:Thirteen: And that thing? That thing that has just died? That was my humanity.

The courthouse is silent and stuffy as I’m called to the stand. I don’t know why this has to be in full-blown court session, but it appears that the Dursleys appealed the charges and demanded a trial by jury. So far, they’ve done a very good job of making me look like a delinquent, uncontrollable child who likes to lie and has serious mental problems. I don’t know how I’m going to fight this...if I even want to fight this. I’m led to the front row, right behind Vernon, who bristles indignantly with my appearance.
When the first recess is taken I take a deep breath and put my plan into action. It’s a cowardly plan, but it’s all I can do. As I get out of my seat, I drop a piece of parchment on Vernon’s lap and check quickly to make sure no one has seen me in the last betrayal of myself.

:God View:

“May I use the restroom?” Vernon requests politely.
“Of course,” the lawyer says vaguely, not at all concerned with his clients. The boy would have to pull of one hell of a testimony to sway the jury now. They’re all childless young men and women, business men, just like Vernon. Housewives like Petunia. The boy would have to be charismatic and one hell of a politician to get himself out of this trap.
Vernon got into a stall and locked the door. He sat on the toilet and took out the note that Harry had slipped him.

I can make this go away. You know as well as I do, that I can sway this court. You know that you’re guilty. But I don’t want to see this drag out any longer than it has to. I’m willing to make this entire thing become a memory and you and your family can get back to being happy. This is my last year at Hogwarts, and then I’m free and an adult. You’ll never see me again. Drop this now and I’ll get on the stand and drop all charges. If, however, you screw me over, Dursley and make some sort of publicity stunt out of this, I will see you burn. I will see your life go to hell in a hand bag. You will suffer.
Tell the press that you don’t know where any of this came from, that you and I have always been close, that you’ve never had a problem with me and I’m willing to say the same of you. Let this go.
And don’t try to use this note against me. It should be dissolving even as you read these words.

Harry Potter.

Vernon swallowed hard and let his breath out in a relieved gasp. He knew that Harry could have bewitched the jury or something of that sort, made them turn against him, he could have tipped it with a single testimony. But now he had a way out of it. The note crumbled to dust in his hands and he said a silent prayer to god as he left the bathroom and made his way back to the courtroom. Everyone was settling again and the trail was getting back under way.
“I call Vernon Dursley to the stand,” the lawyer said once the room had quieted. He stood and looked to Harry briefly. He nodded, almost unnoticeable and Harry nodded back.
“Please state your name for the records.”
“Vernon Cameron Dursley.” Much to Harry’s relief Vernon told the lawyer that he really didn’t understand the charges at all; he and his nephew had always been close. He loved the boy like a son.
“No further questions,” the lawyer said, obviously a little confused. Harry was called next.
“Mr. Potter, take a look at this. Do you recognize this book?” Harry took the spiral bound note-book and flipped through the pages.
“Yes.”
“Can you tell the court what it is?”
“It’s a book of writings.”
“Of writings? Can you explain that?”
“My attempt at writing a novel,” Harry explained, his expression blank. “At writing a novel...? Can you tell us what this novel is about?”
“It a first person account of a young boy who is abused by his guardians.”
“There’s no truth in it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did you base any of these experiences off of any of your own?”
“Well...there was one or two about when my cousin and I got in a fight or when I got into trouble with other boys at school...I don’t think anything else though.”
“Do you have any idea how it fell into the hands of the police?” Harry shook his head.
“All I can guess is that I forgot it at the house last time I visited and someone found it.” The lawyer, obviously confused at this point, leafed through the book.
“How did you get along with your uncle, Mr. Potter?”
“My uncle? He and I got along very well. He was like a father to me.”

“Yet you named the main character’s uncle ‘Vernon’? I don’t understand that. Can you explain it to me?”
“Yes. The family was helping me write the book. They allowed me to use their names for the first copy, just so it would be easier to write. I would change the names for the published copy, of course. If I publish it, that is.”
“What about the closed room?”
“My old room?”
“Yes. It was apparently still there. An earlier testimony says that you lived in this room. It was locked and there was a bathroom in the closet...? This is also an account of your...character.” Harry gave him a look; this guy was Vernon’s lawyer, why the hell was he trying to pick this testimony apart?
“I ask my uncle to seal up and I stayed there for the summer. Trying to get into the shoes of my character, you know? I came out whenever I wanted.”
“So you were not held prisoner?” Harry gave him an incredulous look.

“Of course not!” The lawyer floundered about for a bit and finally gave up. The judge dismissed the case immediately.

