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You won't like it, but I thoroughly enjoyed writing this chapter. Ah, poor Harry, or is he?
Please, review.
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Chapter 5 - Isolation
He was lying face-down in a pool of yellow, shimmering liquid that had glued his eyes shut. He wanted to shout and wrenched his teeth apart, only to find that yellow, semi-gaseous, semi-liquid vapour was now oozing from inside his body, and had glued his velum to his tongue, effectively drowning his voice for good. He tried moving his limbs, but they simply refused. Except for his small finger: its nail had torn in the middle, and the part that was sticking out was scratching helplessly over soft skin. A hand. Her hand.
Harry awoke with a small scream. He was in a sweat. Only when he tried to sit up, he realised that he already was sitting bolt upright. Neville was snoring peacefully in his bed near the door. Harry could see his friend's outline in the moonlight. He could have wept.
Was Neville his friend? They had been okay so far - and when Neville had discovered about Harry's magic, he had been awed in the least. Now that everyone at the orphanage was shunning Harry, Neville did not speak to Harry, nor did he accompany him to the lessons, or to breakfast. He, however, had refused to move to a different room. Harry's gratitude was mingled deeply with a strong desire to rid himself of Neville's company for good. Maybe this was Neville's idea of friendship - maybe it was the best he could do for Harry - but Harry secretly felt that Neville's quiet company only distracted him from his thoughts, and nourished the minuscule embryo of hope Harry was still carrying, an irrational, undeserved, greedy hope for redemption...
He had been fine with the girls not speaking to him, except maybe for Hermione. He was miserable now that the boys were ignoring him. Ron was avoiding him widely, or else darting into the nearest room. Harry no longer was invited to the common room - not that he had wanted to go. Helen's gloomy look was more than enough to increase his feeling of despair.
Harry knew he deserved punishment. To be truthful, he was craving for it. In any case, judgement on him had been reserved until there was any change in Amy's condition. She was in a coma at the infirmary. He had not asked to be allowed a visit, feeling it would be denied anyway. While no decision had been made, everyone was convinced of his guilt, it seemed. He had taken to eating alone, sitting alone during the lessons, and taking long, lonely walks in the evenings, although November had arrived a week ago, and it was getting colder and rainier each day.
Now, he was hovering in a state of insecurity about the future. It would not be the earliest departure in his career of orphanages. It certainly would, however, be the saddest. For the first time in life, he had had friends. People had not hated him for being different. In the end, Harry reflected sadly, they had always turned against him. This time was the worst. It was bound to hurt more than usually; eventually, he would get over it, wouldn't he?
"I am getting colder", he concluded to himself. "I should be properly immobilised with painful conscience, and all I can think is, 'Wait and see'."
Unbidden, an image of Tom Riddle flashed through his mind, and he jumped so badly his blanket fell off. Of course! Tom must have gone through exactly the same to become what he was. Actually, Tom Riddle's mere presence was a warning, was it not? His every gesture, his every syllable, told people around him, "Don't become like me." And Harry had not heeded him, he had rather chosen exactly the opposite direction.
Only, at this stage, it was too late for regrets. He could apologise to every single inhabitant of the orphanage, and they would not listen to him more than they would to the buzzing of a bee. If Amy woke up, he might have a chance to redeem himself; she had broken two ribs, and her head was badly injured, so she might not wake up all too soon. Helen had considered having the girl transferred to a hospital. There was not enough money for the transfer, so the amount and the quality of food at the orphanage had been reduced severely. Consequently, the atmosphere had reached an all-time-low, or so it seemed. Naturally, the one to blame was, again, Harry.
Harry cursed to himself silently as the clock on the wall resumed its loud ticking, cutting rudely through his sad musings. He might as well get dressed. Harry did not think he would be able to sleep anymore, not with the volume of Neville's snores increased, and that - ruddy - clock -
Harry pulled a sock from his drawer and stuffed the hands of the clock into it. The pointed hands tore his sock immediately and went on as though nothing had happened.
Furious, Harry grabbed his books and left the room.
Harry had not decided where to go; the clock had driven him out of the bedroom, and now there were two choices: the cafeteria, or the common room. A possible third choice, namely, going outside, had been cancelled out by the weather. Rain was coming down thick and fast. People were already wondering whether it would ever stop at all. Dreariness was settling in. Ginny was not her usual spirited self anymore, as Harry had gathered from covert glances around the cafeteria. She no longer presented him with her furious stares, but she also had ceased joking around with her friends, and had stopped talking to Hermione altogether. Harry had wondered whether a rift of some kind had sprung up between them. Well, he was not going to find out soon, was he, Harry thought resignedly as he sat down at the breakfast table.
