Quiet Living

Harry sat still in his bed, hoping to be still enough to simply stop existing. He sat there and thought about how he hated everything, mostly how his brain felt- like a hazy fog, or a whirlwind of snow, or something drowning and cold. Something that turned him around in his own mind, confusing him and pulling on that pit of dread in his stomach, and he hates it, all of it.

Sometimes he got so turned around in his own mind that he forgot he shouldn't feel as bad as he does. He had won the war, was recognized by the wizarding world as a hero, and was no longer under the clutch of any adults,well meaning or otherwise. He could have anything he wanted, he had enough in Gringotts he didn't ever need to have a job, and it wasn't hard to find people interested in him, but none of that made him feel better, honestly it probably made him feel worse. He had been way too far in the public eye the majority of his life and while he was grateful he at least no longer had to hear about it, it felt like it had scooped him hollow and taken away more than he had to give. So he has every reason to be living his life without a second thought but also there isn't enough left for him to function and feel happy. Most days the only thing that kept him trying was his best friends. The immeasurable guilt that came with just the thought of irreparably hurting the only two people that had his back through everything was enough to keep him here with his twisted stomach and foggy mind.

Refocusing his eyes, he turns his head just enough to look at the blurry shape of Hermione standing in his doorway. She was used to his bouts of self-loathing and if she had seemed anxious and unsure with him before the war ended, she was at a whole new level now. If he’d bothered to put on his glasses he’d see her making a pained face in his direction, forehead furrowed in a way that was sure to give her a headache. Maybe she’d get such a bad one she’d give up and leave him to furrow further in his bedding, but for now she was still strongly stood in his doorway. The draft of cold air coming in from the open door was already giving him goosebumps where his blankets gave way to his neck and face.

“You have to get up now Harry” she said firmly but somehow still quite softly. She was always so soft with him, gently coaxing him along like she was afraid her tone alone could shatter him irreversibly. Sometimes her tip-toeing around him was annoying, but she was the smart one, maybe he would just crumble under the slightest tone shift.

He made a point of drawing in a big breath, partially to just be dramatic, but also to mentally ready himself to spend his precious little energy.

“Teas making, yeah? We can sit by the window for a bit.” Her offer didn't need an answer, it was a well-trodden routine that usually got Harry moving and breathing. Even if he didn't feel alive most of the time, a world to look out at without having to interact was comforting, and anymore she let him get away without an actual meal this early given he actually gets up.

On the worst of days Harry wouldn't move, instead he’d be stuck in the unforgiving waters Regulus had drowned in, or the shadowy veil that Sirius fell into. On those days he wasn't able to tell when Hermione came for him, what she said, or if she even appeared in the doorway in the first place, and by the time he did surface she was either gone or asleep.

He looked away from her and just focused on the back of his hands for a minute, reminding himself he had a physical body with demands. Slowly slipping his legs out from under the blanket, he knew his legs were moving but it was like his body was completely disconnected from him, like he was still in a dream, his body actively protesting the clumsy motions. Already feeling a mild exhaustion set in, he firmly ignored his glasses on the bedside table and silently pulled himself towards the door. Hermione, still blurry, turned and took the lead to the kitchen knowing he would drag himself along after her, and before making it very far a ginger blur loudly thumped in their direction.

Ron had also taken up the gentle tone since, gruff and quiet.

“Mornin’ Harry”

It was the same monotonous voice he used at funerals. Harry looked towards his face and tried to get any greeting to leave his mouth, but in the end all he could manage for his lifelong best friend was a small nod before flicking his eyes to the floor.

Ron sighed something reminiscent of disappointment, maybe even concern, aged by the commonness of it all. Ron and Hermione shared a look and she frowned before glancing over at Harry, the expression leaving as quickly as it came, returning back to its almost constipated state. Harry knew they talked about him but that was their business and he didn't have the mental energy to care about it beyond that.

“ ‘Mione, I'll be heading out in a second. Helping George at the shop this morning, but I'll be back for lunch. You know how bloody busy it gets there on the weekends.” He grumbled the last sentence in a quiet resentment that Harry thought was well deserved. Back when Harry was still running off of the adrenaline of it all he had helped at the shop, picking up the slack that a dead brother leaves, and if he remembered one thing about his time there, it's that just about everyone needs light-hearted fun after a war ends. The shop seemed to become a beacon of hope, it felt wholesome even if some of the shop contents were incredibly morally questionable.

