Whisper

Chapter Two: Solitude

*-*-*-*-*-*

The car ride home from London was quiet and uneventful, save for a few sniffles from Tonks and some held-back sobs from Harry. He really, really hated not having Sirius around. His whole world had simply fallen apart in that one instant when Sirius had fallen, shocked, through the veil in the Death Chamber. Sometimes, Harry just wanted to jump from somewhere really high, or shoot himself -- basically, commit suicide. On their arrival back at Number Four, Privet Drive, Tonks climbed out of the car, walked around, and pulled his door open for him.

"Thanks," said Harry, sounding rather hoarse -- perhaps because it was the first word he had muttered since Harry had consoled Hermione. He climbed out of the small vehicle, and was startled when he was pulled into a tight, bone-crushing hug.

"Take care of yourself, you hear?" Tonks sounded congested, as if she had a head cold or was crying. Harry decided that the latter was most likely, as he had not seen or heard Tonks sneeze or cough one time that day.

"All right," he said, hugging back awkwardly, and tried giving her a smile. "Drive carefully."

He walked into the house and was greeted by his sneering uncle. This was not very helpful for someone who had just come from his godfather's funeral/memorial service.

"So." It was just a single word, but it managed to piss Harry off royally. "Back from that funeral, are you?"

"Damn right I am," he snarled, emerald orbs pouring hatred towards his uncle. His words were sodden with the same hatred. "And if you know me good and well, then I suppose it would be best for you to leave me be. Elsewise, I might haul off and make that great lump of a son you have kick the bucket!" And with no further words exchanged, he made off up the stairs and stalked into his bedroom, flinging the door back before slamming it as hard as he could; he succeeded in making the windows rattle.

*-*-*-*-*-*

Harry was lucky for the fact that Uncle Vernon had taken his words to heart; he left Harry alone for three full days. However, the young Potter decided that he would stay holed up in his room until Tonks came to take him away from the hellhole in which he lived in.

Much to Harry's liking, the days seemed to be passing rather quickly. For the first two days, he sat in his room, looking boredly through his school books and wistfully eyeing the calendar on his wall, which was counting down to when Tonks came to pick him up the next week. However, his mood fell into a downward spiral on the third day, which consisted of a lot of thinking about Sirius and his parents, and what it would be like if they were still alive.

If my parents were still alive..., he thought, frowning, that would mean Sirius would be alive, too. I would still live in Godric's Hollow.. I would've never met my horrible uncle, aunt, and cousin.. I wouldn't be famous. I wouldn't have this horrible old scar on my forehead; hopefully, I would still be friends with Hermione and Ron. I don't think they're my friends just because of who I am. Or... what if they are? What if they thought I was a horrid old thing, with black hair, black glasses, and really peculiar looking green eyes, and not worth speaking to? I don't think they are like that... I wonder if Sirius is hanging out with Mum and Dad right now? If I died, would I be able to meet my parents? Would I see Sirius again?

Harry sat on his bed, staring at the wardrobe in front of him for the longest time, before he stealthily moved to his door and down the stairs, hopping silently over the creaking one. He entered the kitchen, where all the dangerous things suddenly seemed to loom out at him, screaming, Take me! Use me! Harry paused, eyes sliding over the various things, before he picked a sharp-looking kitchen knife out of the wooden block Aunt Petunia had to hold them in, and took it to his bedroom.

He closed and locked the door, staring at the black plastic between his fingers with the silver metal coming out of the end. It took him ages to will up the courage to finally raise the blade to the interior of his arm and cut at it very slowly, feeling a twinge of pain but slight satisfaction as he did so. A manic look grew in his eyes as he thought, If this works out well, I'd be able to see them all! The small nicks turned into larger, deeper cuts, and with each one, dark crimson liquid welled up and dripped over his arms. Soon, his left arm was drenched in blood; his white shirt, which he had neglected changing out of once he returned from the memorial service, had blotches of red and pink on it, and there were flecks of blood on the bed and carpet. Aunt Petunia was going to kill him if he didn't kill himself first. Even then, she might take the knife and give him a few good stabs.

