No Simple Highway

Chapter One: Out of Control

The first day back at school, Harry didn't care to do anything. He didn't want to have breakfast because having to talk to people seemed unpleasant. He wanted to stay in bed, but knew that he'd never get away with it. Mainly due to his friends, and for the first time ever, he didn't want to be around them, either. It was an odd feeling to want to be alone; he'd grown up longing to be a part of a family and to have friends.

All summer he'd been angry, violence brewing inside of him even without provocation. Going to Ron's home had somehow made things worse. His heart ached as he was around the Weasley family, and he didn't know why. They treated him like a son, but he couldn't accept that feeling and he'd been acutely uncomfortable. Maybe here at Hogwarts he'd find a way to change back to the way he'd felt as a first year. Happier? Grateful to no longer be alone? He was lost in a sea of emotions he couldn't identify or manage.

He dragged himself down from his dormitory and on to his first class, Potions. Harry shook his head at the idea of starting the term with Potions. Things were looking crappy from the start. Ron and Hermione were waiting for him at the classroom door.

"Are you feeling okay, Harry?" Hermione asked. She had a look of concern that made him want to cringe.

"I'm fine," he answered. "Didn't feel like getting up, that's all."

They walked in and took seats in the back of the room. Other students entering the class grimaced when they saw the only available seats left were in the front. Harry chuckled to himself at their misfortune. Sucks for them. It didn't matter where he sat, though; he was going to get called on and mocked by Snape regardless. Last year it had made him so angry and upset, but today he didn't give a damn. No, he might even give it back. The idea of it gave him a bit of a thrill.

Snape took his place at the head of the class and Harry found himself jittery. He was tapping on the table, drumming his fingers, beating out a little song. Thankfully, Potions wasn't a class where there'd be any niceties, any happy queries from the professor about whether or not they had a good summer.

As expected, they got out their books and prepared to take notes from the lecture. Harry took his time, digging in his bag for a quill. He let out a big yawn. He had no idea how he was going to make it through this class without dropping his head on the table and passing out. Suddenly his shoulders started shaking and he had the overwhelming urge to start laughing. It didn't go unnoticed.

"Something funny, Mr. Potter?" Snape asked, glaring at Harry.

He couldn't help himself and started laughing out loud, and watching his professor getting more pissed off by the second only made him laugh harder.

"No, sir," he replied, trying to choke back the laughter. The whole class was watching him in horror, and Ron smacked him under the table.

"Control yourself or get out, Potter!" Snape barked.

"I will, I will," said Harry, as he looked down and concentrated on getting serious. He made it through class and bolted out the door the second it was over.

"Harry, what was that?" Hermione's eyes were wide. Ron was just as stunned, standing next to her, gawking at Harry.

"I don't know," he answered, shaking his head. "Really, I have no idea. I just started laughing over nothing. I thought I wasn't going to be able to stop." He felt laughter coming on again, and as confusing as it was, it felt great. He hadn't laughed like this in months, and it was a relief.

"You're lucky, mate," Ron said. "Holy shite, laughing in Potions!" Ron started chuckling, too. Soon the two boys were giggling, walking down the hall with Hermione looking exasperated. What was her problem? What was wrong with having a little fun? Her disapproval was starting to piss him off.

The laughter was gone by late afternoon. During lunchtime things all went pear-shaped, and Harry was frustrated at his inability to focus in class. With his arm up to keep anyone from reading his parchment, he'd scribbled and written snippets of poems instead of listening to the lectures and taking notes. Dinner seemed like an overwhelming task. Too many people wanted to talk to him, excited about the things they'd done over summer. He was done with fake smiles, pretending to be happy for his friends. His life sucked, and it wasn't going to get better any time soon.

In Gryffindor Tower, he scowled at the idea of sitting in the common room. He walked up into the boys' dormitory and sat cross-legged on his bed. When Neville came in, Harry found himself snapping at his friend, feeling guilty immediately when Neville's face fell. Harry wanted to disappear, but there was nowhere to go. Pretending to go to sleep early and simmering in his thoughts seemed like the best plan.

As soon as Ron appeared in the dorm, Harry felt anger welling up in his chest. Ron was going to ask if everything was okay, and he didn't want to talk. Didn't want anyone to ask if something was wrong. Ron surprised him by asking about sports instead.

"Are you excited about Quidditch, Harry?" Ron asked, smiling.

"I guess," Harry answered. Honestly, Harry was thinking about quitting the team.

"You guess?" Ron looked confused. Harry had never noticed how expressive Ron's face was before. He wore his emotions on his sleeve. Harry wanted to keep his own facial expressions in check.

"I'm having a hard time getting excited about Quidditch," Harry said. His voice sounded flat in his ears. He felt bad about disappointing Ron, but that was part of the problem. He was done putting on a front and being the kid everyone wanted him to be.

"Once you get on your broom it'll all come back," Ron was nodding his head. "You'll see."

"I hope so," said Harry. He gave Ron a fake smile and then pulled it back, irritated with himself for giving in and pretending.

