Who am I to Save?
Early morning classes were a burden, the waking sun: an alarm in the sky that kept him from dozing off in arguably one of the most boring classes on his schedule; history of magic. Harry hadn’t the capacity to take in all this information at the moment, unlike Hermione, who as always, was studiously taking notes. She seemed a lot more focused on lessons these days, studying every moment she didn’t need to do anything else. In the back of his mind he knew it was her way of coping, but he was too busy keeping himself somewhat sane to be a pillar of support in recent days. At the forefront of his mind, as stationary as his weekly routine, was always Draco Malfoy. Although he had not seen him today just yet, it was without fail that he couldn’t dare go a minute without at least a passing thought. It was starting to get old, really.
Finding out about Malfoy’s “extracurriculars” didn’t exactly help rid himself of the anxiety surrounding the death eater, not that it was one Harry was planning to get rid of anytime soon. He turns to an equally bored, uninterested Ron, nudging him with his elbow to get his attention as the professor ranted; writing important facts on the board. The red haired boy turns to his friend, eyebrows quirked up in curiosity.
“You know something funny?” Harry began, voice a whisper as to not disrupt the class.
“What?” Ron, thrilled to have a distraction from deadly boredom, was quick to engage.
“Malfoy goes to counselling, I’ve found out.” The boy sounded like a gossip, ironic to the fact that he was never fond of such ways of chattering about things that didn’t concern others. But his mind failed to see Draco Malfoy as more than a shallow villain with a lack of human complexity. Rumours about him would flourish with or without the brunette’s help, is what he believed.
“Seriously?” Harry’s friend exclaimed, leaning closer with eyebrows shot up and lids open wide. Not many expect for someone who had seemingly dwindling empathy to seek out help of his own. To the outside eye, it was rather conceited.
“Yeah. She’s got him writing in a diary like a little girl.” Harry couldn’t help but smile at the thought.
Hermione’s flickered gaze at the two boys went unnoticed, only pausing her writing for a moment before the scribbling noises of quill against paper resumed.
“Seriously?!” Ron sought confirmation, voice riddled with disbelief. It earned an eager nod from the Chosen One. “Malfoy, of all people… that’s mental.”
“I wonder what that shit is writing in there anyways, what’s he got to complain about? Lucky sod got off with a slap on the wrist. Fuck him.” Inevitably, he couldn’t help but let his hatred spill out, which thankfully no one saw as out of the ordinary.
“You gonna steal it?” A curious inquiry, and head askew to a tilt.
A furious Hermione suddenly chimed in,“Ron! Don’t encourage him!”
And he was quick to attempt a defence, “I’m not—” before being cut off.
“Silence! All of you!” Their volume control was soon out of control, and went extremely noticed by the professor who was quick to shut the trio up, to then continue the lesson.
Harry spent the rest of the time mildly embarrassed and staring at a blank wall instead of paying attention. The hours passed slowly as he occupied himself with but his thoughts again. He said not much onwards, barely bearing class after class, studies going in from one ear and out the other. Fatigue and inability to focus was only a daily occurrence now, and Harry didn’t care much to look into it. Harry Potter was fine.
Lunch rolled by after a while of daydreaming and dozing off in class, this time Harry able to get a semblance of a meal down his throat. A couple of days of utilising the break to take naps had finally caught up to his digestive system and aching mind. With a clear plate in a matter of minutes, his eyes finally looked up to scan the hall, finding Draco Malfoy blabbering on with his friends. The brunette stared at him, and as if on cue, silver eyes darted up to meet his own. Neither of them looked away, simmering in telepathic hatred for a moment before Ron snapped him out of it.
“Harry! Merlin, I thought I lost you.” Ron said dramatically, clutching his chest and tipping his head backwards.
With a roll to his eyes, Harry gently punched the ginger’s arm in annoyance. “Ha-ha.”
“Tell ‘Mione, would you? ‘Bout the diary.” Quickly he returned to what he originally wanted to discuss.
“Oh, I’ve heard you both this morning quite well, Ron, thank you.” As usual, Hermione was having none of the ongoing shenanigans. She dipped her head, taking a bite of food off of her plate.
“Well, I was just defending myself! I never said Harry should steal the diary, I asked if he would. Big difference. He’ll back me up.” Ron looked to his green-eyed friend for guidance, like a lost lamb.
“You’re still putting ideas in his head, you dumb lug. He doesn’t need any more of those.” The girl seethed at the boy who sat next to her, jabbing her fork in his direction, and Ron flinched.
Harry, quickly confused at Hermione’s statement, looked to her in perplexity. “Now, what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well— Harry… nothing. You just seem stressed out.” A quick exhale, expression softening. Hermione had obviously meant no harm towards the other boy, how could she?
