Chapter Text
Harry Potter’s fourth year had been going well, as well as it could be after the summer he had just endured. His back still did ache, but he could ignore that when his friends took precedence.
He couldn’t even begin to think about the long, hot days he had been forced to spend outdoors, strangling weeds out of the boiling hot soil without so much as a glass of water or a slice of bread given to him. He couldn’t think about it, because he was sat with his friends in the Great Hall, eating as much or as little as he wanted to.
It was going good, so good that when something about a ‘Tri-Wizard Tournament’ was mentioned, it didn’t take up too much of Harry’s thoughts. It seemed there was an age-line, which further solidified his thinking in that he did not want to participate in whatever it actually was.
Ron, on the other side seemed absolutely appalled that something like an age-line even existed. He was raving about it on the way back up to the common room, waving his hands about frantically and his face as red as his hair.
“Mate! How could they put an age-line up? It’s not fair!” He was saying, whilst looking back and forth between Hermione and Harry. “Eternal Glory, it should be an option for anyone! Harry, mate, you agree right?”
Harry sideway glanced at him, shrugging his shoulders.
“I don’t know, Ron. It seems dangerous, I’d rather just sit back and watch it, instead.”
“Ugh!”
Hermione looked at Harry, and sighed with a small smile on her face. They had experienced one too many of Ron’s temper tantrums to actually care about them anymore. If he was going to be a child, that was fine.
They knew he’d come out of it soon enough.
*
The weeks had passed by in a blur, and Harry’s body had slowly but surely recovered from the ransack of torture that was his annual summer sentence. The students from Beaubaxtons and Drumstrang had arrived, in a flurry of dancing that made Harry had to cover a laugh with a cough.
Because, really?
He had watched with mild interest when the Goblet of Fire was revealed, only noting that it did look cool, but wasn’t really anything special to Harry. It’s a cup.
Over the days, he had seen numerous students from all of the magical schools place their name into the cup, and had heard the roaring applause that followed almost every single entry.
It soon came the day that the names were to be announced, and the only reason Harry was even watching it was because Ron had quite literally dragged him back when he tried to leave.
“Come on! At least watch it mate, it’ll be fun!” He had said, and to simply avoid an argument, he conceded.
The names came out, one by one.
Viktor Krum. Expected.
Fluer Delacour. Vaguely recognise her.
Cedric Diggory. Oh.
Harry had frozen at the calling of his name, whilst everyone else had applauded for the Hogwarts champion.
Cedric. His Cedric. Well, was it ‘his’ Cedric? There wasn’t really a label to what they had, and Cedric hadn’t wanted to go public due to the age gap. Harry hadn’t minded, he did like some of his life to be private. Only Ron and Hermione had known he was having this fling with him.
Ron had seemed a little weirded out, but smiled and clapped Harry’s shoulder when he told them, saying something along the lines of, ‘Well, as-long as you’re happy.’
Hermione had raved at how happy, and proud she was for Harry, and it had made him blush five shades deeper than a beetroot. She mentioned some concern that he was older, but Harry just brushed it off awkwardly.
They had gotten closer, after Harry’s tumble during that ill-fated Quidditch match. Cedric had came to visit him in the hospital to apologise and clear up that he had insisted for a rematch, but it wasn’t to be.
Harry had enjoyed Cedric’s company, and the way he looked, and the way Cedric looked at Harry. They had continued to meet, did some… things, and it became a routine.
They would meet up in abandoned classes and talk, and Cedric was the first person Harry had confided in about how the Dursley’s really treated him. He was met with sympathy, hugs and gentle kisses and reminders that he was nothing of what the Dursley’s called him.
It had made Harry so happy, so wanted and loved he almost cried into Cedric’s embrace.
But now, Harry could only feel dread seeping into his bones. Cedric, the thick, stupid, irresponsible, enraging, beautiful boy had entered him into a competition that had had deaths in the past! And he fucking got in!
He couldn’t dwell on his anger and fear for long though, as when Harry was silently brooding over his stupid boy’s decision making, the cup flared once more.
If he was feeling dread, or fear before, it was nothing in comparison to what was feeding into him now. Surely, it couldn’t be. It couldn’t be, Harry hadn’t even gotten close to the cup since it was revealed, he had purposefully steered clear of it and only came into contact with it when he was brought by Ron.
Well, as the way Harry’s life goes, it could be.
