Harry Potter One Shots

(1) The Cupboard

All rights belong to the author, enahma

The night was freezing cold, because it was already autumn; they were deep in October, almost in November. Moreover, there were no clouds in the sky and a fierce wind was blowing from the North, so that it chilled the body of the sixteen-year-old boy sitting on the stone floor of the Astronomy Tower. But the boy, Harry Potter, didn't seem to mind it. Quite the contrary: he sat there in a t-shirt and simple, thin trousers, without trembling as he stared at the sky.

Harry thought that somehow, the biting coldness would give him a certain feeling of living: a feeling he had scarcely had in the last months since Sirius had died. He normally felt light-headed, as if he was floating; the months had passed in a blur and he'd just let them carry him without real concern. He hadn't lived, he'd just existed. Existed and survived: he had survived the long, boring summer with uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Dudley. They had left him alone until September, when he had finally returned to Hogwarts – but he couldn't think of the school as his home anymore... Everything seemed empty and meaningless. Here, he could really feel that his life had been lost somewhere along the way.

He couldn't even feel guilty or sad about the happenings of the last year. He was simply empty. A mere shell, without a soul, as if a Dementor had sucked it out of him. It had, at least, one advantage: he didn't have to make a big effort to empty his mind before sleeping, an exercise he had decided to do every day before going to bed. His mind always felt blank, even during his now advanced lessons. His marks were terrible, and Hermione was always harassing him about them, but he couldn't help it. He wouldn't live long enough to get a good job after school anyway. Voldemort would kill him in the end, so he had given up struggling for better marks.

His eyes wandered over the bright constellations until they stopped at Canis Major, the Dog Constellation. Sirius, the brightest star, was winking at him merrily... Harry's breath hitched, but he didn't cry. He didn't cry, because he basically couldn't cry, not anymore. Crying was a part of living, and he wasn't alive. He couldn't even remember when he had cried last.

His eyes wandered from the sky to the angrily glowing red end of his cigarette, and he took another draw. The glowing red turned to crimson for a long minute, then faded again.

The surrounding coldness slowly entered his body and he shuddered.

"Mr Potter," a cold voice broke the icy silence.

Harry rolled his eyes and put his cigarette out on the stone floor.

"Yes, Professor?" He looked up at his Head of House with a tired expression on his face.

"It's after curfew," the stern woman said sharply. "Again."

"Yeah, I know," Harry muttered, preparing himself for the usual conversation. His professor's next question would be about his well-being, he would answer that he felt absolutely excellent, and then the Transfiguration professor would chide him about his rule-breaking and irresponsible behaviour and accompany him back to the Gryffindor common room. She would try to elicit a real reaction from Harry and give him some warnings about the possible negative consequences of smoking and lurking outside after curfew. Harry would dismiss her worries and, in the end, they would bid goodnight to each other.

Oh, and there would be another restless and sleepless night, but that wasn't part of their conversation, it was just another usual pattern these days.

He stood up and looked at the professor, showing that he was ready to return to the Gryffindor Tower. But McGonagall didn't move.

"I've already warned you not to behave this way, Mr Potter," she said with a bit of impatience in her voice. "Your repeated misbehaviour has earned ten points from Gryffindor and a week of detention."