Harry Potter And The Curse Of Guilt

Harry Potter and the Curse of Guilt

Prologue - True Aim

Voldemort screamed in fury as Harry Potter disappeared before him, transported by the Portkey. His shriek echoed across the cemetery long after he was silent, and the Death Eaters shivered. They gathered around him, mumbling words of apology and pleads for forgiveness. Voldemort glared at them all.

“You fools,” he hissed venomously. They cowered and quaked under his enraged stare, except one. Lucius Malfoy stood tall and proud, a smirk covered by the shadow of his hood. Voldemort, sensing the lack of fear in Malfoy, turned his angry red eyes on him. Lucius immediately stopped smirking.

“I have good news,” he murmured before Voldemort could curse him. Voldemort turned fully towards Malfoy, glowering angrily.

“Potter has just escaped you, and you have news for me?” he spat menacingly. Lucius shuddered at the fury in his voice, but stepped forward bravely.

“We failed in killing Potter, but he will die. I have made sure of it,” he explained, a hint of pride in his voice. Voldemort’s eyes narrowed and Lucius hastened to continue. “I cursed him with Mentiladarkus. He will be dead by next summer.” Voldemort’s face was impassive for a long time, giving Lucius cause to think he had displeased his master, but then a sudden bark of laughter escaped him, cold and gleeful all at once.

“Well done,” he hissed. With a wave of his hand, he left, and the Death Eaters Disapparated.

*

Chapter 1 - Criminal Insomniac

Harry Potter sat on his bed, his knees tucked into his chest, rocking back and forth fervently. Around him lay books and outstretched rolls of parchment with half-written essays on them, but Harry couldn’t concentrate. He fought to keep his mind pleasantly numb, building barricades against his disturbing thoughts and memories. Through the window, a steely light slowly turned to gold, showing the strength of dawn. The alarm clock on his bedside table proclaimed in angry red digits that it was half past five and Harry sighed in relief. He had survived another night without falling asleep. It was the third in a row that he had been awake, bringing his total of consecutive conscious hours to sixty-two, give or take. Rubbing his itchy eyes, Harry dipped his quill into some ink and finished his History of Magic essay - ‘What caused the Goblin rebellion of 1352, and why did it end?’ - with a few well-chosen words. Sighing again, Harry gathered his school things, knelt on the floor beside his bed, lifted up the loose floorboard he found so handy, and stuffed everything into the dark hole hidden beneath. Standing, Harry yawned and stretched, and out of nowhere a memory played itself in his mind.

Science with Mr. Donovan was Harry’s third favourite lesson, his first and second being English and Art. They were currently learning the limitations of the human body, and Mr. Donovan pointed at a picture that was projected onto the whitewashed wall. “To go three days without sleep is to reach the limit of our exhaustion endurance. When we reach this stage, we suffer from serious hallucinations,” he said, watching the ten year-olds taking notes.

Harry shook his head of the memory and sighed again. So he was going to hallucinate. As long as he wasn’t dreaming of the things he had been dreaming about, it wouldn’t be that bad. Harry didn’t like sleeping anymore. Before, when his life had consisted of cleaning the house and receiving beatings from Dudley, sleeping had been an escape from his horrid life, a chance to dream of parents who loved him, and flying motorbikes, which he had since learnt to be real. Now, sleep meant visions of death and destruction, himself standing helplessly in the middle of everything he loved as it perished, all because of him. Accusing eyes always stared at him from lifeless bodies, and manic laughing echoed in his head. After every nap he was forced to take out of necessity, else he go mad, he woke up with the distinct feeling that he was to blame for everything, and that he didn’t deserve anything. Though the feeling disappeared eventually, a little bit of guilt remained, and it had built over the summer until it was all he could do to work himself into exhaustion for his Aunt Petunia.

A sharp rapping on his door made him jump, staring wildly about him.

“Are you up, you lazy thing? You’ve still got things to do this morning!” his aunt yelled. Harry glanced at his clock in alarm; he had been so lost in his thoughts he hadn’t noticed an hour and a half pass him by. “Get UP!” Aunt Petunia screeched. Harry, already dressed in his clothes, wrenched open the door before she could hammer it down. She glared at him suspiciously, before pointing down the stairs with orders to cook breakfast. “Make sure it’s perfect; my Duddikins is going back to school today,” she barked. Harry’s stomach did a little flip-flop. It was September 1st already? Harry shook his head disbelievingly as he passed his old cupboard, his school supplies locked inside. He couldn’t believe he had lost track of the time.

