Deal with it or Die Trying

by sweetdivine20

Summary:

Harry has been struggling to sleep recently and Hermione and Co has noticed. She decides to confront him in front of the entire great hall one night and certain Slytherins take notice. What will happen what they all have a decent conversation for the first time for the entire time they are at school. One thing will lead to another. How will Harry navigate the rest of 5th year with the ministry, Voldemort and now the entire school breathing down his back?

Chapter 1: The start of a new era

It all started after Harry had not been able to get Dreamless sleep for the past eight days. He had been walking through school like a zombie, looking dead with bags under his eyes so dark that they could be mistaken for bruises. Every time he tried to sleep it would bring nightmares that woke up his housemates.

*

“Harry, you can't carry on like this.” Hermione had spoken to him one night during dinner in the great hall.

“I'm not having this conversation with you again Hermione,” Harry sighed. “Get your nose out of my business.”

He looked down, missing the looks Ron and Hermione gave each other. Trying another bite of his shepherd's pie but it tasted like sand going down his throat. Harry sighed and then got up to leave when he heard clamouring behind him.

“STOP. For once listen to me, Harry!” Hermione screeched. Not a sound was heard in the entire hall. The clinking of utensils has stopped and conversations were interrupted to watch the golden trio have their first argument in public.

“You haven't slept in days, the only food you eat is dinner and even then you only have a couple of bites, we never see you anymore” She gestured to her and Ron was standing on the opposite side of the table with worry and resignation etched on his face. “All you do all day is stay quiet, not speaking a word, whatever happened in the graveyard cannot have affected you that much.”

Harry turned around. The Slytherin table is next to the Gryffindor one so he could see the group of Slytherins that have caused torment for the past 4 years but have been suspiciously quiet this year after Voldy's resurrection. He could see Malfoys platinum head as he spun around as well as Nott, Parkinson and Zabini all watching intently.

“Excuse me?” Harry spoke quietly in a manner that spits so much venom into his words the basilisk decomposing in the chamber would be jealous. It was Ron's turn to speak up.

“It just…mate..well you've not been exactly all there this year and you haven't spoken to anyone about what happened last June,” Harry flinched at the casual mention of the graveyard.

“So you're telling me that because I don't want to tell you everything about my life, that gives you the right to interrogate me in front of the school” Harry spread out his arms and looked around. This causes quiet murmurs and silent apologies from the people around him. “No, no, no. Let them hear my personal life again, it will end up on the Daily Prophet anyway.”

“You are smart Hermione, Try and figure this one out for yourself. Maybe, and hear me out here,” Harry stalked forward to her and bent down so they were face to face. “ I don't get a word in from all the hounding you two give me about essays, homework, quidditch, studies.” He said, listing them off on his hands.

“ WE DIDN'T DO IT TO HURT YOU, JUST TO TALK TO YOU!” Hermione screamed at the top of her lungs so loud Harry reeled back. Her face was red, with fury and embarrassment on her face. And how dare her. How fucking dare her.

“BUT WHAT IF YOU DID” He yelled back with such fury Hermione flinched back. Harry was faintly aware of Ron crossing the table and trying to get in between them, but he had held his fury in for so long that it was bubbling over. The lamps around the hall had burned brighter and stronger than ever. His magic was rolling off his body in such intense waves that Harry could feel his family magic from Potter, Black, Peverall and Slytherin and was sure others could too. He took a quick glance over the hall, but his eyes stopped on a certain steely-eyed Slytherin. Green connected to silver. They made eye contact for a few seconds. But it was enough to apparently earn a slap to the face from Hermione.

Harry turned his head back to her. She was standing there, her hand outstretched. Breathing heavily with tears in her eyes threatening to slip down her red and blotchy cheeks. Gasps were heard throughout the hall. Ron reached out to hold Hermione's shoulder as if to comfort her.

No.

No, getting slapped was for 4 Privet Drive, this isn't meant to happen. Hogwarts is a place where he's safe from that. Hermione was meant to be safe for him. He’d trusted her and Ron enough to tell them about the Dursleys' treatment of him and almost everything that came with it; he didn't think he could tell anyone the full extent of what happened within those walls. But he trusted them to never hurt him. And that trust is broken. And it will never be fixed.

“I-I-I'm sorry Harry..” she started. Tears were leaking down her face now, her chest was heaving “I-I- don't know what came over me, please..”

Harry looked at her with indifference. And that seemed to hurt her more than anything. She started to reach towards him and he stepped back.

“Leave me alone, Granger”

A deafening silence filled the hall.

The end of the golden trio.

“Harry” she started in between broken sobs, and she reached out again and Harry just lost it.

He punched her in the nose with such force that she fell to the stone floor, Ron kneeling next to her.

“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT FOR!” Ron yelled at him pulling a shaking Hermione up to stand with him, facing Harry.

Two against one. Very brave.

Harry looked down at his knuckles and saw a bruise forming and coated with her blood. He smiled. He smiled because finally, he controlled something in his miserable life. It didn't matter that it was hurting one of his first friends. Because HE did it. He looked back up and saw the two looking at him in resignation and..was that fear?

He spun on his heel out of the great hall, the candles going back to normal, as he felt the group of four in green watching him leave, eyes trailing his back.

Chapter 2: The quickest walk ever

Summary:

After Harry leaves the great hall he fins himself having an interesting conversation.

Harry stalked through Hogwarts' cold walls. His thoughts were racing so fast they would put his firebolt to shame. Merlin, it's over. 4 and a half years are finished that quickly. After Hermione, no, Granger had slapped him all the memories that they had made had gone out the window. How could she? She knew what the Dursleys had done to him, he had the scars to prove it.

One on his left shoulder blade, the result of making dinner 6 minutes too late. 6 lashes, buckle side. 4 lines on his neck. He had planted the lilys wrong so Petunia slashed at him in anger. One from dropping a cup. On his ribs from being pushed into the sharp edge of the countertop.

Everything on his body tells a story, for better or for worse. Each one, Harry had pointed out to Granger and Wealey and had been met with a pitying look in their eyes and empty promises to never let him go back there. Of course that wasn't true. Every year he was sent back, and every year he would come back with a new collection of healing scars, bruises littering his skin and cheekbones that jutted out too violently.

