I do not own anything here, nor am I making a profit from this. It is purely to pass my time, and hopefully, interest other people. J. owns Harry Potter, not me.
I hope this chapter answers some questions, and I hope I haven't completely ruined the story with this chapter. All chapters won't be out this quick, or probably this long, it's just I had this one edited and complete, and you're reviews spurred me to update :)
So a big thank you to Shishiri, Simple, MaiKanon, Petrichor-3, ParanormalMoonlight, violetkitty02, xDeadxRainbowx, Little Miss Scandalous, Angel-Miyu, xSaffire55x, Allyieh, Violent Profanity, and MirrorFlower and DarkWind for reviewing! :D Thank you!
Chapter Two - Smile
It took Harry a good day to get over his bitterness. Not get over it as in forgive his friends for their ignorant blindness, but push it to the side as he realised that if he wasn't going to tell anyone, then he couldn't really take it out on them either.
So, rather stubbornly, Harry eventually wandered down to breakfast the next morning, sighing as he stood opposite the silent couple. "…I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you…I was angry, but I shouldn't have let it out on you."
"No, you shouldn't have." Hermione was the first to speak, naturally. She turned a hurt gaze upon him, only making the gnawing in his gut squirm uncomfortably. They weren't making this any easier.
She swatted Ron's hand as he continued to sit there sullenly, an enticement to at least look up. The gnarled table couldn't be that interesting.
"Ron, mate…?"
Ron shuffled uneasily for a moment, glancing at the Slytherin table before frowning again. "…So, it was only doing the work…nothing else? You're not…friends with them or anything, right?"
"Yes, nothing else! Honestly, I was only making the potion, and they all started staring at it…they were waiting for it to explode or something, I wasn't following the instructions." Harry glanced at the Slytherin table, blinking in surprise as he caught grey eyes staring back at him. The eyes were glinting with amusement, obviously noticing the drift between the three. Was it really that interesting to watch his friendship deteriorate? Didn't the blonde git have anything better to do?
Harry glared back at him heatedly, refusing to look away from the obvious challenge in the air. It wasn't until the eyebrow was raised that Harry was able to wrench his gaze away, realising his mistake too late.
"Oh, yeah, nothing my arse! What are you looking at Malfoy for?"
"Nothing Ron, jeez, keep it down!"
Ron's face was already a splotchy red. He jerked to his feet, catching the attention of not only the Gryffindors, but the entire hall. He clenched his hands angrily, apparently not noticing the rapt attention on them. "You said it was 'fine'! You said you 'chatted'!"
"What's your point?"
"The point? The point? They're Slytherins!"
If anyone had any confusion about the argument, they didn't now. Simultaneously, all eyes turned to glare at the table bathed in green. "They're Death-Eaters and worse! They wanted you killed Harry! They tried to kill us! They k-killed…" He shuddered, trying to breathe, face red. Harry had had enough.
Conscious of the blatant straining ears on his conversation, he leaned closer, trying so speak softly. "Okay mate, I understand. I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry." He was sorry, for more than he wanted to be. He was sorry everyone died for him in the last battle. He was sorry for Ron, who had lost his brother over his friend. His friend that was now also dying. God, Harry was sorry. But, he couldn't lose Ron too. No matter how angry he got, not matter how pathetically weak, he couldn't lose Ron. He wouldn't make it if Ron loathed him too.
"Ron. I'm sorry…" Something in his tone must have convinced him because out of nowhere he stopped yelling, and swallowed tightly, staring at Harry. He nodded, sitting down and roughly grabbed a plate of food. The eyes of the hall switched to Harry instead.
He never had gotten used to the insistent staring. Those merciless eyes, all drilling into him, judging his every word and action.
"…I'm going to head back to the dorm-"
"Don't be stupid. Sit down." Ron muttered, not facing Harry but steadily filling his mouth. Harry swallowed again, ignoring the hundred eyes glued to him and slowly sat down. It was as if he flicked a switch; the whispering started up, a hissing that echoed through the hall. No one was bothering to stay relatively quiet, either.
He glanced at Hermione, who shrugged as if to say 'you brought it upon yourself'. This was completely unfair. He entered the potions class, and there were no seats left because his friends didn't think to save him one. He had to sit with the Slytherins. So what? He spoke and didn't get hexed. So what?
Harry waited for his face to cool down, but the whisper increased. Pavati was being quite loud as she spoke to Ginny and Luna about the class yesterday. Harry met Ginny's furious brown eyes and groaned to himself as she turned away huffily. Day two, and it was already unbearable.
Harry sighed, mixing the food around on his plate and trying to ignore all the stares on his back. This was unbearable. Hermione eventually took pity on him, tapping his arm to get his attention.
"Do you think eighth years are able to try out for quidditch this year?"
Ron glanced up immediately, eyes wide.
"Merlin, I didn't even think about that? What do you think Harry, will we get the team back one last time? The cup does look awfully good in the Gryffindor office, doesn't it? With you as seeker and me as a keeper, they'll stand no chance. No one will want to come up against the great Harry Potter, will they? They'll think you'll blast them off their brooms." He chuckled, slightly happier now as he pulled a few more plates towards himself. Harry glanced gratefully at Hermione, who shrugged again, the move steadily becoming one of her favourites. Ron would be furious when he discovered Harry had already turned down McGonagall's offer. He swished his food aimlessly on his plate. He wasn't that hungry anymore.
