Don't Save Me, Chxrlotte

Maybe I'm wretched and deserve this, I don't know
Don't save me, I'm almost glad if this is how I go
The monsters under my bed want to beat me to it though
Every word that they've said
It goes 'round in my head while I drown in the undertow

Look into my eyes
And tell me what you see
A demon in disguise
Pretending to be me
Bury your surprise
And listen carefully
He lives inside my mind
He'll never let me free

Don't save me I think I'm in hell
These walls are talking I can tell
I've bathed in fire since I fell
Don't leave me on my own

Harry had gone to Dumbledore that afternoon after his classes finished. He could already feel his thoughts and memories being pulled under the metaphorical rug as he walked, the thing in his head sensing what he was about to do. Harry wondered what would happen if he tried to tell the headmaster what had been happening, what he'd been doing and seeing, wondered if it would let him get the words out.

"There you are, my boy! Looking much better I see." Dumbledore bid him to sit, and he did.

"Yeah, Ginny had some Pepper-Up. I got some sleep." Harry lied, feeling brave enough to look the man in the eye. He was confident that if the headmaster used Legilimency, it would be under control.

"Very good, very good. I trust you've thought about what we've seen."

"You think Voldemort succeeded in making a Horcrux, professor?" Harry had thought about it.

"I think he succeeded in making several," Dumbledore said. The Boy Who Lived noticed that the man's gnarled hand rested on the diary that Ginny had used to open the Chamber of Secrets in his second year—Tom Riddle's.

"Sir…"

"This? Yes, Harry." He said, then raised his blackened arm, "And this ring."

The Boy Who Lived could nearly physically feel the thing in his head squirming.

"How many more do you think there are." It didn't feel like his voice and had come out hollow. Maybe his mouth and his head were numb.

"I believe there are six in total, though now we must consider seven. This ring, and the diary. Both destroyed. I suspect the objects we saw with Hepzibah, the cup, and the locket. I think it is possible that his snake, Nagini, may also house a Horcrux. The sixth, the seventh?" Dumbledore raised his hands, questioning. "A mystery."

"We must destroy these Horcruxes, Harry, if we are to destroy the man."

In the end, the man hadn't used Legilimency, and Harry had been released both from the headmaster's office and the vice grip on his thoughts.

Harry took Ron, Hermione, and Ginny out of the Common Room that afternoon, leading them to the edge of the lake. They had let him lead them quietly, sensing Harry's serious mood. They came to sit on the rocky waterline. Winter was over, but it was still freezing, the grounds covered in half-melted snow. The sun was out, but it wasn't warming anyone. The three of them looked at him, and he sighed.

"Voldemort… He's…" Harry struggled to find the words to describe what he'd learned.

"In Slughorn's memory," he started over, "Tom Riddle spoke to him about dark magic, something called a Horcrux."

No one said anything, so he continued, "He… The Dark Lord split his soul, put the pieces into objects. If we don't destroy those objects, we can't kill him."

There was a long pause, before Hermione said, "How many are there?"

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, "There could be seven."

"You're joking," Ron said. "Seven?!"

"What are they? Where are they?" Hermione spoke over the top of Ron, louder in pitch.

The Boy Who Lived shook his head. "We've destroyed two. Tom Riddle's diary, in the Chamber of Secrets," Harry looked at Ginny as he said this. She was pale, not looking at him.

"And a ring, that Dumbledore found sometime after the attack at the Ministry. That's what happened to his arm. The others… The headmaster thinks there's a locket and a cup. He also thinks Voldemort's snake is one as well. The other two… We don't know what or where they are. We don't know where any of them are, really." Harry finished, feeling more hopeless after having said it all out loud.

Six days later the warm comfort of the spell had long left him, allowing the full weight of events to swamp him. He'd given in, again. He'd been blindsided by the fact that Slughorn's memory matched the one he'd seen in his dreams, crushed by the headmaster's betrayal when he'd used Legilimency, baffled and overwhelmed by the news of the Horcruxes, and so starved he could barely stand it. He hadn't found another way. He could feel that the thing was stronger. It made him sick to think that when the thing was… healthy, it could subdue his emotions; could smother his thoughts in the crib. It was ever present, though silent.

