The Summer that Marked Everything
There was something after that night in the Department of Mysteries that never settled right with Harry. He was being trapped in a trance constantly. There were days where Hermione would have to go to the common room and just take care of him, helping him finish the last few days he had at Hogwarts.
Hermione was babysitting, helping him, she said. He hated the way Hermione’s eyes would never meet his whenever she had to pick up after him. He knew it was pathetic, he knew it was embarrassing, but he just couldn’t bring himself to stop her, to stop whatever was happening to him.
He remembered the first few days after the DOM incident, as some started calling it, he was inconsolable. He remembered attending classes day after day, the detentions he collected for not focusing in classes or just never attending them. The eyes that always followed him wherever he went.
Hermione would never leave his side no matter where he went to and what he did. If he went to the Room of Requirement to mourn Sirius, Hermione would be there to give him company. If he went to the bathroom just to be alone for a few minutes hoping to get away from her watchful eyes, Hermione would ask Neville or Ron to go with him while she waits outside reading her book.
Even when he went to bed, Hermione was there in essence. Being the bright witch that she was, she worked hard day and night when she had free time, even using the time turner again as a last resort just so she could practise casting her patronus. To make the patronus hold its shape for hours at length even if she slept.
Every night as Harry lays awake in bed, a corporeal Otter climbs up on his bed and lays flat on his chest. In the days that he does manage to close his eyes for a long time, enough time that he falls asleep, the Otter would act as his tether to absorb the darkness of his dreams.
The dreams about seeing the mangled bodies of some of his classmates. Neville, Luna, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione, the people he saw as his family, his friends, scattered along the marble floor of the ministry, swimming in their own blood.
He even had to learn how to cast the silencing charm so that his roommates would be able to sleep peacefully without him scaring them awake with his screams. The pillows acting as a muffler as he constantly sees a burst of vivid green light and feels the electrifying pulse hit him before he’s forced to wake to his own screams.
While everything was happening, the little otter would stay with him and sometimes even play with him when he couldn't sleep at night.
And Harry, as much as he loved her, he hated it to his core.
“You can’t continue to live like this!” Hermione lectures him one day.
It was an eerie Saturday morning. Ron wasn’t complaining about having to wake up early, or the double Potions he has that day. Dean and Seamus were up lively, the record player playing a lively song that seemed to cheer up the place.
He thought he would finally get some peace that day, finally be able to continue laying down and staring at the ceiling when Hermione burst in their room.
Ron, startled by the door opening suddenly, squeals and grabs onto the first thing he can to cover his bare chest, scrambling to get to his trunk to pull out some clothes and wear them. Dean and Seamus immediately sensing Hermione’s ire and not wanting any part of it, says that they’ll pack later and they’ll eat at the Great Hall early today.
“What’s happening to you, Harry?” She asks. Harry sees her going through his side of the room and picking through the rest of his belongings, organising them and putting it inside his trunk.
“Professor McGonagall talked to me today, she says your academics have been flunking! And Ronald! Quit standing there and help me gather the rest of Harry’s clothes! Honestly you boys are such a mess.” She scolds.
Ron just scoffs at her but gathers the rest of Harry’s clothes and goes over his own bed to fold them neatly. “Give him a break, ‘Mione. You know that Sirius died, give him some time to grief. I’m sure he'll be back to us in no time.”
Harry flinches at the mention of Sirius. He already tried forgetting about him, tried everything to forget what he did that night. To drown out the laughing sound that echoes his every thought.
“Don’t say his name out loud, Ron!” Hermione shouts back. Frustrated at the red haired boy for his insensitivity about the subject. She glances back at Harry and tries to smile at him but Harry just rolls around to avoid her gaze.
“Harry, I know it must be hard to accept…” She starts. “I know that it must be breaking you inside, every single day without him. But you have to move on, Harry. You can’t let this destroy you.”
As Harry listens to Hermione ramble on and on about his feelings, about what he should do, about how he was wrong for doing nothing with his life after Sirius passed away, he starts seeing red.
He feels his body vibrate with anger, his magic reacting to his thoughts and it slams Hermione to the wall with its full force, pinning her there. He hears Ron screaming at him to calm down and let Hermione go. He hears Hermione begging him to calm down as she coughs out in ragged breath, barely able to breathe as Harry’s magic continues to levitate her and pin her against the wall.
