The train ride back to Hogwarts for sixth year was silent for the Golden Trio. Ron and Hermione had confessed their feelings for each other during the summer, and had spent that time getting to know each other. Because of their preoccupation with themselves and their budding relationship, they never gave more than a passing thought to Harry; sure that he was safe and alive at his relatives’ house. So they cuddled up on the bench opposite the raven haired teen, whispering quietly to each other and blushing. Every now and then Hermione would look at the teen across from her with a frown on her face, brown eyes worried, but Ron would whisper something in her ear and make her turn pink, turning to him and forgetting about the other occupant of the car.
Harry’s eyes were glued to the passing scenery outside the train. He stared, unseeing, at the forests and pasture lands that sped by the moving train, mind a million miles away as he went relentlessly over his horrifying fifth year in school. From the detentions with Umbridge to the ‘remedial’ potions lessons with Snape; from the complete disregard from the headmaster to the students calling him a liar and a delusional freak, nothing seemed to go right in fifth year. But the absolute worst thing imaginable happened at the end, and it tipped the brunet over from constant rage to a complete shutdown of every thought, every feeling he ever had.
Sirius is dead and it’s all my fault, Harry kept thinking, heart frozen in his chest and emotions completely absent. I brought him to the Ministry because I was too stupid to check, through the two-way mirror, to see if he was still in Grimmauld. I killed him, as sure as if I’d been the one to hold the wand. I know Ron and Hermione blame me for his death, too. It’s the only reason I can think of that they wouldn’t write me over the summer. They did the same thing in the summer after fourth year, too, and I know they blamed me for Cedric. If I hadn’t have tried to be the ‘bigger man’, I would have been the only one taken to the graveyard. I guess Ron and Hermione are trying to distance themselves from me so that I don’t get them killed, too.I don’t really blame them, either. I wish there was some way I could distance myself from myself.
It took every ounce of energy he had to get to the Hogwarts Express for sixth year; his relatives refused to help him so he had to flag down the Knight Bus. Harry never noticed the worried eyes of Dudley Dursley, whom he’d saved from dementors before fifth year. His cousin would have said something to his parents, but the teen knew that his mum and dad wouldn’t care if Harry would have fallen off the face of the earth. I hope he’s all right, the beefy boy thought a little desperately. I hope someone in his world helps him before it’s too late.
Harry had spent the past summer going over and over all of the sins committed against him from the moment his parents were murdered, and came to one inescapable conclusion. No one cared what happened to him, nor cared whether he lived or died. They only needed him to kill the Big Bad and then they’d go back to putting him away, out of sight and out of mind. Just like his friends were putting him away. Just like the headmaster put him away with the Dursleys.
The compartment door slid open right on time as Draco Malfoy stood in the doorway, sneering at the occupants with a look of smug superiority on his face. His bodyguards took up post behind him, taller and bulkier than they were last year and ready to defend their leader, if necessary. “Well, if it isn’t Potty, the mudblood and the blood traitor,” the blond drawled maliciously. “Too bad that madam Umbridge won’t be in the school this term. After all, she was the only reason that lowly creatures such as yourselves were kept in their places. Never fear, though. My friends and I will make sure that you remain at the bottom of the hierarchy, right where you belong.”
“Sod off, Malfoy,” Ron barked angrily as he stood, making sure that his girlfriend was safely behind him. “Too bad your daddy is still in Azkaban. You won’t be able to say ‘wait until my father hears about this’ anymore with him out of commission. Did you forget what it felt like when Hermione punched you, ferret? Would you like a reminder?” The argument escalated from there, and the bushy haired girl leaned over and tugged on Harry’s robe sleeve, trying to get his attention.
“Harry,” she hissed at him, “aren’t you going to say something? Do something?”
“No,” the brunet answered, voice flat and dead. “I just want to be left alone.” Granger stared at her friend worriedly, not liking the sound of his voice. She turned back to the confrontation by the door, cringing as it escalated to wands being drawn.
