Sensitive Touch

Chapter 7: Meltdown

To say Harry was irritated would be an understatement. He was anxious and he didn't even want to wear clothes today because his nerves were so extremely sensitive. All this sudden change with Draco and the fact that Harry knew in the back of his mind that he found the man attractive was scary and new.

Ron and Hermione were being distant and suspicious, which irked Harry even more. He stumbled to the bathroom just as the sun was coming up, crashing through the door with a loud bang. Harry yanked off his boxers, and started running the water while he stood on his toes.

His hands were tense and especially uncooperative as he stepped under the stream, rocking on the balls of his feet in an unconcious attempt to calm down. Fingers locked when he tried to scrub them through his hair, his achilles tendons were tight, and his responses to his arms were delayed.

By the time he had finished clumsily brushing his teeth he was about ready to throw his toothbrush in frustration. He turned off the water with a shaky hand. Grabbing his fluffy white towel, Harry wrapped it around himself and sunk down against the slippery tile until his bare arse touched the lukewarm tub bottom.

He already knew that today was going to be difficult. Everything was making him want to pull his hair out and he hadn't even been awake for more than an hour.

Harry sat with his eyes closed until the chill seeped back into the air.

Trembling, he paced out of the bathroom on his toes and collapsed face first into his bed, his towel only wrapped around his shoulders. He wandlessly yanked his duvets back up over himself and his hair whipped dry in pure agitation. He turned his head to lay sideways, staring out the window as colors seeped into the sky.

Ron snorted himself awake right around when the glow of the light started to come in through the open curtains. Harry turned his head toward Ron minutely. He was rubbing his eyes and yawning with a scrunched up nose, his long limbs contorting as he stretched and sat up, clucking his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

He caught Harry's gaze and rubbed his ear, "Morning Harry." he mumbled, getting out of bed to rifle through his trunk.

Ron had gotten better about waking up in a timely manner after he returned to the forest with Harry and Hermione during their Horcrux hunt.

Harry gave a grunt as Ron pulled out his robes and trundled to the bathroom. He sighed, he really just wanted to sleep everything off, but he knew Hermione would be pounding on the door if he didn't come to breakfast.

Reluctantly, Harry pushed himself up on his elbows, his towel draped loosely over his shoulders, and shuddered at the combination of textures against his bare skin. He saw Draco grab his things after Ron came out looking freshly groomed.

The morning was a blur. He got dressed in an uncomfortable haze, went down to breakfast where his fork nearly slipped from his strained grasp multiple times, and sat through Slughorn's lecturing that he barely paid attention to because his shirt collar was making him fidgety.

Everything was too loud, too bright, or too scratchy.

By the time they were in transfiguration with McGonagall, who had maintained her position as transfiguration professor as the castle was repaired over the summer, when she simply had no time to interview possible competent successors, Harry was practically seething.

They were practicing some simple beginning of the first term review, giving a tea set some legs. Harry was shaking, he couldn't hold his wand correctly in his stiff barely responsive hand. His chest felt tight and all the muscles on the fronts of his thighs were tense. The ringing of the china legs tapping against the wood was driving him up the wall.

McGonagall swept by him. "Potter you're incorrectly holding your wand." she critiqued in her thick Scottish accent.

That was the breaking point.

He slammed his wand hand down on the table, the crack of wood against wood sent chills down from the crown of his head. His breathing was heavy and labored, his teeth clenched angrily, making his jaw muscles roll over the pointed bone.

Before he could register what he was doing, his hand jerked violently across the length of the table, sending all of the china to the floor. He didn't even hear it crash.

"I KNOW!" he screeched, digging his nails into the desk.

His ears ringing, lips numb, eyes rapidly welling with tears, fingers tingling, legs shaking from how hard his achilles had pulled taught, ankles shivering as he balanced on his curling toes.

His head fell onto the wood with a thump, his shoulders shaking from how hard he was sobbing. He felt two pairs of arms wrap comfortingly around his jarring body, and distantly heard McGonagall dismiss the class. He felt a hand touch his hair.

Once his breathing evened out, he felt himself being propped up to look McGonagall straight in her stern eyes.

"What in the devil was that Potter?" she snapped, though her eyes showed deep concern.

Harry's numb lips were tingling back to life, "I don't- I don't know- I don't know..." he stammered out.

Hermione, still rubbing Harry's back affectionately, perked up.

"Actually professor, I've been meaning to talk to you about this very situation." she stated.

Harry whipped around to look at her, "What?! Wha-" he breathed, his hands angrily flexed.

"Well let us continue up in my office." McGonagall replied, flicking her wand to repair the damaged tea sets.

"I'm sorry..." Harry murmured, watching the ceramic seal itself back together.

"It's quite alright Mr Potter..." she said tersely.

McGonagall turned and lead them to her office, glancing back at Harry every few moments as he was shepherded along on tiptoe. She pushed open the door and transfigured three chairs for them, making sure that Harry was placed in the center.
He sat, looking exhausted and cramped.

"So Miss Granger, there was something you wanted to tell me about?"