“Harry!” Ron screams at him as he tries to pull Hermione down. The scream and the noise they were making causes everyone in the Gryffindor common room to rush up to the dorm and try to see what’s happening but Harry pays them no mind.
“Harry, why are you doing this, you have to calm down-” “Shut Up, Shut up, Shut up!” He screams, voice hoarse after days of not using it.
Everyone seems to be taken back by his screams as the whole area becomes silent again. Ron looked at him, eyes filled with anger and confusion, his brows furrowed as his lips turned into a frown.
“Just shut up, Hermione! How dare you try to tell me how I should live! What do you know about me? About how I feel? Were you the one who lost a godfather? Who lost the chance at finally having a family? Lost the only person who you felt would never leave you?” Harry laughs-voice breaking at the thought of Sirius. Of the life he could have had with him.
He stares at a wide-eyed Hermione, the curly haired girl seemingly stuck between answering him and trying to shut up, knowing full well whatever she was going to say will just tip him over the edge.
“You have a life. Parents who love you, who let you sleep in a proper bedroom and buy you books. Yet you go and spend summer with Sirius? How fucking dare you tell me to move on.” His mind was swimming with anger-with voices in his head telling him to kill her for suggesting he stop thinking about Sirius.
“What’s wrong with you mate? Hermione didn’t do anything to you! Just let her go! Voldemort’s gone inside your head!” Ron screams as he tries to free Hermione again, the shock leaving his body after hearing Harry scream.
“No! I have listened to you, the both of you for the past days, ordering me around to do better. I won’t do better! I lost someone! I saw someone die, again! Can you say the same? Can you look me straight in the eye and tell me you know what I’m going through right now?" He screams, voice loud enough that everyon flinches at how loud it was. "Y ou left me there , in that horrid house, all alone while the rest of you cosied up and played family! Don’t you dare try to tell me what I feel!”
“Well we didn’t want to go to the ministry that night,did we?” Ron bellows back, stalking to where he was and grabbing his collar, shaking him. “We told you, warned you that it wasn’t real! But you just thought you were better and didn’t listen to us! To Hermione!” He thinks he hears Hermione screaming at them telling Ron to stop, but he was too focused on Ron to hear anything else.
“If you’re going around and blaming people for Sirius’ death then go have a look at a fucking mirror! It’s your fault he went to the ministry, it’s your fault that he died, that we all almost died! Did it ever occur to you that you just put everyone in harm's way just because you stick to us!” Ron slams him to his bed post, his head hitting it-he thinks he heard a crack somewhere.
“We didn’t want to be friends with someone who's being chased by a madman! We don’t want to go on late night adventures just to be held up at wand point! Did you ever think about what Mum and Dad went through when Ginny was taken to the chamber? What I felt when I was dragged to the whomping willow by your deranged godfather? What Luna or Neville felt when death eaters were ready to cast the killing curse at us? What about Cedric , huh, Harry? Have you ever thought about how he died because of you? NO! Because you only think for yourself! You don’t care about us! You only care about playing chase with wizards who can kill us on sight!”
“RONALD, STOP IT!” Hermione screams between her sobs.
Everyone else watching the Golden Trio fight was torn at what they should do. They knew they should probably stop Harry and Ron, help Hermione and free her, but they were scared of interfering. Ron was brimming mad and would cause even a bigger scene if anyone tried to stop him, and Harry’s magic was lashing out, preventing anyone from entering the room, too scared to be pinned like Hermione.
The seventh years who were strong enough tried to usher the younger years back to the common room to move them out of harm's way if ever wands were raised or the Magic emanating from Harry lost out of control. Some of their other housemates ran to get help from Professor McGonagall or the Headmaster himself.
Ginny was trying to go inside to stop his Brother and Harry but Dean and Seamus were holding her arms, preventing her from even stepping a foot inside.
Harry felt his vision clouding, staggering as he hit his bed and took deep breaths. He could hear people shouting his name, he could even see Neville pointing his wand at them, but he couldn’t focus on them as black swirls started to appear in front of him.
“Do you think I wanted this too, Ron? YOU THINK I WANTED THIS LIFE! MY PARENTS ARE DEAD, I DON’T HAVE A FAMILY!” Harry could see the darkness surrounding him. He could feel his magic thrumming beneath his skin, wanting to get out. He felt like he was going to explode.
Harry seems deranged. He reached for Ron’s hands that were clinging tightly to his shirt, squeezing them tight, so tight that his knuckles were turning white. “You're lucky enough that you have everything in the world I have ever wanted.” Harry pushes Ron’s hands away and forces him to get off of him.