The cafeteria was empty except for him. He seized the time to browse through his books, but after fifteen minutes, this became very boring. After all, his school books had been his pastime for a few days now, and he was downheartedly sick of them. On the other hand, he knew that Helen had brought books of a more entertaining nature - novels, biographies, and others - to the orphanage. They were stored in a cupboard in the classroom, for everyone to borrow one.
Harry was decided. He closed his school book, got up swiftly, and sneaked out of the cafeteria. The corridor was deserted. Still, Harry thought he heard voices, and when he was level with the classroom door, it was opened from the inside, and Hermione Granger emerged, looking extremely put out about something. She did not notice him, as he was standing in the shade, unmoving, and he watched her walk away silently. She had seemed deeply in thought. Wondering what on earth might have upset her that tremendously, Harry peeked into the classroom. It was empty.
***
Over breakfast, Helen informed them that new arrivals, including a second teacher, were expected during the following days. Harry did not join in the excited cheering that erupted all over the table. He knew that if he tried, he would be hindered to talk to the new children, and his story would be known within minutes anyway.
He felt Riddle's eyes rest on him, and looked up. Tom's dark eyes were boring into his own. Harry started to feel sick, but he could not remove his gaze.
A rush of incredible guilt flooded through him, erasing all current feeling. Amy's face swam into view, the panic on her face as he grabbed her arm. Harry's heart was hammering in his chest so loudly he almost wondered why other people did not hear him.
Then Hermione came to him in his mind, smiling at him from underneath her pile of bandages. Hermione avoiding him and Ginny. Hermione emerging from the classroom. He could not bear it any longer, but still could not tear his eyes away from Riddle.
A thought sprung up in his mind, and it was not a pleasant one. What if Riddle was using his magic to explore Harry's mind? Did that mean Harry was controlled by him, so he could not look away, allowing Riddle to browse through his mind like reading a book?
Suddenly, Riddle lowered his eyes to the table. Immensely relieved, Harry got up immediately and dashed out of the room.
Had he really just felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders? Amy's face was back, glaring at him accusingly. He shook his head, whispering frantically, "I didn't do it, I didn't do it..." Sweat broke out on his forehead, and Hermione walked past him, giving him a reserved look he thought he detected a trace of concern in, but it probably was just wishful thinking.
Harry blinked twice to ascertain that she really had been there. All by herself?
It took him a few more seconds to collect himself, but then he ran after her, not upstairs, but down the corridor that led to the infirmary.
"Hermione", he called out, keeping his voice down at the same time so no one would hear them. She slowed down, allowing him to catch up with her. Her eyes did not meet his.
Unsure what to say next, Harry walked with her in silence until they reached the infirmary. Here, Hermione fixed her eyes onto some point near his right shoulder, and said quietly, "You're not supposed to be here."
"I - I need to see Amy", Harry told her. It was not a lie - he had not intended to come to the infirmary, but he was in desperate need to clear that face from his mind.
Hermione shook her head sadly. "It is impossible. You know that perfectly well."
"Hermione", he said, lowering his voice. "I am not guilty."
He surely must look guilty, talking to her like that, trying to be allowed a visit to his victim - to finish his task?
"What do you mean?" Hermione asked quietly. "You did push her down the stairs, didn't you? Ron even told me it had happened before, that a boy who had stolen your glasses almost drowned..." Her voice trembled near the end, and she paused.
Harry felt a surge of rage heat his veins. So she had been talking about him with Ron, had she? And Ron was spreading stories Harry had told him in confidence, was he?
"You see... I do not want to think that you are responsible of this. I thought we could become great friends, but..."
"Look, Hermione", Harry said desperately. All of a sudden, it weighed immensely that she believed him. "It happened right after Riddle had walked past the two of us. He must have made me do it..."
Suddenly, her eyes were very cold. He froze, unable to finish.
"You're not even feeling remorse, are you?" she asked in a voice so bare of emotion it made him shudder. "You're trying to lay the blame on someone else! And you even prepared your ground when you told me that story about Tom Riddle in the infirmary." Her eyes were very wide, as though realisations were coming to her in a rush. "He may be aggressive, but it seems that you are worse than him."
"Hermione, please..."
"No!" Her eyes were full of tears now. "I - I saw you watch him over breakfast - I don't even want to know what you were thinking - how convenient for you that he is here at this orphanage! I can see now why you never lasted long at one place! If this is your true nature, I despise you more completely than I thought I could ever despise anyone!"
Her chest heaving with emotion, she glared at him, her eyes finally looking straight into his.
Harry felt the ground shake under his feet. Or maybe his feet were refusing to carry him any longer. She did not believe him. The facts were against him, and they had not had the time to establish a relationship of trust.
He was all alone in this world.
***
The following day, Harry awoke with a headache.