Trying to be casual about it, he glanced up and tried to survey the room. Almost everyone was whispering, giggling, rolling their eyes. It was as if they had nothing to worry about, as if this was entertainment that couldn't be missed. Great.
Ravenclaw looked smug. Hufflepuff mildly interested. Gryffindor looked peeved.
Harry really knew he shouldn't, but he glanced at the Slytherin table again. Out of curiosity. Malfoy was staring blatantly back at him, eyebrows raised. He smirked at Harry, holding up his index finger and gestured a circle around it a couple times.
Growling, Harry jerked his eyes away. He was not wrapped around their fingers. They were both angry, and Ron had lost more than Harry had, so Harry was being the bigger person. Being the bigger person did not mean you were owned.
He trailed after the two to Transfiguration, bitter and angry. How dare Malfoy laugh at him? Never mind the entire school, that could be overlooked. It was Malfoy's sardonic smirk that was grating Harry. He always had that bloody sneer on his face, always had to have the last word.
The hall made him uncomfortable. Malfoy made him furious.
They entered the room, sitting together. Harry attempted a half-hearted smile at Ron, but it was forced. Very forced. And it didn't help that Malfoy smirked as he past their table, evidently amused.
McGonagall began the class with a lecture, as expected, and then went on to see how much everyone had forgotten.
"Today we will be doing simple vanishing spells, to see how much everyone remembers. After everyone has successfully managed a vanishing spell, you may begin to take notes on Milticorfors, on page One Hundred and three…Well, what are you waiting for? Mr Potter, you can get the slugs from the cupboard. If everyone manages to vanish them, we'll get the mice. There will be no Milticorfors in my class until you all manage a simple vanishing spell."
Harry stumbled to the cupboard and unwillingly brought out the small cage of slugs. It was covered in slime and smelt like rotting food. He started the rounds anyway, reaching in and pulling out a slug for each person, cringing as he had to touch the slimy creatures. Parkinson grimaced too as he pulled out a large slug for her, covered with green mucus. She grinned weakly, raising her eyebrows at him as if it were his choice, not an instruction.
"Jeez, thanks Potter." Usually her sneer would have him double checking he hadn't been cursed or jinxed whilst he wasn't paying attention; today, it barely registered.
Feeling glares at the back on his head from the rest of the class, he continued on, dropping one onto Zambini's desk and turning to the next person. It was then that something held his feet, tightening around them like a rope. Mid step his feet were yanked, jerking him off of his feet.
He fell into the desk next to him,sending him and the student sprawling into the floor. The lid of the cage sprung open, slugs sliding everywhere along with their slime.
Harry winced, landing awkwardly on the student and the desk, rolling over and grimacing at the slime that now coated his uniform. This would take forever to get off without magic.
He turned to the student that hadn't moved yet, about to offer them a hand. His hand halted midway, inching back to the floor to push himself up. Great. Fantastic. The Universe was messing with him, it had to be.
"…Uh…sorry, I guess, Malfoy."
"Next time you move, Potty, think. It shouldn't be too hard to eventually coordinate your legs to move where your thick brain wants you to." Malfoy drawled at him sitting up with no apparent hurry and casually observing the multitude of slugs that were slowly inching along his uniform. "Hmm. What should I do with you?" He murmured to a slug that was on his hand, pointing his wand at it cruelly and watching as it started writhing on his hand, as if oblivious to the watching class.
"Mr Malfoy! Stop whatever spell you're doing and stand up! Mr Potter! You too." Both unwillingly stood up, Malfoy dropping the now dead slug to the floor. Harry watched it sullenly, blinking before turning back to McGonagall. How easily the poor thing had writhed and fought death…to no prevail. How comforting, he thought dryly. Was it a sign? No, just an uncomfortable coincidence.
"Both of you go and get cleaned up. Now, whoever did this will regret it! I will not tolerate childish pranks, especially from the eighth years!"
Harry heard no more as he stormed from the room, trying to breathe evenly but failing dismally at it. It had been one of the Gryffindors, and they were going to pay. He entered the bathroom and hurried to the sink, thrusting his hands under the water and started scrubbing. He needed to scrub away the filth. He couldn't handle it anymore. He wanted to use his wand and curse whoever made him fall. It grated to know that he couldn't even act in retaliation without being hopelessly outmatched. Hell, he couldn't even use his own magic to clean away the slime covering his arms. He was pathetic; nothing more than a Squib. Could you change into a Squib? Or was he classified as a muggle, now?
Harry continued scrubbing his hands, knowing it was gone but he wasn't entering that room again until he had calmed down. He couldn't face Ron or Hermione right now…what could he even say? They probably knew who did it. There was even the possibility it was them, if Ron wasn't as forgiving as Harry had thought.
Harry growled again resting his head on the mirror and breathing heavily. It was Tuesday today. His first diagnosis was tonight, to ensure he wasn't worsening. So, on top of all the homework he was going to get, he would spend the next few hours indefinitely in pain. Sneaking out shouldn't be a problem; he only had to grab the cloak or the map.
"I think you got it, Potty."
Harry threw his eyes open and spun around. Malfoy was leaning on the door, an amused expression flickering across his face. He was immaculate. Not a hair out of place. The bastard.
"Where's all your slime?"
"Tch, I happen to be a wizard, Potty. It's amazing you got into the school. Really, a gift."
Harry growled again, shoving past him to get back to class. He didn't want Malfoy to know just how much his words affected him, but he had just said what Harry had feared for weeks. If he couldn't use his magic, did he still count as a wizard? He still had magic; the only issue was it was trying to kill him now.
