I do not own Harry Potter, such rights belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros.
Summary: Following the battle in the Department of Mysteries and the death of his Godfather, Sirius Black, Harry has been rendered mute. There is no quick cure for Harry as he is forced to struggle through the summer and his 6th Year at Hogwarts. Faced with a destiny far greater than himself Harry finds salvation in the one person he least expected.
There's Nothing Else I Can Say
He wanted to die. He knew it now; even though he wished with everything he had in him to not believe what was true. Sirius was dead and it was because of him. It was too much; this life was too much to take. He wanted to let it go. He wanted Dumbledore to kill him. He could hear Voldemort's slithering voice digging into his mind, his heart, his soul and trying to break it all. The creature inside of him was burning him from the inside out it felt and it was unbearable. Tears sprung to his eyes, wet and cold despite how much the pain seared his whole body. And a voice that was both his and the demon's spoke:
"Kill me now, Dumbledore…"
He knew he would die, he just knew it because this pain was worse than death, it had to be.
If I die… Harry thought. I'll see Sirius again…
And everything just seemed to fall into a deep darkness and Harry thought he would never see the light again…
2 Days later
He sat up in bed looking out the far off window. He was the only one in the hospital wing but he could hear Madame Pomfrey in her office. Harry found it hard to care about anything at the moment. He kept remembering what had happened in Dumbledore's office where he and the man had traveled to by portkey after the events in the Ministry of Magic.
He remembered feeling such agony in his heart and how cold his body was and how he shivered because of how angry he had been. He was so angry at Dumbledore, at Snape, at anyone he could blame to keep from blaming himself. He had thrown things around in Dumbledore's office, shattering glass and useless things until he wanted to hurt the man for not letting him leave his office. He had felt trapped, felt hopeless but eternally guilty and it was eating him away bit by bit making his mind insane. He wanted to cry but couldn't, he didn't allow any tears to fall and the thing he wanted to do most he could not. Harry Potter could not speak. Dumbledore had been saying things to him, meaningless almost, things about his friends, that they were going to be fine, things about Sirius, trying to explain to Harry what had happened…and Harry could not argue with the man. He wanted so desperately to yell, to shout, to scream at the top of his lungs for Dumbledore to let him out but no sound would leave his lips.
He had stood there, looking at the old wizard who was just as silent as him. He had lost his breath and was trying to calm down but panic was spreading through his body. Had he lost his voice? His throat did feel somewhat sore but how could he not be able to talk? Not be able to admit any sound from his mouth? What had happened to him? His eyes had grown fearful looking and Dumbledore had noticed this right off.
"Harry, are you alright?" Professor Dumbledore had asked him.
Harry had tried to say something, he tried as if he were pushing against a giant stone to say anything to Dumbledore and it was useless. Harry's hands trembled violently and his legs felt as if they had no strength left in them to keep him standing. He began to shake his head to finally answer Dumbledore.
"What is it then, Harry?" the man had asked him.
Harry had tried to push down the anger that was viciously strangling him to concentrate. He walked somehow to the man's desk and grabbed up a quill and splashed it in the ink bottle that was next to it almost knocking the bottle over. He grabbed a piece of parchment and as Dumbledore watched the boy do all of this with sudden worry and confusion, Harry hurriedly scribbled:
I can't speak I don't know what's wrong
He showed the note to Dumbledore who had read it quickly. The old man's soft blue eyes met his. The look in Harry's eyes seemed desperate and such a sadness had been born there now and burrowed itself deep inside beneath the blue.
It was then that he had been taken to the Hospital Wing where he found his friends who had ventured into the Department of Mysteries with him: Ron, Hermione, Neville, Ginny and Luna. They seemed alright with minor injuries. Harry couldn't help the memories painfully swimming up into his head as he had recalled the fresh events once more. How suddenly Sirius had gone still, how achingly slow his body seemed to curve like an arch and fall through the Veil…
"Harry," Hermione said softly once she had noticed them.
Harry did not look at the group who were sitting in their own hospital beds.
"Poppy," the Headmaster had called and the medi witch seemed to glide out of her office carrying bandages and a small bottle of something.
"Why was the boy not brought to me sooner with this lot, look at the state of him!" she fussed. She was referring to his bloodied face and hands.