He had been walking around at the seashore for hours the previous evening, and after a while, he had not even felt the rough wind on his cold skin anymore. He had returned in the dead of the night to find that Neville had moved to a different room. It had been too late to find out exactly where, but he was probably with Ron.
Harry did not leave his room that day. Nobody came to see him, and he spent hours sleeping. Sometimes he was half-awake, holding conversations with fantasised company. The first illusion was Ginny, sitting on the floor, cross-legged. Her clothes kept changing colours. Once she was there, once she was not. It was quite annoying. She never said a word, only looked at him indifferently. Well, she probably no longer cared about him anymore, now that she impersonated other people's talkative shadows.
The next person was Neville - of course he had to follow Ginny like a dog - and he spent most of his time telling funny stories about his cute baby sister, how she always crawled around as a baby, how she answered to things she did not understand at all, with entertaining results. Doubled up with laughter, Neville vanished on the spot.
Tom Riddle entered through the ceiling, holding hands with Hermione.
"See", he announced. "This is where it ends for you, Potter. You will not get any nearer to her than you are now. Do you know where you are?" He nodded gravely. "You are on the most remote seashore, indeed. She is mine now." His long, white fingers caressed Hermione's head. She smiled.
"No, she's not", Harry wanted to yell, but his voice failed him, and anyway, they were gone, leaving him to loneliness, and to ponder whether Hermione might really have a thing for Tom. Why else would she have defended him like that, not believing Harry at all?
Harry suddenly wondered why he cared. For all he knew, both Amy and Ginny would have done anything for him - whereas Hermione had arrived with an air of - business? She did not care about him in particular, she even was happy to let him talk to other girls in private. She was interfering where she should not meddle, she was too wise for her age, she was too reserved, she was brilliant, and he missed her deeply.
Miserably, Harry buried his head in his pillow. He had lost her for good, and before they had even passed through the stage of getting acquainted.
An hour later, he had another visitor. Amy strolled in through the door casually, behaving like this was her place to be. She peeked into Harry's face with a curious smile, like a baby might have watched him bent over its cradle.
"Harry", she said. "I didn't expect you to be here."
"I'm sorry", he whispered through dry, hot lips. His forehead was burning, and she grew blurry before his eyes. When he opened them again, she was gone.
***
Early the next morning, Harry awoke and dressed gloomily. Rain lashed against the windows. The sky was drained of colour; every now and then, a fork of lightning cut through the clouds.
Harry's head seemed to weigh a ton. He got up nevertheless; he did not think he could stand another day with his hallucinations and dreams, dreams about a yellow pool of water he was lying in face-down, not moving, not breathing, not speaking. It had been haunting him for a long while now, and he just could not trace it back to anything in his real life. It was eerie.
Whispers burst out all around him as he entered the cafeteria. He no longer cared.
Harry's eyes briefly met Neville's. His former roommate's cheeks reddened, but he continued talking with Ginny in an excited voice. Ginny, on the other hand, was looking rather exhausted. Harry noticed that Neville, Ginny, Ron, Luna, and Hermione were all sitting together. Hermione's eyes were rather red, and she was watching Tom furtively.
Had Tom rejected her?
It was an absurd thought, and Harry abandoned it quickly. Maybe they had fought again - yes, this seemed more likely.
What if he asked her?
Harry mentally shook himself by the collar. He must not enrage her again. At the same time, misery was weighing in his stomach. He needed to talk to her. If she believed him, the world would righten itself a little.
Ron guffawed at something Neville had said. Harry strolled towards the end of the table and started eating his poor-quality breakfast.
Around lunchtime, Helen called them outside. The rain had ceased, and only a fine downpour was brought to them from the forest. The wind was still very strong.
The black carriage was trundling up the winding path once again. Everyone watched anxiously as it fought against the storm raging above sea level. This side of the hill was completely unprotected.
"They are having trouble", Hermione said, her lips trembling.
Harry darted forward with outstretched hands. He did not know why he was doing it; the carriage, which had been about to fall, however, straightened up and continued on its way.
"Well done", Helen said, beaming. Surprised, Harry turned around, but she had not spoken to him.
Everyone was watching Tom Riddle. His right hand was outstretched, and pointing at the carriage. He gave Helen a smile that looked as if it had been trained carefully for hours.
Harry's jaw dropped.
And then he understood. Riddle was trying a different tack now.
Tom had always attracted hate with ease. Now, he was trying to make the others love him.
Which meant that Harry was to replace Tom as The Bully for good.
Hermione's eyes, shining brightly with fascination, were on Tom. A bitter smile on his face, Harry turned back towards the carriage, shivering in the cold breeze.
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Coming up: "Sir Teacher". In which Hermione has her say.