Harry didn’t feel well. His head was thumping loudly, his stomach was twisted, and no food that he consumed would stay down. It had seemed that for the past two weeks, he had done nothing other than hide in his room and suffer. He had tried to help Snape in his lab, but the Potions Professor had shoved two potions in his hand and sent him back to his room.
There wasn’t any physical reason that Harry was sick. He didn’t have any sort of cold or flu symptoms, and there wasn’t any sort of logical reason that could have brought on these conditions.
It had taken him two days to accept that it was the guilt that had been eating him up inside. The guilt and the shame over his actions. Ever since he had left Fleur’s side, he had forced his emotions back inside their cage, but he couldn’t allow himself to feel anything. Not only did he try and shove down his hate, his simmering bitterness, but the love he had for his friends and the trust he had for them. He had blocked himself off from every feeling, including those he had for Fleur. He made sure to stay away from anyone who might have him falling apart again.
After talking to Dumbledore and learning what could happen to him, he had started falling apart again. Harry had barely made it through the day but had managed to force himself to focus on his tasks, and then after dinner, he went and researched what he could on Obscurials. It was limited information, and it didn’t elaborate any further than Dumbledore had just included a few cases that had been recorded.
But if Harry couldn’t hold it all in, then he didn’t know what to do. His thoughts were everywhere; he struggled to breathe when an overwhelming sadness washed over him, there was no moment of peace. All he wanted was for it to go away.
The aches in his body made him wonder if this was how it began, him becoming an Obscurial. He knew that Dumbledore was keeping a close watch on him, no doubt that Snape—when he checked in—was reporting back to the headmaster. No one had bothered him; Snape had only checked on him, left fresh potions before leaving. Food appeared, for every meal, on his table and then would disappear a few hours later, no matter if he had eaten or not.
Harry rubbed the sleep from his eyes and cradled his head in his hands. Even if he made it through all of this, he wasn’t sure if his friendships would. He knew that it was only a matter of time before someone came knocking, and it had been Carlisle. After the day Harry had been through, he had snapped at his oldest friend, pushing him away. But when Carlisle had refused to leave him alone, he made sure to hit a nerve. Harry would never try and have sex with Amelia, he knew that the two of them would be together forever, and he would never ruin that. But suggesting that he would try was enough to get Carlisle to back off. His friend had socked him one, right across the jaw, and even though it had bloody hurt, he was glad his friend did it and left.
Jenna had appeared out of nowhere. As Carlisle marched off, she was suddenly beside me, checking my face and asking me if I was okay. She had the same worried eyes that Carlisle had beamed at him, desperate to help but concerned that something was really wrong.
Harry wasn’t able to scare her off like he did Carlisle. She had helped him off the floor and onto the couch in his small living space. He had asked her to leave, which she ignored and sat beside him, holding an ice pack against his cheek.
She looked at him with some pity, her thumb had stroked his other cheek, and she said, “Why would you say such a thing to Carlisle?”
He didn’t want to admit the truth. “Because he was annoying me.”
“You don’t mean that, and that wasn’t why you said it.”
“Why do you think I said it then?”
“Because you’re hiding something, and rather than talk to your friends, you are keeping it in. Probably have some deluded thought that by keeping it in, you are saving us the trouble of helping you.”
“You think you know me so well.”
“I do know you. Better than you like, it’s why you like to pretend that your indifferent to me sometimes.”
Harry didn’t like hearing her say that. She did know him better than most, had always been able to read him when no one else could. “I apologise if I hurt your feelings.”
She sighed. “Don’t apologise when you don’t mean it.”
“What makes you think I don’t mean it?” he asked.
“Because every word that you said to Carlisle was a lie, why would anything that you say to me right now be any different?”
Harry wanted to argue; he had lied to Carlisle—to push him away—but not to her. Jenna wasn’t someone he was able to lie to.
He lifted his hand to grasp her wrist, pulling the ice pack from his face. She watched his hand as it held her arm before she glanced back at him. Harry doesn’t know why he did what he did, but his head was spinning. His emotions were rattled, and nothing made sense. Leaning in towards her, his voice low, he asked, “Maybe for once I’m not lying.” He used his grip on her arm and pulled her closer; his other hand wrapped around the back of her neck, and he kissed her.
Jenna’s taste, the feel of her lips on his, and her smell were all wrong. If she hadn’t pulled herself away as fast as she did, Harry would have pulled back himself. Her hand connecting with his cheek, smacking him hard enough that it stung, made him realise that he was truly fucked.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she spat. “Why would you do that?”
Harry couldn’t look her in the eye. His head started to throb, not from the punch he had received from Carlisle or the slap from Jenna, but from something else. He dropped his head into his hands and felt the pressure on his chest. He couldn’t breathe as the cage he struggled so hard to keep shut broke open, and it all poured out.
“Harry?” Jenna grasped his shoulders, tried to make him look at her.
He pushed her hands away and stumbled towards his room. He shut the door before she could follow him in and slid down the wood as she tried to force it open.
