Abyss

The cold walls of Hogwarts had never seemed so alien to Harry. He wandered down the empty corridor, barely aware of where his feet were leading him. The dim light of the torches created shadows on the stone that moved in time with his thoughts - jagged, frightening, inexorable.

Murderer. This word was heard in every whispering crowd, heard behind the backs and in the eyes of those who had previously called themselves his friends. Even Ron and Hermione were distant figures now, their faces masks of pity and mistrust.

He didn't kill Cedric. But will anyone hear this? Will anyone understand this? No, now all of Hogwarts lived in another reality, where Harry Potter was a symbol of the fall, not a hero.

His world became a series of sleepless nights, frightening visions and strange thoughts that pierced his mind. Sometimes he forgot where he was. Simple things became unbearable: talk to someone, read a book, focus on the lesson. Umbridge's words only made everything worse. Her caustic remarks, her punishments disguised as politeness, and her eternal cloying smile. Her power was a noose that was slowly tightening around his neck.

But the worst thing was the night. What awaited him in the darkness was not just loneliness - it was alive, as if someone was watching him from the shadows, whispering in his ear. They are right, you are dangerous. You are the cause of their suffering. He was afraid of himself.

And then he began to see it.

At first they were fleeting images: a young man with dark eyes, whose face looked familiar and at the same time alien. Then a voice, soft and deceptively kind, which began to speak when the world fell asleep. He offered simple things: answers, understanding, comfort.

Harry thought it was just a result of stress-induced insomnia. But each time his visions became more and more distinct. He saw this boy standing in the dark corridors, his eyes piercing through Harry, and he could have sworn that he was looking straight into his soul.

«You're alone, Harry.», — spoke a voice that seemed to come from the air itself, as if every word was embedded in his thoughts. «They won't understand you. No one needs you. But I... I understand. You are the one who stands behind the truth».

Harry tried to ignore it, but the voice became more insistent. He spoke in such a way that Harry couldn't help but think that maybe it was true. That he really doesn’t need anyone, that he is a mistake, a superfluous figure in this world, burdened with tragedy and pain.

Sometimes he thought it was just his tired mind playing tricks on him. Sometimes, that it was the aftermath of the dark magic that had once brought about Voldemort's return. But it all seemed too real. He began to see this young man not only in the dark hours of the night, but also in daylight — standing in the corner of his room, watching him from the doorway. A shadow that never went away, watching his every move.

Harry knew something was wrong. He knew that he was losing touch with reality, that hallucinations and thoughts that he was going crazy were consuming him. But there was something about that voice that made him think that maybe it wasn't just a hallucination. That maybe there was something more behind it.

And with each passing day the figure became more and more real, and his words — increasingly convincing. Harry began to believe that he was the only one who could understand this world, that everything else — just masks that hide the real truth.

"You are not alone, Harry," — his voice grew warmer, as if realizing that he was making Harry doubt himself. "I will always be there. You will no longer struggle alone."/p>

And even though he knew it was dangerous, that maybe he was just going crazy, Harry couldn't help himself.

Harry could find no refuge from this world that seemed to be shrinking around him. Every look, every word, every movement - all this pulled him into the abyss. There was nothing left of the people who had once been his friends except cold distance. Ron and Hermione were no longer around. Рон avoided him, did not meet his gaze, and Hermione only silently looked away, as if she could not understand what was happening to him. Harry couldn't explain what it was or why it was happening. His world was falling apart and he was alone.

He saw people whispering behind his back. I heard these words sound: killer, psycho, dangerous. And he knew it wasn't just rumors. Everyone believed it, everyone in the school was sure that Harry was responsible for Cedric's death, that his version of Voldemort's return is just fiction. Even the teachers looked at him with distrust, and Umbridge never missed an opportunity to publicly humiliate him, throwing accusations and caustic remarks.

"Potter, have you forgotten how to behave with respect again?" — She pulled, looking at him with a malicious smile, as if he were something low and insignificant. "There is nothing in you that deserves even the slightest respect. You are nothing but a burden to the school and to all of us."

Her words cut into him like a knife into his chest. He knew that everyone thought that about him. Even Ron and Hermione, who had once supported him, now found no words of consolation. They couldn't find the words to remind him that they still believed in him. Harry saw them look at each other when someone said something against him. They were silent. They looked away.

And at night, in the dark corners of his mind, when he could not sleep, when his thoughts swirled like a whirlwind, he felt his consciousness sinking into dark depths. Hallucinations, the feeling that his world is falling apart, that reality is becoming shaky and unreal. Sometimes he woke up not knowing where he was, not understanding what was happening to him. A feeling of invisible heaviness squeezed his chest, and his own steps became unnaturally loud in the empty corridors.

You are of no use to anyone.

These words were imprinted on his mind as strongly as everyone else's words. And when he found himself alone once more, he felt this thought fill him completely. Everything he had once loved was gone. All that was good had long since left him. He was abandoned, helpless and crippled, caught between what was and what was not yet.

But the worst thing was that he felt: No matter how hard he tried, it wasn't just an illness or a hallucination. It was real. Everyone around turned away, and no one could or would help. Harry felt like a shadow, like something that should never have existed.