Chapter Text
Everything is numb. Everything is numb except for the cut on his arm and it is burning. He can still hear the cauldron bubble and spit and he can see the ghastly and terrifying figure as it steps out onto the cemetery grass. It's obviously more snake and monster than human. He vaguely wonders if it's human at all. No, no, no, it's not because it's Voldemort, and the name is like acid in his veins, the same veins that bled out the blood that is currently running through the monster's own.
The words “Kill the spare,” keep replaying in his head over and over and all he can do is look down into the lifeless grey eyes of Cedric as he bends over hi s still warm body , screaming for all to hear that He is back and that Cedric's been killed but no one will listen and the words “Kill the spare” still ring in his ears.
He's facing the monster now. His body had just bended cruelly against his will to bow at the thing standing before him shouting killing words as if they meant nothing. As if the body of a boy barely older than Harry meant nothing to this being, this creature, and now it's his turn for his body to lie on the ground, slowly cooling out under the yew trees.
His wand is connected to it's own and there’s brilliant colors and oh God, oh Merlin, there is the boy who had smiled at him not even twenty minutes earlier and there are two people who he had only ever seen in a handful of photographs and a mirror of dreams and oh why, oh why, oh why.
He's tied back to the gravestone now. His arm is still burning and he looks up into his parents' murderers red, red, red eyes and holds his breath in fear. A finger is lifted towards his forehead, towards the scar this creature had marked him with, and words are almost reverently whispered into his ears.
“I can touch you now.”
And he is awake. It's not gradual and his breathing is as erratic as his heartbeat that pounds loudly in his ears. His hand automatically snakes under his pillow, clutching frantically at his wand for security. Harry looks up at the scarlet bed-hangings and tries to regulate his breathing, before blindly reaching for his glasses. Once the dark and empty room c o me s into focus, he got off his bed and opened his trunk, quickly snatching up his map and a cloak. He didn't allow himself to think until his feet had already passed the portrait of the Fat Lady.
Every night since that day, he had been haunted by his memories. It had only been a little less than two months since then, and Professor Dumbledore had been rather accommodating, all things considered. It wasn't that Harry disliked headquarters, any roof over his head was fine with him. It was just too loud . Hermione and Ron were his best friends and he loved them to death, but the first thing they had done was hug him and ask how he's been. Harry had always been uncomfortable with touch, but after what had happened in that graveyard, even the slightest touches felt vile to him. Harry also loved Sirius, though he knew logically it was more that he loved the idea of him more than the man himself. In all actuality, Harry barely knew him, and hadn't felt comfortable at all when the man had tried to talk with Harry about how he was feeling about his trial. When Harry pleaded his case to the headmaster after the trial had ended, he had been overwhelmed with relief when he finally agreed.
After years of begging to stay at Hogwarts for the summer, he had finally been allowed the right. Of course, this summer, he couldn't even enjoy it.
Green eyes gazed sightlessly passed multiple portraits and painting of sleeping people and animals. The map had been stuffed hastily in his robe pocket much earlier. It wasn't like he actually needed it. Only Filch and his cat Mrs. Norris would mess with him during the summer, and he really doubted they patrolled the castle on summer nights too. Harry pulled his plain black cloak tighter around him as the air and castle bricks got chillier. He regretted not grabbing some socks, he thought as he cast a warming charm on his feet before casting a light Lumos. The moonlight had stopped shining during the last staircase he had gone down. He was most likely in the dungeons now.
He had been in Hogwarts for the past week, his first night being the night after his Ministry trial for underage magic. The emptiness of the castle had almost immediately helped ease him of some of the anxiety and stress that had been plaguing his body since before he had last left it. The building itself held a magic that comforted him and made him feel at home, something he had never really had before. Not that even Hogwarts, his sacred home, was even safe. He had been snatched right out from a crowd of onlookers eyes to the place of his nightmares just the past June. Harry pulled his cloak even closer before speeding up his walk down the corridors. He hated remembering.
