Legal Disclaimer: I own my stuff, but not the original source material. That belongs to whoever. Also, the opinions and interpretations I use here may not reflect the same in said whoever that owns the source material. Look, I'm just a poor college librarian. Suing me isn't going to get you anything but tears.
Warning: This work may be offensive to some readers. There are also references to canon abuse of authority and child abuse. Feel free to back out if need be.
Author's Note: This turned out a lot longer than I anticipated.
Submitting Info:
Stacked with: Hogwarts (Post Term 16); Ministry (Pre-Open); MC4A (Summer Year 5)
Individual Challenges: Red Lights; Red Bull; Red Wave; Infinite Cakes; Red & Green Heart; Rainbow Rainbow; Bi Rainbow; Missing Rainbow; Lovebirds; Gryffindor MC; Slytherin MC; Magical MC; Magical MC; Neurodivergent; Rian-Russo Inversion; Rian-Russo Inversion; Ethnic & Present; Ethnic & Present; Bi Bi Bi; Setting Sails; Hold the Mayo; Lunar Era; Old Shoes (Y); Sentinel; Short Jog; Bucket Listing; Two Cakes (Y); Eating Cake (Y); Green Ribbon; Greatest Gift
House: Slytherin
Ministry Challenges: Aug Bingo [D2](Harry Potter)
Other Hogwarts Challenges: 365 [206](Sensitive); Insane House Challenge [300](Cookies); Days of the Year [Jun 23/National Pink Day](Set in Harry's 5th Yr); National Picnic Month [02](DADA Classroom); Shark Awareness Day [08](sensitive to touch); Romance Awareness Month [01](Harry Potter); International Cat Day [19]("I'm tired"/"Want me to carry you?"); National Dog Day [09](Struggling to Breathe); Teddy Bear Day [03](Marmalade Sandwich); Colors [13](Burnt Orange); Flowers [05]("I can't tell you"); Crystals & Gemstones [09](Quill);
Other MC4A Challenges: Ship (HeSh)[SuMic1 (Fusion/Crossover); SuMic2 (Black; Gray; Orange; Transparent)]; Chim (Guna)["The Village" - Wrabel; Protection; Gnome]; Hunt [Su Con (Fish)]; Fire [x3](Sensory); Garden [Tools (Mirror); Gee Favs (Sentinel/Guide); Badges (Desi Character)]; Harvest [AU (Sentinel/Guide); Items (Blanket; Stew/Soup); Relationships (Soulmates); Settings (Quiet)];
Representation(s): Desi Harry Potter/Blaise Zabini; Sentinel Blaise; Guide Harry; Dursleys' A-Plus Parenting; Chim Song Prompt
Primary & Secondary Bonus Challenges: Lyre Liar; Muck & Slime; Abandoned Ship; In the Trench; Surprise!; Second Verse (Persistence Still; Found Family; Nontraditional; Sneeze Weasel; Teat Juice; Middle Name; Nightingale; Spinning Plates; Unwanted Advice; Brooms Only; Lock & Key; Deadliest Catch; Lovely Coconuts); Chorus (Endless Wonder; Pear-Shaped; Pocky Pockets; Wabi Sabi; Bee Haven; Fizzy Lemonade; Machismo; Peddling Pots; Delicious Lie; Fire Song; Mouth of Babes; Tomorrow's Shade; A Long Dog; Larger than Life; Unicorn; Creature Feature; Wind Beneath); Demo 1 (Casper's House; Bad; Under the Bridge; Over the Hills; Fruit Fly); Demo 2 (Gingersnap; Sitting Hummingbird)
Tertiary & Generic Bonus Challenges: T3 (Tether); SN (Rail; Intercept); FR (Satisfaction; Evolution); O3 (Orator; Oust); HoSE (Schooner; Sanctuary); Once (Moses Supposes; Santa Fe; Inchworm); War (Orator; Obstruction; Sanctuary; Ennui); TY (Ntaiv; Enfant)
Word Count: 2687 words
(^^)
Bleeding Panic
(^^)
Harry curled into a tighter ball as he struggled to breathe around the panic clogging his throat. The magic that was normally a reassuring constant of the castle and grounds of Hogwarts had turned into a demon clawing at his very being, intent on ripping him to pieces even as it roasted him alive. The scent of dust was strong in the abandoned Defense against the Dark Arts classroom he had chosen to dart into when he felt the panic attack start to come on. Clearly no one had been in the room since Lockhart had occupied the place or shortly thereafter judging by the way that the vain man's full length mirror had been shoved into one corner. Lockhart's peacock quill still laid abandoned on the desk even.
