Harry Potter One Shots

Ruined In A Day

All rights belong to the author, Net Girl

"No!"

Harry Potter sat bolt upright in bed, panting heavily. His eyes were wide open but the world around him was blurry. One hand fumbled at the bedside table for his glasses while the other pushed back the mass of sweat-laden hair from his forehead. Breathing in and out slowly, he settled his glasses in place.

The room was empty. Everyone else was up and probably at breakfast, preparing for the school day. Today was Halloween - the last one Harry would spend at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. This was one day in the school year everyone looked forward to. Almost everyone. While the other students enjoyed the lavish party that the school hosted on Halloween night, Harry couldn't escape the tragic anniversary that shared the day.

He closed his eyes as he pressed the heel of his right hand to his forehead. The nightmares were becoming worse. His scar pained him nearly non-stop in the last two weeks. That only happened when Voldemort was up to something. A school year wouldn't be complete without him.

Throwing back the blankets, he climbed out of bed and ambled over to the mirrored dresser. Both hands rested on the dresser itself so he could remain steady. Slowly, he lifted his head and stared at his reflection. He almost didn't recognize himself.

The nights of fitful sleep had taken their toll on his physical appearance. Along with the beginnings of dark circles under his eyes, his eyes themselves had an emptiness in them. In general, he looked as though he'd been run over by a truck. He couldn't hide this from his friends for much longer, and he had no plans to tell them about any of it unless he had to.

He allowed his head to bow again, eyes half closing as he did so. The nightmares and what went on in side of his mind lately were much more distressing than his outward appearance. Nightmares that he could only describe as visions of Hell tortured him. Mass killings of so many innocent people - Muggle and magic alike - the pain inflicted on other human beings troubled him. But not as much as how he felt about them when he thought back on them.

Tuning out of the lectures from his professors, Harry revisited those horrors in his mind during classes. A part of him, a part that had become increasingly dominant in the last few weeks, didn't much care. The consequences of the atrocities perpetrated in the dreams, they simply didn't exist. No consequences. No guilt. Not a care for any of it.

His eyes opened fully. What's happening to me? he wondered. His muscles tensed momentarily when the scar suddenly throbbed. He winced. Am I going mad? Is this Voldemort's newest plan against me? To make me insane?

The sounds of students' voices caught his attention. He looked over his shoulder, watching the door anxiously, hoping that none of his roommates would return. A minute passed. No one came. He was still alone. He relaxed.

Not even Ron or Hermione knew about the nightmares. He thought Ron might've suspected something but his best friend never made any mention of it while they were awake. Usually, Ron minded his own business where Harry was concerned. Usually. Hermione, on the other hand, did not. If she sensed that anything was amiss, she'd have confronted him about it by now.

Moving away from the mirror, he set himself to getting dressed for the school day. If he hid in his room, that would certainly bring unwanted attention to him. He would do as he'd done yesterday and the day before that and the one before that; he would get dressed, go to class, and not say a word to anyone.

Once dressed, he opened the drawer that held his school robes. His hand froze inches above the black robe adorned with the Gryffindor emblem.

"Not Slytherin, not Slytherin," he murmured, absently. That was what he'd so fervently repeated when McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on his head six years ago.