Dumbledore’s hand reached up for the scrap of paper that was fluttering towards the floor. He read it, he looked up and scanned.
Eyes, with a stormy, unreadable expression met Harry’s, and his deep voice called out the words Harry had been dreading.
“Harry Potter.”
*
It had been a blur, really. Having his name called out, hundreds of eyes suddenly poised on him, and being dragged behind the Great Hall. Cedric had looked at him with fire in his eyes, with fists clenched when he was told that Harry was the fourth champion.
He couldn’t remember most of what Dumbledore had said, just enough to know that he couldn’t be removed from the tournament, lest he want his magic stripped from him.
That was a firm no, for Harry. Magic had given him his first ever home, he couldn’t have that taken away from him.
After Harry had exited the room they were in, he had trailed after Cedric, who seemed to be studiously ignoring him.
“Cedric?”
“Don’t talk to me, Harry.” Cedric’s voice had a cold tone to it that Harry had never heard before, at least not in his direction or at that level.
“What? I didn’t put my name in that cup! Cedric, you have to believe me,” Harry pleaded, and Cedric turned around to face him.
“Don’t lie to me, Potter. Of course you put your name in! How could you not? I know you’ve had a rough past, but this grasp for attention really is too far.”
A sharp, freezing pain of hurt took hold of Harry as the words rocked him.
“What? Cedric, you know me. You know I’d never do anything like that, I hate the attention.”
“Honestly,” Cedric said with a bitter laugh. “I thought I knew you, clearly I don’t. Clearly the need for lying and attention takes over for you. I don’t know you, and you mean nothing to me.”
Harry was left, standing with tears brimming in his eyes as Cedric walked away from Harry. From him, from everything they had together, like it was nothing. His heart ached so deeply, Harry thought he would collapse.
Through sheer will, he didn’t. He found himself walking back towards Gryffindor Tower. With his heart in his hands covered in punctured holes, bleeding all over. He refused to cry, he couldn’t let anyone see him like that.
When he entered the common room, he was met with a blast of applauses and shouts. He tried to push past them, but he was dragged back by his arms by the twins.
They had tried to get him to join the party, celebrating the apparent obvious victory but Harry was having none of it. He manoeuvred his way through the bodies, and tiredly climbed the steps to the 4th year boys dorm.
Walking in, it had only Seamus and Ron in it. Harry changed into his oversized pyjamas, courtesy of Dudley of course.
He was just about to climb into his bed and draw his curtains, when Ron turned over and looked at him. Harry had thought it was strange that Ron hadn’t even greeted him when he entered the room, but chalked it up to him also being tired.
Harry thought wrong, though, as he looked at Ron’s expression. There was a sneer, as Ron opened his mouth.
“Go on, then. How’d you get your name into the cup? Thought you ought to tell your best mate first, though” Ron bit out, and a look of disgust came over his face as he said ‘best mate.’
“What?” Harry was honestly shell-shocked, this was the last thing he was expecting to come out of his friends mouth. He was certain he was gaping at him.
“How’d you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?” Ron repeated, even snappier than his previous statement.
“Ron, I didn’t put my name in that cup. You have to know that, right? I don’t want eternal glory.” Harry responded, exasperated. He would’ve thought out of all people aside Hermione, that Ron wouldn’t believe Harry actually put his name in the cup.
Seamus snorted from across the room, but didn’t speak up. Harry cast a sideways glance at him, but turned his attention back when Ron spoke again.
“Oh bugger off with that bollocks! Clearly you did, you’re Harry Potter, you just have to have all the attention don't you?” Ron’s voice was filled with venom now, and it melted through Harry’s already weak body.
“You’re joking, right?” Harry whispered.
“The only one joking here is you, Harry. Really, I thought we were friends. But friends tell each other things, and clearly that doesn’t matter to you. Fuck off.” Ron had said the killing words, and started to turn over.
“Ron, please, you have to know I didn’t do that. I would never, this is the last thing I need right now-“
Harry’s words were cut off when Ron responded with a snort, and muttered about how Harry must always need things for him.
Harry winced and took a shaky breath before whispering,
“Please, Cedric just broke up with me, I can’t lose you too.”
Ron half-turned back to face him, and looked him straight in Harry’s pained eyes.
“Should’ve thought of that before pulling this stunt, and for the record? Good. Might be the last thing you need, but it’s the first thing you deserve.”