Earlier in the summer, July thirty-first to be exact, he hadn’t remembered it was his birthday either, until the owls had tapped on his window that particular night, each bearing gifts of various sizes. Ron had sent him Soaring Snitch’s: A Guide to Seeking and a birthday cake; Sirius too had sent him a book - The Dark Arts And How To Battle Them - and a cake; Hagrid had sent him his book for that year’s Care of Magical Creatures lessons, which Hagrid taught - Cute And Furry Monsters was its apt title, and Harry was relieved to find it didn’t bite like the last set book. After three books for his birthday, even though they were interesting, Harry had been dreading opening Hermione’s present, brought by Hedwig. Surprisingly, Hermione being the most bookish of all of Harry’s present-suppliers, she had opted to send him a selection of Sugar Quills and a tiny American Indian doll from her holiday in Nevada, that she had bewitched herself, with strict instructions not to show Mr. Weasley, as it broke wizard law about bewitching Muggle items; she had covered up for this by saying she had cast the spells in a plane crossing the Atlantic, where no government could reach her with magic-detecting equipment. Harry had been, frankly, shocked at Hermione’s disregard for the law, just for a present. Dudley had laughed when he’d caught a glimpse of the doll, but then it had laughed back at him and he had ran screaming off. Harry’s love of the doll had grown greatly that day.

A clip around his ear brought Harry crashing back to reality, but not quickly enough as he was hit about the head with a rolled up newspaper again and shoved out of the way. He tripped and fell over, just as Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen. His nose screwed up in disgust at the smell of bacon, which - Harry realised with a feeling of guilt that was very uncommon regarding the Dursley’s - he had burnt.

“What’s that awful smell?” Dudley whined, stomping into the kitchen. Aunt Petunia glared at Harry who was dragging himself to his feet. Dudley took it upon himself to trip Harry up again when he went to sit at the table, so that he sprawled over the dining room floor again. Dudley sniggered, and Harry glowered at him.

“Dudley’s going to school by car,” Uncle Vernon said from behind his newspaper. He lowered it, and stared hard at Harry, sneering. “How are you getting to school, boy?” he asked. Harry remained silent, sitting on his hands and keeping his burning eyes fixed on the table. Uncle Vernon chuckled knowingly as Aunt Petunia carried plates of egg, bacon and toast to the table for herself, Dudley and Uncle Vernon, and a slice of toast for Harry. He resisted the urge to throw up as Dudley began devouring his meal with a gross intensity. Instead he focused on the problem at hand: how to get to Diagon Alley and King’s Cross Station? The Dursley’s obviously weren’t planning on taking him, and it was too late to ask Ron. Oh why hadn’t he thought of the problem before? He sat pondering until the end of breakfast, when he suddenly had a brain wave. Taking a deep breath, he plunged ahead with his plan.

“Uncle Vernon, could you please get my stuff out of the cupboard?” he asked timidly. Uncle Vernon snorted.

“And why should I do that, boy?” he growled menacingly at him. Harry shrugged innocently.

“Well, I have to go back to Hog…to my school, whether I take my things with me or not. If you don’t get it out, I’ll just leave it here, and you’ll have…abnormal stuff in the house,” he replied carefully. Uncle Vernon’s face had grown red, but Harry could see he was thinking it over.

“Fine,” he gritted out, moving to the cupboard and pulling the appropriate key from his pocket. Harry dashed upstairs to grab his homework and presents and hid them in his extra large clothes. He opened the window and told Hedwig to go to Hogwarts while he grabbed and locked her cage, before hurrying back downstairs to his trunk, waiting patiently by his cupboard door. It was some effort to drag it to the front entrance, across the garden and to the road, but he did it somehow. Unlocking it, he pulled out his wand. At that point in time he could have kissed it, he had missed it so much.

Standing and looking up and down the street in case anyone was watching, he stuck his wand out. A moment later there was a loud BANG and a triple-decker purple bus pulled up. A conductor in purple uniform jumped out and gave his speech, during which Harry glanced nervously at his watch. It was eight o’clock, so by his reckoning he had about two hours to do his shopping, depending on how fast the Knight Bus got to Diagon Alley and the station. The conductor helped Harry get his trunk onto the bus, and soon they were away.