Transfiguration was hell, a shadow of a class. Harry waved his wand idly through the class, pretending to be trying to cast the spell. He let his eyes drift again, across to the other side of the room where all the slugs had already been vanished. Zambini and Malfoy were whispering to each other again, barely glancing at their text book before scribbling down the instructions carefully. Malfoy muttered something again, and suddenly both eyes were attached to Harry's, shining with amusement.
It did nothing to improve his temper.
Furiously, he glared down at his slug, wishing he knew the spell Malfoy had used earlier to make it squirm. If he deserved to be miserable, then so did the slug, right?
Charms was as abysmal as Transfiguration.
Defence was a nightmare.
Everyone was able to perform the spells with ease, flying through the revision without blinking. It had improved everyone's disposition, laughing and smiling as they all decided that suddenly, the NEWTs were achievable. Harry kept his head down, taking notes. He didn't practise with the others, instead started on his homework, and had half of it completed before anyone had noticed that he was still at his desk.
Their new teacher didn't mind, in fact, she half heartedly smiled at him. Merlin, the sympathy was worse than being ignored. Ron was happy enough again, the stunt in Transfiguration was enough for him to think Harry had been humiliated enough. Hermione seemed slightly out of sorts though, continuously glancing at Harry. Eventually, the tension became too much for her to bear as she came over, slightly hassled looking. She had completed each of the spells perfectly, and yet she still looked as if she had failed.
"Harry, what are you doing?" She asked, an irritated strain evident in her tone. She seemed to be trying to stay friendly and happy, despite the fraught glances directed to the teacher.
"I'm taking notes." He pretended to smile, ignoring the flash of irritation. "Is there a problem with that?"
"You should be practising the spells. It's the teachers first day, her first class in her first job…and you're already undermining her position by sitting here doing nothing. You're obviously upsetting her, look at the sad glances she keeps sending you." They both looked up just in time to catch one of the infamous glances, the pity screaming from her eyes. Harry quickly glanced back to his work. "I know you can do the spells, so maybe just for her? Everyone looks up to you Harry. You're a role model now." She rolled her eyes at his disgusted expression, quickly speaking over him again. "So, if they see you sitting here, not doing the spells, they very well might copy you."
"Hermione, they're not twelve." Harry frowned, not understanding why he had to point this out to her. "They are perfectly capable at making up their own minds; they're not mindless twats that follow everything I do. Anyway, I know these spells, and quite frankly, I never want to use them again."
Hermione's expression softened, remarkably, at that. She nodded and joined the others, talking softly to Ron so that they both glanced at him sadly. God, this day really was insufferable, wasn't it?
Thankfully he had a double study after lunch, which he spent copying down the notes from Transfiguration quickly. It only took him ten minutes, after which he quickly left the room, ignoring the curious remarks from Ron and Hermione.
He let his feet lead him anywhere, not wanting to go back inside. Slowly, he crossed to the lake, sitting where he had the other day. He numbly watched the cool black waters, blinking his mind blank. Resting his arms around his knees, he sat back, vacant.
He didn't want to think anymore.
.
.
.
Harry squirmed uncomfortable, his face scrunched against the agony. He could feel the potion sliding through his body, just under his skin, searching every crevasse of his body. It forced its way through his muscles, despite the pain it brought, lingering cruelly before shoving its way further in. Pomfrey had warning him it would 'smart'.
Smart.
Not that it would leave him screaming until his throat was bleeding. He must have blanked out for a moment, because one moment it was squirming just past his shoulder, twitching under his blades and inching further and further closer to his chest. The pain was unbearable, beyond anything he had experienced. God, death had been easier to stand than that. It had surrounded his heart, squeezing it, stilling it, making it unable to beat, forcing it to motionlessness. And god, had that hurt.
Harry reached up to rub the wetness from his eyes, shock crossing his face. He hadn't remembered crying. Hastily he rubbed it away, a hand curling around the tightness in his stomach instead. It was sliming around, making him feel sick. He wanted to throw up everything he had eaten for lunch, and even then, his squirming stomach wouldn't be sated.
He winced, sitting up a bit more, looking down in shock at his own body. His chest was covered in scratches, bloody marks running over his shirt. Crimson blood seeped into his uniform, and when he lifted up a hand shakily, bloodied fingers stared tauntingly back at him.
"You…uh, well…you got a bit frustrated when you couldn't relieve your chest pain…" Madam Pomfery stuttered, appearing to the left of Harry. He glanced at her, wincing as he took in her blotchy appearance and tear streaked eyes. Her hands were trembling, as she realised Harry was conscious again. "Uh…well, I have to…go and check…are you alright?"
Harry nodded slowly. He didn't even attempt to speak; a groan was unachievable at the moment. He had to watch silently as she hurried away, his throat betraying his bellowing thoughts. Stay! Just…stay!
The door snapped shut, echoing through the empty hospital wing.
Harry gasped as it slithered into his gut, tossing his hip, and scrambled along the muscle there. Hands grasping the sheets, all he could do was scrunch his eyes shut, and hope it was over soon.
.
.
.
Harry swallowed back the three potions given to him, barely noticing their collaborative pungent tastes. The blue potion, an internal healer. It tasted like rotting fruit, or at least smelt like it. It had made him nauseous when he first began taking it, but now it was simply another aspect of his life that he blatantly ignored. The clear potion, a strong pain reliever; to heal any damage that had been caused during the day, either obvious or not so apparent. It burnt as it dribbled down his throat, seeming to cause more damage than cure. Onto the last…a brown, fetid potion, to be taken twice daily. Magic stabilizing potion. Its taste matched that of polyjuice potion…no, it was worse.
