As soon as he entered the common room, he was swarmed by his housemates. Ron looked a little uncomfortable, and Hermione was bombarding him with questions that he didn't care for. Neville seemed to be trying to get them to stop bothering Harry and he felt a pang of gratitude for the other boy. Harry felt nothing but the need to get away from them, he felt trapped, he wanted out! He mumbled something about Snape assigning him detention on Saturday to appease Hermione before pushing his way through the swarm of people, uncaring that his housemates were staring at him. His move was calculated, even while experiencing a borderline panic attack, he knew he could use Snape as an excuse if he ever needed to leave the castle. It was no secret that the teacher hated him, and would jump at any opportunity to make his life miserable. he just hoped that that would change now, Snape was an important ally as Voldemort's right-hand man, and would be a valuable asset to have if he wanted any chance of getting close to Voldemort.
He silently wondered when he had found being with his friends a chore. He knew he couldn't dump his trauma on them, it wasn't fair to them. They were just kids, and not even a grown adult should be expected to handle the level of stress he had been forced to grow accustomed to over the years. He had experienced horrors they could only dream about. And no matter how many times Hermione claimed that she 'understood what he was going through' or Ron patted him on the back while muttering an awkward, ' We've got your back, man' there was always going to be a big difference between hearing about what he had experienced or spectating while harry went through what would be nightmare fuel for the rest of his life and actually experiencing them. And sure, you could argue that they were the same age, but it was undeniable that he had matured far more and earlier than them. He literally had to sleep with his wand under his pillow in case one of the Slytherins had plans to kidnap him in his sleep and hand him over to Voldemort. While it was effective to get him to Voldemort, he doubted he would hear him out if he was his prisoner. That is, if he could even sleep at all. He was still plagued by nightmares of all the horrors he had been put through over the years and he was often reluctant to sleep for fear that they would haunt his dreams. Surprisingly, he didn't get any visions from Voldemort anymore and he was grateful for that.
He pushed his friends away from his mind and made his way to his bed to grab his cloak. He couldn't stay here, not tonight. The warm air in the tower seemed like it was choking him and the mild chatter from the common room seemed like it was bursting his eardrums. Everything was too loud, too hot. He realized with a jolt that he actually preferred the cool air of the dungeons over the warmer air of the tower. The Slytherins probably wouldn't be constantly up in his business, either, asking an seemingly endless amount of questions to sate their burning curiosity, like the lions. He honestly had no semblance of privacy anymore. He mentally cursed his younger self for begging the sorting hat to put him anywhere but Slytherin. He probably would have liked it better there. How things had changed. Throwing his cloak over his head he rushed out of the common room, ignoring his friends' calls for him and efforts to locate him.
Muttering the password just loud enough for the fat lady to hear he hurried out as soon as the portrait door swung open and breathed out a sigh of relief as soon as he felt the cold night air touch his skin. He thought the breeze ruffling his hair almost felt like a caress and unconsciously leaned into it. Just great. He was touch starved now too. Harry Potter, the record holder for the most problems a person could possibly have. When had that even happened? Ginny was always touching him inappropriately, trying to force herself on him. He shuddered as he felt phantom grabby hands all over him. That could hardly be counted as 'positive touch'. She had practically no respect for his boundaries. The other day his magic had accidentally burned her when she had tried to sit on his lap and while he did apologize, (albeit half-heartedly) he secretly thought she deserved it and it was worth it because after that she finally took the hint and avoided him. He was just worried that one day she would go too far and slip him a love potion. He hoped she wouldn't. Harry thought of her as a sister, not a potential lover.
He let his thoughts drift from the seemingly unending list of problems he had. He sat down on the cool marble floor for a while before he began to get chilly. He tugged the cloak tighter around himself as he made his way up to The Room of Requirement. Slipping inside, he thought of a warm, inviting bed in a cozy room in Slytherin colors. Something similar to Snape's private quarters, but with less black and more green. He smiled to himself as exactly what he pictured materialized before his eyes.
The walls were such a dark shade of green it almost looked black in the dim light. There were large, floor-to-ceiling windows that showed him an illusion of the black lake, a large, toothy swordfish swimming past him. On one side of the room, there was a large, oversoft four-poster bed with emerald green covers lined with silver. It looked so tempting he was prepared to dive under the covers and ride the train to (hopefully) no dreams land. On the other side, there was a huge porcelain bathtub, a large selection of colorful-looking bath salts and a couple of candles floating above it, their dim light casting shadows across the marble floor.
What looked the most tempting, though, was the bottle of wine sitting innocently on the side of the bath. while it was nowhere near the calibre of the prefects' bathroom, it was still enticing and almost equally as tempting as the bed. He could do with a nice, warm bath and a drink. He didn't think he would be able to sleep if he didn't feel clean, anyways. After the long couple of days he'd had, it was a great way to wind down and relax. He raised his arm and sniffed. Yup. He definitely needed a shower.
He wasn't worried about anyone finding him and reporting him to a professor. Not many knew of this place except for him and the DA. Nor was he worried about Dumbledore stopping him despite probably knowing where he was. The man had detection charms everywhere but he wouldn't mind Harry sleeping there. Harry knew the headmaster was going to be very lenient with him and he could use that to his advantage in case he decided to go snooping. Dumbledore probably thought that Harry would probably think it through before coming to his senses and walking to his death like a good little pawn. Dumbledore thought Harry's hero complex would win over in the end. Harry scoffed. Dumbledore was a manipulative, meddling old coot who deserved nothing more than a lifetime imprisonment in Azkaban. He shouldn't be allowed to be around young impressionable minds and place his seeds of martyrdom in them. Nor should he be allowed to manipulate them. Harry was just glad that he had caught wind of what was really happening sooner rather than later or he might not even be alive!
He was exhausted though, and the large tub already filled with warm water looked like heaven on earth. He had been so lost in his thoughts he hadn't realized the tub had automatically filled itself with water. There were even rose petals scattered over the water. Stripping his clothes off, he stepped into the bath and moaned as the warm water hit his skin. Grabbing the bottle, he poured a generous amount into the wine glass and didn't bother sipping it slowly. He allowed the alcohol to wash over him, numbing his mind and silencing his still-racing thoughts. He turned the bottle around so he could see the brand. It was some fancy name he couldn't pronounce. Must be expensive, he was already feeling tipsy. He made a mental reminder to steal a hangover potion from Snape the next morning before classes started. He would definitely need it.
As much as he was enjoying the warm water and alcohol, he was still tired, so he wrapped things up and dried his body with a fluffy green towel that seemed to appear out of nowhere.
For a moment, he wondered what he was going to wear because he had forgotten to bring his pajamas with him in his rush to get out of his common room. But the room seemed to take care of everything because on the bed a silky green robe was already laid out for him. Slipping it on, he climbed under the duvet and fell into a dreamless sleep to thoughts of how his 'meeting' with Voldemort could pan out. He wasn't too afraid, mainly because Dumbledore was definitely going to send him to his death, but with Voldemort, there was a small chance that he would live if he felt like it. In the worst-case scenario, he was just going to die sooner rather than later, right? What was his life, anyways…