Snapping back to reality, Harry found himself outside the potions classroom. Looking around, he saw no straggling student coming from dinner so he decided to enter the room. Sometimes when he's not distracted by his classmates or Hermi-Grangers droning about how OWLS are important, Harry looks at the beauty of the dungeons. Truly look. There are 6 tables spread evenly in the room. Upon every wall was a potion or ingredient. Approaching the shelves he could read the small pieces of parchment on each bottle.

“Newt eyes”
“Eagle talons”

“Mermaid tears”

Briefly brought back to the second task, Harry could still feel the water filling up his throat before the gillyweed came into effect. He decided there would be no more thinking about the tournament, lest he think of Cedri-

“Mermaid tears, mermaid tears, mermaid tears” Harry repeated the phrase in an attempt to not think about it. He refused to think about it.

Deciding it was too dark to be standing alone in a cold, damp cellar, he waved his hands and the candles immediately came to life at his command. An orange glow overtook the gloomy room. As Harry looked to his left, he could see four shadows approaching him. Not taking any risks, he grasped his was and cast an invisible wordless shield in front of him.

“No need to show off, Potter. '' A deep, aristocratic voice sounded from one of the figures.

“Anything for you, Zabini” Harry said chuckling and turning around, batting his eyelashes cartoon-like.

Illuminated by the lamp light, Harry could just make up the features of the four Slytherins. Blaise Zabini, with his deep skin and regal features, will with both amusement and indifference all at once. Theodore Nott, lightly tanned skin and dark hair, mused but somehow perfect. Eyes, ice blue that seemed as if they were piercing into him. Pansy Parkison. Pale skin, a stark contrast to her dark brown, almost black hair cut sharply to her chin with bangs sitting on her eyebrows. Finally, his eyes landed on Draco Malfoy with features that looked as if he had been hand-carved to be a statue. Skin so pale and hair so white it looked like it had been touched but snow it had never melted. Grey eyes met him for the second time in one night and something shifted within Harry which made him uneasy.

Looking away after thoroughly surveying each of them, Harry turned back to the shelves of ingredients. Reading different labels.

“Dragon Scales”

“Rabbit Ears”

“Troll Urine”

“What was that wonderful show in the great hall?” Parkinson attempted to speak disinterestedly but it was clear that she was beyond curious what had caused the sudden argument.

“I don't see how that's any of your business” he had said examining his fingernails.

“No, I suppose not”

“Right, this has been fun but I must go to my dormitories.” Harry stated, putting one of the vials back up in its place and swivelling around to face the group. Harry could feel the deep cuts on his hand from the blood quill pull.

Malfoy looks as if he has a million questions he wants to ask but steps out of the way anyway. Without another word of glance, Harry continues out of the potions door and into a corridor, mostly desolate but holding a few students clad in green, seemingly making their way to the common room

Remembering this second year, Harry tries to recall where the common room was but all he could think of at that moment was how he and Ron were the ones that went there. With the polyjuice potion Hermione made in the girls' bathroom.

He was too tired for this.

Beginning to walk back up to Gryffindor, he thought back to how he had gotten into this predicament again.

It wasn't even his fault he wasn't sleeping. It was Madox’s. Madox owns and brews for Mr Mulpepper’s Apothecary in Diagon Alley. He and Mr Mulpepper had become well acquainted since fourth year. During the last two years, Harry had grown a dependency on Dreamless Sleep potion to ward off his many nightmares. Madox and him frequently exchanged conversation via letters. A month ago Madox had refused to send any more of the addictive purple potion. Of course, Harry had been angry. He had written letter after letter to the apothecary, each one more aggressive than the other. He had not slept for the last 32 days, only a couple of hours every week. And each time he fell asleep, the most vicious nightmares haunted him after dark.

Harry was walking through a field. It had long thin pieces of grass and a few dandelions scattered throughout it. Looking up, Harry could see the gravestone again and could see himself on it again, hoisted up by the scythe against his neck. And Harry could feel it on his neck, as he was standing to the side. Voldemorts appeared with what looked like a cursed knife in his hands. It had a thick silver blade, about a forearm long. The blade had large chunks of sharp emerald on it, sticking out at odd angles. With determination, Voldemort approached his body tied to the gravestone. Harry tried to move to help his memory but found his feet stuck to the floor. It was all fine until Voldemort started to trace his arm with the blade leaving shallow cuts on his body. His memory and he were wincing in agony. It seemed that whatever Voldemort was doing to him, Harry could feel it too. The pain was bearable until the knife was pushed into his thigh. Harry gasped. The sharp blade sliced through each layer of skin and muscle with ease until it hit his bone. Harry at this point was on the floor clutching his heavily bleeding leg and Voldemort went back and forth with the blade tapping the bone again and again. With one last push, Voldemort had cracked the bone and was now slicing it lower, towards his knee. Agony was all Harry could feel and there was no escaping it. It consumed his mind and body. The emeralds were causing damage to his inner muscle by grazing them. Just as Harry thought he was going to pass out, he woke up.

So can you blame him for needing the position to sleep? He hasn't slept for 8 days straight at the moment so he was a bit delirious as he reached Gryffindor tower and said the password. Stepping into the room, all voices went quiet. A February chill passed through the tower as he walked through it. Without a word to anyone, he went to his dorm room to find it empty. Quickly as to not see anyone of the others he stripped his clothes and replaced them with pyjamas and quickly went into his bed to sleep, shutting the curtains and casting the strongest silencing charm he could do.

This was the start of months of agony.

Notes:

Thank you for all the support in the first chapter. I pumped the second one out quickly, so enjoy. Kudos and comments are always appreciated. 🥰

Chapter 3: Pain is just an Illusion

Summary:

Harry's dream holds more than the graveyards and green lights.

Harry woke up but something was different, instead of waking up in his dorm room with red and gold curtains surrounding him, he woke up and saw a plane of whiteness. Everywhere you turned, there was no end, only a bright light that blinded you if you looked too long. Panicking a little bit, Harry spun on his heel only to come face to face with Voldemort on his heel.

Voldemort looked different. His eyes still showed up such as red rubies and they still had their manic glitch to them. But something about the way he carried himself had altered.

