Harry J. Potter (justascar) wrote in afic, @ 2011-02-07 23:26:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | character: harry potter, character: luna lovegood, x player: lara, x player: myriam |
Who: Harry Potter and Luna Lovegood
Where: Luna's flat
When: Monday morning
What: Harry really, really needs help
Rating: A
WARNING: Talk of suicidal thoughts. Please don't read if this bothers you.
Status: In progress
Harry had been assigned to another case and had had to give his statement (several times) to his superiors in the interrogation room. Nothing had happened, but it was precisely what appeared to worry them; that Harry hadn't caught anyone. Every day now, it seemed to be getting worse - every day that he didn't bring someone in, it was as though he were admitting guilt, as if he had simply let them go and was covering for them, or else not doing his job at all to allow the suspected terrorists to roam free. It was guilty until proven innocent, and every day, Harry felt that noose tightening around his neck, felt the walls closing in so tight that he almost couldn't breathe.
Metaphorically.
Even if sometimes, the notion that he could easily tighten a real noose appealed in a way that so few things ever had.
And so, Harry didn't know that anything amiss had occurred the previous evening; of course, Hermione had been late coming home, but since Ron had been out as well, Harry had simply assumed that they were out together. He hadn't waited up for them, had gone to bed and been up at 9pm for his overnight shift.
When he arrived home, however, an owl was pecking impatiently at his window. After taking the time to doff his outer robes, Harry let it in, but before he could so much as open the envelope, much less pen a reply, it was gone again in a flurry of wings. The envelope was blank, but within was a note addressed to Hermione Granger's next of kin. That she had been attacked and was remaining at St Mungo's overnight for observation. Harry blindly lowered himself onto the arm of the sofa, having missed the cushion by a wide margin. They were keeping her overnight. She had been attacked. They were keeping her overnight. They would reassess the situation tomorrow. Expected to make a full recovery.
Harry didn't need to look at his journal to know that everyone must know already; with this Ministry, with the journals, secrets were as secret now as at Hogwarts; if something had happened and one person knew about it, everyone did. Except for him, obviously.
He also didn't need to know how things were going to go now: he had publicly kicked her out of the house and now, she had been attacked on her way home. Considering Harry's recent history with those who had, at one time, been considered 'friends', it would have been stupid to assume that they might be supportive of him this time. If they didn't each fall all over themselves, accusing him of being both the worst man in the world as well as the worst friend, they would be telling him they were disappointed in him, that it was his fault, and that he should be ashamed. That they were ashamed for him. Of that, there was no doubt, and Harry could already begin to feel his heart rate kick up, feel the nausea rise along with the anxiety that brought it. Harry was already beginning to panic like a trapped animal - like the trapped animal he was: trapped at work, unable to do his job like the others, untrusted despite everything he had done for them; trapped in his social life without a network of any sort to help him through, without friends to shoot him the occasional smile, just something to make him feel worthwhile; trapped at home, with Hermione who, he thought, had to fear him still, Hermione who had gotten hurt, Ron who loved her and had to stand by while she was in pain, while she was attacked and pretend not to care, Ron who would worry himself sick over her, because that was what Ron did; trapped in the DA without being able to have a voice of his own, without support from any other member who believed (probably correctly) that he was a monster. Harry had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and more than ever in his life, Harry wished he could have his mother.
Hermione had gotten hurt. And he couldn't go visit her. Hermione had gotten hurt and was alone, right now, at the hospital. Because of him. Because he had 'kicked her out'. How many more times could Harry hurt his friends before he was forced to take the blame, where it was quite obviously due.
Without any concrete thought, Harry walked to his room, dropping the note from St. Mungo's somewhere along the way, and fell to his knees by his bed. He reached under the mattress and a moment later, pulled out a length of rope a long as his two outstretched arms and as thick around as his thumb.
"I won't even disturb the air around me when I die," he heard himself whisper as the thumbed the soft rope, his gaze lost in its strands. "Who's going to care? Hermione? She'll be better off. So will Ron. Might even be enough to push them together, get that rubbish 'waiting' out of the way. Who else is there? The DA? They don't care. They want me dead. Obviously. Not doing enough for them, keeping my position in the Ministry. Think I'm living it up over there. Don't see. They never see. They'll never see. They want me to lead against something invisible, something so much strong, something I don't understand and never will. They want me to stand with them and fight, branded and useless. They want me to give my life. Like last time. They want this. And I have no family."
If it sounded like he was talking himself into it, Harry didn't notice. His gaze empty and flat, Harry slowly uncoiled the rope, then wrapped and knotted it, creating his noose. Hermione would feel better, he reminded himself. Maybe not at first. She'd probably feel guilty. At fault. But it wouldn't last, even if she would care. Probably. Luna...
Luna.
Harry stilled, frowning down at the noose, the only thing he could see. Luna wouldn't understand, he thought. Luna would wonder. It would probably not eat away at her - nothing ever could - but it might make her sad. It seemed a pity...
The sun was up by the time Harry looked away from the rope. He didn't know how long he'd been staring at it, how long he'd been kneeling, but when he rose, his knees had long ago stiffened and refused to straighten. He had to lean on the bed to stand, and it was all he could do to drop the rope on his way to the door, where he doubled back for his cloak.
No sooner had he closed and locked the door behind him that Harry apparated to Luna's flat, where he rang the doorbell and knocked the door. It didn't occur to him that it was ridiculously early and that he was likely waking her up. The world around him had ceased to exist long ago, on the floor of his bedroom with the rope in his hands and visions of himself hanging---
"Luna, please," he whispered to the wood, desperate. "Please."