The boy who lived wasn’t particularly sure on how to feel, that they noticed how he was acting. He pressed his lips together in a thin line, giving one curt nod. Picking and prodding at the remaining bits of his meal, he decided he wasn’t hungry anymore. Harry opted to just listen in on the conversation of his friends, making little comments.
He spaced out, trying to convince himself he and everything else in his life was fine. The last time he was really happy was probably right when he first joined Hogwarts, Harry Potter recalled. Everything was new, full of opportunities and the relieving lack of the Dursleys. Before he was a hero and just a little boy, navigating the new life he didn’t know would come to him. All he had to do was remember what it was like to feel like that again — carefree, for just a moment. When worries were simply just staying upright on a broom, and kiddie fights with Draco Malfoy. They weren’t children anymore, though. But it seems the bickering never really came to an end with the brunette and blonde. Old habits never die, he thought.
With his friends, he mindlessly walked through the halls after their meal concluded, separating from the both as they had differing courses at this hour. But on the way he had spotted a particular door hinging open; Cynthia Campbell, the new appointed counselor of Hogwarts, walked into her office with a hot, steaming mug of what Harry assumed to be tea or coffee, considering the hour. She seemed rather pleased, humming something under her breath before her office door swung shut.
The boy stood there for a moment, remembering how she had apparently been speaking to Draco Malfoy, and wondered what on earth the vile Slytherin could even be complaining about. Before giving it particularly any thought, he had barged into the woman’s office. She was already seated at her desk, flinching at the abrupt entrance of the student. Harry then realised he didn’t exactly have a plan for his approach, and was quickly overwhelmed with embarrassment. Before he could he could say anything, she did.
“Oh, dear! You’ve given me a fright.” She said with a bright smile on her face, seemingly unable to help but laugh. It confused him, her immediate friendliness despite his rude entrance. Harry stood silently, unsure what to do now.
“Is there something you wanted to talk about?” The counselor asked with a slight tilt to her head, taking a sip of her hot beverage. She seemed cozy, the office was as warm and welcoming as she appeared to be. When he had taken too long to respond, she spoke up again. “Harry, yes? Please, take a seat.”
So, with mild reluctance, he did. Of course she knew who he was, because, who wouldn’t? It was starting to get old, really. He’d rather someone just ask for his name, for once. The Chosen One sat there quietly, as Cynthia patiently waited for him to start speaking. It felt like she’d be pretty content in just sitting in silence, but he certainly wasn’t. It wasn’t what he came in here to do, whatever that was. He might as well make use of his stupid blunder.
“You—.. you talk to students, right? About their problems?” Voice quiet, as if hesitant to even utter a word. The woman smiled even wider, if that was even possible. Her cheeks wrinkled upwards and lines creased themselves around her eyes, worn from smiling so much over the years.
“Yes, love, that’s one of my duties here.” It was a simple statement, curated just as a link for the boy on her couch to continue the thoughts he may have.
It took a moment to proceed with his next question; “so, you’ve spoken to Draco Malfoy?” And that was clearly not what she was expecting to hear, but the smile remained upon her complexion despite it, barely even noticeable that it was just slightly smaller.
“I can’t talk to you about other students, dear.” She set her mug down, pulling her shawl closer together as though she was cold.
“But you have. I’ve seen him here.” Harry proceeded despite the pushback, frustration in his voice, brows furrowed.
Her smile dimmed, still trying to keep a mostly positive expression. “Harry, do you want to speak to me about something regarding yourself? I’m here to help you, if you have any issues you’d like to work through.”
Harry Potter shook his head, stubbornly still trying to get what he wants out of this circumstance. “You don't understand,” he insisted. “He’s dangerous. A death eater. He could hurt other people, Ms. Campbell.”
The woman finally expressed some semblance of a frown, straightening her relaxed posture as she pulled out a pile of papers that then dropped in front of her. She didn’t look up at him as she spoke again, shuffling through the documents. “If you aren’t here to talk about yourself, then I’m going to have to ask you to leave, Mr. Potter.”
A frown sunk itself into his skin, sitting there for only a few more seconds before storming off. If he knew this was going to be completely pointless, he wouldn’t have stopped by. It seemed like she didn’t take the danger of a death eater like Draco Malfoy waltzing the halls seriously. Maybe she was even working with the bloke, for all Harry knew. Now he was both angry, and late to his next class. He stomped through the halls onwards, knowing this would plague him for the rest of the day.
The boy who lived zoned out all the way through the rest of his schedule of the day, then sitting red and fuming in the lounge as he sat with his friends. A loud tapping noise emitted from his foot as it shook constantly, sitting stiff against the couch. He had barely focused on the chatting going on around him.