Harry didn't hear her response, having continued on by to sit on the window sill, but he didn't have to be a psychic to know it would just be quiet goodbyes and reiterated silent whispers about Harry. He may be tired and distracted but he still knows his friends and how they think. He knew he was pathetic but he just didn't have the energy to try most days. Maybe tomorrow he'd get up and ask how Hermione slept, how George was, the shop. Maybe then he’d be able to safely navigate his way out of his mind and start living again. He thought about how he could visit everyone else he hadn't seen in far too long, but his guilt threatened to choke him just thinking about explaining to any of them his state. For all the planning and daydreaming of joining the real world again he was still stuck in his head.

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Hermione sighed for the hundredth time that day, she let her face fall and felt the inkling of tears behind her eyes, but quickly dismissed them, she could cry later. Harry had dazed all day, staring out the window, or towards her, coming back in short waves to accept small portions of food and apologize for anything and everything quietly and with as little words as possible. Around noon he had quietly thrown in the towel and headed back to his room. The first time he had truly come out and woken up in 2 days and he’d only stayed out for a measly handful of hours.

Ron walked over, coming back from the kitchen with two cups of tea, and putting hers on the doily that sat on a table just to her right. It had been part of a wedding present they had received almost two ago now. Oh, they had been so convinced of Harry's ability to recover back then. They thought he was going to be perfectly fine, that he’d just need a little time, and to be fair for a while after the war he seemed as normal as someone could be given the circumstances. It leaves her stomach knotted thinking about how fast he went down while everyone else picked themselves back up.

Harry's spiral was something that no one was prepared for; It was in part how he seemed to handle his highly traumatic life with a sense of normalcy, bouncing back momentarily from just about any horrid situation. It was beyond idiotic to think anyone could go through that much and make it out the other side unscathed, and that's what they all were, blind fools. They all admired him so much that they thought him capable of it, unfairly so. The reality of it leaves a sort of guilt in her. She was supposed to be the 'brightest witch of her age' and yet she too had stupidly closed her eyes to it. She didn't notice the warning signs because she was so used to them being ingrained in his personality, making the mistake of ignoring little self-destructive quips and fall throughs of his facade, selfishly hoping it stayed small. The consuming fear of not knowing what to do if it became anything more won, and in the end nothing was done before he ran out of steam.

When the war had finally ended Harry had seemed flighty but relieved, so, so relieved, just like everyone else. It was when that moment of peace ended, when people started grieving and rebuilding that he started to get weird. Having lived his entire life fighting tooth and nail left him lost when this flight or fight was no longer necessary, and while he never lost his hyper-vigilance, it was almost like he just started to shut down, not enough of him left to make a whole person.

A warm hand on hers made her resurface from the constant stream of thoughts and questions that drove her crazy.

Ron sighed playfully, “You better stop looking like you're ready to cry cause I swear a day at the shop must have been worse” he grumbled. When it was Ron’s idea of trying to lighten the mood, sometimes it just did the opposite, but the half smile on his face- unsure whether his attempt worked or if he would be the reason she started crying- was too sweet to berate.

“What are we supposed to do about Harry, Ron?” Her voice started cracking and she really wished it wouldn't. “He isn't getting better, I mean if anything he's getting worse and we cant be responsible for him forever, you know we cant, it's not good for him or us. I mean we are hardly even home so who knows if he is even eating or drinking, and god forbid I find him near any open windows again. I know I permanently charmed the big ones shut but I'm just terrified of the possibility ron-” She didn't mean to ramble or for it to come out so broken but she was truly lost and seeing Harry’s continual descent made her stomach twist in tiring knots of worry and dread.

Ron’s smile turned down a bit and his eyes seemed to sag. “Go ahead, I know you, you've always got some sort of idea cooking up. Anything you think could work is better than nothin’.” At the end of the day he knew her, and she did have an idea, she just wasn't sure how good its luck was. Ron’s approval is enough to make her actually consider it more though.

“I think he should see a healer- and I don't mean some random person who only knows him for his fame” she felt her voice getting more confident as she built on a plan she’d only pondered till now. “I think we need to see who, out of the people we know, are certified and willing to help him. We don't need any gossip columns picking up on anything else about him, they've taken well over enough already.” Already she felt better, more prepared. A plan always did make her feel that way, like she just might have a chance if she put everything she has into it.

“I think that sounds brilliant ‘mione” he immediately replied, nodding in agreement, “I think we both knew it might come to this and now is a better time than ever. We can start looking tomorrow, but i think for tonight we deserve a breather.” ron ghosted a smile, already looking less weighed down. It was funny what the smallest drop of hope could bring, but she suspected he was also just excited to relax knowing there was a productive plan within reach. God did she love Harry, truly, but she felt they couldn't know contentedness while he was like this. She might just start looking tonight after Ron fell asleep to whatever dumb movie that watched on the tellie.