He felt he had to carefully examine every feeling and idea, particularly now, when he felt like he could talk to it. Like it would readily respond. It was well-fed enough to do seemingly whatever it wanted with his head. As far as he could tell, though, it hadn't messed with his mind since the morning after he'd last cast… that spell. Not unless he looked at the headmaster. His anger and confusion certainly felt equal to events. It hadn't talked to him, though Harry knew it was capable.

He hadn't wanted the Horcrux memory to be accurate. Hadn't wanted to consider that there was even a remote possibility the prophecy his loved ones died for was fake. That someone was lying to him.

'The one with power to rival the Dark Lord's own approaches,'

Harry wasn't shocked to hear the voice in his mind. He had braced for it since the day he wordlessly levitated the apple. He was even less surprised that it had been sitting on that line of the vision. Just as Harry had been. He shook his head, biting his tongue and digging his nails into his palms as he forced the thought away, refusing to engage.

After the lull in the Dark Lord's activity -and in the face of the upcoming Apparition exams for those old enough to test out- trips to Hogsmeade were reinstated on the seventh of April, for extra practice. Harry felt that it was a false sense of security, but he was glad for the opportunity to get more Calming Draughts and ingredients.

It had been three weeks since he'd last fed the thing that lived in his head. As a result, he was not calm.

He followed Ron and Hermione to the village, not paying any mind to the fact that he wasn't seventeen and so couldn't test out for Apparition yet, and that he didn't need practice. He let his friends lead and talk, his mind and gut preoccupied.

The three of them settled on some rocks while Hermione schooled Ron on the theory of Apparition, though neither of them had successfully done it. The Weasley teen looked preoccupied and kept nodding rhythmically while staring off into the village.

"I've actually gotta go in and get some stuff for classes, you two right to wait here?" Ron said after Hermione noticed he was just nodding without listening. She frowned and shook her head, but looked down at her bag and took out a book as Ron walked away. Harry watched him go for a moment before he looked at Hermione.

"I need to go and get some potion ingredients too. I'll be back in a minute?" Harry said, and she scoffed but didn't look up from her reading.

"Sure, Harry, but do try and hurry. We're supposed to be practising."

Harry didn't go straight to the tiny Apothecary, instead, once he was a decent distance from Hermione, he threw his invisibility cloak over his head and followed Ron's footprints through the melting sludge-like snow on the street. He'd begun carrying the cloak in his bag once the hunger had returned and it was clear the Slytherins were going to continue their nightly rounds of the castle.

He'd been distracted from the Weasley's oddness by the Horcruxes and the thing in his head, but he wasn't going to squander an opportunity. He spotted Ron after a moment of following his tracks. The redhead was looking around nervously, as though he didn't want to be noticed. The Boy Who Lived sped up, careful not to make any sound.

He didn't follow Ron to any shop, instead, his best mate crossed the bridge to the outskirts of the town, through the barren fields, to a run-down building Harry guessed had once been used to store grain.

Inside the building was an older, scraggly-looking man, maybe forty years old. Ron entered, and Harry followed, careful only to step when his friend did, then hiding in the corner of the building.

"Nearly wasn't gonna wait for you. Hardly ought to have come this far," the man snapped as Ron approached. Harry noticed he was missing almost all his teeth, slurring his speech.

"Got caught up," Ron said, shrugging one shoulder, "Did you bring it?"

"If you bought the gold?"

Ron produced a pouch from his inner robe pocket and held it up for the man to see. "Show me the book."

The man did as Ron asked, producing a burgundy, leather-bound book, holding it up in the same way Ron was holding the money, so he and Harry both could see the cover. The deep gold lettering wasn't a language he'd ever seen.