“I'm telling you, it looked like Umbridge.” The Weasley boy asserted, pointing his finger at Hermione as he spoke to her.
She looked tired of the conversation, dragging out a long sigh and rolling her eyes playfully. “Ron, a mole cannot look like a person.”
“Yes it can! You saw it too, I know you did.” He nudged her.
“This is bullying. I don't know why you were analysing that poor bloke's neck anyway.” The curly haired girl turned her head away, peeking at the boy in her peripheral vision.
“It's not bullying. He's not here.”
“That’s foul logic.”
“Alright, what do you think it looked like?” A stupid grin plastered itself onto his face.
“Ron.” Hermione turned to face him once more, a scornful look threatening itself in the direction of the other.
“Come on. Tell me.” But the boy persisted.
The Gryffindor girl huffed in defeat, unable but to crack a small smile. “... Well it didn’t look like Umbridge, but.. it did.. look kind of like a flobberworm..”
The ginger began to laugh. “No way! It was definitely Umbridge reincarnated. Far too ugly to be a flobberworm.”
“Reincarnated as a mole on our classmate's neck? She's not even dead.” An eyebrow raised itself upwards with askance.
“Yes. Harry, you agree, right?” Ron Weasly looked to his seemingly silent friend for solidarity, gauging what he had to say about the matter.
But Harry had nothing to say at all, as if he didn't even hear him. This seemed to be a glaring pattern in his behaviour as of late, that was occurring too often to keep going unnoticed.
“You alright, mate?” Ron leaned forward, elbows on his knees with both of his hands clasped together due to the lack of response, Hermione sitting cross legged next to the boy, finally taking notice of how Harry Potter was acting.
“Peachy.” Stiff, oozing with sarcasm. His arms were crossed straight against his chest, boring a hole into the ground with his lazer-like fixated gaze. He didn’t even look up.
“Did something happen?” Ron continued, tempted to place a hand on his friend's shoulder if it didn’t feel like the action would cause him to detonate.
The boy sighed, facial expression barely twitching in acknowledgement of the question, but without a regard to formulate a response.
“You’ve been off since after lunch, I hope it wasn’t what I said.” Hermione finally said, a worrisome tone apparent in her voice.
“No. No, of course not, ‘Mione.” The boy looked up sincerely, finally speaking, but soon went back to anger as he’d share what they'd asked of him. “Malfoy.” Hermione and Ron exchanged a glance that the green eye’d boy was too angry to notice. “Well, the counselor, actually.”
That statement clearly confused the both of them, to which Harry immediately responded, or rather merely continued rambling. “I went to speak to her before class. It was unplanned, really.”
Hermione could've been optimistic at the idea of Harry speaking to the counselor if it wasn’t for his seething demeanor, and the frantic mention of Draco Malfoy. Neither of his friends managed to say much as they listened to him speak.
“And was absolutely bloody useless anyway. She wouldn’t tell me anything when I asked about Malfoy! Like she truly doesn’t understand how horrible he is. I’m sure he pretends in front of her, why would she keep his secrets otherwise?” The boy rambled on. “She wouldn’t even admit he sees her. Does she think I’m stupid?”
“Harry—” Ron tried to speak up only to be cut off by the continuation of what felt like hysteria. Draco Malfoy made Harry hysterical, to no end.
“She was a dead end, and obviously he won’t tell me straight up. He wants to provoke me and run around as if I went headless.” He gestured in frustration with both hands. “It’s like everyone is suddenly okay with him. I mean, she lied to me about him! I really didn’t think he’d go so far as to start brainwashing people but oh, I shouldn’t be surprised, should I? What next—”
“Hush!” Hermione practically yelled. “She’s a counselor Harry, she would get fired if she told you anything about anyone! Please, just think logically about this.” It was obvious Harry’s irritated state wasn’t only secluded to him anymore, his foul mood suddenly contagious.
“You think I’m not being logical? He’s a death eater, Hermione! You’ve seen what he’s capable of. Come on.” He started to get louder.
“She’s right, man. I mean, if you’ve been looking into him for this long and coming up with nothing, I don’t think there is anything for you to find. I-... at this point, it’ll become harassment, with the counselor and everything. I’m just—”
Harry abruptly stood up, and so did the both of them, Ron with his hands slightly upwards as though to catch him if he tried to flee. “Seriously?! You both can’t be saying this bullocks right now. This is Malfoy we’re talking about! And you’re defending him?”
“We are not defending him! Merlin, Harry, I don’t like the sod either, but look at yourself! I’m tired of hearing about him, I don’t care what he is or isn’t doing, he shouldn’t be your problem anymore! This isn’t good for you!”