And with that, he turned back away from Harry and drew his curtains, effectively ending the conversion.
Harry stood still, his eyes once again brimming with tears that were seriously threatening to spill. The ache in his heart was growing, and shooting painful tremors down his body as he tried to grasp what just happened.
He was pulled out of his thoughts, when Seamus spoke up.
“You know, Harry,” Seamus’ voice had humour to it, which Harry couldn’t even fathom in a moment like this. “This is what happens when you do things like that, and then lie. You’re doing this to yourself, mate. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.”
Then Seamus too, turned into bed and drew his curtains, having the room fall into silence and leaving Harry alone with his thoughts
He could’ve stood there for hours, but managed to pull himself into bed, draw his own curtains to give him privacy. He managed to cast a few privacy and silencing charms before the tears fell, and fell they did.
It seemed like the break in his heart was ripping open, spilling the way his tears did over his cheeks, though they were spilling upon his body. Reaching every part of him, the feeling of hurt and lone writhing up and down him as sobs racked his frame.
His friend, his first friend in his life had just turned his back on Harry. He never thought he could feel a loss so deep, a lone so deep.
He drew his knees up, wrapped his arms around himself and put his head down, and cried his weary heart to the last drop. He had always assumed this position in moments of sadness, especially when locked in his cupboard. (Even though Harry had a bedroom now, he was still punished to the cupboard, which was much too small for him.) Doing this comforted him, in a sense, though in the current moment it felt as though nothing could soothe the burning within.
Harry didn’t know when he fell asleep, but he woke the next day with his eyes dry and slightly hurting from the onslaught of the previous night.
He had a few blissful moments, rendered by his half awake state, of not remembering his current situation. The ache came back, with a force so harsh Harry had to gasp.
Fuck. That had really happened. Cedric, Ron, Seamus.
He casted a quick ‘Tempus’ and it showed that it was still early, but around the time Harry usually started his routine for the morning. He got up, trudged to his trunk and got out his school robes and headed towards the showers.
When in the shower, the previous day fully came back and he had to stop himself from crying a second time.
Once dressed, he made his way down to the common room to wait for, hopefully, Hermione to join him. When he reached the couch they usually sat at whilst they waited, a few people were now up.
Some gave him grins and a thumbs up, though most had now resigned to glaring daggers at him. When Hermione came down, he looked at her and begged in his head for her to still be on his side.
She looked at him sadly when she came over and sat next to him, and murmured a few soothing words and Harry started to feel some of the cracks in him close over and he wanted to sigh a breath of relief.
“We’ll figure this out, Harry. We can get you out of this.” Hermione said as she hugged him, clutching onto his robes as if he would disappear.
As like most things in Harry’s life, relief was short-lived and cut off by Ron making his way down the stairs and in-front of the pair.
“Seriously, Hermione? With the traitor?” He spat out, jutting his head out at Harry when speaking words of traitors.
“Ron, please if you would listen to me-“
“Fuck off. Hermione, come on.”
Ron made a move as if to go, when Hermione didn’t come straight away, he gave her a look of ice and she looked at Harry sympathetically before getting up and following Ron out.
The cracks re-opened, and Harry felt a deep, full body hollowness settle in.
He lost Hermione.
He thought he would’ve started crying, but nothing even came to the top. Nothing. Nothing, except a dry feeling of emptiness. He started off at the portrait hole as it swung shut, leaving him once again alone.
He didn’t go down to breakfast, he couldn’t. He wasn’t hungry, his stomach twisted at the thought of food. Harry just sat there, with a far off look in his eyes. The glares and sneers from his own housemates just sent him further into the pit.
*
Eventually, Harry had to go down to classes. It was one of the worst things he had experienced in his schooling, taking first place after the Parsletongue incident. Harry felt just as isolated, if not more at this point in time.
The ache of hollow followed him throughout classes, and only deepened upon seeing Malfoy’s new arts and crafts hobby.
Malfoy taunted, laughed and joked at Harry. Usually, this would get a rise out of him, but he just couldn’t find it in him today. He looked at Malfoy with a dead look in his eyes, and walked away.
Malfoy had stood there, mouth open at the plain ignoring Harry had just done, that never happened.