“Harry! Let me in.” Her hand smacked against the door; it whacked into his back as she tried to push it open. “Harry, what the hell is wrong with you?”
He doesn’t remember how long she stood on the other side, but eventually, she left. Harry was left allow to dwell in his emotions. The hatred was the heaviest of them all. It pushed against his throat, demanding to be let out. He could feel it burning a hole through him, wanting to find those who had hurt him most and make them hurt. The sadness and fear were there with it, trying to crumble him from within. But he couldn’t let them.
There are fragments that he can’t remember. Pieces of time that are black, and what he does remember is the pain, the weight. But when he had woken up that morning, something in his chest felt different. The weight seemed to have lessened, and he was able to pull himself up. His head was still hurting, and he didn’t feel like he could stomach anything, but he felt lighter.
The door to his bedroom opened, and Snape stepped in. He stared at him and said, “You feel better.” It wasn’t a question, more of an assessment.
“My chest feels lighter.”
Snape nodded and placed two fresh potions on the nightstand, followed by a letter. “Your father sent me this. He asked that it be passed on to you.”
Harry hadn’t heard from his parents since he had returned to Hogwarts. He assumed that they were trying to figure out how to deal with him, not that he had wanted to speak to either of them. They only letter he had received was from Fleur, but he had never opened it. Instead, he had shoved it into the draw of his nightstand and tried to forget it was there.
Snape left him alone, and all Harry could do was stare at the letter. It didn’t look very thick, which meant it was probably written by his father. Sirius wasn’t one for words; he tended to keep things short. Harry would be lying if he said he wasn’t curious about what his father had written, and the longer he stared, the more he wanted to read it.
Harry managed to pull himself across the bed, his wand was sitting on the other nightstand, and he could have summoned them over, but he knew that he needed to move. It would be good for him. He groaned as he pulled his legs from underneath the covers and over the edge of the mattress. He quickly downed both potions, cringing at the horrid taste, before taking the letter.
His hands trembled. Harry was scared, and a tear slid down his cheek. He could shove it in the draw and pretend, but what was the point? He was already being strangled by his emotions; how much worse could it get.
He tore open the paper and saw the messy, smudged letter. Words and sentences had been scribbled out and rewritten. It was a mess.
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Harry, my boy.
I don’t know what to say to you. I feel like a failure. I am supposed to be your father. I am supposed to protect you, make you feel safe, love you, but all I have done is let you suffer alone. I, somehow, told myself again and again that you were fine and that you didn’t need me. You have always been a strong kid, never wanted to hold my hand or want me to guide you through anything. You liked to do it on your own, and no matter how many times you failed, you would never ask for help. I guess I thought it was the same thing; I told myself that you didn’t need me when you did.
I know there is nothing that I can do that will change the past. I can’t go back and help you open up; listen to you when you needed it. I can’t change the selfish decisions I made, but I want to tell you now that I am here. I want to listen. You can yell and scream, swear to your heart content. Break whatever you want, and if you want to cry, then I will be here to hold you.
Remus told me that I only become a failure if I give up. I am choosing to never give up because I love you, Harry. I will never give up on you, and I will always be here from now on; I will find a way to make sure that you are never alone again.
Take however much time you need, and I understand if you don’t reply.
Just know that I love you.
Your father.
Harry’s hand shook to the point that he could barely hold the page. Tears blurred his eyes, and the pain in his chest throbbed. It was a different kind of pain than before. It was still despair and fear, but there was also desperation. Harry wanted to see his father, to grab onto him and hope that Sirius could help him stand. He pushed the tears from his cheeks and took a deep breath. He wanted to see his father.
Harry pushed himself to stand, his legs shaking as he walked around the bed, holding the frame to keep himself up. He grabbed his wand and sent a quick note to Snape. He was pulling on a clean shirt while holding onto his dresser as the man walked in.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Can you take me home, please?” Harry asked.
Snape nodded. “You read the letter?”
Harry didn’t respond.
Snape moved towards him and wrapped an arm around Harry’s waist before helping him out of the room. It took a few moments to get into Snape’s chambers where he could Floo them back to White Oak Manor. It was the middle of the day, so as Snape reached through the ask Sirius to let them in, it didn’t take long. Holding onto Snape, they were sucked through and on the other side, Harry stumbled. Snape kept him up but grunted.
Harry found his father waiting for them. He looked almost as terrible as Harry felt. He clearly hadn’t been sleeping, and his clothes were a mess.
“Harry.” His name fell from his father’s mouth, and Harry used what strength he had to push out of Snape’s grip and stumble towards him.
“Dad.” He sobbed the name and fell into his father’s arms.
Sirius caught him and then slowly lowered them both to the floor. Harry buried his face into his father’s chest, gripping his arms.
“My boy, I’m so sorry.” Sirius sobbed into Harry’s hair. He held him close as his body shook with tears.