"I do apologize, Poppy, but there were other matters I needed to discuss with Harry here…however now, I think it best for him to be here…there is something…of a problem with Mr. Potter's voice if you could do so to examine him as soon as possible," Dumbledore's voice was steady buy Harry could hardly hear him.
His body was feeling so numb at the moment and he tried once again to make his voice work. It was as if his own throat was resisting him. The strain on it grew worse as did the pain. His chest was so heavy with ache and he felt that he needed to rip at his flesh to make it go away. He staggered as he felt the two beings lead him to a bed at the far end of the hospital wing. His legs barely worked and when he sat down he wanted to stand once more because sitting made him feel how sore everything was in his body and it made the coldness in his veins sting.
Hands pushed him down to lay upon the hospital mattress; it wasn't comfortable or warm and now Harry was shivering and all he kept feeling was the darkness in his mind when Voldemort had possessed him. How unlike himself he had been, slithering and squirming on the hard Ministry floor, the sand beneath him hot to the touch and cooling on his skin. He had wished for death then and now he wished for it badly no matter if He Who Must Not Be Named still lived, no matter if everything was changing and he hadn't a clue what he was supposed to do now.
The hands that had felt so heavy left him slowly and he wasn't aware that he was looking at his friends who were unmoving from their beds and staring at them, whispering things he could not hear. He could make out Hermione's brown hair, messy now because of the battle, Luna's whimsical gaze that always seemed to make him feel like he belonged, Neville's anxious face, Ginny's reddened cheeks and Ron's pained aquamarine eyes. And then the curtain of the bed was wrapped around them hastily.
He wanted to apologize, he wanted to cry, he wanted to be anyone else, to possess any one of them so he could not feel at all. Voices he could not make out were speaking now and he knew it was Madame Pomfrey's voice though it was as if she was under water.
Harry barely caught the words and his eyes finally found the face of her.
"He looks like he might be in shock, Albus," Madame Pomfrey had out her wand and it was a blurred outline to Harry.
If he could have gasped he would have when the sudden warmth came to the back of throat and travelled down and along the rest of his body. It was a strange feeling but it brought him out of his stupor somewhat.
"There's no internal damage besides a minor irritation, nothing that would stop his ability to speak I'm quite sure Albus, no curse or spell either," she had told the Headmaster. "None the less I will try some other things to see if it helps…Mr. Potter, are you sure you cannot speak at all?"
Harry tried to focus as the sudden anger shot through him again. It was maddening and he wanted to scream so badly. He felt his cheeks burn and he clenched his teeth.
"I take that as a no," she said.
"I will be back in due time, Poppy, to speak with Harry."
Harry's eyes once again caught the man's and he noticed they were watering. The next few moments Harry could not remember. Dumbledore had gone somehow and he had been forced to drink something that did nothing to help Harry's voice work. The mediwitch had ushered his friends back to their dormitories just as the sun was breaking into the sky and the first signs of day light were blossoming into the Wing, gracefully as Harry watched. The ray of sunlight touched Harry's face.
He felt disconnected, lost and shriveled up. The man's name was stuck in his head, plastered there forever it seemed.
He felt a sudden wave of nausea overtake him and he vomited into the bed pan. Madame Pomfrey had given him something to settle his stomach and he took it without caring for the taste. There was a hole inside of him; a treacherous hole where Sirius had been. Images were flashing through his mind and he wanted them to stop.
The big black dog bounding after the train that was gaining speed, the laughter that belted out as such knowing eyes beamed at him, the tightness of the man's hold on him as they had embraced. He had said they were to be a proper family when all of this was over and now Harry had ruined that possible dream before it even had a chance to settle inside his head. It took everything he had to not just break down completely.
How tightly the man had hugged him and the memory of it was gripping him, strangling him, threatening to squeeze the very little life he had left in him. Why did it have to be his fault? Why couldn't he lie to himself and blame someone else? Blame Snape for not helping him more, blame Kreacher, the horrible, miserable thing? Blame Umbridge, the thought of her making Harry's fury rise once more; the woman's tirade was over and he just wanted to hate, hate everything, rip everything to little pieces, destroy it, destroy everything.
He found himself lying on his side wanting, wanting with all his heart as much as it could bear to want anything at the moment for it was so cold, wanting, wishing he could have just leapt through the Veil himself.