But Harry swallowed it down, the taste or smells barely getting to him now. He had gotten used to them over the summer.
He hadn't decided if that was a good or a bad thing.
.
.
.
Harry blinked slowly, realising that something was wrong but his hazy mind couldn't place what exactly. Everything was blurry, unfocussed. Wait, was someone here?
The distorted outline of someone near his bed finally came into view, snapping, cold words forcing its way through the fuzz.
"How dare….selfish!...Moping….die!..." Harry shook his head, trying to think clearly. Who was saying that? And why did it hurt so much? His chest throbbed, aching with a pain he had thought he had forgotten. Loneliness. Why was he so lonely? Another voice cut into his thoughts, deeper, but just as furious and cold as the first.
"Brother…family…you took…bastard!...Selfish!" Why couldn't he place the voice? Who was that? Harry blinked slowly, trying to shake his head again but feeling too heavy to move it. It was exhausting, and soon he was panting, trying to stop the insistent throbbing.
The figure near the bed moved away, turning in obvious disgust. No. NO! It took Harry every effort to reach out, the simple task just draining. He wished he hadn't.
His wrist was thin, the bone protruding through the taunt skin horribly. Heavily bruised and weak, his wrist jutted out uncomfortably, a heavy contrast to the sheer size of his arm. He was heavily emancipated, and yet he couldn't remember why…or who was near his bed!
Everything was fuzzy, incoherent. Where was he? Who was here? Why was he there?
Harry panicked, frantically trying to see clearly. The action drained him though, leaving him sinking slowly into the darkness once again…
Harry bolted upright, panting heavily. He swung his head to glance at his wrist, sighing in relief before clutching at his stomach, desperately trying to hold back the wavering sense of nausea. He wasn't dying in the hospital…his friends hadn't left him, disgusted at what he had become. He was still Harry. Still surviving.
Harry angrily pushed the blankets off of him, furious at the fact he had been as weak as to fall asleep after the treatment. He was still here. He was fine. Just fucking fine!
.
.
.
When Harry reached the Great Hall that morning, he paused just inside the door, cautious. Each of the tables was empty, his steps echoing loudly in the empty chamber. Just how early was it? He approached his table, sitting in it comfortably and laying his head on the course surface. He couldn't return to the common room, it would be a waste of his time. And yet, he couldn't really do much down here, could he?
Harry pulled out his wand, about to cast a quick tempest spell, the words on the tip of his tongue…before he realised he wasn't allowed to use magic anymore. Sure, he could use it if he wanted to, but in a deserted hall, at got knows what time in the morning?
Gritting his teeth, he put the wand back down, slamming his hand on the table roughly. He couldn't even cast a tempest charm? How pathetic was he? He couldn't even find out the time without endangering himself?
Blinking back the sudden hotness in his face, Harry punched the table again. It was unfair. Everything was unfair. It was unmerited that he had to swallow those blasted potions every morning, that he had to go through that torture every Tuesday night. How about that he couldn't even use magic anymore, without it turning on him randomly, either harming him or trying to kill him?
And no one seemed to care.
He had given up his life, sacrificed himself in order to destroy the last horcrux. He had expected to die. How just the world was, lying such as responsibility on a teenager? But he had been prepared. He had walked to that forest, and closed his eyes. He had had no regrets.
Then, suddenly, he was given life again. All the countless possibilities he had never had a chance to consider were suddenly at his door. His potential was limitless. He was suddenly going to turn old, and get married, and become an father. He was going to live.
Harry swore to himself, punching the table a third time. Fate sucked.
Just as the epiphany came to him that he could have a life, it was taken away again.
"Hey," The Universe was shouting at him, "You've done your job; we have no more use for you. Hurry up and disappear." And disappear he would. Never to grow old, and own a house he had bought with his own hard earned money. Never to buy a large black mutt that reminded him of Sirius to cheer him up on rainy days. Never to marry Ginny. Never to see Lilly's eyes repeated once more in his daughter or his son. And those were just his long term goals.
Harry growled to himself, laying his head in his hands as he waited for the castle to wake up.
Life wasn't fair. It would never be fair. A sickness would do what Voldemort never could. Tch, Voldy should have just waited for another month, and then he would have had a clear path to the top. But the man had had no patience, and neither did the Universe, apparently.
Harry blinked as the door opened, the first of the Slytherins entering the hall. They glanced at him, curious, but did nothing else. They all had kept their distance lately, feeling ashamed or guilty. Probably just because their stubborn pride had been hurt. Either way, it was only a matter of time before the slippery house soon got over their meekness, and remembered who they really were. He was looking forwards to that day; a semblance of normalcy would be nice. Welcomed, in fact.
Harry winced as another injustice entered his brain. He would never be allowed to duel with the Slytherins again. And no one would willingly duel with him, handicapped as he was. Another aspect of life that the stupid Universe thought it has a right to take.
It wouldn't be the last time Harry thought it.
Life. Sucked.
.
.
.
"'ey ant 'oo eet'n?" Ron asked several hours' later, mouth full of bacon and eggs. Harry watched him stack his plate high, eating as if he hadn't for weeks. He had arrived with Hermione, both of them holding hands and acting like the couple of the year. Harry never thought they would fall like that, but, there you are. The giggling and whispered conversations were occurring even through breakfast now, as if oblivious to the wolf calls and whistles that occurred through their peers as soon as they did it.