"On three," Ron said, "One, two, three."

They exchanged the book and the gold on three, and the man swiftly exited the grain house, disapparating with a crack. Ron tucked the book into his robes and followed the stranger out.

Harry let out a breath he hadn't noticed holding, while his mind raced. Why would Ron be buying a strange book from a strange man in secret?

He made his way to the small Apothecary while still under his cloak, more worried now about being spotted by Ron. He stepped inside before he shrugged it off. The Matron gasped and admonished him, but he ignored her as he bought his supplies, mind still running through what he'd seen. He downed three Calming Draughts as he exited the store.

When he returned to Hermione, Ron was already with her, looking flustered as she tried to correct his twisting technique.

"This isn't going to work Hermione," He told her, "I'm bloody useless at this."

"Harry, you were gone ages!" The bushy-haired teen said when she saw him.

"Got what you needed, mate?" Ron asked, eyes slightly narrowed.

"Sorry, she had to look in the back for some ingredients," Harry lied.

"Show Ron how it's done again." She told him.

He suddenly didn't feel like being in the village or with his friends. He was certain if he tried to Apparate he would fail, splinch himself and wind up in the Hospital Wing, sluggish as his magic and head were.

The magical weakness wasn't the worst thing about the hunger, about the thing in his head, but it was certainly high on the list. He was vulnerable and dangerous all at once. Harry shrugged at Hermione, feigning disinterest in what they were doing, and watched Ron carefully.

He gave no indication that he'd been involved in any back-alley transactions.

Two days later, he heard the voice again. He'd been sitting up with Ginny, trying to distract himself with the mystery of the book Ron had bought. Harry was ashamed to have searched Ron's belongings for the burgundy tome but hadn't found it. Gone. Hidden, Harry assumed, somewhere before Ron returned to the Common Room.

He thought about the Horcruxes and the headmaster, he definitely did not think about the dreams, the prophecy, or the spell.

'You'll- make me beg… then?' It was barely a whisper, disjointed and hard to hear, but he had heard it. He pretended he didn't, looking up at Ginny instead. He didn't say anything to her, but she met his eyes anyway. He knew she could see how pale he was. Again. How his eyes had sunken in. Again. That he'd taken to staying up most nights instead of bothering with "Dreamless Sleep". Her eyebrows knitted together, and her lips formed a white line.

"You aren't going to talk to me, are you, Harry?"

Harry shook his head minutely, noticing that he'd drawn blood biting his tongue.

"About what, Ginny." He said after a long pause, through clenched teeth. He'd almost told her that the same could be said for her and her brother, but he still had a small semblance of self-control.

She had shrugged and looked away.

Harry was waiting, alone, in the dead of the night, in dense woods outside a small lodge house, nestled firmly in the middle of nowhere. He'd tried the door, but it was warded properly shut. Only darkness inside.

It was something he knew he shouldn't be doing, but as soon as he'd learned about the creature, he'd had to see one. Had to get her out. If she was what they said she was, it was wholly unethical for her to rot away in a cage. Misunderstood. The cost would be exorbitant, and he'd had to source funds from his Slytherin housemates, promising that it would be well worth the investment.

Mulciber had said that it would be worth it for Harry, no one else was going to need or want to get within ten metres of her. The Chosen One had asked what the difference was.

Harry had begun to think it was probably too good to be true when the stranger that Nott's father had mentioned to him was late. He was debating leaving when he heard the crack of Apparition inside. The door unlocked and swung open, a scruffy old man poking his head out. Harry moved toward the man while he gave the Boy Who Lived a wary look.

"Nott didn't say you were a bleeding student," The man said, his greying beard bouncing with his words.

"I assure you, that won't be a problem," Harry said smoothly.

"This here," The man began, leaning forward and hissing in a whisper, "Is the bloody deadliest thing I've ever got my hands on. How old are you? Fifteen? Sixteen? Got any hair on your balls yet? I can't sell you this in my right mind."