He had the same dream but he could not have woken up screaming because his voice was still lost. Dumbledore had seen him once again and had discussed with Harry the prophecy he had heard in the Department of Mysteries. He didn't dare dwell on it now. He could hardly care that Voldemort had marked him and made him the Chosen One. It seemed so ridiculous to know now why he had the scar on his head, to know why his parents had died. He didn't need it. He didn't want the explanation or the healing words of friends. They had come to visit as well and Harry despised their tokens that were at the foot of his bed upon the table. He wanted to set them aflame but Dumbledore had taken his wand away for now for fear of another one of Harry's tantrums.
The dream involved Voldemort standing before him with a wicked smile and his hands would lurch forward and grab Harry's face hissing those words again: "Look at me."
Harry would struggle and then the demon would throw him down and he would fall forever and he would see Sirius' body falling with him but no matter what he did he could not reach the man's hand and the darkness would eat him away leaving him feeling more alone than he had ever felt in his entire life.
Please… Harry begged within his thoughts. Please let me scream…let me…just say anything…
No matter how hard he tried, as he had done the night before after Dumbledore had left him, trying to make his voice work, straining his muscles in his throat so badly that his cheeks were aflame and tears streamed down his face, his voice would not work. And he was on his knees on the bed, gasping silently, choking on air, suffocating in the madness of it all.
Now he sat there wearing a gray shirt and red plaid pajama bottoms, his feet bare.
What's going to happen now? Harry thought. He couldn't say a word.
He felt stupid as he finally realized with a sudden panic that he would not be able to cast spells. He clenched his fists, gripping the sheets. He was useless, he felt useless, so utterly disposable. Harry knew he was falling into a state of depression though he didn't want to stop falling. He looked to the pad of paper that had been his form of communication for the past 48 hours. The black pen had fallen somewhere and Harry began to search for it. Bending down to pick it up from the floor he could hear footsteps coming close and he prayed it wasn't any of his friends until he looked up to see exactly who had come to visit him and the sight of the tall man walking toward him made him drop the pen he had in-between his fingers.
It was Professor Snape walking with his long strides wearing all black with his tucked in white collar that always reminded Harry of a priest somewhat. He wore no robes, just his long overcoat with too many buttons, black trousers, and those shiny black shoes that were coming toward Harry.
He felt a quiver in his heart and anger flushed to his face. Something was searing through his brain. Words that echoed like a clap of thunder:
"He's got Padfoot! He's got Padfoot in the place where its hidden…"
Harry was sitting on his knees when he heard the velvety voice snap at him:
"Mr. Potter, are you listening?!"
Harry could only guess that the Potions Master was trying to get his attention and he had zoned out once again. His eyes found the black pools and Harry noticed the slight wince that Snape gave him. He smelt something like wood fire and spices and it tasted bad on his tongue. He was looking at Snape but he wasn't seeing the man even if there was anger in his heart but that was dying now. He willed himself to stop blurring what was in front of him and finally there was Professor Snape looking very annoyed, an expression that Harry always thought could have been Snape's natural face.
Harry tried to say "Yes, sir," but of course nothing came but his lips moved numbly. He settled for a slight nod which seemed to irritate the man even more.
"They said you had gone mute, not deaf, Mr. Potter," Snape's words glided out of his mouth and Harry's right eye twitched with annoyance. He quickly grabbed up the pen and paper pad and noticed that his hands were trembling slightly.
"I am aware that you already know what Poppy has diagnosed you with, Mr. Potter," Snape said and blinked once. "Conversion Disorders are quite rare according to muggle medical studies however, seeing as how she believes that you have this sort of disorder which does not have a cure I believe a different method will prove her prognoses incorrect."
Harry knew what Snape was talking about. He had heard the medi witch explain what could be wrong with him since nothing else seemed too plausible. She had said Harry had a condition labeled Conversion Disorder and was most likely brought on by trauma. Harry knew what the sudden trauma had been, it was obvious to Dumbledore as well and the Headmaster had seemed shaken by what had happened to Harry.
Harry looked at the man and screwed up his face slightly as he started to scribble something on the pad. Snape was looking down with exasperation and he rolled his eyes but suddenly shot a look at the paper pad that was thrust towards his face. It read in an untidy scrawl:
I'm not faking but whatever you want to try, go ahead sir.