The summer had started off horrible and it had continued in the same vein. Being back at Privet Drive where no one cared a whit about orphaned, delinquent, stain on the Dursley's good name, Harry Potter, and the horrors he had survived, had been tough in ways it hadn't been since before his life changed with a letter when he was eleven. His small bed in Dudley's second bedroom had been as uncomfortable as ever, and the broken toys still strewn across the floor had been both an eye-sore and a heart-breaker to the boy who had never had anything to his name as a child. And every night he would endure the same dream, the same memory, and wake up screaming Cedric's name, begging, pleading, to let him live. Not Cedric, not Cedric, please not Cedric. Dudley had gotten a laugh from all the times he would wake him up but Vernon had been particularly displeased by his nightmare screams jarring him awake, so Harry had had more chores than all of his summers combined. But even never-ending , mind-numbing , and thoughtless chores could not stop his mind from wandering back to the graveyard.
T he dementor attack had been unexpected and completely unwanted. Adding his mother's begging and pleading for his life to the unrelenting endless loop of the scene of Voldemort's resurrection at the back of his mind had been torture. He hadn't even been able to coherently think of a good memory to produce his patronus. Harry was sure it was only due to his will and belief that he could cast it that the regal, misty white stag had appeared and ran off the soul sucking creatures. Of course, casting the charm had brought with it the underage magic trial fiasco and all that had entailed. It had irked the teen so much because what he had done saved both his and his cousin's life, and it was only his first offense, because Dobby's bit of magic before second year did not count. Only he saw it that way though.
He turned down another corner, listening to the overly loud echoes of his feet against the stone floors in the empty castle.
He loved Hogwarts. He loved the flying staircases and the disappearing doors that weren't doors and the portraits and the Black Lake. He loved it best like this, without the hundreds of children who viewed him as either a hero or a villain. Sure, some of the teachers still resided here during the summer, but none of them were Snape, so even that didn't bother him. If only Dumbledore had let him spend every summer here.
The fifteen year old frowned at the ground as he walked. His skin was still caked in sweat from his nightmare and the low light from his wand created odd shadows around the suit of armor on his right. He took a right at the next intersection of the hall, and vaguely noticed that the stones down this corridor were even grimier and dustier than even the forgotten corridor on the fourth floor.
Perhaps the emptiness of the castle should bother him. Hadn't he been so angry at his friends for not writing to him? Hadn't the loneliness and isolation eaten at him until he felt nothing but rage? But at Hogwarts it was like it was all behind him. Every little hurt or slight against him was washed away to leave behind the things that can't be washed away. Like unseeing grey eyes and a breathy, snakelike voice.
Harry quickly shook his head, trying to forcefully clear his mind from his thoughts. There was no point in remembering it, he had taken this midnight walk to help forget it and yet--
A loud crack echoed throughout the corridor immediately followed by the unleashing of a strong beam of light, first a blinding white before breaking into every color imaginable. Harry quickly brought his hand up to cover his eyes, trying to make sense of the unexpected scene. As the light started to fade, a figure could be seen trying to steady themselves from falling to the ground. Green eyes narrowed as Harry tried to make out the person in the light before he let out a horrified gasp.
The boy looked up from where he was breathing heavily, eyebrows narrowing in confusion, and Harry could see exhaustion in every move the teen made. The black haired stranger— but can he really call him a stranger— tried to straighten up from his awkward crouch, mouth opening and closing every few seconds.
“Who?” he started, before a careful frown covered his face and his dark eyes stared directly into Harry's own, “A boy-”
Whatever he had been about to say had been interrupted as the teen slipped on his own robes, and his face was overtaken by shock, mouth slightly opening and eyes unnaturally wide, and Harry watched with a detached sort of awe and twisted amusement as the taller teen fell harshly against the stone walls, a resounding and unsettling crack echoing through the otherwise empty dungeon corridors.
Harry's mind felt numb. He knew that face, he knew those Slytherin robes, he knew that posh accent, and the self-important way the other teen held himself. Green eyes trailed over the knocked out boy, trying to understand what was happening. As his wand's light fell upon a dark liquid pooling around the other teen's head, he involuntarily let out a distressed hiss.
“Ah, crap.”