A Paler Shade of Guilt

.:::.

A wand was a wizard’s gold, valuable with ancestral honour. The feel of it within his hand was homecoming, cold wood like steel against the flesh, burning with its power and ready for the fight and thrill of the chase. His fingers tingled when not in contact with his wand, and he flexed the joints every so often, trying to ignore the pounding of need within his veins. His very blood felt the loss of his wand when not in hand, the loss of its power. The power scared Harry the most.

Shades of light filtered through the blinds, falling upon Harry’s sweat drenched face. The skin under his eyes was swollen from irritation or crying, though he wasn’t too sure which one. He had awoken numerous times during the night to the distant sound of his own voice, shrieking within its trapped horror. It was the same image repeated during the nightmare – that poor boy covered in his own blood, his eyes drowned by the fear he felt within. The fear was mirrored by Harry, his heart thumping in rotation with his crazed mind and uncontrollable thoughts. I must help him. I must save him.

I am useless.

It was the same feeling that plagued him as he lay in the hospital bed now, clenching his fists around starched sheets and gritting his teeth against the scream that bloated his throat. It was his fault, his blind faith in humankind. He had trusted whoever had been behind the so-called leaked information. Now he knew it had only been a trap.

A few years in the Auror division of the Ministry and the only thing Harry had learned was that most criminals hated him more than all the Ministry employees combined, even more than the Judges that had sentenced them to Azkaban. Over and over again his presence jeopardized his fellow Aurors’ lives, even the existence of the whole western side of their department during a bomb threat. Assassination and kidnapping plots, discovered ransoms that were meant to be used whenever the criminals were able to get a hold of Harry – all of it had once seemed like the last ditch effort of desperate criminals.

It had all seemed so trivial when he was actually doing some good. Fighting evil – just like the old days. But recently he had been subjected to more desk work and longer hours of filing reports. A job that was meant for his temp or secretary. Then this.

What had he done? This time his stupidity actually caused someone to lose their life. It was something he couldn’t ignore, couldn’t blink away and file back into his mind, only allowing it to surface to his consciousness when he was alone and ready to face the mistake. No, this was something that would always be there – an itch in his brain, his heart. It made him wish he could switch places with the young man.

The whole situation angered him – after his Auror training and years of experience he should have known to investigate the information before rushing off like a damn fool. It was as if he was a teenager all over again and it was Sirius he wanted to save. To add more to his idiocy, once he realised it was a trap he had froze up, not knowing how to react. And, when he finally did act, his poor decision of attacking at the wrong moment killed that young man. As always, he allowed his emotions to get the best of him.

He felt like a failure in every aspect of his life. Personally, he was unable to make a connection with someone seriously. He’d put his job ahead of every relationship in his life. His job became his number one priority, and now that was even going to shite.

For reasons he couldn’t justify, anger and self pity were slowly creeping into his consciousness. He wanted to blame everyone for his unhappiness, though deep down inside he knew he was the only one to blame. He supposed he needed to learn how to open up and accept people for their flaws.

There were sounds surrounding him, some distant and others too close for his own comfort. He tightened his closed eyes and took a silent, deep breath, hoping no one had notice he was awake. He wasn’t ready to face the world at the moment. A small voice in his head scoffed at his tormented thoughts, and he couldn’t swallow down the insufferable yawn that broke through his clenched jaw. He had to get over this self-pity that disturbed him – it weakened him. Once he had thought he was over weakness completely; now he understood that it had been inexperience at its best.

He saw shadows move across his eyelids, possibly the movement of the nurse or Mediwizard checking on his vital signs. He wondered if they could tell he was awake just by his uneven breathing. He was never able to hide things, especially his emotions. He supposed he had never met a feeling that he didn’t want to broadcast. It was unnerving.

“Mr Potter, I’m glad you are finally awake.” The voice was pleasant and feminine. Comforting and smooth. He cracked his eyes open and saw a young lady staring down at him with mirth. He awarded her with a slight smile and pushed himself up into a semi-seated position. Her face was kind and her body soft. He suddenly wanted to kiss her delicate lips and hold her close. A familiar feeling of loneliness made his lungs ache for air. Blood rushed through his veins with numbing tingling. God, he wanted someone to comfort him.

“I was trying to hide it,” he said as he accepted his glasses from her hand. He peeked at her name tag placed perfectly on the gentle swell of her breasts. Olivianne. “Do you prefer Olivia?” he asked, forcing his voice into a careful wave of words.