"I speak paseltongue, Ron, not troll." Hermione pulled away from his ear, an amused grin on her face as she winked at Ron.
"Honestly Ronald, it's not that…attractive." Ron immediately swallowed the entire mouthful, grinning sheepishly. He looked at Hermione as if she were his sun, as if all the happiness in his life came directly from her simply looking in his direction. Harry knew he was supposed to be supportive, but when he glanced over and saw Ginny eating down the table, he couldn't help but shift with anger. The jealously that spread through his stomach was becoming a normal occurrence now.
"Harry, why aren't you eating?" He repeated, glancing at Harry's relatively full plate. "You were here before us, weren't you?"
"…Nothing, I feel slightly sick."
He pushed his plate towards Ron, a small gesture to continue eating. Ron seemed to accept his answer as acceptable and kept eating, but Hermione frowned.
"Are you coming down with something? You do look a little pale."
"Just a little tired."
And apparently, that was acceptable enough for her too. Twelve words each, and they were done with morning conversation. Hermione nodded, turning to murmur something to Ron, beaming as she did. Ron turned a bright red and started chocking on his food, staring at Hermione as if he had never seen her before and a large, goofy grin making its way across his face.
Harry sighed, watching the display without amusement. There was once a time when such feeble remarks would have them on his back for days at a time until he gave them a satisfying, truthful answer. Those times were evidently past.
Harry stared around the hall, taking in all the happy faces. They were laughing and joking around, or fighting. They all felt, still. Lately, anger was the only emotion Harry allowed to surface.
His gaze landed on Malfoy again, who, as if he felt the gaze immediately, glanced up and smirked. Bloody Malfoy. He had almost made Harry lose Ron due to that ridiculous fight. Harry glared, ignoring the smirk. Then, Malfoy did the game gesture he did the other day.
Harry raised his eyebrows at that, and stood. He knew the others didn't see him leave, which was exactly the point he was trying to make. He didn't belong to anyone, and no one was wrapped around anybody's fingers!
As Harry reached the doors, he turned back around, a fake grin plastered to his face. He bowed in Malfoy's direction, ignoring the fact whispers broke out fairly quickly. The door echoed shut behind him, leaving Harry not exactly happy but…content was a better word. It was nice that he could still best Malfoy in some things.
He had made his point quite vividly. The bow…he didn't know why he did that, but it didn't matter.
Malfoy didn't matter.
As soon as he reached the entrance hall, however, instead of the silence he was seeking, furious shrieks rose up to meet him. He glanced up to see Romilda Vane laughing with a few of her friends, obviously at the Slytherin girl at the bottom of the stairs. The girl was actually quite pretty, if she hadn't black smudges under her eyes due to the excessive crying. And did she have a voice on her. She shrieked up at the Gryffindors, face glistening, her wand disregarded on the floor next to her.
Harry rolled his eyes, not about to get involved with random girl drama. He had enough of drama in his own life he was steadily, but not very successfully, ignoring.
Harry started across the hall, hesitating in where exactly to go. If he went up the stairs, he would be in the crossfire between the girls, definitely something he didn't want to participate in. The only other direction was the dungeons, and incredibly, he would prefer to accidently get hexed by a couple of hysterical girls then venture down there in a hurry.
The Slytherin seemed to have had enough. She stamped her foot, and clenched her fists tightly, wondering what to do. Harry expected her to turn around and head back to the dudgeons or a bathroom. He didn't expect her to claw out some deeply buried valour residue, and charge up the stairs towards the Gryffindors. Who, also unexpected, just laughed harder at her attempts to reach up to the same level as them. The incisive shrieking still echoed throughout the hall, each girl savagely trying to out-do the other. Merlin, girls were brutal.
Harry, who was heading across the floor by now, glanced up towards the girls, mildly interested in how this was panning out. Slytherins were supposed to be sly, but cowards. They never faced a pack of Gryffindors head on, alone.
It was lucky for them all that Harry's curiosity was piqued.
Just as he peeked at them, he noticed Romilda with her wand out. Still grinning, she pointed it at the girl, who happened to be halfway up the stairs. She tripped.
Harry could count every second.
One.
The girl's look of surprise hadn't even the time to transform into terror as she slipped backwards, towards the ground a story below. She didn't even have her wand, leaving it abandoned in the hall. Her eyes widened incredibly slowly.
Two.
Romilda's smug look hesitated a moment, caught between happiness and worry. Too late to take back the action, the grin didn't slip off of her face. Her eyes widened however, troubled.
Three.
The same time a scream erupted in the Hall, Harry had whipped out his wand and bellowed, hoping it might snap onto anything.
"WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!"
For a terrible moment, Harry thought his spell had done nothing, that his magic was now nonexistent. However, the small girl stopped falling, her clothing obviously the object trapped by the spell. She started flailing about, visibly panicked about being levitated several floors up. Harry slowly lowered her to the ground, his heart thumping loudly in his chest.
Was anything going to happen? He waited, licking his lips anxiously, but after a few moments of being pain free, he breathed relief. His magic hadn't reacted. His magic hadn't hurt him!
The small Slytherin reached the ground softly, immediately being pulled to her feet by another. Harry barely paid attention to the insults Pansy was throwing his way.
