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06

𝗧𝗪
____

𝗠𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡𝗦 𝗢𝗙
𝗦𝗨𝗜𝗖𝗜𝗗𝗔𝗟 𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗨𝗚𝗛𝗧𝗦

"I want to live."

-Harry Potter

"YOU ONLY HAVE YOURSELF AT THE END OF IT ALL."

"SHΣ can't defeat him."

Harry and Ron sat with Hermione in the room given to her and Ginny to stay in. Harry sat on the floor with his back against the end of the bed frame. Ron and Hermione sat opposite, facing of him.

Harry had been reaping of this meeting of the siphon witch all day long. He hadn't spoken a word for several hours until it was almost time for them to go to sleep.

"Why would you say that Harry?" Said Hermione.

"She won't be able to defeat Voldemort. I don't know how to explain it but I just get this feeling that she can't do it. I mean, she has no magic for crying out loud!" He said anxiously fast. He stared at his fiddling hands, not daring to look his friends in the eyes and showing his true fears.

Hermione was already aware that Harry didn't know what he was saying really. She had known him long enough to understand his body language. It wasn't hard to see that the boy was still reeling from the events that took place the previous year. The death of Cedric broke Harry in a way that the other two couldn't understand.

To feel so powerless, to watch someone die right in front of your eyes. Though he would never admit it, Harry had spent the entire summer in a vegetable state. During the days, he would barely eat. He couldn't hardly stand staying in the house with the Dursley's saying some rude things to him so he would wonder. Maybe he would walk the city or sit in a park, but he was never fully present in his surroundings.

His mind had wondered to dark places many times. Some of those times he thought about killing himself. Just to keep himself from drowning further into that dark whole fulling with nothing. It took a long time from him to remember what he would leave behind if he went through with it.

The nights was what he hated the most. Plagued with night terrors that left him drenched with sweat and shaking like a leaf. He spent his days afraid of the night. Afraid of seeing Cedric's pale face staring at him. Of hearing the cries of a man that had lost his child. A soul he had brought into this world, only for it to slip through his fingers.

At night is when Harry felt everything he kept bottled up during the day. He was struggling, but he'd rather die then ask for help. He told himself to be strong, he could do anything as long as he stayed strong. The mantra helps him keep walking with his head up instead of doing what he really wanted; crawling in a bed a sleeping for hours just to escape his cruel reality. But he couldn't afford to do that. Not now.

He barely felt anything all summer until the dementors attack him and Dubley. That's when he felt the coldness wash over his mind. His spine tingled, his hand shook. Shakey breathing misted in front of him with every breath.