whatever other bugs could touch him was one thing, but the food was running low and his arms grew more leaded each day from carrying the heavy, muddied sword. His neck and legs already ached from the sun's red burns. It didn't help either that when he slept it was usually nightmares or dreams of his quickly fading home.

Swallowing another heavy sigh, Harry looked upwards towards the sun beyond the treetops. East. He needed to go East, hoping only that the sun rose and set the same way here as it did at home. Glancing about the ground, he found what he was looking for, the black pony dung he'd been following since he'd left.

Pulling on his stolen pack, Harry hefted the huge sword in his arms and started on his journey, not bothering with breakfast as he began the endless trek through the wilderness once more.

Harry stripped eagerly as he found the small stream, his sword and gear left forgotten in an untidy pile near a large oak. It felt like forever since he'd last taken a bath, the smell of dirt and grim and sweat had become so common he'd learned to ignore it.

Scooting towards the edge of the quietly babbling brook, Harry looked down to see what he expected to be his face, only to find a gaunt wild boy staring back. His chaotic hair, which Aunt Petunia normally kept as short as possible now fell past his ears, his bangs obscuring anything above his glasses with a veil of unruly black clumps.

The glasses, which he tried to keep as clean as possible despite their cracked and lopsided nature, still managed to look as though they magnified his green eyes in a thousand pieces, making millions of green irises swiveled all around at every glance.

Sighing, Harry removed the optical instrument from his face before jumping into the beautiful, clear water.

Absolutely frozen water, he discovered moments later.

As quickly as possible, the young boy cleaned his hair and face before attempting to wash the worn and dirty clothes. He'd just finished his pants when something sharp pressed against his neck.

He froze with fear, dropping his clothes onto the rocky bank, soiling them again.

"What is this?" whispered a low voice in his ear, the smell of pine and sweat invading his nose. "Surely, not a little boy alone in the woods?"