“Hello Harry, lovely to see you again,” Voldemort spoke with a sense of pride as if he had accomplished something he was longing to complete. “It seems that we have a connection and I wish to find out how far it can go.” Voldemort stalked forward so he was close to Harry, chest to chest.

“Excuse me, I don't know what you’re on, or if your little death eaters fed you some random shit, but uh, I will not be taking part in your ‘little experiment’.”

Just as Harry was about to back away from Voldemort, a skeletal, white hand shot up to grip his face. Voldemort's sharp nails dug into Harry's cheek, surely leaving red marks later as he smiled, revealing sharp teeth like daggers.

“Not so fast, I control what happens here, I control when you wake up, I control what you feel, I control how you look to the outside world, dear Harry.”

Harry's blood drained from his face. What was happening? Is this a dream of real life? At this point, Harry is regretting not sleeping more in the past few days because maybe this was his body punishing him for his lack of care. Yes, that makes more sense.

“This is real Harry. Just you and me. I crafted this.” There was that look in his eye. The one of a person whose sanity is long gone. It’s hard to remember that Lord Voldemort was once Tom Riddle. Tom Riddle. A Slytherin, prefect, model student. But Harry knew Tom was never just that. He is a scheming mastermind who has never known love and never will due to Meropes love potion.

After second year, Harry had done lots of research on Tom Riddle's life and found out about the circumstances of his birth, how he had killed his father and uncle and most importantly, the Horcruxes. From what Harry knows, Voldemort has 5 Horcruxes that Harry knew about. The diary, Gaunt Ring, Slytherin Locket, Ravenclaw's Diadem and Hufflepuffs Cup. Although he had started suspecting Voldemort's snake as one because of how closely and viciously Voldemort protects her though he had suspected Gryfindors sword at first.

The longest to hunt down was the Diadem which is sitting in the Peverell Vaults at the moment. When finding the ancient artefact, he had apparated straight to Gringotts and placed it in the vault no one but him could have access to. Harry had told no one about what he had learnt about Tom. Even when he had left for Gringotts in his fourth year and Hermione had interrogated him about why he was leaving the castle at 11 at night, he had told her he needed fresh air.

If there was one thing Harry was good at, it was playing the game. If he wanted, he could be better than Hermione in studies, already been playing for a professional quidditch team and have killed Umbridge. But by seeming mediocre in studies it gives him the chance to observe Hermione and ensure she doesn't feel the need to try and one up him. Harry plays slower in games to not make Ron too jealous due to his less-than-average quidditch skills. And Umbridge is well,.. Umbridge it can't be that hard considering the toad of a woman barely has more magic than a squib but he doesn't want to have another professor fill the cursed spot.

Staring at Voldemort in front of him, Harry can't see any likeness to the 16-year-old version of him from his second year. Harry stayed quiet to Voldemort's statement, deciding to only stare into the monster's eyes and pray he doesn't get killed, petrified or turned into stone.

“I just have one spell I would like to test and see if it works.” Both parties were silent for a second.

“If it's one to make my toenails grow longer please don't use it on me. I'm sure it works, just look down at yours.” Harry stated with a shrug.

And to that Voldemort chuckled. Fucking chuckled.

“No, no, no Harry, just one I'm sure you are mildly acquainted with from last year.”

“CRUCIO”

And that was it. Harry had dropped from Voldemort's hand and screamed. Agony overtook every inch of his body. Needles and knives alike felt as if they were cutting each of his nerves individually and then electrocuting them. He was faintly aware of the screams ripping from his throat but he didn't care. The only thing that mattered to him was trying to rid himself of the demon of torrent residing in his body. Cackling was vaguely heard from above him but Harry didn't care. I had started to bang his head against the floor in an attempt to stop the suffering but it just didn't matter.

Nothing mattered except the pain. He didn't care about anything other than the pain.

It went on for hours. Non-stop torture. Only when his screams had died out did his mind and body find themselves connected again.

Notes:

This is a little shorter but hope you enjoy. As always, kudos and comments are always loved

Chapter 4: Morning of Crisis

Summary:

Harry wakes from his disturbing dream.

Notes:

I'm so sorry this took so long. It seems that the ao3 author curse hit me because it got pneumonia and ended up in hospital for 16 days straight. All better now dw.

Harry awoke with a gasp. His head felt like saw-dust and his body felt like it had run through a blender. The scarlet curtains were swirling in his visions and his mouth was dry. Attempting to move his body, Harry was met with pain. His bones felt like they were creaking and his muscles felt as if they were about to give out at any moment.

 

With great effort, Harry opened his curtains with a swish of a hand and swung his legs to touch the floor. Harry was hyper-aware of everything. The clothes he was wearing, how there was a small fold in his pyjama leg  and the dust on the wooden floorboards in between his toes.

 

Harry looked up and could’ve sworn that he felt his bones grind against one another. Turning his eyes he could see Neville turning in his bed. Harry looked at Ron's bed out of instinct and jumped a little when he saw Ron facing him.

 

Ron's blue eyes were burning with anticipation for a confrontation. Unfortunately for him, Harry couldn't care less. He was already nursing a pounding migraine and for some reason slight tremors across his body.

 

Hm, weird dream.

 

It just seemed so real.

 

Harry managed to get off his bead and immediately felt as if he was about to fall. His vision was swimming so he quickly reached out to grasp at his bedpost. Harry locked his knees so he wouldn't drop to the floor. Closing his eyes to recenter himself, Harry contemplated last night's dream. Voldemort had said it was real but it can't. It just can't. Because if it was rea-

 

“Are you going to chuck another hissy fit?”

 

Ah. There it is. The agitated voice of his former best friend.

 

“What do you mean by that, ickle Ronniekins?” Harry spoke in a baby voice that reminded him of Sirius speaking to Snape while opening his eyes.

 

It was silent for a moment as both of them surveyed each other. Ron’s face was red, almost indistinguishable from a tomato. His chest was puffed out as a display of dominance and his stance was wide-legged. In short words, Ron looked like an absolute idiot with a rash on his dick.

 

“Why’d you do that last night?” Ron spoke with new found confidence. Merlin, where does he muster it up from?

“Do what?” Harry knew exactly what he was talking about, but it was so fucking funny to watch Ron find the words. Ron had never been the most academic…or athletic…or really good at anything.

