Beautiful World ~ 𝑫𝑹𝑨𝑹𝑹𝒀

Chapter 5

The next morning, Harry woke up with a smile. That in itself marked the day as strange, because usually he woke up and blinked, staring up at the ceiling and thinking vaguely to himself, "Ah. Still here, then?" But this morning, he woke up and for a long moment, couldn't figure out what was different about the morning. Then he realized that it was the muscles in his face twisting up into a smile.

"Right," he said out loud, a little unnerved. "Good dreams then, I suppose." He didn't remember them, though he did recall claiming, only a few short days ago, that he didn't dream anymore, and found himself wistfully wishing he could recall this one. It must have been good, if it had made him smile. And he certainly wasn't smiling because he was awake. Generally Harry preferred to be asleep because at least when he was asleep and not dreaming, he had an excuse not to feel. As opposed to being awake and moving about life like nothing matters and wondering why but not having the energy to change it.

He got out of bed and showered and went to class with Ron and Hermione, tried to pay attention to them and to his professors, and at lunch, didn't choke on any food or taste any poison or love spells. In fact, he was nearly disappointed and figured that the curse or whatever it had been was over.

It was so hot that day, even hotter than the previous day, that Dumbledore decided to cancel the afternoon classes, because no one was learning anyway. It was just so hot inside that no one could concentrate. Hermione immediately whooped and cried something about all the extra study time, disappearing into the library, and Dean decided it was high time he taught Ron, Seamus, and Neville the rules of football. Harry was invited but declined, the heat making him irritable and crave solitude even more than he naturally did.

So mid afternoon found Harry dressed in Muggle jeans and an old t-shirt, slipping out a side door, and escaping the hot Hogwarts halls in exchange for the sweltering heat outdoors.

He moaned a little as the humid heat hit his body, instantly drawing sweat from his skin and making him wilt a little.

"This is ridiculous," he grumbled as he made his way over the grounds. "It's never this hot here."

He briefly considered going into the forest, where the trees would create enough shade to grant at least some degree of coolness, but it was too hot even to stomach the idea of walking across the grounds towards it. Besides, the forest was off-limits.

He went instead to the Quidditch pitch, watching from the shelter of the stands as Dean laughingly outlined the rules for football. Other students had gathered now as well, and they'd broken into two teams. Everyone was laughing and grinning, and Harry wistfully wished he had any sort of inclination to join them. He didn't, however, and he sighed, slipping into the changing rooms, hoping it was cooler there at least.

It wasn't. It was quieter, however, and he wearily slumped onto his back on a bench, closing his eyes. He hated excessive heat. He was thirsty and sweaty and irritated, and was trying desperately to think up something to distract himself with.

He went into the back closet that housed the school brooms and broomstick oils and such, intending to busy himself oiling up the old Clean Sweeps. Madam Hooch would surely thank him for it later.

He was just selecting a broom when the door to the closet swung shut, casting him into a hot, sweaty darkness.

For a long moment, Harry didn't move. He loathed the darkness. It was false and treacherous and it told a thousand lies that would have been plainly seen in the light. It made him cold, inside and out, and it made him shake with terror. He'd rather die by something he could see than die by something cowardly, that killed in the dark.

"God," he said, and it echoed in the darkness. Just a single, shaky syllable that held no respite from the emptiness.

He dropped the broom he'd been holding and spun towards the door, the clatter of falling broomsticks making him jump, making him pant with fear, as he crawled over buckets and broomsticks and chests of Quidditch balls.