Harry rose and went into the bathroom, knowing that when he came back out he'd climb into bed and pretend to sleep.

***

In bed, Harry was glad to be alone in the dorm so that he could assess how the first week of school had gone. Earlier in the day he'd become enraged in the common room when Fred was teasing him and had flung his Charms book across the room, nearly hitting Ginny. Luckily there were only a few witnesses, but eyebrows were raised and Hermione was quick to pull him aside to ask what was wrong for the thousandth time. He'd tried to blow her off and told her that he was tired of the twins ribbing him. If he had to throw around some books, so be it.

"Perhaps you should talk to someone, Harry," she said with concern. "There's something very wrong."

"You know what I'd like?" he asked, narrowing his eyes. "For everyone to leave me alone. You're all smothering me and I can't stand it."

"Surely you know that Fred didn't mean to be nasty," she said. "You usually don't mind his jokes about your scar." She looked a little hurt, but Harry didn't care. He was getting better at distancing himself from everyone.

"Fred and George need to shut the hell up," Harry said. He felt overwhelmed with anger. He turned and walked away without another word.

Reflecting on the incident, Harry realized that now everyone was seeing the real him. Worthless and pathetic. A loser in the Muggle world, now he was a loser in the wizarding world. The fact that he'd survived the killing curse as a baby meant nothing. It didn't give him any worth. No one had loved him before he came to Hogwarts, and he couldn't be sure anyone did now. Everyone else had parents, but all he had was a photo album filled with pictures of strangers. His parents were unfamiliar to him. The next person who told him he had his mother's eyes might get punched. No matter how hard he tried, the feelings of love and wonder he'd had last year were gone. Going back to Surrey had cured him of believing he mattered. He had no one. The only relatives he had couldn't stand him, and the thought of it made him sick.

Harry had tried so hard as a child to get the Dursleys to love him. He'd wanted to be a good boy; he did everything he was asked to do, and tried his best in school. He was an idiot to think he'd ever be good enough. He knew now that there was nothing he could do that would change the way they felt about him. No longer would he feel hurt and betrayed, because he was training himself to be numb. The only thing to do was keep everyone away and make it through school. Eventually he'd be an adult and he'd count on himself, just like he always had. It was strange, but Harry found himself respecting Snape for the first time. He was really the only adult at Hogwarts who had ever acknowledged that Harry was a pitiful boy. It was the truth.

The next morning, Harry went to see Professor McGonagall in her office.

"Professor, I'm not going to be playing Quidditch this year, and I wanted to tell you now so that you can find a new seeker," Harry said, looking her in the eyes.

"Potter, why would you do such a thing?" she was clearly stunned.

"I don't know," Harry said as he shrugged. "I just don't want to play anymore."

McGonagall's slack-jawed look made Harry want to laugh. He was enjoying this, which made him feel a little guilty, but he quickly pushed that feeling aside.

"Well, I can't force you to play, but I think you should reconsider," she said, shaking her head at him.

"No, I'm certain about this, ma'am." He raised his head up. "Thank you for the opportunity." He stood up to leave.

"If you need to talk, I'm here for you, Potter." She gave him a sad look. It was growing tiresome - getting the same look from everyone. The one that was clearly supposed to make him feel he'd gone mad.

"Thanks," he said on his way out the door. "I'll be fine."

Walking back to the Tower, Harry was pleased. He thought he'd feel guilty about quitting, but no, he was overcome with relief. While the rest of the school went to the matches he'd have some time to himself. The pressure of winning was off of him now.

Up in the dormitory, Seamus and Dean were laughing and looking over something in a bag. Harry could tell it was a bottle of Firewhiskey. When they acted like nothing was going on, he walked over and asked them if they were planning on having a drink. Seamus smiled and told Harry he was welcome to join them and that they usually downed a bit right there in the dorm. Grabbing the bottle, Harry tilted it back for a good drink. He nearly spat the whiskey right back out. It burned his throat and made his eyes water. He'd never had a drink of alcohol before. Seamus and Dean burst into laughter, but instead of getting angry, Harry laughed, too.

"Easy, Harry," Seamus said. "You don't want to gulp the stuff."

"It takes some getting used to, yeah?" said Dean, smiling.

Harry felt his gut becoming warm, but he wasn't nauseated. It didn't take long before he felt a bit calmer than he had in quite a while.

"Can I have another go at it?" he asked, grinning.

Seamus nodded and Harry took another swig. This time he didn't try to guzzle it like pumpkin juice. After handing back the bottle, he sat down on his bed and chatted easily with the other two boys.

"People are talking about you, Harry," said Dean. "About how different you seem this year."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yeah," he said, snorting. "Let them talk. All I know is that I feel pretty nice right now."

Seamus and Dean nodded. "There's nothing wrong with having a couple drinks now and then," said Seamus. "But I wouldn't go telling anyone else."

Harry agreed. "I won't say anything. Thanks for sharing, I really do feel better."