 

No wonder Molly liked Harry more.

 

“THE OUTBURST AT DINNER!”

 

“It seems the only one having an outburst is you. Have I been yelling at you? That was rhetorical. It's okay Ron, I know you have a hard time understanding English. And the answer is no. So honestly, there is no need for you to go off at me.” Harry shrugged and contained his laughter as he watched Rons' expressions change as he spoke. Harry had noticed that Dean, Seamus and Neville were watching. 

 

“What the fuck happened to you.” Ron spat at him.

 

“I grew up. I know you have trouble with that. But maybe if you and Hermione put your heads together, you can figure it out” Harry said, speaking in a condescending tone. 

 

Harry knows he's being rude and blunt, but God does it feel good to say what he's been thinking for the past years. You see, Harry had to mature at a young age, how else was he to deal with the neglect and abuse of the Dursleys, as well as the trials and tribulations of his school years? Neither of them had to face what he did to the same degree. Ron had so many other siblings to fall back on and Hermione had caring parents who adored their Witch daughter. 

 

 Merlin, it was too early to deal with this.

 

“You know what, I’m not dealing with this so early in the morning.” Harry's ears were still ringing and his brain felt like sawdust.

 

What on earth was that dream?

 

Just as Ron was about to further protest, Harry walked past him, to the bathroom. A disgruntled noise escaped Ron and their shoulders crashed into one another, pushing Ron slightly.

With bleary eyes, Harry made his way to the closest sink and took off his glasses to wash his face. Looking at himself in the mirror, he could see Harry Potter but not Harry. Just harry.

 

His bright green eyes had never been duller, however, the bags under his eyes had never been more pronounced. His cheeks were gaunt. More shallow than they had been in his entire life. He was always thin, most likely due to the lack of food he received at the Dursleys. 

 

He's so grateful he got his father's height, standing at 185 cm.

 

Maybe Hermione had a point.

 

Shifting his eyes to his scar, Harry flinched and reeled back. 

 

It was not only inflamed beyond recognition, barely resembling a lightning bolt, but it had split. The skin had been pulled apart leaving a slight window underneath. But that wasn't the most troubling part. No. The most worrisome part of this whole shitshow was the fact that it was not only not bleeding but Harry could see a faint blackness.

 

Maybe it's his skull?

 

When the fuck did his mornings consist of his guessing whether a black part in his head is the skull of some foreign alien creature. Merlin, he doesn't get paid enough for this. 

 

Deciding against going to the infirmary for the skull/foreign alien creature, he decided to wash his scar out, wincing as it stung, while playing over the dream last night, recalling his interaction with Dream Voldemort.

 

Looking back up at his reflection, he could see fingerprints on his jaw, as though someone had grabbed him. The realisation hit him like a tonne of bricks. The dream. When Voldemort grabbed him. The cruciatus.

 

Now that he thinks about it, there is a trembling in his hands that he had just written off as symptoms of a bad nightmare but they were eerily similar to the shakes he had in June after the graveyard. The sharp moments of pain that he had just only now registered as an after-effect of the cruciatus.

 

Snapping out of his own head, he could hear the tap running next to him over the rushing in his ears and tunnel vision. Whipping his head to the side, he could see Neville brushing his teeth, seemingly too distracted to notice the war happening inside Harry's brain.

 

Spitting out the toothpaste, and then rinsing his mouth, Neville wipes his mouth and begins to talk.

 

“Hey Harry. Sleep well?” he said as if nothing had happened in the dorm room earlier. 

 

Harry was silent for a moment, unable to answer. Neville turns his head to him and stares at him softly, waiting for him to answer.

 

“Yeah. Fine "Harry spoke quietly and uncertainty. He had expected everyone in the common room to hate him least of all the dorm. He had already received scathing glares from Seamus and wary glances from Dean. He had expected Neville to be much the same.

 

“Uh, you?” Harry added on as an after thought. Well, no sense being a dick to the only person seemingly talking to him

 

“I slept ok. You didn't seem to have any issues tonight.” He added hopefully.

 

For a moment, Harry was stumped. Did he really look like he slept soundly? Dream Voldemort did say he could control what Harry looked like to the outside world. He must've been quiet for too long because he came back to himself to Neville waving a hand in front of his face

 

“-arry, Harry?”

 

“Uh, yeah. No issues.” Harry let a tight smile on his face for half a second.

Neville returned it with a warm one and walked out of the bathroom. Harry watched him leave and Seamus enter.

 

“Morning, Seamus.”

 

When their eyes met, he was expecting the usual wariness that he had seen for the past months, but what he saw was anger. Harry was a little startled but just decided to brush it off.

 

A lot of people looked at him like that now.

 

As Seamus walked by, he bumped into Harry’s shoulder, causing him to stumble slightly. Seeing him enter one of the showers, he resolved to just ignore him and hope that the coldness in his roommate's eyes won't last forever.

 

His shoulder was going to be bruised the way he was going.

 

Sighing, Harry brushed his teeth, trying and failing to ignore the shaking in his hands and the tightness of his muscles.

 

…

 

Making his way to the Great Hall gathered more stares than usual. It seems everyone remembered last night's altercation spectacularly. His hair was still slightly wet from his shower earlier. The scalding hot water had helped to relax his aching muscles but left his pounding headache.

 

As he reaches the Gryffindor table, the student shuffles to leave a wide berth to where he decided to sit down.

 

So it's like that now?

 

He reached for a piece of toast, hoping it would sustain him till dinner because there is no way in hell he would be coming back to the crowded hall for lunch.

 

He buttered the bread and began to eat. Looking around, Harry could see many eyes on him. Whispers could be heard all throughout the hall.

 

Casting a quick tempus, he realised he still has another 40 minutes until class started and if memory serves him right it was double potions. Heaving a frustrated sigh, Harry reached in his bag for a book he had gotten from the Black Library during Christmas. It was called ‘Dark Hexes for the Busy and Horridly Vexed’ but he had charmed the cover to look like any other charms textbook.

 

Harry heard the hall fall quieter so he looked up to make direct eye contact with Hermione and Ron. Putting on a mask of indifference, Harry looked back at the words on the book as if he had looked at a stranger.