After half an hour of jumping to locations all over the country, the bus finally stopped outside the Leaky Cauldron. Harry paid for his trip with the spare change he had in his trunk, and walked inside. Tom the landlord gave him a toothless grin as he passed through the pub, hurrying outside. He tapped the appropriate brick with his wand, and entered the street. It was the emptiest he had ever seen Diagon Alley, which suited Harry just fine. He hurried from Gringotts to Flourish & Blotts to the Apothecary to Eyelops Owl Emporium, all the time keeping an eye on the rapidly passing time. Dashing back to the Leaky Cauldron, Harry was dismayed to learn that he couldn’t take floo powder to Platform 9 ¾, or anywhere in King’s Cross for that matter. At half past ten, Harry flagged down the Knight Bus once more. The conductor was surprised to see him again, but did not comment. Harry noticed that he was a lot more subdued than Stan, which he was grateful for at the time.

It was two minutes to eleven when Harry crashed through the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Most of the students were in the carriages, saying final goodbyes to their parents from the windows. To Harry’s horror, the train started to move, ever so sluggishly, as he heaved his trunk onto it. Classing this as an emergency, and feeling a sliver of guilt light in his stomach at breaking the law, he pulled his wand out and he magicked the trunk onto the train, leaping on behind it.

*

Chapter 2 - Magic Mirrors

Two weeks later, Harry sighed, staring into the silent mirror. The mirrors in the bathrooms were the only ones in the school that did not speak, and Harry was grateful. Whenever he looked into the magical mirrors, they all shrieked that he was too thin, too pale, too tired and too ill. Harry now avoided all such mirrors at any cost, because he didn’t want to eat, sleep, take medicine or get a suntan just to satisfy them.

The other boys ignored him as he stared morbidly at his reflection. His messy dark hair, that was so convenient in hiding his scar, made his face seem even paler than it was, and yet his eyes didn’t shine like they used to against the ebony of his hair. His lips weren’t nearly as coloured as before, and the hollows of his cheeks were very deep. The only puffiness on his face at all, he noted, were the huge purple bags under his eyes, testifying to his lack of sleep.

The Ministry had sent Harry a warning about using magic outside school, but he reasoned he had a good enough excuse: the train would have left without him, even though he had tried his very best to be on time. Whenever Harry thought of this event, he felt a funny jolt in his stomach. The jolt came more and more often, whenever he thought of something he did wrong, and he always felt inexplicably depressed after experiencing it. Originally a little voice in his head would reason with the jolt of guilt, giving excuses for accidents Harry had caused. But the little voice had grown weaker over the summer, and he could barely hear it anymore.

Ron’s cubicle flushed, and the lock was drawn back. Harry ignored it, leaning nearer to the mirror to inspect his features. As he leaned closer, images began to flicker on the glass surface. He squinted, making out blurred bodies that moved as if in a dual, and flashes of green light that seemed oddly familiar. Harry leaned still closer to the mirror, so that his nose was nearly touching it.

Out of nowhere a white round face with blood red eyes loomed out at him, and Harry yelped in shock, stumbling backwards and falling on his behind. The other boys laughed at him, shaking their heads in amusement. Harry just sat there on the cold floor, shaking and staring at the innocent-looking mirror, his face devoid of any colour.

“Harry! Harry!” Ron said, yanking Harry’s arm to get his attention. Harry snapped his wide eyes onto Ron, and then back to the mirror. Sighing harshly, Ron dragged Harry to his feet. Harry dared a glance at the mirror, but the only thing that looked back at him was the thin teenager with round glass that was himself. Taking deep, calming breaths, Harry stood stoically by Ron while he washed his hands, and then hurried him out.

“There you two are! I’ve been waiting!” Hermione scolded, coming up to them from the girl’s bathroom. Ron sighed, glaring at Harry.

“Mr. I-Have-An-Evil-Wizard-After-Me-So-I-Must-Act-Weird here spooked at the mirror. Harry, I know you aren’t the most gorgeous guy in school but your reflection isn’t that bad,” Ron said with a grin. Harry forced a painful smile onto his face, which convinced Ron but not Hermione.

“Harry, are you okay?” she asked, taking in his shaking body and clammy-looking skin. Harry nodded jerkily.

“I’ll be fine,” he murmured, “I’ll be fine.”

*

The apparition had scared him so much it took all of dinner before Harry finally stopped shaking visibly. Ron, Dean and Seamus had great fun laughing at Harry about it, but Hermione, and strangely enough Neville, told them to shut up, and kept glancing worriedly at Harry while he picked at his dinner silently. Harry went up to bed early while everyone was in the common room discussing Quidditch or homework.