Harry thought, sure, let's get you in the wrong mind then. His hand was already on his wand, in his pocket, and he'd been practising nonverbal casting. The man's eyes glazed over.

"A'ight, then, come on in," The man said, stepping aside so Harry could enter.

There was a cage in the empty cabin, maybe two by two metres in diameter. Too small to contain the creature it did, Harry thought as he took in the sight of her coiled tightly, overlapping herself and nearly filling the cage.

A Maledictus. A woman cursed to gradually transform into a beast. This one had taken her final form in the shape of a serpent.

"Hello. I'm Tom Riddle." Harry said.

She shifted in her cage, meeting his eyes and trying to unravel.

"Tom Riddle. I am Nagini."

Harry raised his wand and blasted the lock off the cage.

'Don't you... Think it's strange,' the voice began, 'Dumbledore- would hold an… interview…' Though it had grown quieter, harder to understand as the days wore on, it was certainly more talkative the hungrier it got.

'In a pub… In the presence… of Severus- Snape.'

Harry ignored it, as he usually did. But he had found that strange. The more believable setting had been his dream version when he'd been inside Voldemort's head. He shook it off and refocused on what Hermione was saying.

'A known… Death Eater- Spy.'

"Well, if the potions turned dark green it means you've… Are you alright Harry?"

'That he would- invade your mind… For the simple crime… Of dreaming.'

"Yeah, Hermione. I'm good. The potion turns green. What next." Harry tried to school his face.

"Well, no, if the potion turns green it means you've stirred too many times, you've got to… Start again. It's supposed to be magenta if you stir correctly," she said, eying him.

'You wondered…' It paused and the hunger hit him in a wave, making him squirm unwillingly, 'how often- he'd used… Legilimency.'

"Uh-huh. And then?" Harry said, pushing the pain and the voice away.

'I can… show you,' the image of the inky black magic came to Harry, 'if you- give me strength.'

"You've got to let it cool for… Harry? You really look ill." Hermione said, and Ginny looked between the two of them with concern. Ron had gone to bed early, and Harry found himself annoyed at that. He'd used Ron as a Hermione ward more times than he could count.

"How long do you cool it for." Harry insisted. It had only been four weeks since he'd cast that godforsaken spell, and already his body, magic, and mind refused to heed him.

'Harry.'

Harry shook his head, too violently he realised, for present company.

"Harry, please, what is going on? You've been acting so strangely, and I thought it was Sirius, but-" Hermione cut herself off, as they weren't alone in the Common Room. It was past curfew, but still early enough for a few groups of Gryffindors to be milling around.

"How long do you cool it for, Hermione." The Chosen One closed his eyes when his tone came out sharp. A roaring had begun in his ears, as though he sat next to a waterfall.

"I- fifteen minutes. Until the colour darkens. Harry…"

'Harry…'

"Maybe I should get the headmaster," Hermione said to herself and Ginny, not to the Boy Who Lived, who wasn't listening. "Do you need us to get Dumbledore, Harry? Or Madam Pomfrey?"

'The one- with power… To rival… The Dark Lord's own- approaches.'

"ENOUGH!" Harry shouted, suddenly standing. He had his wand out, not raised but close. Hush had fallen in the Common Room, and he felt all eyes on him. He exploded out of the portrait hole, ignoring the looks on his friend's faces, wide with shock. He sprinted before they could follow. He heard Hermione calling after him and Ginny saying something, the both of them anxious. But after rounding a few corners, their voices were distant.

He'd planned to just leave, maybe run until his legs gave out, maybe head-butt a wall till he lost consciousness. As he ran, though, he realized his legs were moving him automatically to the room he'd grown to hate. His vision tunnelled as he flashed through the halls, trying to keep his ears open for Filch or a professor, but all he could hear was the completely disjointed whispering of the voice, the whipping of his robes as he sprinted, and the roar of his blood in his ears.

