Indifference Towards Difference || Harry Potter

27 | Let's Walk The Road To Hell, With All Its Good Intentions

"You were merely wishing for the end of pain...your own pain. An end to how it isolated you. It is the most human wish of all."
Patrick Ness

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⚠️DISCUSSIONS OF ABUSE + SELF HARM⚠️

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Distantly, Harry snuggled further into the feeling of comfort surrounding him. He could feel something warm and solid, settled on his shoulder, and everything was okay.

He was barely aware of himself dozing back to sleep. 

***

Harry sat by a lake, opposite a girl cradling a half-done daisy chain.

"Let me sleep now," she said, voice wavering as the lake rippled sadly.

His heart was beating in his mouth, and the daisies meant something terrible.

A wave of pain brought him to the very edge of consciousness. Air scraped his lungs like shrapnel. Lilac and stale potions hovered in the air in a phantom-like fashion, and he felt so very alone.

Suddenly distressed, Harry made a little whimpering sound.

He heard footsteps approach, and a whispering presence by his side.

"Sleep," a voice said, low and soft, hushing him quietly.

One of his legs spasmed. The hushing came again.

"...perfectly safe. Go back to sleep..."

  A hand stroked the hair back from his forehead before staying there, cool and comforting. That was good then. He still had someone left. He wasn't alone.

The darkness closed in with soft, lapping waves again, and Harry slept.

***

"...send that flaming bird again, Albus, and I'll have Minky turn Fawkes to a roast..."

Snatches of an irritated voice filtered through to his consciousness, drifting in and out of reach. Like the whispers from the Veil, the funny little ghosts, though he had enough haunting him, didn't he? Or maybe Sirius was a ghost now, but the voice didn't sound much like Sirius. And there were no ghosts here... here, where was here? Privet Drive, perhaps, but then Uncle Vernon only ever shouted at him for causing trouble. He never meant to but... ah, he must've been screaming again.

"'M sorry," Harry mumbled, as much as he could with his tongue feeling so thick and useless. His lids felt gummy and sticky; he'd managed to squint them open at least. Harry tried pushing the coverlet away, only his arms and legs felt useless— had his bones been vanished again?

"Potter?"

A hand pushed him back into the duvet, not that he'd been making much progress out of it.

"'M sorry," he repeated. "Didn' mean t' scream. Please don'—"

"You have not been screaming," the voice said, soft and almost reassuring. The owner of it, he could see, resembled a dark blob. "How do you feel?"

Harry blinked owlishly and met a pair of frowning black ones. Snape, he realised— that's who was with him now, whose hand was still lightly on his chest, as though to keep him there.

Though why he asking how Harry felt? His tongue felt weird— how was he meant to tell Snape that when it wouldn't work?

"Bleurgh," Harry decided on vocalising, as intelligently as possible. He tried waggling his tongue for emphasis.