 

Because that's what they were now. A stranger that he once knew.

 

He felt someone sit next to him and he began hoping and praying that it wasn't either of them as he turned his eyes towards his right.

 

Ginny.

 

“Is that all you’re having?” Ginny spoke as she began piling scrambled eggs on his plate then her own.

 

“Uh, good morning to you too?” Harry asked. What was she doing talking to him? He could have sworn he saw her at dinner and even if she didn't attend, she would have heard what happened last night from the common room or really anywhere.

 

“Yeah, Yeah. Shut up.” Noticing the way he was staring at her, she raises an eyebrow.“Am I not allowed to sit here or something?” She asked in an overly sarcastic voice.

 

“Uh.” Harry is stumped. What the fuck is happening right now.

 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Your Royal Highness. Is this section  of the table reserved for The Boy Who Lived and his noble companions.” after a beat of silence, she continued, “or lack thereof.” she spoke in an overly posh tone of voice, one he hears the muggle Queen of England speak in when he hears her on the telly, however rare it is.

 

There was a small squeak from his far left, which is where he is assuming Ron and Hermione are sitting.

 

“I don't mind.” he said, still staring at her dumbly, trying to ignore the casual mention of last night. She looks at him with a smile of amusement and turns to eat her plate.

 

Looking down, Harry reaches for his fork and begins eating his eggs, so graciously placed on his plate by Ginny. 

 

Who might just not hate him.

 

They sit in a comfortable silence for the rest of breakfast, Harry letting himself slip on a small smile for the first time today and before he knows it, it is time to leave for the dungeons. 

 

With his hands still trembling, Harry gets up, waves Ginny goodbye and begins his trek to the lower part of the castle.

 

Notes:

Kudos and Comments are always appreciated.

Chapter 5: Shards as sharp as words muttered

Notes:

I just found out Trump is elected for president again. I am grieving from Australian. get that orange man out of office. Anyways, sorry for the long break, Im shocked people actually like this. It was going to be a crack fic but I guess not.

Reaching the dungeons, Harry realised that he was no longer obliged to sit at the front with Ron and Hermione so he decided to sit at the further back tables.

Maybe Snape won't say anything to piss him off anymore today.

Reaching into his bag, he started to dig around his bag for a stray quill. His hand reached the bottom of the bag, his hand was sliced on something. Harry jolted a little bit and cursed under his breath as he pulled out his hand and tried to staunch the blood by sucking on the wound.

Harry slowly reached into his clutter bag once more and saw a mirror split in half at the bottom of it. He picked up the mirror gently, trying to remember what the fuck a mirror was doing in his bag. His memory served him the answer like a tonne of bricks.

Sirius gives him a wrapped thin package for Christmas. Him promising to open it. Him forgetting it. Chucking it in his bag. Finding it now.

Guilt seeped into him as his memory stitched itself together. How could he forget? This mirror, this battered, broken mirror is his only viable connection to his godfather, who is a wanted felon. And not only that but it was also once his father's possession. His last personal connection to his father.

Swallowing a lump in his throat, Harry transfigured the crumple brown wrapping paper it came in into a cushioned box and placed the pieces of the mirror inside it, locking it away, making a mental note to look over it properly once he is back in the dorm.

He could feel eyes on him once again and turned to the couches, expecting to see his old friends but reeled back slightly when he was met with the curious eyes of the four Slytherins that had spoken to last night. He had almost forgotten about the brief conversation last night.

Just as he was about to comment on it he felt a drop of something hit his lap. Looking down, Harry saw that the cut on his palm had started to draw blood again. He observed the slice properly.

It was moderately deep and was running blood freely. Harry summoned a cloth from his bag. It wasn't the cleanest rag but it'll work. He cleaned the drop of blood from his lap and wrapped the towel around his bloodied hand, tucking the ending into the already wound part.

Harry looked back up and the emerald clashed with silver again.

Merlin, if he keeps this up he's gonna lose his shit.

The doors slammed open and a cascade of black robes came billowing into the room. He pulled out his wand and began to write instructions on the board for what seemed to be a complicated potion.
“Today you will be brewing a potion far above anyone's expertise, but we must complete it. To prevent idiotic mistakes and stupidity filled actions, I will be assigning appropriate partners.” Snape looked pointedly at Neville. Harry felt a pang of sympathy for the boy.

On another chalkboard the bat-like professor began to write partners down.

Granger / Nott

Greengrass / Bones

Weasley / Zabini

Malfoy / Longbottom

Harry zoned out for a little and when he came back to himself it was to a well-manicured finger began tapping his forehead in rapid intervals. His eyes snapped to the culprit to find Pansy Parkinson.

“Can I help you?” Harry spoke in an annoyed voice.

“Yes you can if you get your ass up and get the ingredients.” She spoke distractedly as she began pulling out her notebook and quill.

“I’m sorry but-” Harry was cut off.

“Apology accepted”

Harry was silenced.

He turned to the board to be met with a text that made his day a little worse.

Potter / Parkinson

Ugh.

Having to work with the Slytherin will for sure increase his headache.
“What are we making?” He asked, trying to make the experience a slight bit more bearable.

“Draught of Peace.” She replied turning to look at him pointedly as if waiting for him to do something. “You are aware that one needs ingredients to make a potion, correct?”

Harry rolled his eyes and went to retrieve the ingredient.

Powdered moonstone
Syrup of Hellebore
Stewed Mandrake
Powdered Unicorn horn
Powdered Porcupine quills

“That took a while.” Parkinson stated sassily when he returned after a couple of minutes. It had taken a bit to measure the right amount of each ingredient.

“I'm sure you found a way to entertain yourself without my sparkling presence.” He responded, trying to ignore the whole body aches.

Parkinson began following the instructions and brewing the potion. She added the mandrake with the moonstone and let it brew until it was an orange colour. She let it sit for a little while Harry stood dumbly to the side. She stood, with her hands on her hips looking over the ingredients he brought.

“I thought you had survival instincts, Potter.” She said after a minute of just staring at the cluttered table. She reached over and picked up the porcupine quills.

Without any notice, she shoved the jar in his face, prompting him to read.

‘Grated Porcupine Quills’

She had an incredibly unimpressed look on her face.

