Keep on keeping on

Screaming. Blinding pain.

Crumbling. Blinding pain.

Disembodied voices. Blinding pain.

Harry woke with a start, sweat beading on his forehead. He stifled a scream, letting it be caught in his throat. For the third time that year, Harry found himself in the bright white, artificial smelling hospital wing. The bed sheets that were once crisp now felt wet and soaked with sweat and tangled in the flailing limbs. Harry felt his chest growing tight as his breaths came too fast to handle. He lay back in his bed and stared emotionlessly up at the ceiling, unable to stop the horror that flashed before his eyes. Harry watched his hand meet Quirrell’s face and then he watched as his professor crumbled to dust before his very eyes. His scream of agony filled Harry’s ears, and the small boy shook in response, trembling under the sheets. The frightened boy raised his hands and held them in front of his face. He hated that those hands had killed someone. He’d turned him to nothing. To dust. What would happen the next time someone touched Harry, or he touched them? Harry felt trapped. He felt suffocated by the white linens that kept him in bed. He couldn’t do it. Harry angrily ripped the cloth off him and throwing them to the floor, watching as they fell in a messy heap. He breathed a sigh of relief as he felt the cool breeze from the window above him wash over his exposed body. Harry took this moment to look himself over. His whole body ached, his muscles screaming at him even as he lay in bed. There wasn’t an inch of Harry’s bare arms that weren’t covered in scratches or purple bruises. A lump formed in Harry’s throat as he realised that he looked like he’d just faced Uncle Vernon. Despite his protesting body, Harry rolled onto his side and curled up into a tight ball, hugging himself tightly and sobbing quietly. Suddenly, Harry wished he hadn’t thrown the covers off.

Two hours and another nightmare filled sleep later, Harry woke to the sound of the curtain around his bed being pulled open. Harry opened his eyes slowly, groaning at the bright light.

“Good morning, Mr Potter. As much as I like you, I had hoped to not see you again this year.” Madam Pomfrey said, her lips pursed but a smile shone in her eyes. Harry turned his head away from her, not wanting to talk. His head was filled with memories, both old and new, and he didn’t have the capacity to socialise right now.

“Besides a few cuts and bruises and some magical exhaustion, surprisingly, you are okay.” Madam Pomfrey continued. She raised her eyebrows at the silent boy. Harry could feel her eyes on him, so he rolled over and looked at her.

“H-How long have I-I been here?” He whispered, uncertainly.

“Two weeks.” Pomfrey said simply. Her eyes were sad, and Harry felt angry at her pity. He didn’t deserve her pity. He didn’t deserve her sadness. He was a murderer.

The light disappeared and the hospital wing was soon bathed in a soft, orange glow. Harry felt his stomach rumble, but he ignored it. Instead, he curled up again and tried to let sleep take him once more.

“Mr Potter?” Madam Pomfrey interrupted Harry’s sleep. “I have some dinner for you. I recommend you eat it.” She placed a tray in front of him. Harry could smell the melted butter and roast chicken, and his stomach protested to the starvation it was currently experiencing. He nodded glumly, just wishing for her to leave.

“Your friends have been camped outside my door since you arrived. Would you like to see them?”

Harry nodded again, reluctantly this time. He wanted to see them, and he knew that they would be worried about him, but he also thought that they would hate him. Hate him for what he did, for what he’d become. He didn’t want to hurt them.

“You have 15 minutes.” Pomfrey said sternly, not to Harry but to Hermione and Draco that were now rushing into the hospital wing.

“Harry!” Hermione called, running to Harry’s bedside. Luckily, she didn’t hug him. She sensed Harry’s apprehension and pain, so she refrained from her bone-crushing hugs. Harry was relieved at that. If she touched him, she’d crumble to dust too and then Harry would be a two-time murderer.

“Harry. How are you?” Draco whispered, eyeing Harry with concern. Harry’s eyes were wary and flitting around constantly, unable to settle on a fixed point. “Harry?”

“Y-Yep. F-Fine.” Harry replied, sounding distant. Hermione’s hand reached across the bed but Harry flinched away before she could make contact.

“Harry?” Hermione sounded heartbroken, her eyes glistening with tears.

“S-Sorry. What h-happened after I-I left?” Harry asked, trying to change the subject and get the attention off him.

“Draco woke up. He was in pain-” Hermione began.

“I was not in pain!” Draco interrupted, indignantly. Harry let out a hollow laugh.

“Whatever. He woke up and we went to get help. We tried to fine Professor Snape, but we ran into Professor Dumbledore. We told him that you were in danger but he… he didn’t seem to care.”

“T-That’s stupid. Of c-course he c-cared.” Harry demanded, refusing to believe Hermione’s words.

“Harry. He really didn’t. There was no urgency about him. He just told us to go the hospital wing, and he would handle it.” Hermione said, earnestly.

“A-And he did. Someone g-got me out of t-there. I-It must have b-been him.”