It wasn't unusual for a panic attack to happen after an Occlumency lesson, so Harry knew to watch out for them despite how it had only been a few weeks since the lessons with Snape had begun and they had been a very rare feeling before then. Something between the pain in his head and the way his senses seemed raw afterwards always triggered a rush of adrenaline. Without having to run for his life or fly away from iron balls, there seemed to be only one way for his system to deal with that rush.
Which is how he got familiar with how the start of a panic attack felt.
After the first rushed trip to Madam Pomfrey, who had merely tutted about how he wasn't dying and gave him a Calming Draught before sending him back to Gryffindor (all done with the impatient air of someone who felt like they were wasting their time), Harry had started just making it as far as he could back towards the dorms before ducking into an abandoned classroom or supply closet when the symptoms became too much. It wasn't the more comfortable of options, of course. Harry hurt after every lesson, more so as time went on, and not being able to catch his breath seemed to just make it worse. And he was just so sensitive to everything afterwards.
He felt like some intangible part of himself was bleeding. In an attempt to give his mind something other than breathing to focus on, he imagined pressing a bandage on the spot. The sense of the bandage becoming saturated under his mental hold was so real that Harry could practically feel the wetness against his palms. That was not good, even if it was just imaginary. His imagination wasn't really good enough to pretend to be bleeding out like a butchered chicken.
Harry missed the sound of the classroom door opening and then closing again. His head was beginning to spin. Was it from his panic attack? Or was it from the imaginary bleeding? Can one die from bleeding that was just in their head? Was that even possible? So many things about the wizarding world was already impossible but real that Harry couldn't be certain.
"Shh," someone said nearby. The softly spoken syllable felt like a dagger being stabbed through his eyes. Harry could feel his hands hovering over his knees. He could feel how hesitant the other boy was to touch him and risk making everything worse. He could feel the urge to help just as strong as it was whenever Harry rushed headfirst into danger to save his friends. It just added to the feelings choking him.
Still, something about the other presence felt inherently safe. Even more importantly, it felt like a missing piece of himself that was just waiting for Harry to slot into place. Harry could practically see a cord unraveling towards him like the leading curl of ivy reaching for the sun. He unfurled from his protective ball and lurched towards the other body, acting on some instinct that he was not aware of even having.
"Whoa," the boy said, as Harry wrapped himself around him. Harry could only stand to open his eyes the tiniest amount. It was just enough to catch sight of a gray sweater vest under a set of plain black robes. A hand came up to run fingers through Harry's hair before pressing Harry's face into the crook between neck and shoulder. Suddenly, Harry found himself panting down the spicy scent of anise and cardamom. Slowly, the pain began to fade as well.
"That's it." He pressed what felt like a kiss to the top of Harry's head. "Just breathe, little guide. Go ahead and anchor yourself however you need."
The words didn't quite make sense, and it wasn't only because they sounded like they were coming from far away. Harry knew about sentinels and guides, of course. Every school child learned about the Sensitives that had genetic advantages over standard humans. They existed in the magical world, too, not that Harry had met one yet that he knew. There was spells in their Charms textbook this year for dealing with any sensory spikes a person might experience or specialty designed privacy spells to prevent causing said spikes in others. They also showed up in the history books that Harry had read over the years, both for Binns' class and as research (typically for whatever was trying to kill him that year).
