Indifference Towards Difference || Harry Potter

13 | Out Of Sight, Out Of Mind

"Lies and secrets, they are like a cancer in the soul. They eat away what is good and leave only destruction behind."
Cassandra Clare

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⚠️IMPLIED SUICIDAL THOUGHTS⚠️

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"Remind me, Potter, are you meant to duelling with the wall or myself?" Snape asked, blowing away a strand of black hair as he stood over a panting Harry, wand to his chest.

"That meant to be rhetorical?" Harry choked out, still focusing more on getting his breath back and trying to ignore the twinges in his back. The thought had slipped into his speech, but Snape could suck it if he thought Harry would take it back and apologise.

The now spark-spitting point of Snape's wand was pressed more sharply against his heaving chest. "Less of your cheek. Now answer the question."

"You, sir," he said, barely repressing the urge to just fight Muggle style and punch the sneer of Snape's face.

"Then explain why the majority of your spells are increasingly adorning the walls of this room in scorch marks. I do not appreciate the redecoration."

And I don't appreciate being hexed to a pulp and interrogated at wandpoint but look at where we are now!

"Up, Potter. Five minutes to gather your senses and any working brain matter before we start again. And I'd appreciate my walls being left unmarked."

"Yes, sir." Face screwed up into a grimace, Harry forced himself to his feet, blinking away the spots dancing in his vision.

Before long they were back at it again, and this time Harry managed to sneak a furnuculus by Snape's steady stream of spells. The sight of the Potions Master breaking out into hideous boils carried him cheerfully throughout the rest of the lesson.

***

Curled up on the armchair furthest from Snape's desk, Harry closed his eyes. Locked in the cupboard, protected by the darkness; he was alone, yes, but he had nothing to fear. He had grown up in the dark after all.

Now to release a memory... the good ones were easy to find; they felt like the yarn from his Weasley jumpers, the loose tassels of the Gryffindor afghan... they rushed out happily at his command, content in doing whatever kept Harry calm and comfortable.

Only now he needed the bad, and those glowed menacingly in the gloom like blindingly red hot pokers. There was—

Sirius falling through the veil—

Ginny, with Death hovering above as she lay on the Chamber floor—

Mr Weasley, bleeding on the floor, the scarlet of his blood melding with his ginger hair—

Cedric, staring without seeing, staring with eyes that would never see again—

—too much, too much, too MUCH!

He fled back to the cupboard, fear hot on his trail—the darkness would harbour him, who could find, see, hurt him there... the Dursleys would never get through and even Snape had failed and Voldemort wouldn't even be able to sniff him out; he didn't have a nose... he was small and safe and invisible if he tried hard enough.

An hour had passed of his Theory lesson by the time Harry managed to return back to reality, only to find himself covered in a thin sheen of sweat and Snape staring at him strangely.