take me to the rooftop
Ch.1 - take me to the rooftop
The year ended, like it always did. Students lagged and joked about exams. The sun shined, the birds sang, the giant squid swam in it’s lake. Teachers smiled at the students boarding the train. The trolly witch loaded her cart with a smile for every student. The students of Hogwarts said goodbye and hoped for a better year next year.
The world kept turning, despite the horrible events. Even after Harry’s stopped. He couldn’t just move on. A life ended. He watched life fade from a body. A boy’s life actually stopped. No longer would Cedric wish, or dream, or hope, hate, love, feel pain or happiness. Cedric just stopped being. He wouldn’t get to graduate Hogwarts or get married, see his sister graduate, meet his children or grandchildren. He would be forgotten, just a footnote in history, and no one would remember the kind and loyal child, because that’s what he was- a child. Voldemort ended the life of a boy with a bright future, a boy with hopes and dreams that would now never come true.
His screams of agony were only drowned out by Cedric’s sister. Nothing was more horrifying than her scream and sobbing. He can’t get those screams out of his head. Or Bella’s face. Or Amos Diggory’s cries for his son to wake up. He felt Bella and Amos grab Cedric’s cold dead body. Somewhere deep in his brain, behind the grief and sadness, he remembered reading about how the body becomes cold and pale after death. Because the heart no longer pumps warm blood through the body.
The train ride back was a blur. He ended up in the back of Vernon’s car. Not even a week after Cedric’s death and he is sent back to back to the Dursley’s, like a relic to put away on the shelf until the next time he can be put to use. He couldn’t even remember Cedric’s funeral. Did people cry? Did he cry? People loved Cedric. He loved Cedric. Everyone loved Cedric because he was kind to everyone no matter their house or blood. He actually believed Harry.
Somehow he ended up in the smallest bedroom in Number 4 Privet Drive. Hedwig was on the ledge near his window letting out soft hoots. Momentarily nudging his arm to get him to drink water or eat some bread. Nothing really mattered anymore. He’s not needed, eventually someone will want their golden boy to dance for them. Maybe he will. Maybe he will play the part of a hero or villain, or a cautionary tale to the young witch or wizard. No matter his pain or grief he would get up and smile and play the part of their Boy-Who-Lived to please the people.
He spent the first week just laying in bed crying. Not loud sobbing like when the cup brought back to a stadium full of cheering people. Not the like the cries of Cedric’s mother when she saw her baby boys cold dead body. No, he cried silently, no sound escaped him. He mourned in silence for the boy who wouldn’t get to live. He already lost the little weight he got from his 4th year at Hogwarts. After his 3rd day crying, he felt too numb to do anything but lay on his bed. He had no energy to do much but lay on his bed.
He couldn’t tell minutes apart from days, days from weeks. He hardly noticed the banging, just staring at the peeling wallpaper on the wall across from his mattress. It wasn’t particularly pretty wallpaper. Just a simple blue, with faded stars on them. The spot where it began to peel had the brightest star. Focusing on the wallpaper distracted him from the noise outside his bubble that was his room. In this space surrounded by blue and stars and peeling wallpaper there was no death or pain.
He didn’t react to the wood hitting his cheek when his angry uncle broke his door open. He didn’t react when his uncle began yelling at him. Saying horrible things. He didn’t seem to notice his aunt staring in quiet horror as his uncle grabbed his arm and pulled him roughly off his bed just wanting a reaction to his anger.
Harry immediately fell to the floor, too weak to even stand. He didn’t try to stand up or defend himself. He deserved the sure beating he will probably receive by his angry uncle. Maybe he just wanted to feel something, anything.
The first thing he felt in over a week was his uncles foot to his chest. Ribs cracked, his head hit the ground hard, he didn’t bother to protect himself. The kicks kept coming. Stomach, chest, legs, head, they all took a beating. The pain was a welcome change. No more numbness or cold. It felt like fire spreading up and down his weak body. Something about the pain helped him. Like water rushing over him and cleaning his brain of the fog that made its residence up there.
It felt like hours before the panic set in. When his chest struggled to rise and fall.
He couldn’t breathe, he can’t see. It hurts. Is that him crying? Copper and salt is what he tastes. His brain is slow and scattered. He can’t think, but it’s never been clearer. I’m dying, he thinks. No he knows. It’s ok though. The pain of Cedric’s death is gone. He is mildly aware of his uncle yelling. Maybe he said something about an ambulance. But it doesn’t matter. It’s too late.
He’s dying, his breath is hardly coming now. His heart is too slow, struggling to beat.
He thinks, he’ll miss his friends. He hopes they’ll forgive him for giving up. But he’s not sorry. Life dealt him a shit hand. He will miss the days lazing by the lake his head in Hermione’s lap and Ron’s in his. He might even miss working on homework and listening to Hermione’s rants. He’ll miss flying with Ron and worrying him with his death-defying stunts. He’ll even miss Malfoy, and their constant verbal sparring.
His mind stopped with his breathing. His lungs and heart have stopped. The pain of his broken body is nonexistent now. He feels not happy, but bliss, pure bliss. No more Voldemort, no more pain, no more. He thinks that his mom might have a beautiful smile when they are reunited in death. He can be happy again.
He can’t think anymore.
Is this it?
His chest shudders one last time and Harry thinks, that peeling wallpaper is a pretty colour.
He hopes that wherever he ends up, that he gets to see the sun again.