Well, too bad he doesn't give a shit.

“And what about it?”

“The recipe calls for powdered porcupine quills. Can you read or are these atrocious glasses restricting your vision rather than helping it?” She asked in a mocking tone with a slight sound of amusement. “Go get the right ones.”

“You want them, go get them.” Harry stated, resting his head in his hands with his elbows on the table.

Parkinson looked at him for a moment. He resisted the urge to squirm under her assessing gaze. Her eyes stopped at his eyes, or more specifically the bags under them. He knows he has dark circles under his eyes and he attempts to not feel insecure at the feeling of her eyes seemingly dissecting his thoughts. It is as if she is opening the book that is ‘The Secrets of Harry Potter’ and reading out loud to the entire class.

“Are you going to go fetch the porcupine quills or are you going to continue gawking at me?” He sniped at her. She simply walks off to retrieve the ingredient and comes back as if she didn't just make it seem as if she had seen his darkest secrets with just a few glances.

Most of the lesson goes by decently calmly. Harry pointedly ignores the heated stares and looks he receives from his fellow house and just occasionally hands Parkinson a potion ingredient or puts a timer on for how long the potion sits for.

It is surprising how comfortable the silence is between them. She makes a snarky joke about something and he returns it with the same level (if not more) level of sarcasm. Parkinson has a dry sense of humour and a silver tongue. Harry had always restrained himself from snapping a remark at Ron or Hermione, and when he first does at Parkinson he pauses for a moment wondering how she will take it. He hasn't forgotten she has been a total ass to him the past years but didn't want her to set a sabotaged position on his face that will melt his eyebrows off, but she simply barks a laugh and he finds himself relaxing slightly.

That is how the lesson went.

That was until he was muttering an insult to Parkinson about how she bathes in shit after she remarked that he should be jealous of how clear her skin is. All of a sudden he felt a curse hitting his ankle and a mountain of pain interrupting from there up his legs.

It felt as if his blood was freezing and boiling at the same time. He let out a disgruntled cry and fell off his chair and to the floor. Parkinson dropped the ladle that she was stirring the near-finished potion with and went over to him immediately with eyes filled with mixed emotions for a moment before attempting to return to the unreadable mask she usually wears. It didn't work, Harry noted. At least not fully.

 

Still in agony, Harry attempted to remember what curse it was. He heard a slight mutter before it struck. He heard a commotion going on around him and faintly heard another voice. Low and calm but initially muttering what must be the counter curse because the fever feeling had stopped leaving him with a cold sweat racking his body.

“Fever curse.” Snape declared. Harry blinked and could finally see clearly again. He could see the class staring at him with varying expressions on each face. He spotted Parkinson standing a few paces behind Snape with her shoulders set tensely. Ron was staring at him with Hermione by his side staring. Staring. Staring. Staring.

Seemingly picking up on his panic. Parkinson stepped forward at Snapes' word.
“Take Mr Potter to the medical wing, Miss Parkinson. Madam Pomfrey will administer the correct treatment for the curse.”

Harry attempted to stand up with the assistance of Parkinson.

“Come on scaredhead, get your ass up.” She muttered to him

“Shut the fuck up” he shot back grimacing against the ache of his muscles.

Never in Harry’s short life had he thought he would ever need the assistance of Pansy Parkinson to get off the cold potion floor. Guess miracles do happen.

As he stumbled out the door attempting to not lean too heavily on Parkinson, he heard the whispers within the classroom turn into a full-blown conversation.

“You certainly have a knack for turning heads wherever you go, don't you?”

“Don't start, Parkinson.”

She huffed a laugh. But then her face turned serious.

“How are you feeling?” she demanded, urging him to answer.

Harry got whiplash from the stark contrast two seconds ago. “Er, fine?”

“Are you asking me, Potter?” She deadpanned.

“It feels fine, I guess,” he said after a moment of collecting his thoughts. “I just want to know who sent the curse.” He had an idea but didn't want to be proven right.

“It was the Weasel,” she said firmly, without a doubt in her tone. “Draco told me while Professor Snape was performing the counter curse.”

Harry sighed and continued to stumble up the stairs to the infirmary. ‘When were there so many stairs?’ he thought in exasperation.

His foot slipped and he almost flew down a flight of stairs when Parkinson's Hand grabbed his shoulder and stabilised him.

“Your hand-eye coordination could use some serious help.” Honestly, did she ever shut up? He didn't mutter a thank you, simply nodded his head and continued walking.

They trudged their way up to the infirmary with Harry feeling more feverish than before. He heard Parkinson head to Madam Pomfrey's office and Harry laid himself on the bed he usually stays in while in the hospital wing.

The nurse came bursting out of her office with a tray of potions following behind her.

“Honestly Mr Potter, can you bear to stay out of my wing for more than a couple of weeks.” She spoke in her professional voice but had a hint of exasperation in her tone.

“Sorry, Mamn.” He murmured, knowing better than to be snarking to the esteemed nurse.

“Nonsense, you were attacked.” Parkinson piped up for the corner. Pomfrey glazed over at her and back at him in confusion.

He just stared over at Parkinson wondering when they had reached this apparent truce.

As Madam Pomfrey administered potions she decided to do a health overview check. She said it would only check recent injuries and Harry had consented because why not?

Once she had completed the spell, a sheet of parchment appeared in her hand and her eyes widened.

“Mr Potter… Have you ever been put under the cruciatus?” she asked in a soft, reserved voice.

Harry felt the blood drain from his face and heard a sharp intake of air from the corner when he knew Parkinson was standing.

“Why.” Harry put up his mental shields as strong as they could be. He had had lessons with Snape but those weren't working, so he took matters into his own hands when he was at Grimmerald, finding many books that described how to properly build a shield. Harry felt himself immersed in the cold water of his shield.

“It seems that there is nerve damage. Have you experienced shakiness? Muscle spasms?” She asked slowly. Harry just stared dumbly.

As Madam Pomfrey carefully described the potions he would drink to repair the nerve damage that she assumed was from June, Harry could only think about one thing. He had received a nerve tonic after the graveyard that had repaired the damage. This is recent. New.

Harry realised with stark clarity that his dream was real.

Notes:

Thank you for reading. kudos and comments are always loved.