The three got louder, practically having a screaming match with no one to mediate now that Hermione is a part of it. “Isn’t my problem? What about the rest of the bloody school? What if he hurts someone? Malfoy’s–”
“Malfoy what, Harry?!” Hermione seethed, Ron placing a careful hand on her shoulder to try and calm her down.
“Malfoy-.. He’s— he’s horrid, a tosser, and I know he has to do with— with what I’m supposed to do next with Voldemort.” He was out of breath and in a panic, both Ron and Hermione’s anger fading completely to a look that the chosen one couldn’t decipher. Something as though pity, until it finally clicked.
“Harry..” Ron began, Hermione as if too stunned to utter another word. But this was all the brunette could take before storming off, pushing straight through the both of them and stomping up to his dorm room.
He sounded crazy, felt crazy. Tom riddle was dead, he knew that. And yet it didn’t feel like he was completely gone, somehow festering through him even in his absence, squeezing at his heart and whirling through the depths of his mind like he wasn’t done with Harry yet. He felt himself spiral, unable to take but short, fast breaths that shook through his trembling body which collapsed onto his bed. He clutched at his chest, as if it would help him carry the weight that he felt drop through it. But he couldn’t stop the overdue tears dampening the pillow beneath him, sobbing so quietly that he was unsure whether or not it was actually happening. Harry was so far into the past, that he felt as though he had forgotten the future already occurred.
It exhausted him, all the overwhelming and sudden thoughts, and his body gave out into a deep sleep, face wet with still falling tears. It had been a while since the boy had cried so earnestly before, he became so unused to the feeling. But it felt good to finally rest, despite the fact that he had to exhaust himself so much that his body fell to do it.
The next morning was numb, body sore and aching as he tried to move. Getting ready was a lot slower than usual, trying to avoid the passing glances of the ginger boy who was near. He tried to hurry up but his body failed him, and he could only slowly clean himself up. Ron didn’t stay quiet for long.
“You know, I was thinking,” he began, hoping Harry was listening. He was careful, quiet. “You should talk to Cynthia. For yourself. I think it could help, instead of fussing over Malfoy.” The mere mention of the Slytherin guaranteed a lack of response from the brunette. Ron immediately regretted saying anything, he could see it as he uncomfortably adjusted his jacket. Harry usually wasn’t one to ignore his friends, but his recent mood swings and frustration lead to clouded judgement and misplaced anger.
It went so far to the point that he hadn’t shown up for breakfast, which had Malfoy and his minions eyeing the now duo in suspicion. He didn’t attend most classes, at least the ones he had with either Ron or Hermione. They didn’t see him anywhere roaming in the halls, nor did Ron see him leave in the first place. He was still in the Gryffindor Tower.
He did naught but pace around, lay thoughtless in his bed or draw snitches in one of his notebooks. Occasionally he checked the map, to know where his friends ought to be, and to watch as Draco Malfoy’s name floated from one classroom to another. He tried to not think of much, or anything at all. It proved to be rather boring until classes had all finally come to an end, and he had an excuse to spy on Malfoy.
From his closet he snatched his cloak, planning to rush to the astronomy tower where the other boy’s name had finally settled. It was late, and people were either out studying or slacking off in the common rooms, where he happened to see his friends as he snuck off — but not before listening in curiously as he heard his name whispered between the two.
“Do you think we were harsh?” Hermione ran her fingers through her mane of hair anxiously, twirling and pulling strands between her fingers.
He shook his head. “We should just give him some time, yeah? Not really a point in bothering him now.” As Harry watched the two speak, he noticed the ginger often biting his nails. From the looks of it, it didn’t seem like a recent habit. It could be that he was just too caught up in himself to notice it start.
The girl shifted in her seat. “But you saw what happened. Harry completely lost it. It— it was mental. I’ve never seen him this bad before.”
“Or he was just hiding it well, ‘Mione. It wasn’t that sudden, if you think about it. He’s been off, like all of us. Maybe he didn’t even know how bad he was doing until we up and made him explode.” It was odd, seeing Ron being the one to comfort Hermione for a change. The chosen one didn’t realise how good he was at it.
“Ron…” She said, a sigh as the boy in front of her reached to take her hand out of her hair and cup it between his own two. They both seemed to soften.
“Let’s just hope the next time it happens, we’ll be the ones catching him instead of pushing him over the edge, okay? You know neither of us meant to do this. He’ll realise it soon enough too, he’s tough.”
Harry Potter felt discomfort in lingering any longer, unused to hearing them speak about him when he wasn’t around. It was pushed gingerly to the back of his mind as he continued his journey to the tower, in which he originally set out to go.