Harry let the pad fall to his bed and he found that he was glaring at Snape. He knew what the Professor thought, of course Snape would think he would be doing this for attention, it was more than obvious, it was practically radiating off the man. He was reminded of how much Snape had provoked him, provoked Sirius but suddenly his thoughts strayed as he looked at the pen in his hand. He remembered the fury in Snape's eyes when he was surfaced from the Pensieve. He recollected seeing his father tormenting the teenage Snape and suddenly thought once more of how much that memory had bothered him.
"Potter! For goodness sake, pay attention!"
Harry's attention swam up to the surface as if he was able to breathe again and he snapped his eyes to look up at Snape's narrowed eyes. He looked quite livid because of Harry's inability to hold his concentration for more than a minute.
"You're no better in class, always dazed and confused, no wonder you can't put together a simple potion correctly."
Harry sighed but all the noise it made was his soft breath leaving his lips. He had no room in his emotions to care for Snape's ranting about how incompetent he was. He scribbled something again on the pad and held it out a bit more gentle this time. Snape seemed to be on his last nerve as he read the neater line:
"Right…Mr. Potter, this," Snape pulled out a small red bottle with a glass stopper from his coat pocket, "should find your voice relatively easy for you."
Harry's eyes shimmered as they fell upon the small bottle. So Snape had brewed a potion to help him with his situation, how suitable. Even though Harry was desperate to have his voice back he took up his pen and scribbled quickly on the paper pad. Holding it up once again, Snape's jaw clenched as he read:
What is it? What exactly is it supposed to do?
Snape grabbed the pad out of Harry's hand and smacked it down upon the bedside table.
"Just take it Mr. Potter! For once in your life do as you are told," Snape snapped at him. He clenched his fists as Professor Snape held out the bottle swiftly for Harry to take.
Harry snatched the thing from the Potions Master's hand and popped it open and downed the contents. His eyes squeezed shut as his tongue registered the fowl tasting liquid. It was bitter, very bitter.
At once his throat began to itch uncomfortably and he started to cough. He felt a pressure in the back of his throat that he could not describe and the familiar strain built up in his throat muscles. His lips began to move numbingly, forcibly and he could not for the life of him settle himself. He couldn't calm the pressure in his throat or jaw. It was painful and tears sprung up to his eyes.
Stop! Stop! Harry thought over and over because the pain kept growing.
"What is your name?" Snape had just been standing there watching Harry's silent struggling as his hands were rubbing his throat.
Harry did not answer.
"I said tell me your name!" Snape pressured and Harry looked up at him, hunched over, hands on his throat, cheeks ablaze with red, eyes tearful.
Harry was shaking all over, it felt as if he was choking and he couldn't breathe until finally, finally he gasped silently and the pressure went away, the burning ebbed into a faint itching and his throat muscles and mouth stopped forcing themselves to form inaudible words. Harry felt faint as he was taking in shallow breaths, his hands fisted into the white sheets of the bed. His face burned, his head ached, his eyes felt like they would pop out of his skull at any second. It was the unbearable truth again, the resistance that he could not break. He kept swallowing and his mouth was utterly dry. He grabbed the half full glass of water on his bedside table and drank it down.
Snape all the while hadn't said anything and he looked at Harry with a somewhat confused glare in his dark eyes. Harry's tired eyes looked up and he weakly took the pen and paper and with a shaking hand wrote something.
Snape read the simple line and his lips tightened:
I wasn't lying.
Harry's eyes fell upon the outline of the scar on his left hand.
I must not tell lies.
He suddenly wanted Snape to leave, to get lost, god how he wished he never had to lay eyes upon this man ever again. When Snape spoke his voice was as velvety as ever:
"I have nothing else to speak to you about concerning your…condition. If that potion did not force your words out then…I can think of nothing more that I can do for you, Mr. Potter."
Harry watched as the man turned on his heel and left rather quickly from the Hospital Wing. Madame Pomfrey came to him moments later with a pain reducer potion and it quelled his throbbing headache.
"Mr. Potter, you really need to eat," she had said looking at his untouched meal on the tray. Harry didn't bother to reply and she left him, sighing. Harry thought he might of felt hungry but it was useless to move it seemed as he lay on his side again with his glasses off. It was good that things were blurred. He wished his emotions, his ability to feel would blur away into nothing.
Word had spread around the castle that Harry Potter couldn't speak and once again Harry felt the many stares of students as he walked down the corridors. Harry was let go from the Hospital Wing a day later, Dumbledore had left him his wand and a message saying that whilst his stay at the Dursleys and if he were to stay with the Weasleys' this summer there would be someone to take him to special therapy meetings at St. Mungo's once every two weeks. Harry's stomach had quelled at the thought of having to go to therapy sessions but he was still desperate to get his voice back.