They stayed there for some time. Snape left them be, and Harry found for the first time in a very long time the weight of fear being lifted from him. He felt safe in his father’s arms, and he never wanted to forget that feeling again.
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The sun was starting to set, and Harry was sitting in his bedroom, food in front of him and his father beside him. When the two of them had managed to stop sobbing and breath normally, Sirius had helped him upstairs. Harry explained his illness from the past two weeks but found that he left better after crying so much. It felt like they had talked forever, and Sirius did what he promised; he listened.
A house-elf appeared with their dinner, something light for both of them, and Sirius pulled out a deck of muggle cards. It was a game that he had learned from Remus and something they hadn’t played for years.
As Sirius dealt, he said, “I don’t know if you want to hear this, but I just wanted to say that I am sorry.”
Harry smiled, and it felt good. He said, “I know. I’m sorry for running off.”
Sirius sighed. “Not exactly your fault, was it.”
“No, I suppose not.” He took the cards Sirius handed him. “Met an amazing girl, though.”
Fleur had been the hardest thing not to think of. In the days after he had left her, without her beside him, he had tried to forget what it felt like. He had wanted to keep those memories free of the horror of his everyday life, but the feeling of Fleur’s touch would have most likely helped him if he hadn’t tried to be such a moron.
“Fleur Delacour is certainty that. Takes after her mother.”
Harry shook his head, the smile on his lips, not fading. “Careful, Dad. Apolline will eat you alive.”
Sirius laughed. “That and she is married.”
“So, there is a line that you won’t cross.”
Sirius faked hurt and pouted. “I do have some standards, thank you.”
Harry laughed.
“It’s good to hear you laugh.”
Harry wasn’t sure what to say.
“I never realised how many things I was missing.”
Harry bit down on his lip, then said, “I know things are going to be weird for both of us. But I am glad that you are here, Dad.”
Sirius smiled widely and reaches over to clasp his shoulder. “I like the fact that you’re calling me, Dad.”
“What do you mean?”
Sirius let out a small huff of a laugh. “You always called me father; it never really sat right. Dad seems just that more personal.”
Harry knew that calling his father had created a sense of distance between them. It was something his grandmother had expected of him, but when he realised the effect, it had helped him separate himself from the feelings he didn’t want. But calling him, Dad felt right.
“I’ll keep that in mind, Dad.”
Sirius squeezed his shoulder again.
“Now, tell me more about this girl.”
“I can’t explain it, but she is just amazing.”
“You sure it’s not that Veela allure?”
“Yes, that I am. It is more than just how stunning she is. From the moment she touched me, everything inside felt different.” Harry missed holding her hand. “She found me at my weakest moment and saved me.”
“That sounds intense.”
Harry nodded. “It felt intense.”
“Have you heard from her since?”
“She wrote me a letter.”
“And?”
“I didn’t open it.”
“Why not?”
“I was scared that whatever was in it was going to bring everything rushing back.”
“You tried to lock it all away again.”
“Yeah. I thought that perhaps if I could just put it all away, I could just go on like nothing had happened.”
“And it didn’t work.”
“Nope. I fell apart to the point that my body almost broke down.”
“I think you probably hit your breaking point. Physically and mentally, you just couldn’t take it anymore.”
Harry nodded. It made senses.
“I hit my breaking point about the same age as you.”
Harry looked at his father curiously. He had mentioned his childhood trauma’s briefly but had never really told Harry much.
“Your grandmother and I got into the worst fight I think we ever had. She hit me so hard that I fell down the stairs and whacked my head on the railing. Instead of being worried that my head was bleeding, she screeched at me for getting blood on the wood.” Sirius took a shaky breath. “That was the night I ran away. Found myself stumbling through London; most people thought I was drunk or high. They crossed the street to avoid me. I felt worthless; in my head, I didn’t think I was good enough for anyone.
“I found myself standing on a bridge, don’t remember which one, but I was tempted. So very tempted to just jump and end it.”
Harry didn’t know what to say. His father’s darkest days had pushed him to want to kill himself. Harry couldn’t recall a moment that he had truly considered suicide, but it terrified him that it could have led to that.
“What happened?” asked Harry.
Sirius stared down at the forgotten cards in his hands. “I ended up at the Potter’s. James’ parents took me in, fed and clothed me. I lived with them up until…”
Harry knew what he was going to say. Up until they found out about him.
“I lost my best friend that day, but what I gained was probably the best thing I could ask for.” Sirius cupped his cheek. “And even though it hurt, I would never ever go back and change what happened.”
Harry felt a tear prick his eye, it did fall, and his father brushed it away while smiling at him. It was another moment where Harry felt better; he didn’t feel like someone’s mistake or regret. The look on his father’s face told him that he loved him, and for now, that was enough.
“Did you keep Fleur’s letter?” Sirius asked.
Harry nodded. “It’s back at Hogwarts.”
“I think you should read it. Might help more than you think.”
Harry nodded again. Once he got back to Hogwarts, he would do just that. But at that very moment, he wanted to stay with his dad.
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