Harry went into the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. He truly was feeling good. Suddenly he had a better understanding of drinking "to take the edge off." That's exactly what it was like. Everything was warmer, not just his belly. Finally, he was relaxed. Putting his palms on the counter he took a closer look at himself in the mirror. It was a little sad that he didn't have anyone to talk to about how angry he'd become. He smiled at himself and it looked all wrong. He didn't know the boy in the mirror anymore.

***

With Ron and Hermione angry with him, Harry was finding it easier to spend time alone. His attitude was terrible all around, and he'd been in detention frequently for mouthing off to his professors. The only person who didn't seem to get it when Harry openly mocked him was Lockhart, his Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. It was just plain fun to cause trouble, and it was all new to Harry. Telling people off and ignoring the rules was better than he'd expected.

After enjoying some Firewhiskey in the dorm, Harry slipped out of the Tower with his invisibility cloak. He'd never wandered around the castle while drunk, and it wasn't easy to climb up and down the stairs without tripping. He decided to take a little rest and slid down onto the floor, sitting with his legs out in front of him. It was dark and he found it impossible to keep his eyes open. At first it was a game, and he fought his heavy eyelids, trying to focus on a point in front of him. The cloak had fallen off, but Harry didn't realize it. He was passing out, drunk, with half of his body visible and the other half invisible. In minutes he was fast asleep.

Snape was patrolling the hallways and he slowed his pace, listening to the noise he was coming up on. It sounded like....snoring. He cast lumos and continued slowly down the hallway. Frowning, he looked down at a sleeping Harry Potter, invisibility cloak strewn around the boy's small body. Snape reached down and snatched the cloak off of Harry in one smooth motion, but Harry didn't budge. Leaning in toward Harry's face, Snape caught the strong scent of Firewhiskey. The golden boy was drunk. Fantastic. Before he woke Potter he looked down at the boy and wondered about Harry's state of mind. His behavior had been extremely erratic lately, and had been discussed at many staff meetings. Personally, Snape thought Potter had reached a point where someone had to come in and rein in his insolent behavior. If it were up to him, he'd take on that role and teach him some respect. He shook his head to wipe that thought away. Take care of Potter's behavioral problems? No, that task could fall to some other fool.

Snape slowly moved his face within inches of Harry's and screamed, "Potter! Wake up!"

Harry was startled and upon waking felt quite ill. He turned away and nearly gagged.

"I feel like I'm going to die," he said, slurring.

Snape towered over Harry, who was still on the floor, his head bobbing to the side.

"Well, well, Potter," Snape sneered at Harry. "Look at me!"

Harry struggled to bring his eyes up to Snape's, and found that he was dizzy, and the longer he stared at Snape's face, the worse he felt.

Snape grabbed Harry's chin roughly and brought it up to meet his gaze. "I see you've employed some excellent decision making skills this evening." Harry thought the thick sarcasm actually seemed funny in the moment. He sniggered for just a second before Snape grabbed his face a little harder.

"Ow!" Harry cried out. "Bloody hell, I'm going to have bruises!"

"Stop speaking, Potter, and stand up." Snape grabbed Harry's wrist and pulled him up from the floor. Harry noticed his invisibility cloak in Snape's hand and reached for it. Snape quickly stuck it into a pocket in his robes. He shook his head at Harry and waggled his finger as one would do to a toddler.

"It's mine!" Harry yelled, still slurring a bit.

"Oh, I believe I'll hang on to it, Potter," drawled Snape. "I daresay you've forfeited the privilege of keeping the cloak in your possession."

"No!" Harry was sobering up a little, and his anger was building. "I want it back! It's my bloody cloak!"

"Mind your manners, Potter." Snape moved closer to Harry. "You'll spend a week with me in detention for being out after curfew, another week for being intoxicated, and another week for your disrespect."

Snape took Harry by the wrist and dragged him off. Harry found himself not only struggling to keep up with Snape's pace, but also trying not to trip on the stairs while sobering up. It seemed like an eternity before they reached Gryffindor Tower, and Snape watched as Harry clambered through the portrait hole.

"I'll see you tomorrow night, Potter, in my office, directly after dinner," he yelled to Harry.

As he considered the situation, the Fat Lady startled Snape into awareness by asking if he was planning to stand there all night. He turned on his heels and headed off toward the dungeons. He wasn't sure what Potter was playing at this term. While he'd never been a model student, or a respectful one, his irresponsibility and cheek had reached absurd proportions. Something had to be done, because after years of teaching, one learns when a child needs an adult to take over and intervene before the child does something to harm themselves or others. Snape was relieved to know that no one would ever force that role on him. Surely Dumbledore wouldn't choose to put poor Harry under the guidance of his hated Potions professor. Perhaps McGonagall could get through to the boy.

Snape paused once he'd returned to his office and thought about the situation. There was more to this than a brooding, disrespectful pre-teen. Snape knew from his own youth that sometimes there's a breaking point, and once reached, it's hard to pull your life back together. Is this where Potter was heading? Was it possible that the golden boy was on track to destroy his life? He didn't want to think any more about Potter at the moment. It was time for him to have a drink. A single malt scotch sounded appealing. He'd have time the next evening to interrogate Potter about whatever the hell was going on with him.