Hermione just shrugged, not wanted to push Harry when he seemed so determined to see the good in the headmaster. Instead, she reached her hand towards Harry again.

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” Harry screamed, flinching away so violently that he almost fell of the bed. Tears started to fall from Hermione’s eyes and Draco paled.

“Harry. What’s the matter?” Draco asked warily. He watched Harry as he shook and wrapped his arms tightly around himself.

“N-Nothing. I-I’m sorry. J-Just everything h-hurts. I-I’m t-tired. C-Can you come b-back later?” Harry murmured. He couldn’t tell his friends the real reason why he didn’t want them touching him, so he had to lie. He had to be alone again. That trapped feeling was rising again.

“Oh. Okay. Yes. Of course you’re tired. We will see you tomorrow.” Hermione said dejectedly. She bowed her head and Harry watched as she began to reach her hand out again but retracted it sharply. Draco smiled at Harry and then the pair walked out, leaving Harry alone.

He wasn’t alone for long though. Shortly after his friends left, Dumbledore entered. His midnight robes were speckled with shining stars that Harry swore actually twinkled.

“Harry, my boy! How are you feeling?” Dumbledore announced brightly. Not wanting to appear rude, Harry rolled over and pushed himself up, smiling weakly at the old man.

“F-Fine, thank you.” Harry replied. His voice was small and shaky.

“Good, good! Always one to bounce back, aren’t you, my boy.” The professor’s blue eyes sparkled, and Harry suddenly felt very uncomfortable. Always one bounce back. Bounce back. Does he bounce back? Harry wasn’t sure anymore. Ignoring Harry’s discomfort, Dumbledore forged on.

“I wanted to say how spectacularly you performed that night. I am so proud of you.” Harry shifted nervously in his bed. Dumbledore eyed Harry with curiosity, waiting for a reply from the small boy. None came.

“There are a few things that I do not know about so are you able to answer some questions, my boy.” Harry nodded slowly, fiddling with his fingers that were now in his lap.

“Excellent. We have already discussed how you came to find yourself going down the trapdoor. What I would like to know is how you got through all those expertly designed tasks?”

“D-Draco and H-Hermione helped. T-The plant was H-Hermione-”

“Devil’s snare.”

“R-Right. That. Um, a-and then I c-caught the f-flying key a-and then w-we all defeated the s-soldiers. D-Draco took the l-last one but…” Harry dropped his head, guilt overwhelming him. It was his fault that Draco got hurt. If Harry had been stronger, if he had taken the last soldier on himself, then Draco wouldn’t have been hurt.

“Ah. Yes. Mr Malfoy. I thought it highly irregular that you were to choose a Slytherin as a friend.” Dumbledore murmured wistfully, his eyes becoming unfocused.

“Why i-irregular, Professor?”

“There has long been a rivalry between the houses, the rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin is… unprecedented. You do not see many inter-house friendships in my school”

“B-But that doesn’t mean w-we can’t be f-friends? Right?” Harry asked, cautiously.

“No, no. Of course not. I would never tell students not to be friends. But for you, you personally Harry, I advise caution. After all, we both know who you faced that night.” Dumbledore’s voice was careful and calculated, lacking its regular warmth.

“V-Voldemort.” The small boys voice shook.

“Indeed. I am glad that you are not afraid to say his name. Fear of the name only increases fear itself. Do you know why you faced him that night? Why he has such an interest in you?” The professor asked, looking at Harry quizzically.

“H-He killed my p-parents. H-He wants to kill me.” Harry whispered, his response barely audible.

“Precisely.” Dumbledore’s voice was matter of fact, cold, a statement. It did not reassure Harry. It was just confirmation of the cold, hard truth. Harry was going to have to fight for his life.

“W-Why though?”

“Ah. That, I’m afraid I cannot answer. Not right now. When you are older.” The old man replied sadly. Harry was confused but did not press the matter. Truthfully, Harry did not want to know.

“Professor, w-what happened to t-the stone. After I… after V-Voldemort w-was gone, I-I passed out.” Harry asked. He stumbled over his words, unable to admit that he’d killed a man.

“I have taken the stone. It will be destroyed. It is too dangerous to be kept around, and its owner agreed with me. He will die but he’s accepted that.” Harry’s stomach dropped.

“D-Die? W-What do you mean?” He exclaimed, his voice rising only a fraction.

“You didn’t know what you were rescuing?” Harry shook his head. “Well, the philosopher’s stone brews an elixir that gives the drinker immortality. Nicholas Flamel, the owner, has been using the stone to keep himself and his wife alive. But now, he has his affairs in order and has agreed to destroy the stone.”

Great, Harry thought. Another death on his conscious.

“Now. I believe it is time for me to leave or I will face the wrath of Madame Pomfrey. Good night, Harry. Sleep well.” Dumbledore stood up, brushing his robes off and shooting a smile as Harry.

“Professor? D-Did I do w-well?” Harry asked, as the professor walked away. Dumbledore turned his head and flashed another smile.

“Of course, my boy. You did spectacularly.”