Before anything else could happen, she stood and barked, “Twenty points from Slytherin and a week’s detention with Filch.” Draco shut up immediately, so stunned that anyone would dare take points and assign detentions to him that his mouth hung open. Ron snorted at the look that Malfoy had on his face, and opened his mouth to exacerbate the issue when his girlfriend turned and stated, “Twenty points from Gryffindor and a week’s detention with professor McGonagall.” The redhead’s face flushed with anger and he turned to her, prepared to try and change her mind, but cringed back at the look of violence in her eyes. “As prefect, it’s my duty to punish students who break the rules. This fight is a breach of the regulations we must follow on the Express. Now, Malfoy, if you’ve quite finished, be on your way.”
“I’m a prefect, too, Mudblood,” the blond insisted heatedly, hand gripping his wand tightly. “You can’t take points and give detentions to prefects.”
“Of course I can,” she replied with a smirk. “It says in the guidelines I’d been given that any student caught breaking the rules must be disciplined. That includes prefects and Head Boy and Head Girl. In fact,” she continued, voice purring threateningly, “if the prefects or Heads earn enough detentions and point losses, they can have their badges removed and privileges revoked. Care to try for more?”
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“I think there’s something wrong with Harry,” Hermione whispered to Ron later that evening. They were sitting on the wide, squashy couch that was situated in front of the fireplace, and they were chatting about when they might get married when Granger suddenly remembered how lifeless Harry had sounded on the train. Once they were in the Great Hall for the Opening Feast, she noticed that he didn’t eat anything, either. At first, she chalked it up to his ‘returning from the Dursleys’ phase, but coupling it with how he’d sounded, she was quite concerned about his mental health.
“Why do you say that, Mione?” Ron mumbled sleepily. He hadn’t really noticed anything different with his best mate, but he had to acknowledge that he wasn’t the most observant bloke around.
“While you and Malfoy were arguing on the train, I asked Harry to do something about it, and he told me no. He said he wanted to be left alone.”
“Well, after the year he had last term, and having to go back to those nasty muggle relatives of his, can you blame him for wanting time to himself?” Weasley pointed out reasonably.
“It’s not that he wants time to process,” she insisted, eyes troubled. “It’s that his voice had no life to it. It was almost as if he was dead inside.”
“We’ll go talk to professor Dumbledore tomorrow,” Ron reassured his girlfriend with a pat on her knee. “I’m sure he’ll think of something that’ll help.” Unfortunately, in her haste to make sure she had everything for classes the next day, Hermione completely forgot about going to Dumbledore with her worries, and Ron forgot because he was looking forward to being quidditch captain this year.
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Two weeks had passed, and Harry was no better than he was on the train. He’d spent most of his time isolating himself from everyone else, to the point that the Gryffindor sixth years had to drag him to the Great Hall to make sure he ate something. The raven haired teen had gotten very good at pushing his food around his plate and silently vanishing it as soon as the utensils touched it, to make it look like he was actually taking in sustenance. Both Hermione and Ginny asked him what was wrong, badgering him relentlessly when he failed to respond. He just shrank further into himself, the dark circles underneath his eyes growing blacker and blacker as he failed to sleep. No one noticed that he was losing even more weight than he had during the summer because he made sure his clothes were baggy enough to disguise the pounds dropping off.
Before long, even the professors tried to engage the teen, to little success. He picked seats in the far back corners of the classrooms, hiding in the shadows as he stared sightlessly ahead at the blackboard. At the regular staff meetings, the teachers would complain that no work was being turned in by Potter and that he was in danger of failing his classes. Even Severus Snape was worried about the boy, and he’d had more than one private conversation with the headmaster about it. Dumbledore would just reassure the Potions Master that Harry would bounce back. That he was most likely still grieving for the loss of Sirius. That it was just a phase he was going through and he would soon return to his normal, adventurous self. Shaking his head, the Potions Master left the headmaster’s office and went straight to McGonagall’s domain. Perhaps she’ll do something about Potter’s fugue, he thought worriedly. He is her favored lion, after all. He stopped and took a deep breath before tapping on her door.
