James McCormick Normal James McCormick 3 80 2003-08-07T18:02:00Z 2003-08-07T18:04:00Z 1 1283 5753 University of Houston 130 41 6995 10.2625 Clean Clean MicrosoftInternetExplorer4
Telling Her
Author's Notes: As promised, I have an angstlet for you. Again, nothing sexual, which is refreshing. The content comes from personal experience blended with HP. I hope you enjoy it!
When Harry returned to Number 12, Grimmauld Place after his fifth year and the required visit to the Dursley's, which he understood but still didn't like, it was hard for him to imagine that he was ever happy to see the mansion. The events of the previous year had severely altered his outlook on life, and it was certainly much gloomier now than it ever had been. Even his childhood at the Dursley's had been cheerful comparted to his mood now.
Of course, this pleased the Dursleys. They thought that they had finally figured out how to keep Harry's spirits down, even if they weren't the cause of his depression. He just remained in his room, not wanting to talk to anyone. The Dursleys didn't object to this behavior. In fact, they even encouraged it. After meals, they asked Harry to go back to his room, and would only call him back downstairs for the next meal.
When the owl from Mrs. Weasley came, informing him of the date they would come and pick Harry up and take him to the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, his depression only worsened. He didn't want to see the place again, because he knew that it had been Sirius' house, and he didn't want to have to face the memories of his godfather. Then there was the issue of Kreacher, who Harry knew he wouldn't be able to deal with, as it was Kreacher who had given him the misinformation that took him to the Department of Mysteries in the first place.
After arriving at the mansion, Harry was only cheered slightly to know that Kreacher had died earlier that summer. The fact remained that the portrait of Sirius' mother was continuously gloating over her son's death, which provoked Harry's ire.
Not even Ron and Hermione could cheer him up. Everything they said, no matter what it was, seemed to throw him into despair. The only thing that kept him going was spite for Voldemort, for he knew that if he died, nobody could possibly rid the wizarding world of the threat Voldemort posed. However, the only people who knew that were himself and Professor Dumbledore.
Everyone knew that Harry was on the edge of a violent explosion, especially Ron and Hermione. They had become frightened to be in his presence, because he just radiated a combination of anger and depression that everyone feared would explode at any minute. Everyone who spent time at Number 12, Grimmauld Place knew that it was only a matter of time before Harry exploded, and there was nothing that anyone could do about it. The only hope there was that the damage that Harry caused wouldn't be too catastrophic.
It was the portrait of Sirius' mother that did it. As Harry was walking back upstairs with his school supplies (Molly had insisted that he get out of the house for a while), Mrs. Black began another one of her tirades.
"He had it coming, my idiot son. I only wish he had taken all of this riff-raff in my house with him," she began to wail.
It may have been the stress, the depression, the fact that every single person in Diagon Alley insisted on shaking his hand and apologizing to him, or just the comment about Sirius itself that caused Harry to dive over the edge, but whatever caused it, everybody in the mansion knew that it had happened, even before Harry threw down his stuff.
"SHUT UP, YOU EVIL BITCH!" Harry bellowed at the painting.
"Ooh, have I touched a nerve?" Mrs. Black responded, obviously encouraged by the outburst. "Did my worthless son's death cause you any emotional strain, blood traitor?"
The explosion that followed this comment did what nobody else with the Order of the Phoenix could. The painting went flying off the wall and the canvas ripped as a piece of the frame snagged on its side.
"LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE, YOU LITTLE BRAT!" Mrs. Black screamed. "YOU'VE TORN MY PAINTING!"
"YOU DESERVED IT! I'VE HAD IT! I'M NOT DEALING WITH YOU ANYMORE!" And with that, Harry picked up the canvas and ripped it straight through, which caused Mrs. Black's image to howl in what must have been pain. "YOU DON'T LIKE THAT, DO YOU? IT'S WHAT YOU AND THOSE LIKE YOU HAVE DONE TO ME!"
With that, Harry stormed off to the kitchen to grab a knife. He knew what he had to do. It had to stop. It was too painful. He wanted out. As he burst into the kitchen, Hermione came and grabbed him.
"Harry! What are you doing?" she asked in a soothing tone.
"I can't take it any more! It's got to stop. It's over. Here. Now," was all he could say in his rage as he wrestled her off and grabbed the butcher knife and ran back to the painting. "What do you want, Hermione?" he demanded when he noticed that she was following him.
Harry then put the knife through the canvas, right at Mrs. Black's head. She let out a scream of pain, and then she was no more. He then turned the knife on himself.
"Harry," Hermione said, on the verge of tears herself. "Please, don't."
"Why? Why should I care? All life has done is screw me over, time and time again. All over this damn prophesy! Why did it have to be me? WHY?" Harry cried out, his eyes completely in tears and the knife still at his wrist.
"What prophesy, Harry?" Hermione asked.
"It's either me or him. I don't know that I can do it, though. And frankly, I don't give a damn anymore. I just want a normal life. He can have whatever he wants," Harry said, now bawling.
"Who? Voldemort?"
"Of course, Voldemort. There's this prophesy that says that either I've got to kill him or he's going to kill me. But I don't care. I just want OUT!" Harry spat.
"But Harry, surely you don't believe that divination rubbish," Hermione soothed.
"But this one was real, even if it was Trewlaney. Why else would they have such restrictions and records of it, Hermione? Did you stop to think of that? Dumbledore knows it's real. It's the only reason he hired her, Hermione."
"In that case, killing yourself is only going to make things worse. If anyone is to blame for your troubles, it's Voldemort, Harry. Now, please, give me the knife," Hermione said, causing Harry to pull the knife away from his wrist and hand it to Hermione. "Thank you, Harry," Hermione said as she threw her arms around Harry, kissing his cheek.
"I'm just tired of it, Hermione. I'm tired of having those I love ripped from me because of this damn curse," Harry said as he moved to return the hug.
"Harry, I love you. And I'm always going to be right here beside you. No matter what you do, I'll still love you," Hermione cooed into his ear, kissing his cheek again.
"You're not going to leave me because of the danger?" Harry asked weakly.
"Absolutely not, Harry. Think of what we've faced together. Do you think I'm going to leave you now, when you need me most? Of course not!" Hermione replied.
"Thank you," Harry said as he continued to cling on to Hermione. "I love you too."