Why Do You Love Me?

Harry sighed. He hated the sympathetic glances he kept getting from all around the table. He was trying his best to ignore them, but it was becoming more and more difficult, considering the fact that even Snape was giving him looks, and it was extremely unnerving. ‘I swear,’ he thought to himself. ‘If I get one more look…’

He didn’t even have time to finish his thought; Draco shot him a sympathetic look out the corner of his eyes and Harry hissed and rose quickly to his feet. “Look,” he addressed everyone seated at the table. “I’m not some broken little boy. Stop looking at me like that! I’m not going to break! I’m not going to fall apart, okay?”

Everyone looked taken-aback. “Harry,” Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, but Harry held up his hand to stop her.

“No,” he interrupted. “I’m still the same Harry, okay? Just, please…I-”

“Alicia said that you need time to heal!” Hermione pointed out.

Harry raked his fingers through his hair. They got stuck in the knots and he groaned and winced as he yanked them roughly out. “Look, Alicia knows nothing, okay? I don’t want to be treated like a fragile…fragile…girl!”

With that, Harry stomped off to his room, muttering under his breath. “I’ve healed. I don’t need to heal. I have healed…” the entire way.

Draco shot Hermione a half-smile. “He’s right, you know. He’s not a girl.”

Hermione shot Draco a cross glare. “I know that, Draco,” she mumbled. “But he’s been raped, for Merlin’s sake!”

Draco closed his eyes and shook his head. “Yes,” he agreed. “But he’s still Harry.”

Hermione looked at the doorway where Harry had disappeared, along with everyone else at the table. “Perhaps,” she said after a moment’s silence.

…
…
…

Alicia paced back and forth in front of the door of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, hands buried deep in her pockets, wondering what she would say to Harry. She was there for their weekly meeting, although Harry had protested against it. Unfortunately for him, she was part of the Order, and he had grudgingly agreed. Of course it only served to anger him more that Alicia and Mrs. Weasley had made nice during his short stay at the hospital. In a way, their relationship was similar to that between himself and Malfoy. They didn’t quite like each other, but if they had to be in each other’s presence, they would deal with it.

Mrs. Weasley opened the door, amidst a loud screaming sound. Her smile was bitter and slightly forced as she allowed Alicia into the ragged home. She had dark rings under her eyes and her hair was all over the place. There was no smell of cooking food wafting from the kitchen, and there was no warmth permitting from anywhere near Molly.

It took Alicia a while to realize that the screaming was not coming from the bewildered-looking portrait of Mrs. Black, who seemed rather reserved and quiet, albeit a bit suspicious. She continually disappeared and came back looking disgruntled and, though she tried to hide it, worried.

“Is…is that Harry?” Alicia asked after a moment’s hesitation. At Molly’s terse nod, Alicia’s eyes widened. “What is he doing up there?”

Molly shook her head. “No one knows,” she answered truthfully. “He’s locked himself in the bathroom, hasn’t been out since he came home two days ago. The screaming started last night. It hasn’t ended, not once. Alicia, I’m afraid I’m on the end of my tether. I want to help him, I really do, but he just seems to withdraw.” Molly’s eyes filled with glistening tears, and Alicia rested a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“I’ll do what I can, Molly,” Alicia said comfortingly. Molly nodded and after another moment’s hesitation, she led Alicia up the stairs.

When they got there, Draco was already leaning against the bathroom door, eyes drooping shut slightly, mumbling incoherent words. “Draco, you can leave now,” Molly stated, startling Draco out of his half-slumber. Draco climbed heavily to his feet, murmuring obscenities about Harry the entire way to his bed.

The screaming was cut short and they could hear gasping in the silence, which was rather unnerving. Alicia nodded shortly to Molly, and Molly left Alicia alone with Harry. After Molly had retreated, Alicia knocked hesitantly on the door. There was no response.