“If you were so tired of being friends with me, I wish you just spoke about it sooner.”
Harry doesn’t say anything else as he summons the rest of his things with a flick of his wand. Ronald seemed to be in a trance, stuck just sitting at the floor, looking at him with disbelief. Hermione was freed sometime ago, but she was too busy crying to form any coherent thought-probably too distraught by what was said between him and Ron.
He doesn’t spare them another glance as he walks out of the door, the Gryffindors that were watching parting like the sea to let him through.
“Harry…” Ginny whispers, reaching for him.
Harry doesn’t stop to hear what she has to say as he continues to walk down the stairs. Nothing on his mind except the pure betrayal he feels from Ron, from Hermione, from everyone else who said they were his friends. From everyone who lived in Grimmauld with Sirius while they knew he was being starved in Privet Drive.
From everyone who never bothered to help him and be there for him just because he was Harry–a kid , and not Harry-The Boy Who Lived .
Harry walks around Hogwarts, seeming lost. He doesn’t know where else to go now that he’s away from everyone else. He wanders around aimlessly under his cloak, avoiding anyone who knows him.
He didn’t want people asking him about how he feels. He doesn’t want people going up and about, giving him judging looks as if they know about his business.
The news about his fight with Ron hasn't gotten out of Gryffindor yet, but it's only a matter of time before the news spreads and the whole school will see him as enemy number one again. He suspects Slytherin would probably twist the story about him going dark and being the new Dark Lord–the Heir to Voldemort all over again, not surprising considering how many lies people seem to make up about him.
He halts to a stop as he realises just where his feet have taken him– The Room of Requirement.
He doesn’t know how he ended up here, or why exactly his journey ended up to the very room that may have made his life harder this year, but he feels his magic humming–vibrating, telling him that he needs to go inside.
So he goes inside, with nothing on his mind, nothing to ask the room, he just enters when the door appears.
The room looks abandoned, more than it already is. Mountain sized pile of junk was haphazardly strewn about, garbage scattered across the floor. There was an odd coldness in the room, a chill running down his spine when a cold gust of wind passed through him, making him look to where it came from.
Behind the piles of chairs and tables was a closed door, light seeping through the cracks. He wanted to ignore it at first, but the longer he started it seems as if music suddenly filled the room, a beautiful lullaby seeming to lull him into following where it came from.
He winced at the memories of Ron and Hermione beside him, doing something similar back in the first year when they went to Fluffy. He shakes his head as if to clear his thoughts, not wanting to remember the both of them right now. He refuses to be swallowed by his anger towards them right now.
He slowly turns the doorknob, unsure if it would even open. To his surprise, he doesn't need to exert much force as the door seems to open by itself and welcome him inside.
The room was dark, with only windows to provide light. He glanced back at the Room of Requirement and saw no windows whatsoever. He knows it was still early in the morning because he passed by the Great Hall earlier and saw some students eating their breakfast and chatting with their friends.
He slowly walked inside the room, surprised to see stars lighting up the night sky when he looked at the windows. Does the Room of Requirement have its own time? Or was he really so out of it that he lost almost the whole day? Has the train left already? Would it even leave without him? Was someone looking for him right now?
A loud noise startled him from his thoughts as the door slammed shut behind him. He ran quickly and tried to open it, even using Alohomora thinking it was locked but it wouldn't budge. He stopped trying to open the door knowing it was futile and maybe he can think of a way to open it later.
He walks further into the room wanting to see what was inside it, maybe even looking for clues on how to get out of here.
‘Well we didn’t want to go to the ministry that night,did we?’
‘It’s your fault he went to the ministry, it’s your fault that he died, that we all almost died!’
‘Did it ever occur to you that you just put everyone in harm's way just because you stick to us!’
‘You only care about playing chase with wizards who can kill us on sight!’
Ron’s words earlier seem to echo inside his head as he continues to look around the dimly lit room. He could imagine Hermione scolding him for not calling a teacher for help. He could hear them bickering.
He could hear what exactly they would be saying right now despite how soundless everything was.
He spots a shiny thing hitting his face and he turns to follow the light, curious as to what it is. A big mirror, almost as big as Hagrid, covered in a grey cloth that's starting to gather dust, as if it hasn’t been used for the last century stands in front of him.