She nodded and her cheeks reddened. Harry didn’t miss the slide of her eyes to the scar on his forehead. His stomach convulsed with either arousal or anger, though he couldn’t identify the reason behind the feeling. Maybe it was because he knew she was so easily attainable, but something within knew that it was just a cover-up for an ignored desire. He frowned down at his hands, watching as his index and pinkie fingers twitched. His eyes widened suddenly and he looked wildly around for his wand. It sat faithfully on the bedside table, pointed toward him. He licked his lips as he felt his heart slow to a resting beat.

“You had a visitor when you were asleep. I told her to come back in a few hours when you were awake.” Olivianne smiled down at him and motioned to the blinds. “Would you like me to close them for you?”

Harry assumed it was Hermione who had come to check up on him. “Was she my age, short, with bushy brown hair? My visitor, I mean.”

Olivianne blinked down at him. “Oh goodness, no. She was an older woman, very stern face. I think I remember her from Hogwarts.” It was obvious she was trying to fool him about her age.

Harry furrowed his brow. “Professor McGonagall was here for me?”

“Yes, that’s her name. Minerva McGonagall.” Olivianne blinked a few times as her eyes clouded over with memory. “I haven’t seen or thought about that woman since I left school.” She fanned herself. “Years ago, I guess. Too long ago.”

Smirking, Harry responded, “I don’t think it could have been that long ago. You look really young.”

She returned his smile, her lips stretching over pressed teeth. “You flatter me – Harry.”

“I like it when you call me Harry,” he said casually, knowing that it meant wonders to the woman. “I insist all my friends call me Harry.”

Her whole face was now consumed by a red tint. “You are too kind, calling me your friend. We have only just met.”

Harry schooled his features into heartfelt seriousness. “I want to get to know you. Would you like that?” He dropped his voice to a tone he hoped seemed seductive.

The colour upon her face spread down to the pale skin on her neck, down past the collar of her shirt. The flesh on her breasts was probably heated and warm, swelled with excitement.

Olivianne swallowed thickly. Her eyes were wide. “I’d – like that very much.”

Harry smiled sweetly at her. “That’s fantastic.”

.::.

The peas on his plastic tray managed to be both tough and mushy at the same time. He poked at his food with a fork and thought there should be a law against boiling chicken. It never came out well. He soon realised that no matter how much pepper he applied to his food it would never become any better, so he sighed and set down his fork, pushing away the tray with a dramatic whirl of his hand.

He leaned back into lumpy pillows and clasped his hands together against his stomach, staring up at the dirt stains on the ceiling and following the cracks with his eyes. The arms of his glasses cut into the sides of his head where he rested against the pillows. He wrinkled his nose, trying to straighten his glasses without using hands.

There was a knock on the door and a soft cough. He looked over and frowned. It was strange to see McGonagall standing there without her teaching robes on. She wore a fitted emerald and black dress, the sleeves draping down her arms in heavy waves of fabric. Her face was pinched but not unkind. Harry didn’t like it, and there was a moment of silence before he finally answered.

He mustered a smile toward his former professor. “Professor, how have you been?” He watched as the lines on her forehead softened at his words.

“I think it’s time you call me Minerva, Harry,” she answered as she motioned to the chair beside his bed. “May I?”

“Of course!” He pushed himself completely up and rearranged the pillows so that he could lean against them with his back straight. He wanted to meet Minerva’s eyes and not have her glowering down at him as if he were a student again.

“I heard about what happened,” she said, quietly respectful, “a horrible situation. Disgusting how criminals are trying to get ahead these days. At least during the wars there were rules – morals, even if it does sound like a crackpot idea now.” She clasped and re-clasped her hands in her lap.

Harry looked down at the bedding. “Well, it was mostly my fault. I should have known better.”

Minerva leaned forward and squinted at him, as if needing a better view of his face. “You can’t dwell on what happened, Harry. It’s very unhealthy.” She paused, it seemed, to let her words sink in. “You made the right choice. What if it really had been information about Féin’s whereabouts? You would’ve missed a perfect opportunity to end this dispute.”

Crossing his arms over a white hospital shirt, Harry was finally able to look into Minerva’s face. “But it wasn’t, that’s fact. I’m an idiot for believing it. Someone is dead because of me.” He shut his mouth before the tone of his voice turned into a whine. He would rather shoot himself in the groin before he let his facade break in front of her.

Breathing in deeply, he tried to smile casually but the muscles in his cheeks locked up like steel wiring. The expression upon his face, he knew, was one of great discomfort. Sometimes he felt schizophrenic, at his desire to hide things and his inability to do so.

She waved her hand in the air dismissively. “Well, he had it coming.” After a short pause she continued, “Haven’t they put you on suspension?”

“For my health,” Harry snapped involuntarily. Gritting his teeth, he pinched himself under the blankets for his slip up.