Harry didn’t linger to see the rest of his reaction, as he went to his next class. This was a class he would usually sit with Ron in, but upon entering the class and seeing his two, now ex, best friends sitting together with the red-head shooting seething looks at him, Harry just went and sat at the back alone.
Alone. He had to get used to that again. He had experienced it plenty in his life, but had finally gotten out of it upon his arrival to Hogwarts, only dipping into feeling at points during his years.
Harry had a feeling that this dip, he would not rise to the surface again.
He couldn’t concentrate in class, even when teachers called on him he simply didn’t answer. He didn’t know it, and couldn’t find a reason in him to care or want to.
He heard Ron muttering and talking about how it’s just one of Harry’s lazy personalities. Hermione scolded him, but said nothing to defend Harry.
Harry truly knew then, that he didn’t have his friends anymore. He had a small sliver of hope circling in his hollowed out heart, but it had then been crushed at that interaction.
Empty.
*
Honestly, you could’ve told Harry weeks had passed, or that it had only been a day, and he would agree with you.
He was losing track of time, but had a vague sense that it had indeed been longer than a day. Maybe 2 weeks, possibly 3. Could’ve been a month, really.
He did note, it was getting darker outside earlier, and colder. He hadn’t noticed the cold, though. The chilling ache that settled into him had prevented him from such clarity.
These past few whatever they were, had been downright horrendous. As he walked through corridors, he was pushed, shoved and even beaten at one point. They had been shouting about how he’s a cheater, he should leave and that Cedric Diggory was the rightful Hogwarts champion.
Someone, in passing had even muttered that he should just die already, and give everyone else a break.
They probably hadn’t meant for Harry to hear that, or they did, he didn’t know. What he did know though, was that thought slot itself into his brain. It hasn’t left since he had heard it, and it had given him plenty of time to ruminate on it.
As he was called names, and hexed, the thought grew more prominent in his brain. He had started skipping his meals, and didn’t show up to a lot of his classes. He was a ghost of who he used to be, and that person was already a ghost of the person he should’ve been in the first place.
He was wasting away, in-front of everyone’s eyes. And no one cares. He had lost the weight he had tried so hard to put back on in that first month away from the Dursleys, and dark bags lay themselves below Harry’s dead eyes.
Harry didn’t like to think about that first month back, it only made his heart yearn and reach out for the warmth that had encapsulated him. He could never get it back, he knew that. So he didn’t like the dwell.
The first task was coming up, but Harry had little to no care for it. That thought of Harry dying that someone he didn’t even know had made, crawled its way to the forefront of his mind.
Maybe, maybe he should die. He hadn’t felt right anymore, he was a hollow of the person he used to be. Teachers had taken him aside after class, and asked if he was okay. That he could talk to them, he could get help. He had just stared blankly at them, and left.
Dumbledore was no help, he hadn’t even reached out to Harry to ask if everything was okay. Not even to mention something about the bloody Tournament that caused all of this.
It solidified one of Harry’s thoughts, that no one noticed. Maybe, no one would notice if he did die. No one seemed to care now, so they wouldn’t when he was gone, right?
Right.
He had reached out to his Godfather, Sirius. Explaining how he was entered into the competition against his will, and had lost his friends. (He never mentioned the break-up.) He had mentioned he was feeling alone and desperate, and asked to see Sirius.
Sirius had only responded with congratulations, empty reassurances that he would be fine, that friends come and go. That he couldn’t come see Harry, not with his situation. He was too busy to come see him.
Too busy, apparently, to notice his godson wilting, and falling into the depths of something he couldn’t get out on his own.
Once that letter had arrived, Harry just resigned. He gave up, he had given up before but still tried some effort in his classes to totally not flunk this year, even if he wasn’t being graded due to the Tournament. Now, now he had truly just gone.
He was utterly alone.
Harry was sat in his bed, curtains drawn and privacy wards thrumming around it to keep anyone out, even though classes he wasn’t attending were running at the moment. He was scratching idly at the harsh marks that now took residence on both his wrists, the left more drawn on though.
He had resorted to this, around a week ago. He had wanted to know that he could still feel something, anything. So, he had taken his wand, cast Diffindo on his left wrist and watched a light cut start to bleed. The pain had rippled and hissed down his left arm, and Harry had smiled.
He could still feel then, he could feel pain.
It had become a routine, whenever he felt too far in his own head, to take his wand out and slice his arm open. He always watched with mesmerising eyes as the blood trickled down and dripped onto his surroundings.