It was very strange to stand in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady feeling like he wanted to burn the portrait to ashes. He didn't even know the password let alone could he speak it out loud. Harry wore his Gryffindor cardigan over his white collared uniform shirt and tie with his black slacks and school shoes. He had his robe over his arm which held his paper pad and pen.
He turned to see Hermione and Ron hurrying over to him. He wondered if they had just finished breakfast since it was about 9:30 in the morning.
"We thought you'd have gone to breakfast, mate," Ron said to him and Harry shook his head already used to the simple gestures.
It was a crashing awkwardness to stand there before them. Ron had gotten taller over the year and Hermione had grown somewhat as well in more than just height and Harry couldn't believe that he was still the same height of five feet five inches. He gestured to the portrait annoyingly feeling the sudden anger again but he tried to fan the flames by counting to ten in his head.
"Oh! Sorry, Fiddlestouts," Hermione said almost too loudly.
The portrait swung open and the three clambered inside. The common room was empty and Harry supposed everyone was enjoying the nice weather outside like it had always been at the end of the year especially since Dumbledore was back and exams were over. Harry however felt the least bit stress free.
"How…are you feeling?" Hermione had asked it ever so slowly and Harry felt the need to glare at her which he refrained from.
How was he feeling? Harry had known Hermione to never ask stupid questions but this, this was unnerving and he started to move his lips and grimaced. He grabbed the tablet out of his robe's pocket as well as his pen and fumbled with them for a second growing frustrated and he plopped down on the couch and hurryingly wrote his reply and Hermione and Ron both read:
Brilliant seeing as how there's no cure for this and I have to see a bloody therapist at St. Mungo's over the summer and go back to the Dursley's tomorrow..
At once Harry felt bad at what he had written when Hermione looked as if she was about to burst into tears and Ron's features saddened. He quickly added:
I'm sorry, it's just I don't know what to do, Snape thought I was faking! And..I feel so lost right now..
Harry's hands were shaking softly and he hated how they never stopped doing that and he wrote more:
I'm really sorry for dragging you to the Department of Mysteries… Harry had to take in a shaking breath. I was so stupid for not believing you, Hermione.
And there were tears in Hermione's eyes and she sat by him and grabbed his hand and Harry couldn't stop himself from wincing.
"It's not your fault-" she had started to say but Harry swiped his hand away harshly and stood up so fast his head spun. He really needed to eat something. Harry scribbled something on the pad.
Have to pack see you later.
"Just leave it for the morning mate, come outside…"
Harry shook his head almost twitchingly and grabbed his things and hurried off to the boy's dormitories and he ignored Hermione's and Ron's callings after him.
His trunk lay open and he was looking at it without really looking at it. He picked up the badly wrapped present softly and unwrapped it even more slowly than he had wanted. It was a mirror, a small, square mirror. Harry's own reflection stared back at him and he brushed down the hair he always had to cover his scar without even thinking about it. Turning the mirror over he noticed there was a note from his godfather. He stopped breathing as he read:
"This is a two-way mirror, I've got the other. If you need to speak to me, just say my name into it; you'll appear in my mirror and I'll be able to talk in yours. James and I used to use them when we were in separate detentions."
He sat there for the longest time upon his four poster bed. His heart had been racing and now as the hot tears were being born again he wished once more that he had followed his godfather.
"Just say my name into it…"
Harry read the line over and over. His lips moved over and over.
Harry's left hand clenched the edge of the bed as his right still held the small mirror with him. His tears dropped to the floor like a slow starting rainfall and he squeezed his eyes shut tightly.
The mirror wouldn't work of course because Sirius was dead. He didn't have the mirror with him when he went through the archway. Harry's eyes widened as another thought sprung into his head and he felt sickened by it:
If…I had just opened it…if I had just…opened his present…Oh God…
Harry hunched over and tried to scream in agony as his heart felt like it was splitting, actually tearing apart within himself. The pain was fresh and new and his face was reddening as he cried and cried finally since he had watched Sirius die and the strong hands of Lupin had come around him to stop him from following.
I thought…I was protecting him by not…opening it!