Chapter 6: In an interstellar burst

Summary:

Harry has a hospital visit, what will come from it?

The walk back to the classroom was silent. 

 

Nothing could be heard above their footsteps on the cold stone. 

 

“So….How do you feel?”

 

“Fine.” He replied shortly, not letting a hint of emotion in his voice.

 

“Are you su-.” She asked after a few seconds of deafening silence.

 

“Why are you even asking, Parkinson?” Why do you care? He wanted to ask but stamped on the urge.

 

“It is common courtesy, Potter, ” she said snappily.

 

“Oh yeah, for sure. Common courtesy… Was it common courtesy when you would make fun of me and my frie-” Harry stopped himself before he said something he would regret.

 

“Not much to say now.” She stated with a quirk on her lips, causing  Harry to grumble.

 

“Look,” Se started again, albeit much more warily, “I know we were dicks to you so…” She paused, seemingly gathering up the courage to say the words he was about to let out. “I apologise.” It is said so quickly that he thinks he imagined the two words.

 

Silence

 

“And about June-” 

 

“Oh, there it is. I was waiting for the time when you would try to convince me otherwise. I know what I saw, in fact, I saw your father that night in the graveyard. Frankly, it's insulting that you don't believe he’s back when there is overwhelming proof that suggests otherwise.” He was panting at the end of his rant and he could feel his magic rolling off of him in waves.

 

His magic had been harder to keep under control after his emancipation. After he was officially entered into the Triwizard tournament he was magically emancipated because the Cup was only meant to allow overage wizards.

 

During the holidays he had snuck off to Gringotts and claimed his lordships to Potter, Peverall and Slytherin. He couldn't take up the Black lordship because Sirius had never legally been disowned and was still viable to become Lord Black.

 

After that, his magic had been haywire. It was harder to control and easier to anger. However, Hogwarts seemed to calm his magic down. He wondered if it had anything to do with the fact that he was Lord Slytherin. Most likely.

 

“I don't know if you're stupid or just unobservant but you are talking to someone in the house that would believe you.”

 

Right. Half the death eaters who were in the graveyard were parents of people in his year. Malfoy, Parkinson, Nott, Crabbe, Goyle. It is strikingly clear that the person he was talking to now knows he’s back. There is no denying the word of pureblood gossip. 

 

“Oh.” He says dumbly, because what are you to say to someone who just admitted they knew a dark lord has returned from death?

 

“Yeah, oh .”

 

“Well.. that's good to know.” Honestly, he was just glad someone else believed him. Harry felt like he was going crazy and even for a moment thought he had made the entire nightmare of the graveyard up. They were outside the potions classroom again ready to go in when Parkinson began to speak again.

 

“For what it's worth,” she started, “You seem like a decent person. And if you ever need me to hex the Weasel, I'm all for it.”

 

He couldn't help it. A small laugh escaped his chest, followed by a snort from Parkinson. The absurdity hit him at once. He just had a heart-to-heart with Pansy Parkinson and no one died or got cursed. 

 

Both of them composed themselves and then opened the door to the room to be hit with potion fumes. They just walked back to the desk they were working at. The class still had an hour to go and another potion was made. Harry was on higher alert this time. Ensuring to check his surroundings, especially the corner where Ron was working. 

 

He kept mulling over what happened in the hospital wing. The dream was real.

 

The dream was real.

 

The dream was real.

 

He was so in his head that he didn't notice the class ending. He didn't notice the dirty look he kept getting from the Gryffindors. He barely noticed the hand on his shoulder shaking him slightly.

 

Sucking in a sharp breath, Harry looked up to see Parkinson looking at him. He could hear everyone packing up but couldn't shake the grey eyes boring into the back of his head. He removed her hand once she could tell he was back in his head. The entire lesson had gone by in the literal blink of an eye.

 

He just mechanically stood up and began packing away his stuff. He walked out of the room and made his way to the Great Hall. 

 

Climbing up the castle, he heard whispers. Whispers followed him everywhere. There was no escaping them.

 

Liar

 

Murderer

 

Freak

 

Those were the most common words he heard. If Harry tried to hex everyone who had said bad words about him, no one in the castle would be safe.

 

As he entered the hall and made his way to Gryffindor Tower, he sat next to Ginny.

 

The idle conversation was happening around him but he paid no mind. Ginny and Neville were talking about something that Harry couldn't put his finger on. It was calming. The background of voices soothed him. He propped his head up on his hand and sighed in contempt.

 

“What's that, Harry?” Ginny asked him, mentioning the rag still wrapped tightly around his hand.

 

“Oh, I just cut myself on a quill in potions.” He responded, trying to sound casual. His heart had logged in his throat as he remembered the broken mirror sitting at the bottom of his bag in a makeshift box.

 

Standing up suddenly, Harry walked in quick steps out of the hall. He knew the hall was watching him walk away but he didn't care. He needed to fix the mirror.

 

Taking two steps at a time up Gryffindor tower, he reached it the quickest he ever had. 

 

He threw his bag on his bed and stuck his hand in it feeling the wood and pulling it out. He flicked the clasp to find the shards of the mirror.

 

It was broken into three main pieces.

 

He could fix it. At least he hoped he could.

 

Taking out his wand, Harry closed his eyes and focused on the magic within the mirror. 

 

He could see the strands and folds of the charm. He could also see the cracks. Harry began to pour his magic into the mirror. Probably more than needed, but who could blame him?

 

After a couple of minutes of weaving new charms into the preexisting ones, The mirror was repaired. Harry could finally breathe through the lump in his throat, which had dissipated seeing the unmarred glass.

Chapter 7: Times of Change and Charity

Weeks had passed since the incident at potions, and he was developing a somewhat cordial relationship with his Slytherin potion partner. It began with nods in hallways—awkward at first, but easy to adapt to. Then small smiles. Then short conversations. This turned to library meet-ups and occasionally sitting together in classes.

 

Overall, Harry hates how quickly he has warmed up to Pansy, as she forces him to call her. What Harry hates even more is the fact that he is also getting along with her three other main counterparts. Zabini has a wicked sense of humour, he had found out. At one point Harry very nearly pissed himself from something Blaise had said. People had turned around at the sudden sound of Harry' s laughter (it was such a rare occurrence nowadays). 