"What the FUCK do you think you were doing?!" Never had he been this angry. Not when he found out he had this thing invading his body, not when he found out he had to die again, not when he was being berated for nothing by his uncle. Not when he had destroyed Dumbledore's office. He was livid. Fury swelled in his stomach, forcing his legs to move. He barely knew he had moved, until he was meters away from Romilda.
"Calm down, Harry, it was just a bit of-"
"If you end that sentence with 'fun', so help you!" He bellowed, grabbing her shoulder and shoving her against the wall roughly, not caring in the slightest about the small whimper. "How dare you? HOW DARE YOU? YOU COULD HAVE KILLED HER!" He snarled, not believing his eyes. This was a Gryffindor, for god's sake! He expected this from Slytherin, not one of his house!
"It...It didn't hurt-"
"And what if I hadn't been here? Then what?!" Harry couldn't believe his eyes. This was a girl he knew, one that he trusted, albeit a few love potions mishaps. "You like pushing people down the stairs? You think it's fun, do you?"
Harry had had enough. He grabbed Romilda roughly from the arm, shoving her towards the staircase,
watching as her eyes went wide with fear. Oh, so she didn't want to fall down, did she?
"You look afraid. Are you afraid of death?" Harry continued, snarling as her eyes snapped back to him. "Well, so is she. No one deserves to die. NO ONE! WHO ARE YOU TO PASS OUT JUDGEMENT? WHO ARE YOU TO SAY WHO LIVES AND WHO DIES?"
The girl was shaking in fear, desperately grabbing onto Harry's shirt in the hope he didn't shove her. Disgusted that she would touch him, Harry pushed her away from him, away from the edge of the staircase. Harry blinked away the stinging in his eyes, brushing away the sudden wetness. How odd.
Swallowing tightly, Harry glance around, at the terrified Romilda and co, who were trembling and crying a few meters away. Downstairs, at the upset girl, still crying, and Pansy Parkinson, who was watching him with a guarded expression, suspiciously close to fear. The doors of the Great Hall were open, curious heads poking out.
Harry ran.
.
.
.
For the second time in that week, Harry entered the Potions classroom feeling distinctively out of place. He hadn't thought he was that late, but as soon as he entered every eye was on him. This time, it wasn't just the Slytherins that glared angrily at him though. The Gryffindors followed each step furiously, their eyes blazing in anger. Harry sought out Ron and Hermione, but both were in a deep discussion already, blatantly not looking at Harry.
So, that's how it was going to be, was it?
Harry sighed, gritting his teeth as to not grimace and walked over to Goyle, sitting on his stool sullenly, glaring at the cauldron. He wanted today to be over with as quickly as possible.
Goyle again stood up and went to get the ingredients, leaving Harry alone at his table. They were making an advanced sleeping potion today, one that would render the drinker unconscious for days at a time, without dreams. Or nightmares, Harry thought sadly, wishing they would be sampling this particular potion. He didn't really mind if he was asleep for days at a time, it was less time for his body to betray him, wasn't it?
Harry glanced up in surprise as a small paper aeroplane landed on his desk, obviously meant for him. Glancing around, he caught all the Slytherins staring at him blatantly, but none of the Gryffindors. Couldn't any of them grow up?
Harry unfolded the note quickly, glancing at it and immediately wishing he hadn't. His fading annoyance refuelled.
Why did you try to push Romilda down the stairs?
Furious, Harry scrunched the paper up and tossing it aside on his desk, wanting desperately to set fire to it. One spell wouldn't hurt. It hadn't hurt him this morning, did it? One small incendio…
Goyle returned to the table, shoving several ingredients towards Harry and started to hack into his own. Wincing, Harry followed his example, working in silence. Occasionally the hulk replica would turn to glare at Harry, as if challenging him to say something, but Harry had had enough. He worked in silence, refusing to meet his gaze or taunts. Even when he muttered under his breath about 'blood-traitors' and 'mudbloods', Harry kept silent.
Then, another paper plane landed in front of him.
Harry glanced up again, not fighting to keep his expression calm, before reading the note.
Why did you try to push Romilda down the stairs?
The font was larger this time, more insistent. It seemed more like Hermione lecturing him, then Ron trying to find out information. Again, Harry scrunched it up and tossed it aside. He took his toad spleen and tossed it savagely into the potion, ignoring the heated glare Goyle sent his way again.
Just do the potion. Just do the potion.
Harry started up a mantra in his head, ignoring the glares and now muttering that was filling the room. Every eye was glued to his back, as if he contained all the answers in this fucked up joke of a universe. Feeling his face heat up again, Harry ignored them, instead getting a knife and hacking up his mandrake root.
Just do the potion. Just do the-
"What do you want?" He snapped at the other side of the room as yet another plane landed in front of him. He scrunched it into his hand, not even opening this one. The room went quiet immediately, their thick teacher finally paying attention to the distraught Harry.
"Harry, my boy, do you have anything to say?"
Harry turned his cool stare to him instead. Yeah, learn how to control your class! He thought savagely, before shaking his head and turning back to his burning potion. He threw the note onto the table again, staring at the potion quite viciously. If he added another spleen to it, would it explode? Then the class would be cancelled, or he would be sent to hospital…no, he didn't want to go there again. Madam Pomfrey could barely look at him when he woke that morning. He didn't want to be subjected to the same pity that all the teachers wore when staring at Harry…
"One would think," Harry snapped his eyes up to Malfoy as he drawled, welcoming the slight distraction no matter how mocking it was going to be, "that maybe they want an answer to the insistent notes?" He reached over, uncurling the last one and flipped through it, eyebrows rising. "It seems that they are only just discovering your temper, Potty. How you managed to keep it from them all these years is beyond me." He trailed off, frowning at the lack of response within Harry.
