The Boy Who Ought To Be Dead - H.P

XVI - Ignotus

"Shoot all the bluejays you want, if you can hit 'em, but remember it's a sin to kill a mockingbird."
- To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee

-

He woke up with a groan and stretched.

It was now seven at night, and Harry had finally risen from his long sleep. Somehow, he still felt restless.

As he sat up, he saw his lover peacefully asleep next to him. He gave a weak smile at the sight.

He got out of bed, careful not to wake up the sleeping blond.

He walked over to the bathroom and locked the door behind him. Harry stared into the mirror that was located above the sink. The only feature of himself that caught his attention was the weird, blue line in his right eye.

He had been as stunned to see it as he was in The Leaky Cauldron. It's not as if he forgot it was there, it had just been covered so long that he seemed to forget about it.

Now that he thought about it, why was the line showing? He had a glamour over it that removed it.

He rechecked his glamour, and it was definitely still intact. His face screwed up in confusion.

He removed the glamour with a swish of his hand, and nothing had changed (obviously).

He casted the glamour once more, expecting it to be hidden as it was before. Unfortunately, it was still there.

Sighing in defeat, he gave up trying. He would just have to live with it until he could do something about it.

He left the bathroom and walked to the kitchen. He made himself a strong cup of tea and sat on the counter; he couldn't quite explain it, but the counter was more comfortable than the chairs.

He sipped from the mug every now and then. He was deep in thought — thoughts about his eye. Maybe it was just his body playing tricks, but whenever he would think about it, it began to hurt.

He pressed his palm to his eye and pushed on it, the pressure upon relieved the pain.

He downed the rest of his tea, and placed the mug in the sink.

The thoughts were becoming like anvils in his brain. They were weighing him down, and the only way to be rid of them is to talk to someone.

His first thought was Draco. But did he really want to wake the sleeping boy up? He looked so exhausted prior to his sleep that it would make him feel bad to wake him up.

But then again, who else was he to tell?

There was Professor Dumbledore, but that was a very strong no. If the man said a simple 'hello' to him, it would take all his might to not kill him.

There was Professor Snape. He seemed like a good choice, but Harry didn't really want to burden the man with his presence anymore than he already has.

Oh, how he wished he could tell Remus. The only way to contact him is through the headmaster, though. Don't forget the fact that he doesn't even know that Harry is alive.

That realisation made him freeze for a minute or so. He definitely needed to talk to Remus in the oncoming hours.

And then, like a lightbulb switching on in his head, an idea struck him.

Hermione!

Why hadn't he thought of her sooner? She would be the perfect person to tell.

She had brains like no other person he had met before, she could handle any emotional situation very well — of course she could, she is a girl.