But there were tests for both variants of Sensitive. A specialty trained guide came to the primary school once a year to read the students, despite how no Sensitive was likely to come online that young. The one assigned to Brickman had been a pleasant woman with a round face, skin even darker than Harry's, and lots of tightly wound coils that sprung out from her head like they were trying to escape. Her hair was a different color or combination of colors every time she had visited. She had even shared her lunch with Harry the last time he had seen her, the last year he had attended Brickman before leaving for Hogwarts.
Harry didn't know how they tested for it in the magical world, but there wasn't any special visits to Hogwarts, at least not in the last four and a half years. The magical world didn't have centers like the muggle world did. Like most of the other career fields, Sensitives received their training through apprenticeships under a master accredited by the associated guild which apparently only had an office within the Ministry of Magic as a meeting point.
Not that it ultimately mattered because Harry was definitely not a Sensitive at all, let alone a guide. He wasn't special, no matter how the wizarding world acted at times. He whimpered as quietly as if he was back in his cupboard at Privet Drive and hoping to avoid further punishment. He couldn't help it. He was just Harry.
"Shh," the boy repeated as he continued running his fingers through Harry's hair. Harry could feel the panic draining from him with the steady motion. The imagined feeling of a bleeding wound was also fading, becoming more a seep than a gush. His stomach twisted as he felt a sensation like another set of hands pressing a fresh bandage to the internal spot. It just hurt so bad. "We need to get you somewhere more protected than this."
"Hurts," Harry managed to slur. Without the additional adrenaline of the panic attack, he could feel his energy abandoning him. He leaned heavily on the other boy. "I'm tired."
"Want me to carry you?" the boy asked. Harry gave a small sound that he hoped was answer enough, as he slipped into the darkness that was rising up behind his closed eyes.
(^^)
Harry woke up in the same way that he normally did after a really good dream. At first, he wasn't even certain that he wasn't still in a dream. The world had a fuzziness around the edges that couldn't be accounted for by the blur that came from not wearing his glasses. The room he was in was also strange, even by magical standards.
He was laying on an overstuffed chaise that was made of royal purple velvet. The softest blanket he had ever felt covered him from shoulder to ankle. Someone had taken off his trainers, leaving him in his mismatched socks that Dobby had given him just that past Christmas. The chaise faced a heath that had a fire actively burning within it. Over the flames was a hook that had a very large cauldron hanging on it. The smell of fish stew filled the area.
On the mantle of the fireplace was a yard gnome wearing a tangerine dress and a burnt orange witch hat. Thankfully, it wasn't animated as many things in the magical world was. Even still, the ceramic figurine wore a suggestive smirk that was similar to how Katie looked right before she dragged Angelina and Alicia off somewhere. It made Harry nervous in a way that he couldn't quite explain.
Harry pushed himself up into a sitting position before a wave of dizziness forced him to stop.
"Oh, good," came a voice from behind the chaise, "you're awake."
"Wha…?" Harry managed before the dryness in his throat overcame him. He was twisting in an attempt to look at the speaker. As he met the other boy's concerned gaze, Harry could feel the distant flex of the familiar wards of Hogwarts. It was reassuring to know that he hadn't been removed from the grounds again, especially as Harry vaguely recognized the dark-skinned boy as a Slytherin belonging to the same year as himself.
"You've been out for most of the night," Zabini explained as he picked up a transparent pitcher and glass off of a table right behind the chaise. Making a show of not blocking Harry's view of his actions, Zabini poured water from the pitcher into the glass. Then he offered it to Harry. "Not surprising given how I found you. How did you get like that, if you don't mind me asking?"
"Um," Harry stalled as he took the glass. As much to stall further as to soothe his dry throat, he took a long drink of the ice cold water. There was no way around Dumbledore's order that his lessons with Snape be kept secret. Yet at the same time, he felt a flare of phantom pain through the scarred lettering on his hand at the very thought of lying to Zabini. "I can't, I can't tell you."
Zabini hummed thoughtfully in response. His violet eyes seemed to see right through Harry. It was eerily similar to the looks that Sirius and Lupin sometimes gave him when he had mentioned something, usually about the Dursleys. Unable to meet that gaze, Harry focused on the tiny ripples in the water inside the glass he was holding.