He ran out of room on his left arm. He couldn't hold the knife in his left hand, so he stripped down to his boxers and began making cuts on his leg, getting an adrenaline rush each time he saw blood well up around the blade.

Suddenly, an image of Hermione, Ron, Tonks, Lupin, and everyone else he cared about loomed up in his mind. He felt horrified at the thought of putting Hermione through another death so soon after her parents'; therefore, he scrambled to his desk, picked up his quill, and began scribbling on the first piece of clean parchment he could find. He didn't even think about the Dursleys; they would just laugh at him and leave him to die. So he thought of the only other person close enough that didn't treat him like a piece of trash: Mrs. Figg.

Dear Mrs. Figg, he wrote.
I've done something horrible. I've got blood all over my arm and leg, and cuts everywhere. I need to go somewhere, the hospital; St. Mungo's... Could you please inform Nymphadora Tonks of this? And ask her to come? I feel horrible; I don't want to die....

He quickly read over the note, thinking himself a bloody prat for doing this in the first place, and with some of the last reserves of strength he had -- for he was becoming very weak -- signed the note and tied it to Hedwig's leg. "Take it to Mrs. Figg, Hedwig," he said weakly, and opened the window painfully. The adrenaline was gone, and so was the satisfaction. All he had now was mortification, blood all over the place, and a feeling so horrible inside his chest he wished he had finished the job. As he watched Hedwig fly swiftly past the streetlight, he thought giddily, Wow.. Hedwig's the last thing I'll ever see... before he slumped to the floor, passed out.

*-*-*-*-*-*

Mrs. Figg had been just about to fall asleep in her nice, comfortable bed when a snowy owl swooped through her open window and danced on her bed, hooting impatiently at the old woman.

"Hold on, you crazy owl," she said groggily, for she was very tired. She reached over and immediately knew something was wrong: there were flecks of blood on the parchment.

"Oh, Merlin," she hissed, eyes widening as she read the note. "Oh, hell, oh, hell.." She clambered out of bed, running out of her bedroom and downstairs to her kitchen, kicking one of her cats off the landing ( with a very loud hiss ) as she went. She couldn't afford to break her leg over a cat when Harry Potter might die. "Oh, Merlin, why do things work out in such ways?" she asked loudly, her face pointed up towards the ceiling. A handful of Floo Powder was grabbed and thrown into the fire.

"Nymphadora Tonks!"

*-*-*-*-*-*

Tonks was at her kitchen table in her cozy little flat, drinking a cup of tea. She couldn't sleep. She hadn't been able to sleep and get sufficient rest since Sirius had died. Her eyelids were just about to droop when someone's head popped into her fire, their eyes wide and scared. Tonks was so startled by the sudden appearance that her hair turned several different colours, sticking with long auburn hair -- she looked like Ginny's older sister once more.

"Bloody hell, Arabella, you scared me!" she said, smiling sheepishly. But the smile faded out once she saw that Mrs. Figg wasn't smiling. Not one bit. "What's going on?"

"It's Harry," Mrs. Figg said breathlessly, feeling nauseous. "He's tried killing himself."

*-*-*-*-*-*

When she Apparated into the Dursleys' kitchen, she expected the worst. Harry might be dead by now. She ran up the stairs, hopping smoothly over the creaking one, and stopped in front of Harry's bedroom door, yanking out her wand and whispering, "Alohomora!"

Tonks opened the door, and had to bite her bottom lip to keep herself from shrieking. Harry had blood all over him; he was surely in a coma by now. She crossed the room quickly, kneeling down beside him and feeling his pulse. It was there, but faint.

"Fuck!" She conjured up quick bandages, covering the cuts, and picked him up. He was heavy. But she didn't care; she had to get him to St. Mungo's. So she went downstairs, made the blocked fireplace unblocked rather swiftly, and pulled out a small pouch of Floo Powder. Tonks dumped it out into the fireplace, feeling and seeing green flames sprout all around her, and said clearly, "St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies!"

And she was gone.