Upstairs, as Harry passed it, the mirror clucked disapprovingly but before it could berate him he efficiently cast a Silencing Charm on it, making a mental note to break the charm in the morning. He climbed into his four-poster bed and sank into the soft mattress, praying for a calm, quiet night.

His prayers were ignored, because, as always, his sleep was wracked with nightmare upon horrid nightmare, of his mother’s sacrifice and Cedric’s death, and then of new images that his mind conjured: of Sirius being kissed by the Dementors, of Death Eaters torturing Ron, of Hermione falling lifeless at his feet, hit by Avada Kedavra, and all the while Voldemort’s evil cackle rang in his head.

Harry woke after every nightmare, but his exhaustion was so deep that he fell asleep again almost immediately. He did not see four pairs of worried eyes focused on the drawn curtains of his bed. These eyes glanced at each other, and four simultaneous sighs could be heard.

When Harry woke from his worst nightmare of the night, he found it to be only four in the morning. Not wishing to sleep any longer, he dragged himself out of bed and was confronted by his roommates.

“What are you doing up?” he whispered. Though no one else could hear them, the silence in the castle was oppressive and Harry was loathe to break it.

“You were having terrible nightmares,” Neville said timidly. Seamus yawned suddenly.

“Sorry,” he muttered at Ron’s glare. Harry gulped.

“Y-You can hear me?” he asked. They nodded gravely. Feeling a ridiculous amount of guilt at keeping his roommates awake, especially when they had Potions first thing in the morning, Harry cast a Muffling Charm on his bed. “You won’t hear me anymore,” he told his friends reassuringly as he headed to the door. Just as he passed the mirror he remembered his mental note, and broke the charm on it. It huffed indignantly but said nothing to him as he passed, and made his way silently to the common room, leaving four worried people behind him.

*

Chapter 3 - Dungeons and Detentions

Harry was sat, bleary eyed, on the floor outside the Potions room by the time the other students arrived from the Great Hall.

“Harry! How long have you been here?” Hermione asked, as Ron and Dean pulled him to his feet. He shrugged, looking at his watch.

“An hour, I think,” he replied vaguely, ignoring their shock. They didn’t have time to question him further as Snape chose that moment to breeze along the corridor, knocking them to the sides as he barged through to his door. It slammed open and he stomped in, obviously already in a foul temper. He began barking orders to the class, assigning detentions to all Gryffindors that turned up late. The Slytherins laughed at them all when his back was turned to write ingredients up on the blackboard for the potion.

Harry slouched forward in his chair after finishing his potion, his chin resting on his hand as he gazed at the board with unfocused eyes. The contents of his cauldron bubbled over the flame, the simmering like a lullaby to his ears. His sluggish mind feebly tried to come to some order, but he was so tired. Harry felt his eyelids drooping, and as he nodded off he realised that Snape was going to kill him for snoozing in class.

Familiar images flashed through Harry’s brain, of duelling wizards and green lights, and the gorgeous sound of the Phoenix song was strangled in his ears, overpowered by evil cackling. He tried to stop it, to save the flaming bird that he couldn’t see, could only hear, but he couldn’t move. He yelled for help, for anyone to save the helpless animal, but nobody came. When the last of the song died, a dreadful, echoing roar filled Harry’s ears. He covered them with his hands, but the roaring grew louder, and suddenly changed into an angry voice.

“POTTER!! WAKE UP THIS INSTANT OR I WILL GIVE YOU THE WORST PUNISHMENT YOU’VE EVER HAD!!”

Harry jerked back in his chair, blinking blearily up at the enraged form of Professor Snape. Hot tears streaked down his face from his horrid nightmare, and Harry felt the building of a sob when he realised he hadn’t saved the bird. The Phoenix had died, and all because of him. Wiping his eyes and re-adjusting his glasses, Harry jumped when he saw the hole in the dungeon floor, and the remains of his cauldron lying next to it.

“I’D EXPECT SOMETHING LIKE THIS FROM LONGBOTTOM, BUT NOT FROM YOU!! YOU STUPID, IDIOTIC BOY!! WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO SAY FOR YOURSELF?!” Snape bellowed. Harry stared in shock from the ruined dungeon floor to Snape’s furious face, and back. The Slytherins were all pointing and whispering to each other, the Gryffindors looked fearfully at Snape, afraid of how many points he would deduct from them. Harry kept his head bent, a submissive position he had learnt to use whenever in trouble at 4 Privet Drive.

“Sorry?” he offered meekly. Snape’s glare intensified.

