Am I making you feel sick?
Harry wakes up sucking his thumb again. He is sandwiched between Ron and Hermione in their large bed, even though he promised himself to never fall asleep next to them. He can't believe he fell asleep here again. Is he really so weak minded?
Distressed, he wipes the spit off of his shirt and jumps off of the bed, climbing over Hermione in the progress, in the hopes of not waking her. If he had done this to Ron, then Ron would have woken up and ask what was wrong. He is a lighter sleeper than her.
(Harry misses Hermione waking up, misses the way her eyes focus on him. She sees his distress, but thinks it would be safer to let him cool down, settle his thoughts before approaching him again. At least she hopes so. It's hard to tell with Harry, especially since he is so bad at communicating. She can only hope to help him when he needs to.)
(Maybe she will send Ron after him? He can always help Harry; he knows instinctively how to help him every time.)
Problem is, if Ron asks what is wrong, Harry has no fucking idea how to answer that. He can't put it in fucking words and he is so frustrated it makes him rage. He stumbles into the bathroom, only to realize that he left his glasses on the nightstand. Still chained in that madness inducing rage rage, he stomps back into the room, grabs his glasses, stomps, angry and infuriated, back to the bathroom and slams the door closed.
He is such a freak it makes him sick. Who the fuck sucks his thumb at seventeen? Self hatred burns brighter than ever as he stares at his own face in the mirror. His pale complexion just got worse and his eyebags are carrying bags filled with eyebags. Nausea is threatening to overwhelm him, so he leans over the toilet, but he can't, his stomach too empty to vomit. He thinks of his poor two best friends lying in bed in the other room, stuck with a fuck up like him. It makes him angry.
It makes him sad.
It makes him so tired and exhausted, draining him of the rage he felt seconds ago. With a non muffled thump he falls onto the bathroom floor onto his own bottom and drops his face into his hands. Tears threaten to trickle down his cheeks, but he refuses to be this vulnerable.
He hates this, dammit, he is supposed to be bigger and better than this; he's the fucking Wizarding world savior. He has magical powers for days, months even!
What would the Wizarding world think if they knew their savior sucks his damn thumb? If they knew how much he craves gentle hands? A hug? If they knew he-
(Not even mentally he wants to admit to this; his worn mind a prison of his own making, encapturing him in shame and disgust.)
If they knew he wakes up drenched in his own piss sometimes.
It hasn't happened as often as it did in fifth year. The worst episode of those... horrible nights were once Ron stopped talking to him. Those nights were the hardest Harry ever had to endure.
He was watching Ron's bed all night, begging for something. Understanding, maybe? Or a hug? He doesn't know which one he craved, but he craved Ron. If only his damn mind shut off all whispers of not letting your guard down. Luckily, or unluckily rather, his body, having found a solution, responded in kind, plaguing him with nightmares hard enough they shook him awake, drenched in his own... bodily fluids.
He remembers his walk of shame, his rational mind forcing him to use the invisibility cloak as well as a silence charm. He couldn't let the other boys see him like that, whispered his panicked mind. That would mean his literal death.
But Ron, oh Merlin, how baldy he wanted Ron to help him. His head turned all fuzzy and his limbs weren't working the way they are supposed to, it scared him half to death on its own. After a third night of the same game of crawling out of his cold, wet (he shudders in repulsion at the memory) sheets, he finally gave into his desires. Harry tiptoed down the floor towards Ron's bed, shaking like a leaf, frightened by the dark. He pulled down the curtains and started bawling in earnest, waking the poor startled redhead in the progress. Thankfully, Ron was perfectly capable of raising silencing charms fast enough, so none of their roommates even noticed.
(Not to mention that after Harry's first nightmare, they all agreed to silence his bed with permanent charms anyways; they didn't include the redhead in that discussion, they knew he would argue against it. But what can they say, none of them wanted to fail their exams because they have been awoken for the hundredth time by Harry fucking Potter. It's why Ron didn't even know Harry was miserable, but it was okay now; now, he knew and now, he would help.)
Ron took in the scene in front of him, using his new wand to dry spell Harry's clothes, then he let him climb into his own bed and held him there all night. Harry almost melted in relief, sobbing all over again.
Then, he finally FINALLY took the raven in his arms and rocked back and forth. They might not have been on speaking terms at the time, but let the whole world know that Ron always loved and always will love his best friend. He will give him just as many hugs as needed, whenever, wherever.