“Yes,” McGonagall said simply, not completely sold. Her voice thinly masked the incredulousness of her thoughts. They stared at one another for a long moment; Harry inspecting the way McGonagall’s cheeks sagged with an emotion that he couldn’t completely identify. He looked, hard and forthcoming, trying to figure out why she was here.

There really was nothing wrong with him. It wasn’t as if he expected his old professors to visit him while he was in the hospital. Searching her face, he realised with a surge of disgruntled anger that she was here to proposition him. Did she not think he was a good Auror anymore? Did she think that he had given up somehow on helping people?

Minerva must have read the expression upon his face. “Now, Harry, please. . .”

He shook his head violently. “No, Minerva, whatever you want from me – no. I’m happy with my life now – no.”

Turning away from him, Minerva stared at the opposite wall. “You don’t understand, Harry. I feel as if I’m letting down Albus, with the way Hogwarts is going.”

Harry squinted at her. “What are you getting at?” He hadn’t heard anything remotely bad about Hogwarts.

“I’m saying that I’m losing control over Hogwarts – students aren’t learning, the professors don’t care anymore. I need your help, Harry.” Twisting her neck forward, she allowed him only partial view of her face. What he saw made his stomach churn.

Minerva had never lied to him before. Searching her face, he doubted that the anguish he saw was misleading. There was just too much pain within her features – those saggy cheeks and pressed lips.

“Well,” he said after a long moment, “what can I possibly do? I have a job – a career to handle and deal with.” He crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at the duvet again.

Silence fell upon the room once more. It made Harry fidget awkwardly, moving his knees up and down, clasping and re-clasping his hands. He waited for a few moments for Minerva to break the uneasiness. Finally, he tore his eyes away from the bed and glanced at her, squinting slightly through the frames of his glasses. If he saw something he didn’t like he could pretend the frame was blocking his view.

It seemed as if she was waiting for something, her eyes shifting back and forth, sometimes resting on the window for a moment longer than normal. Harry felt suspicion cloud his senses.

“What are you waiting for, Minerva?” he asked, his voice weary. A bundle of nerves was wrapped within his stomach, turning his intestines with anxiety. He gnawed on his bottom lip, the skin chapped from dehydration.

Her eyes widened almost comically, then swerved to look at the window again. What was she waiting for? Harry was about to open his mouth to ask once more, but a quick tapping on the glass beat him to it. He looked over from his place on the bed, frowning deeply once he spotted the black owl. It was tapping feverishly on the panel, its beak yellow and peeling. Something was happening that he didn’t understand. It made him feel vulnerable and weakened.

“What’s going on?” he asked again, his voice not as strong as he wished. He watched as Minerva jumped from her seat to open the window for the bird. It flew around the room in rotation, finally coming down to land on his bedside table. It clicked its beak together, lifting up its claw to him. A scroll was tied to its leg. He realised that the parchment was dampened by the morning rainfall as he looked closely at the letter. The ink was slightly smeared at the edges.

“The mail always comes late,” Minerva said as she paid the bird absentmindedly and moved her chair closer to his bed. The expression upon her face was almost hungry as she waited for him to read the scroll. He felt blood rush to his head with fright, the fingers he held the letter with becoming numb. His heart beat in an erratic way, his throat tightening. He felt as if he were in a cage, locked up and chained, with nowhere to flee.

“Open it up,” she said softly, but her voice held a powerful quality. It was almost comforting – almost. Gulping thickly, he tore the seal and fumbled with the parchment. It began as any other letter, reminding him of the acceptance letter he received from Hogwarts as a child.

As he realised his sergeant was dismissing him of his duties and employment, a certain feeling of melancholy fell over him. It was strange, for it wasn’t because he had been fired, but because he felt as if he had let down Hogwarts as a whole. He had left that place with a heavy heart, but ambition thick in his system. Now he was out of the job, out of a career. Where would he go now?

In these situations, he’d like to imagine what Dumbledore would have said to him. Now, however, he wanted to hide under his pillow from the outside world and his consciousness, if that was at all possible. He couldn’t face Dumbledore in his mind, imagine that look of disappointment on the older man’s features.

Crumpling the parchment within his hand, he turned his attention to Minerva. Thick anger clouded his view as he saw the complete happiness on her face. After a moment of glowering at her, he asked, “How did you know this was going to happen to me?”

She looked at him sheepishly. The expression was ugly and foreign upon a face that usually held confidence and knowledge. “I read it in the morning paper – you must have known that rumours have been flying about for ages now.”

“Right, right,” he said, looking down at the tattered paper lying on his knees. He shook his head. “I’ve been sacked.” He laughed bitterly.

“Please,” she said, assurance now creeping into her tone, “please, Harry. Hogwarts needs you.”

