Escaping Darkness [Book 1 of Through Darkness and Light]

Chapter 2: Unwilling Life

The world was nothing but a blur. A blur with other strange blurs that bent over him, bewildering him with the babbling noises that were quickly beginning to make sense.

"Harry? Oh, Harry! Madame Pomfrey, he's waking up!"

Harry blinked, but the blur didn't go away. "Glasses," he croaked, his throat dry. His mind was fuzzy, and he couldn't figure out where he was. Did the potion not work? Why was he not dead?

Someone pressed the familiar frames of his glasses into his open hand, and Harry slowly slid them on, the world coming into focus. He was in the infirmary, with Ron and Hermione standing by his bedside, their faces pinched with worry. The Mediwitch bustled in, her stern face registering relief.

"Alright, you two must leave. You may return later this afternoon. I daresay Mr. Potter will be out of here in no time," she said firmly, shooing a reluctant Hermione and Ron out of the room, both of whom looked like they were bursting with questions. Harry could hear them now.

What happened?

Did someone try to poison you? I'll bet it was Malfoy... That would be Ron.

Why did you suddenly collapse? Was it You-Know-Who? Typical Hermione...assuming that anything abnormal was because of ol' Moldywart. 'Course, it usually was because of him, but this time wasn't. And he couldn't tell them the reason why. After all, they'd nearly hit the roof when he'd shown them the scars on his arms, the scars now hidden by an elaborate glamour.

You didn't try to hurt yourself again, did you, Harry?

They hadn't understood his pain, when he'd shared one of his darkest secrets with them. They hadn't understood his need to cut himself, his need to feel pain, in order to block the pain of life. He didn't trust them with this secret this time. If he'd had that note he written them, he'd have burned it by now, not wanting them to see it, considering he was still alive, and still prone to their disapproving words. But the note was gone, to his dismay. Who had it? Or was it still in the bathroom? He hoped so.

And there was still the matter of Ron and Hermione waiting to be allowed to speak with him.

He really didn't feel like explaining himself to them. He didn't feel like telling them that he still didn't want to live. That he hated his failure at not even being able to die properly. At least right now, he could stay in the relative safety of the infirmary. Although, he realized, glancing up at Madame Pomfrey, he now had one very concerned nurse poking and prodding him, with questions, and with her wand.

"Mr. Potter. Care to explain why you took a rather large dose of Sleeping Potion?" she asked, her lips pursed with disapproval. This woman would not be taking any lies from him.

Harry groaned. Why did nothing ever go right for him? "I was tired and wanted to take a nap?" he tried weakly. Pomfrey glared him down.

"In the middle of the girls' bathroom?"

Yeah, it sounded silly, even to him. "I...I..."

"Spit it out, Mr. Potter."

Harry sighed, preparing for a barrage of questions and disapproval. "You can't tell them," he pleaded. "They can't know, unless I tell them..."

Madame Pomfrey nodded. "You can trust me to keep your secret," she promised.

"I'm tired of always being the hero," Harry whispered, looking down at his clasped hands, feeling a burn in his eyes. No, he would not cry in front of the nurse. Too many years of experience at hiding one's emotions came in handy. "I didn't want to be the Golden Boy anymore...I just wanted to be Harry. But no one would let me. So I took the only way out. Or tried to."