Disclaimer - I do not own Harry Potter, all characters belong to JK Rowling :)
Chapter warnings: self induced vomiting, allusion to suicidal thoughts
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The meeting was quiet. No lectures, no new questions. Just Snape checking the bandages, casting a few diagnostic charms, and wordlessly handing Harry a new vial of Dreamless Sleep. He hadn't asked if Harry needed it. He'd just known. Now, walking back through the near-empty corridors, potion tucked into his sleeve, Harry still felt the lingering nausea that had been churning in his stomach since dinner. The nervous, jittery feeling that he'd had all evening still hadn't subsided – at first, he'd thought it was the anticipation of his meeting with Snape. But even now, with that behind him, the tension still coiled tight in his gut, refusing to ease. Every mouthful from dinner sat heavy in his stomach – too much, too fast.
By the time he reached the dormitory, the common room had emptied. Ron was upstairs already, curtains drawn and wandlight flickering faintly behind the fabric. Harry hesitated only a moment before slipping into the bathroom and locking the door behind him. He drew his wand with a shaking hand.
"Silencio."
The charm settled over the room like a hush.
The rest happened quickly, automatically. Like muscle memory.
Afterwards, Harry rinsed his mouth, avoiding the mirror. He stood for a long time with his hands braced on either side of the sink, head bowed, breath shallow. His eyes were sore. His throat burned. But the nausea was gone. And with it, the panic.
He removed the charm, stepped back into the dormitory, and climbed silently into bed. He quickly downed the potion Snape had given him, grimacing slightly at the sickly sweetness.
And when he finally fell asleep, it was dreamless.
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The sky was just starting to pale when Harry opened his eyes.
The dormitory was still, heavy with early morning silence. No sound but the slow creak of old beams and the occasional rustle of bedsheets as someone turned in their sleep.
He wasn't sure what had woken him. The potion should've knocked him out for hours more – that was the point, wasn't it? But here he was, staring at the canopy above, his heartbeat too loud in his ears.
He lay still for a while, hoping sleep might come back if he just stayed quiet enough. It didn't.
Eventually, he sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. The chill made him shiver, but he didn't move to get up. He just sat there, elbows on his knees, head bowed.
The kind of tired he felt wasn't something sleep could fix.
The sky outside the window was the grey-blue of early dawn – soft and colourless. The castle was still asleep. Everything was quiet.
Harry watched the light shift slowly across the wall. It felt like watching time move without him.
He wondered, absently, what it would be like to just keep lying there forever. Just… never get up. Never open his eyes again.
No goodbyes. No noise. Just sleep.
Peaceful. Easy.
He didn't realise his hand had moved until he felt his fingers graze the edge of the bandage at his wrist.
He pulled his hand away.
The sun kept rising.
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