"That's fair," Zabini offered eventually. He shuffled some more things on the table. "It will be a bit longer before the stew is ready, but I've got some tea foods that should tie us over."
"I'm fine," Harry tried only to be get a disbelieving scoff from Zabini. The accompanying feeling of anger had Harry looking back up at the Slytherin. With an instinctive habit learned from handling his relatives, Harry made sure that he was looking through his lashes. Zabini heaved a sigh before picking up two small plates and carrying them around the chaise.
"You are not," he insisted, sitting one of the plates on Harry's lap. The plate had two wedges of marmalade sandwiches as well as a handful of what looked like jammy dodgers except for the jam being a dark reddish-purple instead of the standard red shade. "You don't have to tell me how you ended up in such a deplorable state. Your business is your own. Yet the fact remains that you are now recovering from not only from shield collapse but an active and severe psychic bleed. You need to eat, little guide."
"I'm not—" Harry tried to protest as Zabini dropped to floor near his feet. His heart jumped into his throat for reasons that he couldn't quite pinpoint. "What, what, what are you doing?"
"Giving you room to lay down after you eat," Zabini answered as if it was just nothing that he took the floor while Harry sat on the soft chaise that had plenty of room for two people. "You'll need another nap, and it's not like we don't have time before the real meal is ready."
"Why are you doing this?"
The question came out quietly. Not that Harry had meant to ask it at all. He had learned long ago that questions were dangerous things. It was always better to just go with the flow of things and figure things out along the way.
Even worse was how Zabini seemed to be giving the question serious thought. Harry could practically feel the way the outwardly stoic boy was weighing different responses. It was as if their current situation was a prismatic orb that Zabini was tilting various ways to see how the light refracted through it. After a long enough silence that Harry was starting to regret not having a place to safely set down his glass of water, Zabini finally came to some sort of conclusion.
"You really don't know anything."
"Hey! I know loads of things!"
"Yes, I'm sure you do," Zabini agreed readily, "but not anything about what you are or what that means."
"I don't know what you think you know—" Harry bit off what he was going to say when that prompted a wide grin from Zabini. It transformed his already-handsome face to something that made Harry's mind go quietly blank at the same that his mouth went dry again. Dazed, he shook his head a little to clear it before picking back up the thread of their conversation. "I'm not what you think I am. I can't be."
"And what do you think that I think you are which you cannot be?"
"A guide," Harry supplied. He took a moment to drink the rest of his water. Zabini easily took the now-empty glass from him and set it down on the floor between Harry's feet and Zabini's knee. "Someone would have noticed if I was."
"I do not know what to tell you," Zabini said carefully, "but you are definitely a guide. Judging by the lingering taste of your shields when I found you and how fast they're already recovering, you've been active for a long time, too. That would not be a surprise."
"Because of Voldemort?" Harry asked, fidgeting with one of the sandwich wedges. Zabini gave another of his little scoffs. Harry looked down at him, having the inexplicable urge to touch one of the many braids that he kept his hair in.
"Because of who your parents were," Zabini answered. "The Potters have been producing strong guides for centuries, and your mother had already been on course to take over as Alpha Sentinel of the Welsh chapter of the guild when they had been forced into hiding. Their bond was literally the stuff of legends, despite how long it took them to get around to cementing it."
"If that's true," Harry asked, bitterness making his stomach roil threatening, "then why has no one ever said anything before?"
"Yet another thing which I do not know, little guide."
"Stop calling me that," Harry muttered. "My name is Harry, just Harry."
"Well, just Harry, you need to eat. Then you need to rest."
"You're awfully bossy." But Harry picked up one of the strange jammy dodgers to take an experimental sniff at it. The reddish purple jam smelled like blackberries. "Why are you so insistent on me eating, anyway?"
"What kind of sentinel would I be if I didn't make sure my guide was properly fed?"
Having no argument against that sentiment, Harry just ate his cookies and marmalade sandwiches. There would be time to figure things out later. If ignoring the topic meant that Harry got to bask for a little while in the idea of belonging, then no one really had to know, right?