He wasn't going to cast it. He was pretty sure. He just needed to lock himself in a quiet room. He just wanted silence. That's why he was running so fast. Because everything was too loud. He'd silence the room and then just sit in it. It would be fine if it was quiet.

"Expelliarmus!"

Harry turned, too late, spinning on his heels from his momentum, nearly stumbling as he watched his wand fly from his hand. Malfoy stood at the other end of the hall, panting, wand raised, Crabbe, Goyle, and Zabini behind him. They looked as though they had chased him for some time, judging by the way Crabbe was doubled over, wheezing.

"Stupefy!" The blonde snarled and missed as Harry rolled for his wand, unsteady on his feet.

"Stupefy!" All four Slytherins were casting, and one of them hit, sending Harry ramrod straight, face down onto the floor. He could see his wand, just to the left of his head before Malfoy snatched it up.

"Hurry up, move him," the blonde hissed, and Crabbe and Goyle began dragging Harry not gently by his stiff arms, still face down. "No, you imbeciles. Your wands. Use your wands."

Harry noted through the blaze of his hunger, rage, and possible concussion that the Slytherin sounded frantic.

"Was beginning to think we weren't gonna catch you out, Potter. Credit where credit is due, eh?" Zabini said above him, slapping Harry on the back in mock congratulations.

"Levicorpus," someone cast, he wasn't sure who, maybe Crabbe, and the Boy Who Lived was dangled by his ankles through the corridor. The empty classroom that Harry used to cast was awfully close to the Room of Requirement, he remembered, as they came to a stop and Malfoy began pacing. Harry could see him from the corner of his eye, all the blood pooling in his head.

The four Slytherins and a levitated Harry went inside when the doors appeared, and Malfoy stunned him again when he was dropped to the floor.

"Alright. Go." The blonde said to the other three.

"Draco…" One of them said Harry couldn't move to see which.

"Go." Malfoy spat, and they obeyed, signalled by the opening and closing of the heavy doors. They were alone in the room then, surrounded by mountains of random objects. Harry felt stunned to within an inch. Malfoy wordlessly levitated him and began walking.

The Boy Who Lived noticed that the Slytherin was breathing noisily, almost like he was crying, as he moved through the towering piles of forgotten objects floating the Chosen One along behind him. They stopped after a moment, Malfoy taking the time to stun Harry again while he levitated.

There was some shuffling, out of Harry's line of sight. Maybe the soft closing of a door? There was a long moment where there was only silence before the quiet shuffling began again.

"Okay. Okay," Malfoy said, more to himself, his voice low. Harry was moved through the air and his angle changed. He was suddenly face to face with the Slytherin as he was backed into what he assumed was the cabinet the elves had told him about. Malfoy was crying, he realised. Harry hoped the Slytherin could see the venom in his eyes.

"I had to do this. I had no choice," Malfoy said, closing the door; and shutting Harry in.

The cupboard was shut for a very brief moment before it opened again. Harry fell forward, hitting the ground with force, knocking the breath out of him.

"He's done it. Oh, Draco, thank Merlin. He did it. Bella, he did it," Harry recognized the voice but couldn't see her or who she was talking to. Narcissa Malfoy. Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Crucio!"

Harry felt the curse before he could comprehend it had been cast, burning acid ripped through every part of him. Unable to move, he choked on it, silent. He could hear shouting but couldn't understand it. It felt like an eternity when the curse finally lifted.

"That was stupid, Lestrange." A man said. He didn't recognize the voice. Harry was levitated, still face down.

He could feel the sweat dripping off him. Maybe it was blood. From his angle, he could see that he was in Borgin and Burkes, the shop he'd managed to accidentally find himself in in his second year. No longer in the school. A panic tried to grip him, but above all else, there was fury, mingling with the hunger that seldom left him, making him vibrate against the stun.

Bellatrix's face appeared under him, a grin splitting her features.

"No, I owed him one, didn't I darling?" She slapped him on the cheek and then searched his eyes, "We're so glad you could come to play, baby Potter."