 

Nott was weirdly studious. He wasn't as boisterous about his interest in studies as Hermione. It was quite the change. Harry had begun self studying ancient runes and arithmancy with him. Harry had found out that Nott was quite the teacher when he wanted to be.

 

Then there was the infamous Draco Malfoy.

 

He was a cunt.

 

…

 

…sometimes.

 

He was a lot of things.

 

Selfish. Rude. A dick.

 

But also—annoyingly present. Like, everywhere. Always showing up just as Harry was arriving somewhere, or already being there like he lived in every corner of the castle. Which—fine, it’s Hogwarts. People exist. But it was starting to feel deliberate.

 

They weren’t friends, obviously. That would be stupid. But Draco didn’t glare at him like he used to. Sometimes he just looked. For a beat too long. And then said something sarcastic, like he was trying to reset the balance of the universe.

 

And sure, okay, Harry had maybe started looking back. Just to be ready for the sarcasm. Strategically. Not because he cared.

 

And when Draco had sat next to him in the library—without asking—and pointed out a mistake in his runes translation, Harry hadn’t thrown a book at him. Which was probably personal growth.

 

Or madness.

 

He hadn’t decided yet.

 

He didn't think he could.

 

Anyways, he was in a weird situation. But easy to adapt to.

 

 He was adaptable.

 

So when he went from falling asleep in potions during the last lesson of the day with the quiet noise of Pansy's quill scratching next to his head to suddenly waking up in the Slytherin Common room on a plush green couch, well, you could say he was slightly surprised.

 

“WHAT THE FUCK” Harry yelled as he shot up to his feet.

 

“Shush!”, a sharp voice snapped at him. It was only Pansy, Zabini, Nott, Malfoy and a stray seventh year cramming for their N.E.W.T’s in their common room. But the only one glaring at him like he was a rat in their sandwich was the seventh year so it didn't take master detective skill to figure out who shushed him.

 

He whipped his head around the common room, taking in the slightly familiar room. Breathing in a sharp breath through his nose, he was met with the comforting smell of the common room, yet he couldn't quite place it. Hints of musk and the wet smell of the lake, his mind supplied.

 

He then found Pansy’s eyes. She was sitting on the couch in front of him, flatly looking at him. But there was something else under her gaze of nonchalance. Something he couldn't quite place. It was a look he imagines she'd have if she was trying to work out a very complex maths problem… Or maybe arithmancy here.

 

“Why don’t you sit down so we can have a discussion before you wake up the entire common room.” Zabini hissed.

 

That got Harry quiet. He sat down almost instantly, kicking himself for the dog-like mannerisms he just showed. He looked to the giant wall clock above the fireplace. It was ornate in a way he couldn't describe. It was as if every piece of the frames’ silver was infused with diamonds that sparkled in every way. The back was a dark green marble. The roman numerals are seemingly carved from a vivid silver block. But the most intricate thing on the clock were the hands. They were basilisks, he thought absently. Each individual scale was intricately carved and he could see tiny rubies set where their eyes are. They were beautiful. Untouched by the claws of time or the impurities of dust. It was 2:43 in the morning.

 

Harry turned back to the quartet and they just examined each other for a minute. One minute ticked to two, then to three. But he refused to be the first to break the uncomfortable silence. After all, they had practically kidnapped him to the snake's nest. Who knows what else they could have done. He checked his wards for his bag but they were untampered with. It had been almost five minutes of this little staring contest when the seventh year abruptly got up, chair sliding against the stone floor. 

 

 “Honestly, these bloody…..stupid fifth years…no manners nowadays…better off studying next to the choir….” They were mumbling on their way out after they had gathered their books. He had only caught a few words as they made their way down the stairs to what Harry thought was the dormitories, which just seemed to be deeper under the lake.

 

“So…how are you?”, Nott asked stand-offishly. He was just met with a dead pan look from Harry.

 

“Hm, let me see. I have been kidnapped to the dungeons and have been asleep for 10 hours so you obviously drugged me.”

 

“We did no such thing”, said Malfoy with indignation.

 

“It's not good to lie”,Harry continued

 

“If we wanted to drug you, you wouldn't have known.” Malfoy stated with self satisfaction. His face suddenly turned pale as he played back the words he had just said. To that Harry just barked out a laugh at the horror on Malfoy's face. 

 

His heart squeezed at how familiar that sound was to the way Sirius laughed. He couldn't afford to dwell on it right now, so he cleared his head and emotions off his face.

 

“So what's this little discussion about?” He asked bluntly. Quite proud of himself for not panicking thinking about the fact that he was literally sitting in the Slytherin common room with a bunch of death eaters’ children. Expecting to hear about McLaggen picking on a first year Slytherin. 

 

“You seem to have a connection of sorts to the castle.” Zabini started, seemingly waiting for Harry to respond. He just waited for him to continue."We believe we found something startling.” He finished

 

“Like what?”

 

“Like someone has been draining the wards.” Nott said with a dead pan expression.

 

Harry just stared at them for a minute, trying to see if anyone was lying. Why would someone be attacking the wards? Of Hogwarts. The only place he had ever felt home. It was cruel. Sometimes he felt as if the magic had been responding to him. Showing him to secret passages through the castle to get him to his destination quicker but it has felt weaker recently. Specifically this year.

 

It used to respond quickly if he asked. Less than a second after he asked he would feel a faint tingle in his head and feel a small push to wherever the castle was leading him to. It was comforting. But now? He had to ask twice to even feel as if the castle heard him. It was like it was underwater, drowning in something, but he couldn't tell what.

 

He honestly had tried investigating himself at one point a couple weeks ago, but had come up empty handed. Whoever was messing with the castle was being very careful as to not leave any traces. It was scary how quiet this person is being. Harry had even tried to reach out to the castle to try and find out what was going on but it was as if the castle was bound.

 

And so Malfoy said something he never thought would come out of his mount. At least directed to him.

 

“We need your help.”

 

 

Fuck, he needs a cig.

Notes:

I don't know how long this will go on for but I just have lots of ideas and wanted to write them. This is my first time posting so I hope it was good as English isn't my first language. Sorry for any grammatical errors. :)