He was angry again and the shudders of the wracking tears ceased and he chucked the damned thing into his trunk where it broke into glittering pieces. The dirtied stains upon the broken shards seem to jump out at Harry and he sunk to the floor. His Gryffindor scarf slid from his bed onto his leg slowly.
Where did you go, Sirius?
His feet were moving in front of him but he really didn't know where he was going. He had finished packing, more like stuffing his things into his trunk and forcing it closed by sitting on it, and had left Gryffindor Tower feeling worse off than ever before. His legs felt heavy and he felt tired. He could remember thinking of why he left his dormitory: to visit Hagrid. He had his paper pad and pen in his trouser's back pocket. He knew it was quite warm outside judging by the lack of sweaters and vests other students didn't have on but Harry felt cold and his cardigan didn't seem to be giving him any warmth.
Harry almost slipped as his right foot didn't hit the ground but the beginning of the marble staircase to the entrance hall. He frowned as he saw Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle coming through the door from the right of the staircase that Harry knew led to the Slytherin common room. Harry didn't stop as he slowly brushed the hard marble railing with his right hand and descended the staircase; his expression blank. He heard the shouts and laughter floating in from the grounds through the open grand doors of the castle. Once Malfoy had spotted him he stopped dead in his tracks and began to look around. Harry rolled his eyes; of course the blonde ferret boy would be looking around for teachers.
Harry reached the bottom of the staircase, hopping off the last step. He began to walk passed the three Slytherins but Malfoy moved to stand in front of him. Again Harry felt the searing embarrassment of his lack of height. Malfoy had a whole head on him now.
"You're dead, Potter," Malfoy spat.
Harry stood there feeling the warm June breeze upon his skin and a shiver went up his spine.
"Oh that's right, word is you can't say a damned thing Potter, what's the matter?" Malfoy's low tone was starting to annoy Harry. "Not such a big man now, are you Potter? You're going to pay for what you've done to my father."
Harry quickly unsheathed his pad of paper and pen from his pockets and was almost amused at the sudden confused expression on the boy's face, especially when he clicked the pen's button loudly with his thumb. He wrote in big letters and shoved the pad of paper before Malfoy's gray eyes that read the simple statement:
FUCK off Ferret Boy.
Malfoy's hand flew to his wand but Harry had drawn his own wand before Malfoy's fingers made it to the pocket of his trousers. The speed of it was unnatural, instinctive. However, Harry's mind fell blank since he could not speak even if he knew a few nonverbal defensive spells his brain seized up and Malfoy smiled wickedly at this, took out his own wand and then:
Of course Snape would show up. He was walking down the marble staircase, black robes catching the wind like always. The anger rose in Harry's chest again and he found himself blaming Snape once more, he just couldn't not blame Snape…
"What are you doing, Potter?" Snape asked with that cold voice Harry was so used to.
Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes as he had already dropped his hand that held his wand and so had Malfoy.
Like I can say anything you sodding git…
Snape just stared at him.
"Put that wand away at once, ten points from Gryffindor," he snapped.
Harry couldn't help but watch as the rubies flew up from the meek pile that McGonagall had given Harry and his friends for their efforts in the Department of Mysteries. Harry bent down to pick up his pad of paper as he put away his wand but Snape suddenly bent down and snatched it from the ground. Harry glared at the man as he read the message to Malfoy.
"I believe you and your friends should be enjoying the good weather, Mr. Malfoy," Snape said decisively.
"Yes, Sir," Malfoy replied and before the three took off outside he gave Harry a quick menacing glance.
"Another ten points from Gryffindor for this, Mr. Potter," Snape smirked as he handed Harry back his notepad and Harry took it quickly, he couldn't help the burning in his cheeks.
It was different not being able to talk back to Snape or even take a bite at Malfoy's remarks. It made Harry frustrated and it left him feeling empty. Snape was looking at him still and Harry thought he should take his leave now but his eyes found the black pools somehow and his legs didn't want to obey him. And Harry thought once again of what happened in Snape's office with the Pensieve and a jolt hit his heart and his mind wandered off remembering things he would rather forget.
"And once again the Golden Boy is spacing out," came Snape's drone and Harry almost dizzyingly turned around and headed out the front doors with a blank expression leaving Snape standing there.
Harry tried to heave Fang off of him as he lay on the cool earth before Hagrid's hut.
"Fang! Yeh' ruddy thing! Off!" Hagrid called after the dog.