Harry just stared at Malfoy until he became confused enough to turn back to the front. Round 3 goes to Harry. That thought almost had him smiling. Almost. However, it seemed Malfoy was not deterred for long.
"You know, Pansy told me you helped Daphne today. I wasn't inclined to believe her, but the Gryffindorks seem to loathe you for an entirely new reason this time. They really should expect it by now, with your hero complex."
"Why are you talking to me?" That had Malfoy, smirking again, who chuckled for a moment before answering. Honestly, he always dragged everything out into something complicated.
"I'm simply wondering whether you did it because it was the right thing to do." He scoffed at that, as if he didn't believe in it at all, "Slytherin has a bet going, you see. I don't want to lose fifty gallons."
"I like you a hell of a lot more when you don't talk."
"Pity. Well?"
"Shove off, Malfoy." Harry sat at his desk, waiting for the end class and hoping desperately it was coming soon. Goyle looked angry enough to threaten him with the knife again, the Gryffindors looked livid with him, and the Slytherins as if he was a ticking time bomb. And then, Slughorn kept smiling at him. Reassuringly.
…Were they allowed to sample the potion?
The lunch bell came and went. Harry remained in his chair determined not to go eat. He was going to be bombarded, and for the moment, actually found the cool, damp texture of the dungeon relaxing. It was a hell of a lot more quiet than the rest of the school. It would be perfect to sit down here, and fade away into nothingness again.
But then younger students began filling the chairs, and Harry had to vacate his new hiding spot, replacing it with Transfiguration. Great.
To say McGonagall was in a temper when Harry arrived would be an understatement. She turned her glare on him, and suddenly he felt like he was twelve again, in a uniform too big for him and glasses bound by sticky tape. Wow. If only he could go back to when he was twelve…that would give him another six years to live his life, this time Voldemort free.
Harry almost wanted her to glare at him again.
"…Harry, what's going on?" Hermione whispered as soon as he had sat down. He hadn't even time to swing his legs under the desk. "Romilda came crying into the hall this morning, after we all heard yelling."
"Nothing happened."
"Harry, we all know that's-"
"Nothing happened!"
"Mr Potter! Do you have something you wish to share with the class?" Harry glanced up at McGonagall, shaking his head slightly. He had plenty to say, just not with the class. "No? How about you tell the class what we're learning today then?"
"…Multicorfors…it allows you to change the colours of your body."
"Well done, Mr Potter – it seems you've not wasted your education after all on idle gossip. Even though you still cannot do a simple vanishing charm properly."
Harry stared at her blankly as she patronized him, gritting his teeth. She knew that he couldn't practise magic. She had ordered him to keep it at a minimum.
Usually, he would let the comment slide. But not today. Not after he had been ignored by Pomfrey, ignored by Ron and Hermione, treated like a felon for stopping someone killing another in the name of 'good fun', and been constantly provoked in potions. Now, now, they were going to patronise him?
Without a word, Harry stood up and went to the cupboard, ignoring McGonagall's command that he sit back down immediately. What could she do? Put him in detention? Expel him? Both options just made him snicker.
He quickly found the cage of slugs, pulling one out on his extended hand. Still, without a word, he brushed his wand against it. The slug disappeared. He pulled out another. The slug disappeared. Another. The slug disappeared. Three times he did it nonverbally. Half the class still couldn't do a simple charm without having to whisper the incarnation.
McGonagall's glare withered into narrow slits.
"You're pushing it, Potter."
Hmm. He had done magic four times today, and nothing had happened. What was he worrying about that morning with the tempest charm? Nothing bad was going to happen. Had he been overreacting all this time? Had the Healers? Did they tell him no magic as a precaution, not a command?
A feeling almost like happiness had Harry smirking, putting the slugs away and returning to his seat. He wasn't going to be patronised, and he had just silenced McGonagall. Perhaps today was a good day after all.
As the class started practising their spells, Harry was being lectured twice at the same time. Hermione was hissing in his ear, like an angry cat, about disrespect towards the Headmaster and blatant revolt notions. When she was finally finished, she huffed angrily, tossing her hair behind her shoulder. "Just hurry it up and try to change your nail colour like we're supposed to."
Harry glanced up at his second lecturer, who was glaring at him through her spectacles quite blatantly, ignoring the rest of the class. Her glare didn't need a voice.
Do not dare to use that spell.
Harry felt quite giddy, actually. Not happy, no, he hadn't been happy in a while. But almost as if becoming happy was suddenly reachable. Four spells, and not one mishap. Maybe the healers had been overreacting. Nothing that bad had happened to him yet. Or maybe, the potions were working. Maybe they were actually going to cure him of this thing in his body.
Harry hesitated still, staring at his nails. Should he do it?
After a moment, he determinedly waved his wand, muttering the incarnation and waited, holding his breath. He watched in amazement as his nails turned a rich black. Dissimilar to nail polish, the tips of his fingers turned a translucent black mimicking a shadow. And nothing had happened.
Harry almost grinned, relief spreading through his body, through his arms, to his hand, back up to his…arm? That wasn't relief.
Harry swallowed tightly, turning his arm carefully. He thought it was relief, but it seemed more…potent than that. Not an emotion, but a physical thing…almost like he could feel his magic. It had an oppressive, cruel sentiment about it, taunting him. Harry winced in horror.