“What is it, Severus?” the old tabby asked as soon as she opened the portal.
“I’m concerned about Potter,” was not what the older woman was expecting, and she stepped aside, allowing the potions professor into her personal rooms. She put up privacy charms and offered him tea, but he demurred, instead asking for a shot of whiskey. Once seated, and with drinks in hand, Severus continued, staring into the glass sightlessly. “He’s so withdrawn that he’s like a ghost floating through the halls. I know no one else has noticed how much weight he’s lost, and he can ill afford it as it is. He no longer engages with his friends; not that they’d notice if he’d dropped dead right in front of them, as wrapped up in each other as they are. He hasn’t reacted in any way to my insults, and it feels so much like I’m attacking an invalid that I’ve stopped. Even some of my Slytherins have remarked on his apathy.”
“Did you talk to Albus about it?” the transfiguration professor queried curiously, a small frown on her face.
“Several times,” the Potions Master insisted a little heatedly. “He keeps brushing me off and saying that it’s a phase Potter’s going through. That he’ll eventually snap out of it once he’s finished grieving for his dogfather. He’s ignoring that boy’s well-being just like he did last term, when Umbridge was torturing students.”
“I still can’t believe that the headmaster knew nothing of what was going on,” Minerva mumbled churlishly. “Of course, I can’t excuse my own behavior when it came to Mr. Potter, either.”
“What do you mean?” Snape questioned softly.
“He tried to tell me what that thing was doing, but I didn’t even let him finish,” she replied shamefully. “I didn’t want to hear another complaint about the woman, so I told Harry to keep his head down and his mouth shut. Had I known she was using a Black quill on the students during her detentions, I would have called Amelia to the castle immediately.”
“I wasn’t much better,” the dour man confessed sheepishly. When McGonagall looked at him, he dropped his eyes to the glass again and continued. “You are aware of the ‘remedial’ potions lessons I was to teach the boy.” He didn’t see her nod, but he didn’t need to as he finished his tale. “I was teaching him Occlumency. Or, at least, that’s what I was supposed to do. Instead of coaching him in meditation so that he could clear his mind, I barked at him to still his thoughts and then fired the Legilimency curse at him over and over again. I more or less mind raped the boy repeatedly, until he got too nosy and peeked into my personal pensieve. Of course, I left it out on purpose; I was starting to feel guilty for assaulting him and wanted the lessons to end, so I left out the bait, which gave me the excuse to end the lessons.”
“Did Albus know you were doing this?” Minnie asked, scandalized.
“He’s the one to insist that I teach the boy,” Severus replied with a shrug. “He wanted it done as quickly as possible, so…”
“So what are we going to do about Potter?” the transfiguration professor queried.
“I don’t know,” Severus answered with a worried frown, “but it has to be done soon. I fear he might take drastic measures just to make the pain go away.”
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It was Saturday morning, October twelfth, and it became a day that would mark the wizarding world for a very long time. Everyone had noticed that Harry was no longer attending classes or going to meals and were starting to wonder what happened to him. It had taken that long for the students and staff to pull their collective heads out of their arses long enough to see that one of their own was missing. During those intervening weeks, most of the students still believed that Potter was going Dark; that he’d sell them out to Voldemort as soon as the man showed up at their door. Many were also studying harder than ever, under the watchful eyes of Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Ginny Weasley and Neville Longbottom. The four felt the need to restart the Defense Association, and were working hard to get as many kids battle-ready as possible before the war started in earnest. Ginny had approached the raven haired teen to see if he wanted to help them, but grew frustrated with the one-sided conversation and stomped away, never noticing how much pain the sixteen year old was actually in.
“Has anyone seen Harry?” Albus asked softly. He stared out at the students sitting at their house tables in the Great Hall and waiting for breakfast, his gaze resting on one or another and marking him or her as one upon whom to keep his attention focused.