*

Harry returned to the dungeons that evening at six o’clock sharp for one of his eight detentions, as he had been instructed. He did not get out of the dungeons until two in the morning, with burn marks on his hands and arms. Harry didn’t really notice them. He felt so slow from lack of sleep, and hardly any food in his stomach, that he had been careless with several of the ingredients he had been ordered to restack in alphabetical order, and consequently several of the more acidic liquids had splashed onto his skin. Snape had healed the most dangerous burns from killer liquids, but the lesser ones he had left, “as more punishment” he had growled warningly. Harry sighed as he trudged up the Gryffindor tower, tiptoeing when he reached the landing. The Fat Lady sat in her portrait, deep snores echoing in her chest. Harry felt so inexplicably guilty at having been up so late because of the burn in the dungeon that, instead of waking her, he made his way back downstairs. He stood in a moment of indecision; where should he go? A bang up the stairs made him start, and he dashed hurriedly into the Great Hall, moving as quickly and as quietly as possible. He really didn’t want one of the teachers to catch him, or worse, Peeves or Filch.

The Great Hall was empty, and despite his best efforts, every sound he made echoed impossibly loud. Harry felt even guiltier than before for being out of the tower at such an ungodly hour, and he briefly wondered how a bad action to prevent another bad action could make him feel so terrible. Sighing, Harry found a place at the Gryffindor table. He glued his eyes open, refusing to suffer more nightmares for fear the whole castle heard, and instead focused on the ceiling, bewitched to show the dark, cloudy sky outside.

*

Chapter 4 - Worn Out

The next day passed in a daze for Harry. He picked at his breakfast, brushing off Hermione’s worried remarks that he wasn’t eating enough, judging by his bony hands and pale skin. He fell asleep in his first lesson of Divination, and broke a crystal ball in his second. He had apologised so much to Professor Trelawney that she had to order him to forgive himself. Harry couldn’t though. He felt so guilty in History of Magic for what he had done in Divination that he actually took notes on what Professor Binns said. When lunch rolled around, he skipped it, despite Ron and Hermione’s protests, opting instead to go to the library to do his Potions homework. In the oppressive silence, though, he soon nodded off. The nightmares came thick and fast, and Madam Pince practically chased him out of the library when he began screaming in horror. During Care of Magical Creatures, Hagrid just happened to mention in passing that they hadn’t visited in a while and Harry nearly cried with sorrow that he’d disappointed him. The Slytherins had practically collapsed with laughter to see Harry in such an emotional state.

Suffice it to say that by the end of the day Harry was emotionally worn out. People always said that pain grew easier to bear with time, but as Harry reflected, he realised that for him it had only grown worse. He felt so guilty about everything that he’d done remotely wrong that it weighed down on him like lead, so that simple actions like standing up were a struggle. At five that evening, as he stared bleakly into the common room fire while Ron and Hermione whispered to each other and glanced nervously at him, Harry decided that enough was enough. He had hurt and disappointed so many people in the past week that he didn’t dare look over his life, or the misery he felt would grow so big that he would die where he sat. With a weary sigh, he dragged himself out of his chair and made an excuse to leave the tower to his concerned friends, who jumped to stop him.

“I have detention with Snape,” he lied, feeling the oppression on his soul mount because he had lied to his friends, people who trusted him. Stumbling out of the common room, Harry wandered about the school, contemplating a plan of action. He was circling the outside of the castle when the screech of an owl caught his attention. Upon looking up he saw it wasn’t Hedwig, but he spotted the perfect way to do good in the world when he looked. His face pulled into a strange smile that looked more like a grimace, he re-entered the school and began a long, arduous climb.

*

Hermione and Ron paced in front of the fire in the common room, matching frowns of worry etched on their faces. The portrait swung open to admit someone and they both looked up hopefully, their faces falling when they saw it to be some unknown third-year, and not Harry.

“I can’t believe he’d lie to us,” Ron muttered darkly, remarking on Harry’s fib about detention with Snape; a second-year had come back from the dungeons half an hour ago, with no Harry with them. Ron stalked away from the fire as Hermione marched towards it. They alternated like this for several minutes, as they had done since the second-year had come in.

“What do you think he’s doing?” Hermione pondered, more to herself than Ron or anyone else who happened to be watching them. Pounding footsteps caught the attention of everyone, and they looked at the portrait curiously as a small first-year, flushed red and out of breath, burst into the room. She took a few moments to catch her breath, before looking wildly around at everyone, and crying:

“Harry Potter is on the roof!”