It reached part of his forearm, then grew. The feeling expanded in the one area, growing tenser and tighter, as if it were squeezing him from the inside, until-
CRACK!
Harry let out a small shriek before clamping his teeth down on his already abused lips, stilling the sound. He refused to glance down at his arm, instead made his hand cradle it. It hurt, a continuous burning and throbbing. Shakily, he felt his arm tenderly, hissing as he felt a bit of his bone cutting across the skin.
Horrified, Harry dropped his wand, repulsed. His magic was tainted, impure…it was trying to kill him now, trying to hurt him…and it was succeeding.
McGonagall quickly dismissed the class, racing towards Harry and his broken arm. She took points off immediately after she heard the whisper 'karma', her own anger growing. She had seen the hesitation in Harry's face, the desperation in hoping the spell would turn out alright, and the near joy that radiated in his eyes when he thought it had worked. Then, the bone in his left arm had snapped, right through his skin.
Merlin, she hoped that Potter would survive this. A desperate, hopeless thought but one that became her mantra as she levitated him to the hospital wing. She didn't know she was whispering it aloud.
Or that at each echo, Harry's pain strengthened, cruelly radiating through his chest. If even McGonagall had no hope, what was he supposed to do?
.
.
.
Harry blinked up at the ceiling again, clenching his teeth in anger. He turned to stare at his arm, almost as if it wasn't his anymore. It didn't feel like his anymore…it felt as if it had been taken, mutilated by a stranger and sewn back on.
He knew it was his magic that did it, he knew that it was out of control…but he still thought he would have a semblance of direction. Like if he felt it emerging, the word he used to describe it to Pomfrey, he would be able to channel it into magic he wanted…but no. No matter how hard he tried to steady his magic, to send it out through his wand…it had resided in his arm, tensing until it snapped his bone, right in half.
What type of wizard was he, if he couldn't even control his magic? Harry thought desperately, turning away from his mending arm. However, this brought his wand into sight. It had betrayed him too. What was the use of having it now? It could defeat Voldemort, it could match his wand in strength…but it couldn't channel Harry's magic anymore? He needed a toy wand, that he could wave about and mutter incarnations without anyone noticing. Then they'd just think him pathetic as a wizard, instead of a squib.
Harry turned back to the ceiling. It was a fading white colour, a cream appearing underneath it. Honestly, didn't they have enough money to repaint the ceiling? Dark colours, blacks or navy blues…colours that represented the Hospital Wing's reoccurring patient's moods?
Harry glanced over as the door swung open, hoping maybe it was Ron or Hermione coming to visit him. However, regrettably, it was Malfoy who had entered.
The blonde didn't even glance at Harry, who took this as another chance to glare holes into the ceiling. How many people look up, who aren't in the beds? Maybe Harry should write something on the ceiling, if just to experiment how many people would tell the patron? He could write a message, just for the patients of the Hospital Wing, telling them specifically not to tell, or something. How long until any of the teachers notice?
But…how would Harry get up, without the use of magic? The world, his world, revolved around magic. In hospital it was fine, because he just sat there all day while getting treatment or doing tests. He read, did his homework…it was like being over the summer. At Hogwarts, you needed magic just to get through the common room, with people pulling jinxes or pranks on each other. He was crazy to think he could come back here.
Harry glanced over at Malfoy again, who was watching Pomfrey fill a case with several flasks. There was no way in being able to tell what they were, but Harry's interest was piqued. Especially as Malfoy seemed a bit anxious to be getting whatever they were.
Harry watched the strange transaction, then how Pomfery promptly left again, to lock herself in her office. Usually so very strict with the care of her patients, she seemed to be avoiding Harry. Oh, well. He kind of understood why, even though it did nothing to improve his temper.
Wait, why was Malfoy walking over to him?
Harry watched sullenly as Malfoy approached his bed, like one would a savage dog. He cocked his head to the side, considering, then shook his head slightly. This was going to be bearable.
"…Hullo, Potty." Wow, the first words were an insult. Expected, but irritating nonetheless.
Harry stared back at him blankly, wondering about this weird turn of events. "Hello."
"How did you break your arm?"
"…You were in the room. You saw." What was even stranger about this conversation, Harry realised suddenly, was not the fact it was Malfoy and they were speaking civilly. No, it was the fact that he had talked to Malfoy more than he had Ron or Hermione combined this term, so far. And, they had fought less too. He was actually on better terms with Malfoy, than his two best friends, in this sense.
"No, I saw you change your nails. Then you waited for a few seconds. Then your arm broke."
"…So? It took awhile for me to realise it was broken. Shock, or something."
Harry swallowed at the frown on Malfoy's face, not wanting to admit intimidation but, in contrary, feeling bloody anxious at being scrutinized. Mafloy seemed…confused. Not at all like his usual, pratty, self-absorbed, vain gitty self.
"…Why don't you smile anymore?"
A minute passed in silence.
Two.
His chest clenched uncomfortably, stabbing him with the recently familiar pain again. He struggled to draw breath.
His face stayed blank; he had had plenty of practise.
Slowly his feet swung from the bed. Slowly he crossed to the door.
Without a sound the door swung open.
Following no conscious thought, Harry allowed his feet to hurry through the empty castle.
It wasn't until Harry managed to blink that he realised he was at the edge of the lake. His knees trembled, and then gave way completely, allowing his body to fall heavily to the ground.
He ignored the hotness in his face, the fact he could feel warm water trickling down his face.
…
Nothing was supposed the change