That was the night Harry's nightmares stopped being so horrific, they never did stop in earnest, but it was a start to know he wasn't alone with them anymore. Safe to say that it was also the day the two made up again and all of hogwarts breathed in relief.
Which brings Harry back to the present; the fuzzyness is settling in again, his thought evaporating in front of his own mind. He has his hand claimed over his own mouth, blocking his airpath and muffling his whimpers. Or so he hoped.
A knock on the door startles him into standing.
"Go 'way!" He shrieks in fright, his wrinkled thumb, still somewhat wet, stuck in his peripherals. Even his voice sounds different! He has no idea what is going on, bur he can't burden his friends with this.
"Harry...," Ron answers in kind, his voice as soothing and as worried as possible.
"Mate, are you okay?" After Harry fails to answer, Ron tries again:
"Harry, can I please open the door?"
"No!"
"But-."
"I say no! Go 'way!" He shrieks and he hears Hermione shuffle towards the door as well. That makes him cry harder, he is so scared they'll be disgusted with him.
But all he wants is to be hugged right now.
"Harry, sweetheart," the fuzzy feeling gets worse, enveloping him and making it easier to breathe. It feels comforting, but a small voice in his own head shrieking in need of comfort is scary enough, so Harry locks up all his muscles, begging and bargaining with himself to not loose the last amount of dignity left in him. He doesn't know what this fucking fuzzy feeling is, all he knows is that he can't let it win, least he acts like the fucking child his friends treated him as the last week.
He is loosing the battle though. His body is betraying him and he wants so badly to be held by his friends, but shrinks back in repulsion. He doesn't want this, he doesn't want to be treated like that! He wants dignity and respect and ti be treated like he is still the Wizarding savior!
(But does he really?)
(Does he really like tje fame and responsibilities stuck to the name of the boy who lived?)
(No! The little voice in the back of his head screams in horror. I want cuddles!!! No responsities!)
(Responsibilities, he corrects in his own mind.)
Oh by merlins beard, he is having a conversation with himself in his own damn mind!
The voice in his head sounds impossibly small, but it's forceful enough, clawing up to the forefront. It's also stronger than Harry right now, weeping for comfort Harry is denying himself. He can't let this thing win!
"Mate, please let us come in," comes Ron's voice from the outside.
"No, wait-, gimme a sec," his words are slurring together, his voice higher than before.
('Mione! Ron! I WANT ROOOON!!!!!) 'The voice' screams and the world around Harry blurs at the edges. He is just admitting defeat when his friends' worried voices behind the door talk again.
"Sweetie, please let us in, we're worried."
But Harry Potter, savior of the Wizard world knows no more, leaving behind a little boy, sitting on his bum in the bathroom. Big green eyes filled with tears stare through the glasses that are unbalanced on the tip of the nose.
"'Mione! Ron!" The boy calls, shaking with tears and begging to be held.
Immediately, the door opens, revealing the little boy's favorite people in the whole wide world behind it. For reasons he doesn't want to call them his friends, he wants to give tgem other titles. He holds out his arms, balling his fists together in the universal sign for 'Pick Me Up!!!'
Ron immediately bends down, taking him by the waist and settling him onto his hip, so the little boy uses that to his advantage, burrying into his shirt and wiping his snot covered nose on it.
"Harry? Are you okay?" Ron asks, but the little boy doesn't hear it, too focused on Ron's scent to distinguish the words.
Hermione walks in front of him, her eyes calculating and grim, though her face is set in a small smile.
"He regressed, I think," she whispers softly, reaching out and brushing away Harry's bangs.
"What! We aren't prepared! What do we do? Am I holding him wrongly? Is it-?"
"Ron, you aren't hurting him, but you are scaring him," she points out, way calmer than the redhead. The little boy on Ron's hips has started to whimper at the panicked scattering the redhead was doing, so Ron adjusts his grip, holding him tighter and swaying slightly. The little boy understands nothing of what they are saying, but the soothing motions of the redhead settle him into a calmness. He sniffels once again, blinking down on Hermione.
He wants to touch her hair, it looks soft and shiny!
He grabs a handful of it, fascinated work it and she hisses.
"Gentle hands, baby," she whispers to him, but he hears none of it, babbling to himself about how soft those brown curls are!
"He doesn't understand us anymore, I think," she states. "He has regressed into a way younger child than I anticipated."
"Hermione, what do we do? We aren't prepared!"
"I guess we are there for him? We need to wait out till he comes out of headspace, then we will," she rattles on, insecure in her footing on this.
The little boy babbles on between them; he's got what he wanted. All the cuddles in the whole wide world!!!