Hermione had seen them, in the common room. He was reaching out to grab his drink of water, and his sleeved dropped down his wrists. Hermione had glanced up at the motion, one of the only things she ever did to acknowledge Harry in past month, or two.
She had caught sight of his arm, and gasped. Harry, who didn’t realise, then looked up and followed her eyes. He quickly pulled his sleeves down and looked at her, a small feeling of panic building up in the chasm.
Hermione had moved to speak, but Ron had came through and she shut her mouth, and looked away.
And that was that.
The ache deepened in his heart, and Harry sometimes wondered if it would give out. It hadn’t, unfortunately, so he was forced to trudge through, destined to only escape if he took the jump himself.
The thought of death had teased his brain more times than he could count, and it was sometimes the only thing he could think of. When he was in class, if he ever showed up for them, all he could think about was the sweet release that the permanent slumber would grant him.
He was getting dangerously close to the edge, and he knew it wasn’t long before he finally succumbed.
He didn’t go to the first task, and he was disqualified from that round but permitted to attend the next two. Harry wasn’t going to, even the thought of his magic being taken away wasn’t enough to scare him into going. He was dying anyways, it didn’t matter.
Apparently the first task was Dragons, for fucks sake. Maybe Harry could’ve died through that, instead of having himself do the act.
The weirdest thing though, was that after the task, Ron was trying to talk to him again. Fat chance. He had shown his colours and indirectly, no, directly put him in this place.
Hermione was trying too, she had tears in her eyes whenever Harry look to meet them. He knew he looked bad, but he couldn’t find it in him to care. He had gotten deathly thin due to the missed meals, only eating when he ventured to the kitchens.
The thought of having his friends back sent a glimmer of hope throughout him, but now it was overruled by the thought of death.
He had been through something similar before, when he was around 8. He had been locked in the cupboard for days on end, as the Dursley’s had to leave to attend a funeral. It was the first time Harry had ever thought about death, and it was the first time he realised it was something he wanted.
At 8, and 14, Harry had the same thought of wanting the early exit out. His heart clenched painfully at the thought of 8 year old him wanting to die, but he was only 14 now and having the same thoughts, so he didn’t dwell on it.
He came close to it one night, tonight actually. He hasn’t exactly had the thoughts of death in his head for once, he just wanted to watch blood run down his arms, drooling onto his sweatpants and red bed covers. It blended in well enough.
As usual, he was sitting cross-legged on his bed with his sleeves rolled up. He raked his eyes over his previous goes, and there was a thought in the back of his head that it wasn’t enough. He needed more.
He drew his wand, and made the swipe. And made the swipe. And made the swipe.
And made the swipe.
He came out of his trance to see blood rushing out from his arms and the multiple, deep wounds that lay open on his left wrist.
The voice in the back of his head was shouting that it wasn’t enough, just one more. Just one more.
He lifted his wand, rather wearily he noted. He was light-headed, and he was shaking. He made one last messy swipe, and almost collapsed back against his pillow.
His soft, sweet pillow. It cradled him and cooed him to sleep, which just seemed amazing right now. If he could close his eyes, and just rest. His legs were almost soaked through with blood, and the burning ache that radiated from his left arm was almost numbed now.
His right hand fell, dropping his wand and it rolled out from under the drawn curtains. Harry didn’t care, he just wanted to sleep. Every bone in his body was tired, and shutting his eyes and falling into the darkness seemed his best option.
His left hand fell to the side, and he didn’t notice nor care about the trail of blood that was dripping down the bed and onto the floor.
His brain was so fuzzy, that he couldn’t hear Dean from his right hand side, asking about his wand and trying to open the curtains to give it back. The curtains couldn’t be opened though, he made sure of it.
The curtains were being shaken from the other side of Harry now, Ron’s side. He didn’t care, as his eyes fluttered shut.
His brain was filled with so much cotton, that he couldn’t feel himself growing increasingly weaker. He could only feel the darkness enveloping, it seemed that sleep took a different form tonight. A form that held Harry firmly, and may not leave him come morning.
He did know one thing.
If Harry died tonight, he would welcome it with open arms, the same way he didn’t realise it was welcoming him as his chest shuddered violently.
Shuddered the same way his curtains did, wards shattering as his magic depleted.
He didn’t remember much, after that.