“No.” His throat trembled around the word. For some reason he felt tears sting his eyes. “No! No! No! This is a set up! The whole goddamn thing!”

Minerva blinked at him. “Albus would have wanted you to. Do it for him. Help save Hogwarts.”

Defeat strangled the anger in his stomach, vomit coating his mouth. He allowed a single tear to escape his eye before quickly wiping it away. “Fine, fine.” He paused to close his eyes. An image of Dumbledore smiling at him flashed within his consciousness. “For Dumbledore, right?”

Minerva nodded. “You’ll make a great Defence professor, Harry. He would be proud.”

.::.

“Now, if you please sign these forms we can properly release you.”

Harry nodded sombrely as he took the papers from her. They glowed a bright gold as his quill scratched across the signature line. Even the fact that he would be able to go home didn’t brighten his mood. Ever since he’d been sacked a certain depression had cast a haze over his life. He felt no ambition and no pity.

Handing the form back, he asked, “Erm, my friend was supposed to send me a change of clothes –”

The woman cut him off. “Oh, yes, I have them right here. Hermione Granger it was, right?”

His smile was brittle. “Thanks. Anything else?”

“No, but if you want to –”

He didn’t allow her to finish as he made an escape to the loo. Once in there, he bolted the stall door and leaned his head against it, already feeling the cool sweat collect along his hairline.

He closed his eyes to the aching light and tried to only breathe through his mouth. He hated this place – hated the smell and the feel of the floor against his feet, hard and bumpy. Most of all he hated the wenches who controlled it. During a time in which he craved respect and acknowledgement, all they did was criticize and treat him as if he were a child. And that fucking game McGonagall had played on him – knowing that he’d been sacked but still pretending as if he had a choice in the matter.

What could he have done? He had to work, right? Then she had brought up Dumbledore and what he would have wanted Harry to do. The insufferable cunt.

He took his wand out of his underpants and rested it against the toilet with the trousers and shirt Hermione had left him. He pulled the hospital clothes off and dropped them to the floor.

Dressing quickly, his hair stood up on end from static as he pulled the shirt over his head. He fixed his glasses and tried to push down his hair, licking his palm and patting his head. Once out of the stall, he washed his hands and stared at his whitened face. He looked sick – defeated. It made him angry to see his pathetic appearance.

He took a deep breath and schooled his features into neutrality before walking out into the corridor. The air was cooler and it was painful against his cheeks, his chest. Goosebumps formed on his arms and the back of his neck, the tips of his ears turning pink. He felt exposed as people rushed by him, some recognising him and others too preoccupied to do so.

His hands strayed to the back pocket where his wand stuck out, uncomfortable against his spine. He twisted his fingers around the edge, wishing for the holster he usually had at his side. He didn’t like having his wand out of his sight.

“Oomph.” He collided with something firm, like a chest plate. Blinking, the situation cleared as he stared into the surprised expression of – Olivianne. Olivia. “Oh, hi,” he managed, still trying to correct himself.

Her cheeks reddened drastically. “Hello,” she responded, her eyes alight with an emotion he couldn’t identify. It was most likely excitement. A small frown appeared along her lips. “You are being released today.”

“I was released today.” He smiled at her. “I’m a free man.” Pointing to his clothes with a thumb, he broadened his smile to cheer her up. It did no good. After a moment he asked playfully, “Why so sad, Olivia?”

The frown on her lips deepened. He stared down at her face, and in the harsh lighting of the corridor he saw the soft lines of her face, the indent of her top lip into a v-shape, the plumpness of her bottom lip. Her eyes were a hazy sort of brown, like a dust cloud. He felt his stomach tremble with desire.

Coughing, he asked, “What should I do with these?” He motioned to the hospital clothes under his arm.

Emotion flickered across her face. “You can follow me, if you want.”

He stared at her expression as he registered the full meaning of her words. A clenching tightness began within his chest, transforming into warmth as it moved downward.

She bit her lower lip and batted her eyelashes. Harry couldn’t help but grin at her deviance. Grinning back at him, she turned and began walking down the corridor, the white stitched coat she wore swishing around her knees. He watched the way her arse moved with each step, the fullness of it.

Stopping abruptly, she took out her wand and pressed the tip of it against the door. Where it touched brightened into red and the door swung open. She motioned for him to follow her.

He felt his heart pound as darkness fell around him. He sensed Olivianne’s movement in front of him and reached out, his fingers grasping the collar of her shirt. She made a noise, which sounded like the toll of a bell in the silence. His fingers fumbled for a brief moment with buttons.

Bending his head, lips met flesh and he heard a satisfied groan. He allowed himself to fall into the bliss of it and forget his worries.

.::.