“No, Albus,” Minerva replied as she zeroed in on the Gryffindor table. She saw all of Potter’s friends sitting in their usual seats, but by the worried and concerned looks on their faces, Dumbledore wasn’t the only one to notice the missing Boy Who Lived.
“I haven’t seen him in my class for at least two weeks,” Snape added, his own dark eyes disturbed. Agreement from the rest of the professors had the headmaster’s eyebrows flying into his hairline in shock.
“None of you have seen him for a while,” the old man barked incredulously, “and you didn’t think to notify me?”
“We brought our concerns for that boy to you time and again,” Minerva snapped, infuriated. “All you did was reassure us that he would snap out of whatever fugue he was suffering. You expressed no more concern for him than you did for Longbottom or Lovegood when they were being bullied. We figured you didn’t care, and didn’t waste our time bringing our worries to you anymore.”
Dumbledore stood and shot a concussive charm into the air, silencing the Great Hall, minus a few startled screams. “Attention students,” he announced flatly. “Harry Potter is missing, and hasn’t been seen in classes for at least the last two weeks. I want the prefects to separate students into groups and all of you are to search the castle from top to bottom. I want no stone left unturned.
“Head Boy and Girl are to coordinate with the prefects to make sure that every inch of the school has been thoroughly explored, whilst the professors and I cover those places that are inaccessible to the students. When you find Mr. Potter, please take him to madam Pomfrey right away to ensure that he’s well. Hogsmeade visits for today are cancelled; if we are successful in locating Mr. Potter, I’ll allow you to go to Hogsmeade on an unscheduled Saturday to make up for missing this one. Dismissed.”
The noise in the hall rose as everyone gathered around their prefects, waiting for instructions. Dumbledore turned to his staff and said, “I’ll take a couple of you into the sub-basement of the school. Fawkes can take some of you to the Chamber of Secrets. The rest of you check all the secret tunnels that lead out of the school. Follow them to their ends if you can, to make sure that he hasn’t fallen or become injured along the way.”
Meanwhile, at the Gryffindor table, Hermione and Ron were laying out assignments to their comrades. “I want three of you up on the seventh floor to investigate the Room of Requirement,” Hermione told everyone softly. “At least one of you should be friendly enough with Harry to know what he would want the room to be. I don’t care how long it takes; keep changing the room until you find him.”
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Draco Malfoy was the one to find the Boy Who Died. He, Parkinson and Nott were exploring the abandoned classrooms in the depths of the dungeon when the smell hit them like a battering ram. Leaning over, all three teens lost their breakfasts all over the floor, before they straightened up and cast bubble-head charms around their faces. Stepping carefully around the emesis that covered the stones, they made their way to the only room at the end of a darkened hallway. Theo was the first to peer around the doorway, and he flinched and pulled back nearly instantly, face a mixture of horror and sorrow. “What did you see?” Malfoy asked insistently. When Nott shook his head, the blond stuck his head into the room and nearly shrieked.
“It’s Potter, isn’t it,” Pansy said numbly. Theo nodded, still trying to come to grips with what he’d seen. “He’s dead,” Parkinson continued in that same emotionless tone. Nott nodded again, and the tears began to fall as he envisioned the future he would have, now that his salvation was no longer available. Blaise came up to the group, the kids he’d been searching with hiding in the common room. Many of the Slytherins couldn’t care less what happened to Dumbledore’s pet, and felt justified in ignoring the problem.
“I take it you found Potter,” the Italian remarked blandly. “I could tell from the smell that someone had died.” At the confused looks he received, he elaborated. “Sometimes Mother wouldn’t get rid of the bodies quick enough, and human remains have a distinctive stench when they rot. So, who’s going to be the one to tell the headmaster?”
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“Hogwarts will be closed for the foreseeable future,” Amelia Bones announced tiredly, her voice hoarse from crying. “Harry Potter committed suicide more than two weeks ago, and his body has been found in an abandoned classroom deep in the dungeons of the school. He left a note and a will, and I’ve been instructed by his last wishes to read them both to you.