*

Chapter 5 - It’s Over

Dumbledore dashed up the Astronomy tower surprisingly fast for someone so old. When the news had been brought to him that Harry was standing on the tallest tower of the castle, he had dearly wished to be able to Apparate to where he was needed. As this was impossible in Hogwarts, he had instead settled for hurrying there as quickly as possible. Breathing deeply to recover his breath, Dumbledore pushed open the trap door to the roof of the tower, and bravely met the sight before him.

“Harry?” he said, sounding concerned and worried. Harry glanced back at Dumbledore, and felt his guilt double. He didn’t deserve concern from anybody; he was a murderer that the world would be glad to be rid of. “What are you doing here?” Dumbledore asked. Harry looked down at the ground far, far below him, remaining silent for a minute.

“I’m tired, sir,” he said at last. Dumbledore took a cautious step towards him.

“Then go to your bed,” he replied, a worried frown creasing his brow and the familiar twinkle in his eyes replaced with fear for the young teen in front of him.

“A bed won’t cure me,” Harry answered. He took another step towards the edge of the roof, and scanned the scenery below him. It seemed the whole school was gathered there, each nameless face staring up at him. “How high are we?” Harry asked. Dumbledore’s worry turned into a mild panic at Harry’s distant voice, which he hid well.

“Thirteen storeys,” he answered at length. Harry nodded, looking down again.

“Will it hurt?” he murmured quietly. He silently scolded himself; what did it matter if it hurt? He was being selfish, avoiding pain. He was a murderer, and murderers had to be punished. He leaned forward to see where he would land, and Dumbledore sucked in a harsh breath.

“Harry, we should go inside,” he said, his voice as calm as possible. Harry shook his head, briefly looking back at his headmaster.

“I’m not wanted. I cause nothing but pain, and the time has come to end it,” he said softly. Dumbledore’s eyebrows rose.

“Who says you’re not wanted?” he asked, taking another inconspicuous step towards Harry. Harry shrugged, staring distantly out at the Forbidden Forest, lit gold with the rays of the setting sun.

“The Dursley’s have been saying it for fourteen years, but I never listened. I’m stupid and worthless, and no use to the world. Perhaps Lord Voldemort has been trying to do us a favour,” he mused. Tears welled in his eyes as the truth registered; Lord Voldemort wasn’t a bad wizard - he was trying to rid the world of the dratted Potter. Dumbledore was close now, a few more feet and he would be able to pull Harry away from the wall that stopped him toppling off the roof. “Professor Snape said I was an idiot boy, too cocky for my own good,” Harry said suddenly, a grim smile twisting his lips. Dumbledore stopped in his path to Harry. Severus had caused this?

“Professor Snape has called you many things over the years. Why does this upset you now?” he asked. Harry shrugged again.

“I never believed it before,” he answered simply. He stepped onto the foot-high wall, pulling further away from Dumbledore.

“Harry, think about this,” he said hurriedly. “Let me help you. Please,” he asked. Harry spread his arms wide, like a swimmer preparing to dive. Dumbledore racked his brain for something to prevent what appeared to be the inevitable. “Don’t let your mother’s death be in vain,” he came up with, and this made Harry falter. He stared at the ground and the crowd below, pointing at him and talking. He spotted a cluster of redheads - the Weasley’s - and Hermione in the middle of their group. Draco, Crabbe and Goyle didn’t point; they didn’t even stand with the rest of the school. But they were looking, Harry could see. “Step down, Harry,” Dumbledore ordered in his most commanding tone. Harry shook his head, and straightened, preparing for the jump.

“It’s over,” he said, and with that he leapt. Screams met his ears, but the wind rushing by blocked it out. He smiled and closed his eyes, and the fall seemed to take forever. He felt happy and calm. After so long feeling guilty and unworthy, he was finally doing something for the world: ridding it of himself. He felt laughter bubble up inside him as he plummeted. Dropping thirteen storeys felt like diving for the Snitch in a Quidditch match, the only time he ever felt remotely useful. He would miss that, he decided.

Silently, Harry apologised to all those people he had hurt and killed: Cedric, his parents, both dead because of him. Ron, Hermione, Sirius, all had been hurt by him, or because of him. What if Hermione had picked the poison in their first year? What if Ron had died when the Ford Anglia had crashed into the Whomping Willow, or when they went to look for Aragog in their second year? What if the Dementors had kissed Sirius in his third year? All weighed heavily on Harry’s mind, and he shed tears for each and every one of them. Even Dudley, his overweight cousin, had suffered because of him. But no more, he thought to himself firmly. And Harry felt peace.