“Harry?” Alicia asked, drawing her wand and casting a soft unlocking charm. The door swung open and Alicia was greeted with a most unnerving sight. Harry Potter, lying in the bathtub, bloody. The room stank of sick, and there was blood everywhere, running down the walls and pooled in small puddles mixed with water on the floor near the tub. Harry’s eyes were bloodshot, his hands clenching and unclenching sporadically as blood flowed freely from his wrists. One hand was clapped over his scar, and his entire forehead was bloodied. “Harry!” Alicia gasped out. Harry looked at her as though seeing her for the first time.

His voice was hoarse when he greeted her, the three most chilling words she had heard for a long time. “I hate you,” it was merely a whisper, but Alicia caught it. With that, Harry’s eyes slid closed. The house was blessedly silent for all of two seconds before Alicia ran from the room and began screaming orders at anyone she stumbled upon; including a most annoyed Draco Malfoy, who was forced to yank himself up from his bed.

…
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…

Hours later, Harry Potter was arranged in his bedroom, bound to his bed as healing charms were applied to him. For the hundredth time, Harry tried to explain himself. “I was not trying to commit suicide,” he said, his throat sore and his voice still hoarse.

“Harry, if that’s not what you were doing, then what was it?”

“Voldemort,” Harry whispered harshly. “He tried…he tried to contact me. It was…just too much for me, you know?” Harry’s smirk was bitter when he met Alicia’s glance. “I was not trying to commit suicide,” he assured her. “He was controlling me. I think I was under some type of ‘Imperius’ or something.”

Alicia shook her head disbelievingly, but remained silent. “Harry,” she said after a bit of awkward silence. She stopped casting healing charms, and Harry let out a sigh of relief. “I know you think I don’t know anything about what you’ve suffered, but I have something to tell you.”

Harry looked at Alicia, as though he couldn’t care less of what she had to say. But, of course since he was bound to his bed and couldn’t see sleeping anywhere in his near future, he listened nonetheless.

“The only reason I was assigned to your case, Harry,” Alicia began. “Was because I was raped myself.” Harry opened his mouth to comment, but Alicia cut him off. “No, don’t interrupt. I know you think I’m only saying this, but to tell you the truth, it was hard for me to admit it, too. My father did it. Or, rather, my stepfather, but I thought of him as family.

“My mother - muggle, of course - had re-married when I was two, and I always thought of him as my father. When I got my Hogwarts acceptance letter, he was pleased. Excited. He couldn’t believe that he had a magical being in his household. No, I was not a mud blood,” Alicia said at Harry’s disbelieving glare. “My father had been a wizard, though he hadn’t told my mother before he left her.

“And when I came home after my first year at Hogwarts, things had changed drastically. My stepfather was petrified of me, but I guess that he believed that I could somehow give him the power that he so yearned for. He…he took my virginity that night. And he continued doing it until I was seventeen and old enough to get away. It took me years of therapy to admit that it wasn’t my fault.”

Harry shot a glare at her, not believing what she told him. “Harry, I’m not lying. I’m sorry I can’t put everything as artistically as I’m sure you would like for me to, but this really did happen to me. It’s still hard to talk about it sometimes.

“The officials at the ministry believed that since I had had some previous experience with something like this, I could help you out. But to tell you the truth, you’re only my second patient. I just recently got my therapists’ degree, and, Harry, to tell you the truth, I don’t know how to help you.

“I really want to, I truthfully do, but Harry, I need your help. Harry, will you please tell me what really happened?”

Harry stared at Alicia for a few moments more before he nodded slowly.

Alicia smiled softly. “Start at the beginning, when you came home.”

…
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…

As soon as Harry had walked through the door, he could feel the tension in the air. Everyone stared at him, and they seemed so apologetic, so sympathetic. Harry couldn’t stand it. Finally, he had exploded at dinner, and rushed out of the room before anyone could try to make him see the reasoning behind their actions.

He knew that he was acting differently, although he had tried to tell them that he was still the same Harry. Of course, things had changed drastically from the time he had been sent home, but Harry still yearned to be treated the same way he had been treated when he had left school. He had said that he wasn’t going to go back to school, but that had changed when Dumbledore had contacted him. Now he looked forward to going back. He wanted so desperately to go back to some semblance of normalcy. But things would never be the same.

