The Things No One Notices (A HP Fic)

Chapter twenty

Harry kicked his toe into the dirt. It had been weeks. Weeks without Draco. Weeks wondering if he was okay. Wondering if the Death Eaters had caught him. If Voldemort had found him. If he was alive. If he was being tortured. If he was safe. If he was looking for him too.

It was fair to say, at this point, his worrying was driving Ron and Hermione crazy. They had no idea what to say. It was like talking to air. He never retained any of it for longer than a few seconds before his anxiety would start up again.

The sun beat overhead. It was a long walk. That is what they spent most of their days doing, walking. They had no idea where they were going. Of course, it would take a lot more work to figure out where the last two horcruxes were. They slept in the tent at night and walked during the day.

"This is stupid," Ron said. "Just write him our location and we camp out for a couple of days."

Harry looked at him like he was stupid. "There are Death Eaters after us, Ron. Him, too. What if he was caught? Then Death Eaters would be swarming us, and we'd be just as screwed."

Ron put his hands in the air. "Alright. Fine, then. I'm just trying to help, mate."

Harry scoffed. "Yeah. Sure."

Hermione turned to them. "We're stopping to eat."

She was not going to take this arguing any time Malfoy was brought up. She had had enough.

The three stopped in a clearing. Hermione pulled out some food. Ron and Harry took a seat on the rocks nearby. She handed the magically preserved sandwiches.

"We just have to keep moving," she said. "We'll find him eventually. But we have to think rationally about all of this. Death Eaters are after us. And they are after him. We don't know who to trust. We need to find the horcruxes." She took a breath. "It's been weeks, yes, but we need to keep our goals in mind."

Harry knew she was right. Ron knew it too. They just had to keep pushing on. But the problem—the cause of Harry's constant irritation—was his lack of sleep. Since he had been separated from Draco, he had not been sleeping. His nightmares had gotten worse. His anxiety kept him up into the early hours of the morning. His PTSD was making him see things. Hear things. And the worst of it all, because of his guilt—his feeling failure—he was self-harming again.

Neither Ron nor Hermione had noticed. He made sure they did not notice. Because as long as they did not look at him with pity, he could make it to another day. He had not gone to lengths of starving himself, only due to the fact that they walked for miles a day. Because as long as they moved then they were safe. And that was all that mattered, was that they were safe.

Harry took a bite of his sandwich, subconsciously scratching at his fresh cuts from last night. He had awoken from a nightmare—a bad one. It had eaten at him until he finally realized what he had to do. And he had done it silently. Not making a sound. Making sure not wake up his tentmates. That was the last thing he needed. And now, thinking about how he had been the reason Draco was on his own, sent him into another episode. He scratched through the thin fabric of his sweater.

A sweater. He almost laughed. They had prepared for the possibility that they may not come back. Knowing Draco, he would have too. But did he have the time? What did he have on him? Where was he? Had he eater recently? Did he have a change of clothes? Where was he staying?

With every question that passed through his mind, he scratched deeper. His eyes were blank as he stared at the ground. His sandwich lay forgotten on his lap.

"Harry?" Hermione's voice drew him out of his thoughts.

"Huh?" he asked.

His mind was still a bit dazed. He had not even realized that Ron and Hermione had started a conversation.