“Dear magical people, I’m done. I survived the worst night of my life, and my mother’s magic drove the evil away for a time, and what was my reward? I was dropped on my mother’s sister’s doorstep and left to fend for myself. For ten years, I slaved for those people and endured abuse, neglect and starvation, and not one of you ever wondered where I was or how I was doing. I was left to grieve with people who told me that my alcoholic father and whore mother killed themselves and another family in a drunk driving accident. And even though I believed that they were less than suitable, I still wished with all my heart, every day, that they would come and rescue me from my prison.
“For that was what living with the Dursleys was. A prison that I was only allowed to escape for a limited time every year when I turned eleven. I never knew I was a wizard until that letter, addressed to the Cupboard Under the Stairs; my bedroom for ten years. Despite being inundated by the acceptance letters, Vernon Dursley saw fit to take me and the rest of the family and try to outrun them. Hagrid finally had to be sent to give me the missive so that I could acknowledge my acceptance and attendance.
“He was the one to take me shopping, and told me how evil Slytherin was, and what had actually happened to my mum and dad. So I got to grieve them all over again, only this time it was in front of an entire world of people just like me. Or, at least, I thought they were just like me. Turns out I was just as much of a freak in the magical world as I was in the muggle one. Everyone had such high expectations of me; of my status and magical talents, neither of which I was aware for the longest time. I never even got the standard lessons for behavior as the heir of a pureblood family. Yet everyone expected me to act as if I was privileged somehow.
“Every year, from the time I started that cursed school, I’ve been in danger, and my friends always got dragged into much of it. I know it’s all my fault; after all, Voldemort isn’t after any of them. I killed a man in my first year, and though it was accidental, I still feel very responsible for that. A murderer at eleven; I guess my relatives were right, and that I did belong in St. Brutus’ Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys. At twelve, I nearly cost my best friend’s sister her life. It was my fault that she had that cursed diary, and it’s my fault that she was trapped in the Chamber of Secrets. If the Weasleys hadn’t of known me, she never would have been endangered like that.
“I think the only highlight of my life was when I met Sirius in third year. To know that there was someone out there who actually loved me... He escaped Azkaban to protect me from my parents’ true betrayer; Peter Pettigrew, who lived as the Weasleys’ pet rat ever since that ugly Hallowe’en night. When he was finally outed, he unfortunately escaped, and that was also my fault. I convinced Sirius and Remus not to kill him so that we could turn him in and get my godfather freed. But some things happened, and the rat ran. I was forced to face a hundred dementors to save Sirius and myself, and I relived the night my mother died over and over again while I fought them off.
“I didn’t know that the worst would come, or I never would have returned to Hogwarts. The Triwizard Tournament was supposed to be for of-age wizards, yet my name made it into the Goblet of Fire because of a Death Eater disguised as Mad-Eye Moody, our defense professor. I didn’t want to be in a deadly tournament, and I certainly didn’t need all the bad press. There was no honor or glory in fighting for my life against obstacles that I wasn’t trained to face. There was no acclaim in barely making it through each challenge. The worst thing was that the true champion, Cedric Diggory, died because I was trying to be noble and honorable, and invited him to grab the cup with me. I was the reason he ended up in the graveyard, and I might as well have been holding the wand that killed him. Then, to be used in a resurrection ritual to bring back the greatest enemy the wizarding world has ever faced... I know I have a lot for which to answer, and that my very existence has brought too much pain and death to you all.
The absolute worst year of my life started with dementors attacking me in the muggle world. My cousin was with me at the time, and he was...well if not innocent, then an unintended bystander to the attack. Mrs. Figg, the old squib in our neighborhood, urged me to protect myself with the patronus charm, which I did, and I ended up in a trial for underage magic. Headmaster Dumbledore came to my rescue, but he never looked at me once. Didn’t speak to me or even acknowledge my existence. I never knew what I had done to make him turn away from me like that. I still don’t know. But that incident just snowballed into Umbridge using a Black quill in my detentions; making me write lines with it. Did you know that I spent four hours nearly every night with the woman whilst she made me carve words into my hand? ‘I must not tell lies’. I suppose I should use that as my epitaph.