It was like a bubble of depression around him had suddenly burst, and all his sadness and guilt drained out. His eyes shot open as he stared at the approaching ground. A curse, he realised too late, his misery had been a magical curse. It felt like an eternity had been caged into the seconds his fall had taken, but the ground wasn’t waiting any more. It neared him quickly, and Harry stretched out his hands to stop himself. With a sickening crunch, he landed, his arms and legs snapping like twigs under the power of his fall, even as they prevented his death. Keeling onto his side, Harry briefly saw the swimming faces in front of him, before he passed out.

*

Chapter 6 - Tears of Recovery

“How is he, Poppy?” a slurred voice said. It echoed in Harry’s head, which felt like wet cotton wool had been stuffed into every spare space. Another voice answered the first, sounding just as faint and distant.

“Physically, okay,” it said, very deeply. Harry groaned; the voices made his head ache. Something was placed over his forehead, brushing back his hair.

“Harry?” someone droned. Harry groaned again. He wanted to sleep, because he felt so tired and weak, but the voice kept calling his name. With much effort, Harry opened his eyes very slightly. With a grunt he slammed them shut against the bright, stinging light. “Can you hear me Harry?” the voice asked. Harry made what he hoped was an affirmative noise, because he didn’t feel up to speaking.

“Headmaster, I really think he should rest first,” said the second voice. Harry silently agreed. He longed to go back to the dreamless sleep he had woken from, the kind that had escaped him for so long. With a small sigh the first voice agreed and moved away. The thing on his head, which Harry slowly realised was a hand, cupped his face. “You tell us when you feel better, okay Potter?” the voice said. Harry guessed it was Madam Pomfrey, but his hearing was not improving so the words were still slurred and distorted. He made the affirmative noise again, and fell back into sleep.

*

Harry slept on and off for a week, never once opening his eyes. His eyelids felt heavy and he knew he needed the rest he was getting. He had several visitors over the week, the most common being Ron, Hermione and Professor Dumbledore. Madam Pomfrey tended to him day and night, and gradually Harry became more aware of reality. His hearing cleared up, and on the morning of his seventh conscious day in the Hospital Wing he dared to open his eyes. The light stung at first, but Harry ignored it, reaching over to pull on his glasses. The ward came into painful focus, and Harry squinted to relieve the burning sensation. Madam Pomfrey entered from her office, saw him, and immediately dashed back the way she had come. When she returned, Dumbledore was following her. Harry had never seen either of them look so anxious.

“How are you feeling, Harry?” Dumbledore asked as Madam Pomfrey checked him over. Harry watched Madam Pomfrey work, rather than looking at Dumbledore, who had his piercing stare on him.

“Tired,” he answered finally.

“Look up Harry,” Madam Pomfrey ordered, and he did so as she checked his eyes. After another five minutes, she was seemingly satisfied with his health and bustled off to write her report, leaving Harry and Dumbledore alone in a tense silence.

“It was a curse,” Harry finally said, briefly meeting Dumbledore’s eyes before staring back at the covers. Dumbledore sat himself on the bed, his hands resting in his lap. It reminded Harry of his first year, when he had saved the Philosopher’s Stone from Voldemort, but things were much more serious now. He remembered, as if it had been a dream, all that he had felt since the Third Task, all the misery and guilt that had broken him, turning him into a suicidal mess.

“What curse?” Dumbledore asked, breaking into Harry’s trance like thoughts. Harry sighed regretfully.

“I don’t know,” he answered, and then elaborated in an apologetic tone, “After the Tournament, they used so many curses, I thought I’d dodged them all but one must have hit me.” Dumbledore was silent for a moment.

“Can you explain how you know it was a curse?” he said. Harry blinked. Didn’t he believe him?

“When I-I jumped, I felt peaceful, like I was doing something right finally, and it was like I’d just woken from a nightmare. Something broke, and I realised that I wasn’t meant to feel so bad,” he said. Dumbledore nodded, recognition and understanding lighting his eyes and, surprising Harry, he smiled. It was still tinged with worry, but Harry had never seen anything so relieving as the smile Dumbledore bestowed upon him.

“You had us all terrified,” he admitted. Harry could have sworn he saw tears in Dumbledore’s blue eyes, but he didn’t have the chance to make a comment as Ron and Hermione burst in, looking flushed as if they had just ran all the way from the Gryffindor tower.