Hagrid had helped Harry to his feat almost knocking him down once again with trying to brush off the dirt from Harry's back. Harry wiped away the drool that Fang had left on his face.
Once inside Harry found some sort of comfort in sitting down at Hagrid's wooden table; he absent mindedly brought out his notepad and pen.
Hagrid had served them both big cups of pumpkin juice with ice.
The awkward silence rose again and Harry felt irritated.
"So, ah, you feelin' all righ'…well…you know…"
Harry knew Hagrid was trying and he thought now that maybe he should have stayed in his dormitory. Harry suddenly opened his mouth to try once more to say something but stopped when nothing came and he took the pad and pen and wrote neatly:
I'm fine. Where did you go?
Hagrid read the small note and answered hurryingly:
"Hidin' out in the mountains," Hagrid gave him a small smile. "Up in a cave, like Sirius did when he-"
Harry's eyes fell onto his untouched glass and he watched a small droplet of water slide down to the table.
Harry scribbled something quickly and Hagrid read it hastily as if to get them back on a better conversation.
"Loads better behaved now," Hagrid was speaking fast. "He seemed right pleased ter see me when I got back, ter tell yeh the truth…"
Harry felt all too trapped sitting with his legs dangling slightly on the large chair.
He grabbed up the pen and scribbled something once more:
I need to go, I should pack my things…see you at the feast, bye.
Harry didn't hear Hagrid reply because he was out the man's door so fast he was almost running. People called out to him as he made his way to the grounds by the black lake and he heard their whispers and mutterings about what had happened to him. He wanted to shout at them, to tell them to shut up and leave him alone but now that they knew the truth, the news plastered on every Daily Prophet, they wanted to talk to him instead of isolating him. Harry however was the one doing the isolating now and as he made his way to the castle he kept thinking about the prophecy. He was the Chosen One, the marked one and he felt no comfort in the walls of Hogwarts.
Harry once again had not been paying attention to where his feet were taking him and he was startled somewhat when he lifted his head to see the shining plate of blonde hair that belonged to the one and only Luna Lovegood. She was in the corridor where the Fat Lady's portrait hung tacking up a notice to the wall.
"Hello Harry Potter," she said distantly.
Harry couldn't help it. The corners of his mouth turned up and he was smiling somewhat at her as she turned to face him. Harry held up a hand and waved it somewhat to gesture his hello. Luna Lovegood seemed to have a way over him, a way about her that made Harry feel better because she was real and always honest.
Harry took out his pad of paper and wrote something and showed it to Luna who smiled softly as she read his message:
What are you doing?
She handed him one of the notes and Harry realized it was a list of things that belonged to Luna. They were missing and she was pleading for their return. Harry's eyes saddened at this and he wrote on his notepad and handed it to Luna who smiled again at his gesture.
Why do people hide your things?
"Oh, well," Luna turned her head slightly and Harry smiled somewhat at her radish earrings. "I suppose people think I'm a bit odd, you know."
Harry wrote again and handed her the pad.
That's no reason for them to hide your things. I'll help you look for them if you want.
"Oh no, that's alright," she was smiling. "They'll find their way back to me; they always do in the end. Are you going to the feast?"
Harry took the notepad back and thought for a moment and realized he was starving; his stomach ached from the emptiness. He nodded and wrote down on the paper:
Do you want to go together?
Luna didn't say anything but mimicked Harry's nod and the two set off toward the Great Hall.
"That man, he was your godfather, wasn't he? Ginny told me…"
Harry nodded as they walked and was surprised that he really didn't have a problem with hearing about Sirius from her.
"I'm sorry," she said simply but with a kindness that Harry admired.
Harry shook his head somewhat.
They were before the Great Hall's doors now and Harry could hear the bustling chatter within and he grew nervous all of a sudden. Would Dumbledore mention him? Mention what had happened in the Department of Mysteries?
"It'll be ok," Luna said and Harry looked at her and he was surprised that he could smile with her and with that they entered the Great Hall and Harry was willing himself to try to feel something other than such deep regret and sadness. Even as he avoided the stares and heard the whispers he sat down next to Hermione and Ron who smiled at him. Harry knew that ever so slowly he would start to feel ok again.
Well that was the Prologue, I'm not too familiar with how everything works here but I hope someone likes the beginning, I have many ideas for the rest of the story but I hope someone wants me to continue it. Thank you very much for your time. : )