And then we have the Inquisitorial Squad. A bunch of Slytherin goons led by Malfoy, who ran roughshod over the students. His interference only increased the tortures committed against other students and myself, but boy was he so proud of himself. My friends and I ended up starting a Defense Association so that we could learn the spells we would need for our defense OWLs. Of course, one of the members had to betray us, but I don’t blame her. She never really liked or trusted me, and Hermione had no business bullying her into joining anyway. To add insult to injury, I was forced to take Occlumency lessons from professor Snape. I guess he was fooled by all the lies that I was trained in the basics of magic and being magical when I was a kid, too, because he didn’t really teach me anything. He just barked at me to clear my mind and then cast the spell.
Torture after torture was inflicted on me, and the entire time Dumbledore pretended I didn’t exist, without any sort of explanation. I guess he thought I was a cold-blooded murderer after all, and decided to wash his hands of me, the same way that my friends did. I received no letters at all during the summer after fourth year, and I was left to grieve Cedric’s death, and the end of peace, all by myself. Of course, Ron and Hermione told me that Dumbledore had said not to write to me; that the owls would be intercepted, but they could have sent me something through the muggle post. None of the Death Eaters would have even known or understood that. And then, Sirius died. I blame myself for that, too. If I had remained calm and level-headed when Voldemort sent me those visions of Sirius being tortured in the Department of Mysteries, he would still be alive today.
He was the only one who understood what it was like to be betrayed; to be imprisoned unfairly, and he would have been such a comfort right now. But because of my selfish stupidity in wanting to ‘rescue’ him, he’s gone, and I have nothing left to which to look forward. Once again, my friends decided that I didn’t need to be comforted; that I didn’t need to hear from them all summer, and with Sirius dead, I no longer had a reason to go to headquarters anymore. Not even Remus wanted to be around me, and I know it’s because he blames me for Sirius’ death.
I’ve decided that I just don’t want to live anymore. I’m in constant pain, both physically and emotionally, and no one cares. I’m done. Goodbye.
The Great Hall was silent but for a few quiet sobs from those who had considered themselves friends. Hermione was inconsolable; she knew that something was wrong with her best friend, but hadn’t had the time to investigate more deeply. She had prefect duties, as well as homework and studying, and she didn’t want to neglect the budding relationship between herself and Ron. “Why would he do this?” she queried through her tears. “Why would he be so selfish?”
“Yeah,” Ron agreed angrily. “He’s the Savior of the wizarding world. Why would he take the coward’s way out?”
“Maybe because of the way that the two of you are acting right now?” Neville snapped, infuriated. When the remnants of the Golden Trio looked at the brunet in confusion and offense, he sneered. “Neither one of you even noticed that he was spiraling downward in fourth year,” he told them flatly. “When he came back last year, I had a talk with him, and he admitted that you not writing to him really hurt. It made him question your friendship. He’s right. Even though none of what happened is his fault, you made him feel like it was, and even dead, you’re blaming him.”
“I will now read the last will and testament of Harry James Potter,” Bones announced, once she was able to get herself together. “And afterward, I intend to have a little chat with a few people about what was in that letter.
“I, Harry James Potter, being of sound mind and body, do hereby attest that this is my last will and testament. Any wills presented by anyone other than Amelia Bones are invalid, and most likely forgeries. I bequeath all of my worldly goods and money to Mrs. Arabella Figg. She was the only person in that neighborhood who reached out to me when I was in pain. The only person to offer me a meal when I hadn’t eaten in days. The only person who saw everything that the Dursleys did to me and tried to offer an oasis in the desert of my agony. She was there when no one else was, even those times during the summer of fourth year, and last summer when I despaired of ever feeling happy again. She offered me a shoulder upon which to cry, and an understanding that I’d not received from anyone else, but Sirius. I wish to be buried next to my parents in Godric’s Hollow, and let my headstone read ‘Was once the Boy Who Lived, now the Boy Who Died’.