“Harry!” Hermione cried, throwing her arms around him and promptly bursting into tears. Without thinking, Ron joined her, though with far quieter sobs. In the face of their obvious distress, Harry hugged them both and felt his own sobs force themselves from him, and for once he didn’t try to stop them.

Five minutes later, the tangle of arms and legs on the hospital bed began to separate into three individuals, all looking tired, with tear-streaked faces, but no less glad.

“So!” Harry said, noticing out of the corner of his eye that Dumbledore was deep in conversation with Madam Pomfrey, “What have you guys been doing without me?”

*

Chapter 7 - Food, Friends and Life

It took another week in the hospital before Harry’s recovery was complete. Months of sleep and food depravation had taken its toll on his body, and coupled with Harry’s state of mind over that time, Madam Pomfrey was not taking any chances. To his great surprise, Harry learnt that he had been unconscious for three days before he had woken up, so that his current stay in the hospital was his record: seventeen full days. During his final week, Harry’s frail body had to build up muscle tone, and recover from having arms and legs that had shattered like glass because of his fall. Ron played Wizard’s Chess and Exploding Snap with him whenever he had time, and Hermione insisted he continue with his homework, even going so far as to go to Professor Trelawney’s room in the North Tower to collect his Divination assignments. Ron was horrified at these actions, but Harry didn’t mind. It felt so good to be interested in life again.

Hermione took it upon herself to find out what he had been cursed with, spending hours with him in the ward, pouring over books from the library. She turned red with either anger or embarrassment, he wasn’t sure which, when Harry asked Professor Dumbledore what the curse could have been while she was present, and he explained all about Mentiladarkus to them, making all her research null and void:

“Mentiladarkus curses someone to feel extreme guilt at the smallest things. At first it is barely noticeable, but as the person in question feels more and more guilty, the curse becomes stronger, until finally the person is a wreck. In your case Harry, the things you feel guilty for are much more serious than not finishing an essay in time, and so the effects were dire, with nightmares and hallucinations among the symptoms. This also explains why your transition was so quick. Usually the curse would take much longer to bring someone to such a level that you fell to.” Hermione noted that it sounded horrible, and Harry confirmed that it was.

Finally the day came when he could leave the ward. Madam Pomfrey, for once, wasn’t annoyed that he no longer needed her care. She gave him a few bottles of Dreamless Sleep Potion - “Just in case,” she said - and strict instructions to eat, sleep and laugh. Harry practically skipped from the confines of the Hospital Wing into the brightly lit corridors, and he grinned, for no particular reason, all the way to the Great Hall for breakfast. The food smelt so enticing as he stood just outside the door; eggs and bacon, toast and marmalade, porridge and treacle. He wanted to try it all. A bubble of laughter escaped him as he entered the Great Hall, and there was suddenly a great hush. He ignored it, as always, and jogged over to Ron and Hermione at the Gryffindor table, well aware that everyone was watching him. His friends grinned at him, then continued with their breakfasts. The other students, however, did not. They stared at him as if he were the most interesting thing in the world. He frowned at the Gryffindors, then at the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. At the Slytherin table, Draco was pointing at him and talking, and the students around him were giggling. Harry glowered at them, but said nothing to or about them. Instead, he stood on his chair and addressed the students in general.

“If you don’t eat up, the house-elves might get discouraged and not cook anymore. Then what would we do?” he said loudly. The Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors all grinned at him, and turned back to their previous conversations. Harry jumped off his chair and delved into the mountains of food. Not long after, a lone screech caught everyone’s attention, and they looked up at the bewitched ceiling.

“Post’s already been,” Ron noted, confused. Through the window a gorgeous snowy owl soared in, swooping over the tables until it spotted whom it was looking for.

“Hedwig!” Harry cried. Hedwig landed delicately on his shoulder and nipped his ear a few times affectionately. Harry grinned at her, feeding her some of his bacon. “I’ve missed you,” he murmured to her. She hooted, and nipped his ear again before taking off. Harry smiled at her retreating form, before settling himself back in his seat. He looked up at the High Table. Snape was stubbornly staring at his plate, and Harry wondered briefly if he had been reprimanded for calling him stupid. Dumbledore and McGonagall were both smiling kindly at him, relief evident on their faces. Harry felt the familiar tremor of guilt at causing everyone so much anguish, but he quickly snuffed it. He was through with feeling guilty about things that were totally out of his control. He grinned up at the table before he turned to his friends and immersed himself happily in the conversations around him, and the delightful food before him.

END