:End God View:

He’s angry. Or disappointed. Or both.
“Whatever happened to your Gryffindor courage, I wonder?” he asks rather nastily when we get back to the hotel room.
“I discarded it in favor of Slytherin cunning,” I reply in the same tones before I catch myself, both hands flying to cover my mouth. He gives me a look that I can’t describe and says nothing. The rest of the afternoon passes in silence as we gather our things and head back to Hogwarts.
I do not attempt to see Dumbledore and he does not ask to see me. However, the halls are not empty anymore and though I try to remain in my professor’s shadow, I’m quickly separated from him and just as quickly find myself in a bad spot.
“Hello, Harry,” Hermione greets, a false, too large smile on her face. “How have you been? I haven’t seen you in a long time. Shouldn’t you be studying for your N.E.W.Ts?” I say nothing as she gently, unobtrusively herds me away from the main body of students. Not that it would have mattered at all; no one would have helped had I been attacked in the open.
“Why do you even bother?” I ask flatly when Ron and his new ‘goons’ appear in the dusty, unused corridor.
“Bother with what?”
“Taking me away from the crowds? Why not just fuck me in the main hall, I’m sure everyone would like the show.” Though the words are anything but dispassionate, my voice is. “I’m not going to scream this time,” I warn them briefly. “And I’m not going to fight you, and I’m not going to run, and I’m not going to pick myself off the floor when you’re done.” And I mean it; I’m going to let them do whatever they will, because I don’t want to fight anymore, I’m tired of it.
“Oh?” Ron asks dangerously, removing a knife. I know this game. I say nothing to him as he examines the blade. Rather, I take off my outer robe and let it pool on the floor and begin unbuttoning my shirt.
“I think he’s beginning to like it, the little pervert,” Neville says and I say nothing to that either. I turn my back to them and stretch my arms out so they have complete access to my back.
It’s quiet for a minute.
“As tantalizing as it is, we didn’t bring you here for that.” Ron says, picking my shirt up and turning me around. For a moment, our eyes meet; dead, flat green and murky brown. For a moment, he pauses, for a moment, just a moment, I think he sees me. Sees his best friend, the best friend he’s betrayed.
“Put your clothes back on,” he says simply, dropping my shirt to the ground. I pick it up and do as I’m told, covering the scars again, sealing them away from uncaring eyes.
“Come with us,” Hermione says a little sharply, holding up a small rope. It’s about the length of one of my arms and I can’t imagine what she could possibly intend to use it for.

I follow them silently to the fifth floor where a balcony looks down on a crowded hall. She wraps the rope around my neck and pulls it tight, and then four more such ropes are produce. These are tied around each of my limbs.
“You see, Harry,” Dean says quietly, the first time I can really remember him speaking. “You will scream.” I say nothing and they turn me so I’m facing the hall five floors below me. Ron whistles shrilly and the students below turn their faces up in askance. Without warning, I’m hurtled over the banister.
To my credit, I don’t scream.
I’m falling in slow motion. This is either a trick of my mind or a spell of Hermione’s. The shadow is down there, swirling and eddying around waists of the students. It’s finally welcoming me into its depths; this is the end.

“He’s not screaming,” Neville observes, a little panicked. “He’s not screaming!” Hermione’s breath comes faster; he isn’t screaming! The ropes won’t stop his fall until he screams!
“Oh, god,” she whispers, turning away. She can’t watch-

My eyes turn and run over the crowd. I’m surprised by the face that catches my eyes. Draco Malfoy. He looks...terrified. He opens his mouth a lets out a shrill shriek.
The world stops as the ropes tied to my body catch on the air and I’m jerked none to kindly from my fall. My nose brushes against the floor, and I sigh in regret as Death runs a gentle hand over my head and recedes. The crowd parts to look stunned, at a silent Draco Malfoy.
“Idiot didn’t recognize screaming bonds...” he says vaguely, turning on his heel and stalking away.
Of all people, Draco Malfoy just saved my life.
I really should strangle him for that.
The ropes release me slowly and I stand with much care. The day has been too much. Far too much. I lied to get that bastard Dursley out of trouble, Snape, my only tenuous ally is pissed with me, disgusted with me, perhaps even lost to me and I’ve just been thrown down five floors only to be saved by Draco Malfoy. My mind can’t take this strain anymore; my body can’t take this abuse anymore.
When I said something had snapped and died? I was wrong. It had only been wounded. Now it’s broken and bleeding. Dying even as I pick myself up and look briefly to the banister five floors above my head.
And that thing? That thing that has just died? That was my humanity.

Fin.

Author’s note: Continued in the upcoming sequel ‘Crown of Thorns’.