"Buried, almost tangible secrets filled the space between them, and so, without a second to think, she closed it."
The scars of war opened more wounds than Harry Potter thought possible. As he returns to Hogwarts for his eighth and final year, he le...
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FOR THE LOVE OF GOD I REGRET WRITING THIS CHAPTER AND I WILL BE REWRITING IT TO NOT BE SO FUCKING WEIRD.
I ORIGINALLY WROTE THIS FOR A DRARRY FIC AND I REGRET INCORPORATING IT INTO THIS STORY.
OH MY GOD IF YOU ACTUALLY REVIEW OR READ THIS SERIOUSLY THAN PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS CHAPTER OR SKIP TO THE BOTTOM WHEN THE TEACHERS SHOW UP
The heavy oak door slammed closed behind Harry, and he jerked his hand away from the doorframe to avoid it closing on his fingers. Harry's glasses had turned sideways on his head in the aggressive way that he had been yanked into the dark closet, and he adjusted them hurriedly as he squinted into the dark.
He pushed himself towards the back wall of the closet and fumbled for his wand in his pocket with a growing urgency, it was nowhere to be found.
Panic immediately set into him and he threw his arms out to balance himself. Harry jumped as a warm feeling spread from where he had placed his hand. He assumed it to be the shelf behind him when he had moved his arm, and was now terrified to have made contact with a warmth that felt very human-like.
Harry grew increasingly more panicked, locked in a dark, cramped closet with no way out and no wand to light the room up. He pushed himself so deep into the closet that various unknown objects poked into his spine, and he let out a hiss of agitation from the prickly pain.
"Who's there?" There was no answer. "Hello?" he asked.
To Harry's surprise, a voice answered, "Quiet!"
Someone was here.
"What the—" He opened his mouth in shock when a hand clamped over his mouth. He squirmed under its grip, anger flooding through him as the closet almost seemed to grow smaller around him.
"I said be quiet!" the voice responded.
Brief flashbacks to his childhood, being thrown into the cupboard with tears streaming down his face, popped into Harry's brain and heightened his panic.
The walls of his old cupboard under the stairs were so thick that no one could hear his sobs, not that any of the Dursley's would particularly care if they could. Now, the walls of the tight closet were closing around him, and he couldn't found himself unable to breathe.
It was already Harry's seventh year, he faced the world's darkest wizard and killed him. Countless times he had been faced with death and had stared it down, refusing to let himself fall to the fear and standing his ground. Yet somehow, a dark closet managed to terrify him more than when he had walked into the Forbidden Forest only a year prior, ready to die at the hands of Lord Voldemort.