Looking around, he sees no one watching him, still remembering how Dumbledore seemingly appeared out of nowhere back when he first saw his parents in the Mirror of Erised. It was a very emotional moment for him, seeing his parents for the first time. H'e didn't appreciate how it looked like Dumbledore was watching him the whole time, all the while he was lowering his shields and feeling very vulnerable.
He didn’t want his emotions– his feelings –to be used as entertainment by older people who seemed like they had nothing else to do. Not anymore.
He pulls the fabric off of the mirror and has a coughing fit of all the dust that flew in the air–some he even inhaled, waving his hands to get the dust away from him.
He sees an oval mirror, its body is white and seems to be carved out of stone like the Greek pillars he once saw when he was at the local library looking at the picture books of different places. His Aunt and her family went on a trip abroad that year and they didn’t bother bringing him, saying how a freak like him would probably make the plane crash and kill everyone with him.
How ironic is it that they were probably right? He would end up killing everyone who even steps a foot near him. Everyone dies because of him.
He remembered going to the library everyday when Mrs. Figg would let him play outside with his ‘ friends’. He was jealous of Dudley and sad that he couldn’t ride a plane and travel so he looked at different landmarks of other countries, convincing himself that it was all the same and that way, he had a vacation without spending any money he didn’t have.
He tried touching the stone, wincing at its rough texture, the stone leaving a powder like coating in his hands.
“Speculum Somnium.” He reads the carving on the bottom of the mirror.
He looks at the carved words one more time before looking at the mirror itself. He thought it would be like the Mirror of Erised where he saw his parents holding him, looking proud of him–their son. He didn’t exactly understand what the mirror meant but he thought it would do the same thing.
Looking at the mirror, it was the first time he could see himself clearly. He was never allowed to be inside the bathroom at the Dursley’s long enough to take a good look at himself.
He also wasn’t focused on him when he first looked at the Mirror of Erised, too busy staring at his parents, watching their eyes light up as they smiled at him.
Was his hair really this messy? He reaches up to pass his hands through his hair feeling how dry it was, wincing as his fingers get caught off on tangles. When did his hair get this long? He knew he got a haircut last summer before he was attacked by the dementors, Vernon thought having long hair was shameful and too gay for him. He was forced to cut his hair that year even if he didn’t want to, Vernon threatening to kill Hedwig if he didn’t make his choice–only choice clear.
He continued to stare, flinching as he saw the red lightning bolt scar, looking like it was ready to burst blood at any moment. Putting his hair back to cover the scar as much as it could, he shifted his attention to his eyes.
He loved his eyes, how green it was. A lot of people often told him how vibrant it was, the colour seeming to thrum and glow, especially in the dark. Some compared it to the colour of the killing curse, awed how the only survivor could represent the spell with his eyes.
But he loved them for a whole different reason. It looked like his mum’s eyes.
It was her. He could feel her, imagine her looking at him with the exact same eyes. It was the only thing he had of her.
He stared at his eyes a little more, seeming to notice it glow a few times. He doesn’t want to leave. He just wanted to see his mum’s eyes, see how vibrant they were, imagine how much life those eyes could hold. How much love those eyes could show without her having to say any word.
So he stayed. He stayed there, standing in front of the mirror, smiling to himself as he imagined his mum comforting him, saying to him it wasn’t his fault. He stayed there as he couldn’t handle bottling his pain anymore and cried his heart out, watching how the green eyes slowly dimmed and lost their life– their glow. He imagined Dad and Sirius, teasing him for being a crybaby while she scolds the both of them for being childish and teasing him.
Imagining the life he should have had, could have had. It hurts.
It hurts more than Voldemort's Crucio.
It’s the knowledge that he could have had them, could have felt the love they were so ready to give. The idea of him growing up like every other child, of him being a kid–a normal kid, hurts more than any wound he could ever think of.
He cries, and cries until he can't even shed a tear anymore. His body is too tired, too exhausted to even produce more tears that he needs to cry everything out. He screams to no one in the room, his voice becoming hoarse the more he continues to shout at the empty room as an attempt to drown out everything surrounding him.
He looks at himself again and he lets out a pathetic laugh–a laugh that reminded him too much of Sirius. A man who died protecting him, a man he killed because he doesn’t know anything. A man who died laughing.
“ Bambi? ” A voice calls out.
Harry quickly turns around and he’s immediately haunted by the glow of green eyes like the killing curse, eyes that rivalled his own.