Chapter Text
Number twelve, Privet Drive, was actually quite nice in the evening, when you weren't inside with your abusive aunt, uncle, and pig of a cousin. This was one of the thoughts currently riding through Harry Potter's head on a particularly warm evening in mid July. Many things always seemed to go through his mind, and he was struggling very much to not think of that one specific thing that had been plaguing him since it had happened.
Sirius.
In a futile attempt to displace this thought, he thought about Ron and Hermione, wherever they were. He missed them terribly, and his loneliness was emphasized by the fact that they hadn't written to him all summer. He didn't know quite what to feel about this. Part of him wanted to be alone, and he didn’t want any sympathy from them, because none of them had lost what he lost. The other part of him was anxiously awaiting some news from them, because he desperately wanted to tell them how a certain someone’s absence was tearing a hole through his chest, how he desperately wanted to join that someone in peace, and how he was afraid. Harry was afraid of what would happen to them because they loved him.
Sirius.
Harry only had a knife and insomnia to stop the nightmares. He no longer slept; the very memory of the nightmares, the small whispers in his head that told him how it was his fault Cedric had died, how it was his fault Sirius had been murdered, made him shudder. So he did not sleep.
He was sweating terribly in the lingering heat of the day. He knew he would be much more comfortable without the long-sleeved shirt on, but he would not dare to risk showing anyone the cuts and the scars. When he had begun this terrible habit, sometime in the days after he returned to the Dursley’s and smuggled a kitchen knife up to his pitiful excuse for a bedroom, it hadn’t occurred to him to cut in a less conspicuous place. All he had been focused on at the moment was how very magical the feeling of calm washing over him at the touch of the blade was.
Harry found it rather ironic that he give himself flesh injuries when his mind was already branded beyond measure. He reasoned that he wouldn't do this forever. When the cuts healed and became faded, he would wear what he pleased. He would cut somewhere they wouldn't see. But for now, he suffered.
Admittedly, it felt good, in a way, that he suffer the heat, because it was a small price to pay for all the suffering he caused others... Hermione, who was always worrying about him, putting himself before her... Ron, always trying to help, always there... the Order, all of them dedicated to him- Harry, who frankly thought he deserved none of it.
Sirius.
He missed him terribly, he knew Sirius would know exactly how he felt, and even so he wouldn't have felt this way in the first place if Sirius hadn't died! If only Harry had just listened to Hermione and waited for someone who knew what they were doing to go to the Department of Mysteries and save Sirius, who had never even needed saving in the first place! It was all just a big testament to what a hotheaded prick Harry believed he was.
These sorts of unfortunate thoughts continued to haunt Harry Potter as he got up and trudged wearily back to the door of number twelve, Privet Drive. He glanced back towards Magnolia Crescent, and was reminded of last year when those bloody dementors were sent by Umbridge to do him away. He ought to have let them, he mused, and then this whole mess would have never happened.
His whole body ached, and he assumed it was from lack of sleep and sitting on a brick wall for several hours, the same wall where he had first seen Sirius and when the Knight Bus had almost run him over a few years prior. He had attributed his lack of physical well-being (which had even been deteriorating as of late) to his own private pity party, never once thinking more of it. His own ignorance would be his downfall, yet again.
As he approached the door, a horrible wave of dizziness suddenly swept over him and he staggered into the perfectly trimmed hedge. It continued to sweep until he keeled over, quite unconscious.
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Two hours later, Aunt Petunia found Harry like that, sprawled out over the driveway with a clump of bush in his hand. She walked over to him. "Oi! You, Potter, wake up!" she barked.
Harry did not stir. As Petunia crouched down irritably next to the fainted boy, she noticed how he looked almost as if he was in pain. Dismissively, she thought to herself, ‘Well, he shouldn’t have decided to take a nap in the bushes, then.’ "Harry! Come on then, wake up..." she said, shaking his shoulder slightly. His eyes snapped open and he yelped in pain at the slight pressure his aunt had exerted on his shoulder.
She drew back, surprised- albeit, annoyed- by his exclamation. In a rare show of concern, she asked, "Are you alright? How long have you been there?" Harry blinked as he took in his surroundings, sitting up and straightening his glasses. His hands were trembling slightly, something that Petunia’s hawk like eyes made sure did not go unnoticed.
"What time is it?" he asked, trying to get to his feet, and was thoroughly flabbergasted when she pushed him back down.
She eyed him worriedly, which sort of creeped Harry out. Since when did Petunia Dursley care about him? She checked her delicate golden watch. "It's seven fifteen."
Harry rubbed his eyes, trying to collect his thoughts.
"Well, I started back here at around five. So I passed out for two hours." he said, surprised and relieved that he hadn't had any nightmares. She narrowed her beady eyes.
"Come on, then. You need some sleep. And in your bed this time, please." she ordered, helping him to his feet. He was so groggy, the fact that she was helping him at all didn't really register until the next morning.
He awoke, perfectly refreshed and nightmareless for the first time in what felt like forever. The sun wasn't out that day; it was drizzling, and the sky looked ominous. He sighed as he got dressed, noticing for the first time Hedwig was watching him from her perch on his window sill. When she saw he was looking at her, she stuck out her leg and hooted indignantly, as if to reprimand him for not noticing her earlier. "Thanks, Hedwig." he murmured, untying the string and stroking her soft feathers a few times. She closed her eyes lazily, enjoying the sensation.
He opened the letter from Hermione.
Dear Harry,
How is your summer going so far? I'm home right now and the weather is dreadfully hot, but the news says we're getting rain soon. Surprise! Anyway, Ron's mum invited us to stay for the remainder of the summer. She says you might need a little more time where you are because neither Ron nor I have heard from you all summer and she reckons that means you need some space. Please reply promptly- we miss you, Harry. By the way, when you get to that question on your Herbology homework about Devil's Snare, just remember about first year- honestly, Ron forgot everything.
With love,
Hermione
P.S. Mrs. Weasley says that if you’re interested, they can come to get you in about a week.
Harry sighed again. His scars would heal properly in about that time; it was a good thing, really, that he hadn't needed to use the knife last night. Blessed sleep.
He replied,
Hermione-
Summer's going wonderfully. My aunt and uncle are just perfect. I'll be here when the Weasleys come.
-Harry
He knew his uncle would want to read the note to make sure he wasn't saying anything to Sirius about them. Harry hadn't told them about Sirius yet, because they wouldn't care and he didn't truly want to relive that night with them, or face their sneering and gloating.
He went downstairs and handed the note to Uncle Vernon. "My friend's parents are coming to get me next week. Just thought you should know." he said blandly as Uncle Vernon read over the short letter.
"Alright then. Make some breakfast now, would you?" he demanded. Harry obeyed. As he approached the kitchen, the wave of dizziness crashed upon him again like a train wreck.
As he collapsed again, the last thing he heard was, "Vernon! Call an ambulance, that's twice now he's-!" before everything went black.