He hadn’t immediately gone to the bathroom. He had gone to his bedroom to sulk for a few hours, but after no one came up to comfort him, he ran to the bathroom and forced himself to be sick. His stomach had roiled uncomfortably, and he could feel the acid as it continued to force itself up his throat.

When he could no longer be sick, he had collapsed against the wall and fallen asleep, the sickness still tainting his mouth and throat with its taste. He had eventually fallen asleep, regretting everything that had happened.

He had woken up early that morning to the burning pulsation of his forehead. More particularly, his scar. He had lifted his hand up to it, to find that it was pulsing with blood. His touch set off something within him, pain sparking from the very center of his brain to the ends of his fingers and toes, throughout his whole body. He didn’t even notice the screams that were coming from his own mouth.

Voldemort’s voice had taken over then, convincing him that everything was his fault, and how much easier it would be to just kill himself.

“Poor little Potter, all growed up now,” he had commented. Harry could hear the smirk behind his voice, could nearly see the crooked teeth, the rotted away nose, the ghostly pale skin. “Does poor little Potter not know what to do? Poor, poor little Potter.

“You do know that this is all your fault, don’t you? You could have joined me, you could have stayed far away from those dastardly muggles. But no, poor little Potter always has to be a hero. Poor, poor little Potter.” A hiss found its way into Voldemort’s voice, and Harry could nearly hear the transition from English to Parseltongue.

“Is it too overwhelming, whelp? Of course it would be. But you’ve seen death before, haven’t you, Potter? The death of your poor family shouldn’t be that much of a shock. All of the rest of your family has died. It was only a matter of time before they all did. And soon you’ll join them. Does that make you happy?”

At that, Harry let out a sob that could not be withheld. “Aw,” Voldemort tisked, going back to English. For some reason, the English didn’t seem nearly as threatening as Parseltongue. “Poor Potter. I would have thought that out of everyone, you’d be the happiest. Perhaps you’d like to join them sooner? In that case, you don’t even have to wait for me to kill you. All you’ve got to do is…”

Harry couldn’t stop screaming. The screams drowned out everything; Voldemort’s voice, the sound of running water, even the sound of the screams themselves, until Harry was lost in white noise, unable to find himself through the haze.

Eventually, Harry gave up. He couldn’t remember anything after that, just the immense pain and the tearing of skin that brought on a semblance of a little bit of relief.

…
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…

Harry’s eyes were clouded when he came out of the memory. When he met Alicia’s eyes, her own were glistening, and Harry sighed. “I wasn’t trying to commit suicide,” he tried once more. “Well, at least not purposely,”

“I know, Harry,” Alicia said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve…I’ve got to go talk to Mrs. Weasley and everyone else. You’ll be okay, won’t you?”

Harry’s eyes shot open wide, showing his vulnerability. “No!” he exclaimed, struggling against his invisible restraints. “Please, you can’t leave me alone! What if Voldemort comes back?”

Alicia watched Harry sadly, then nodded. “I’ll leave Draco with you,” she said after a while.

Harry, though not looking happy with Alicia’s choice, looked at least a little bit relieved.

Alicia pulled the door open and Draco fell to the floor, a shocked look on his face. He stood up quickly, dusting himself off and looking guilty. “I wasn’t trying to listen, I swear!” he cried out. Alicia smirked at him knowingly but nodded and left the room. As soon as she was gone, Draco scrambled into the room quickly, shut the door, and took over Ron’s un-occupied bed.

“So, Potter,” Draco drawled after a while. Harry kept his gaze averted, but Draco didn’t seem to notice. “Um, what…what happened in there?”

Harry took a deep breath and shook his head. Draco cocked his head to the side and looked at Harry curiously. After a long bout of awkward silence, Draco sighed. “So, uh…those wounds have healed up nicely.”

Harry hissed and stiffened his spine, his eyes glazing over coldly. Okay, apparently that wasn’t the correct thing to say. Draco furrowed his brow, trying to think of something else to say to break the uncomfortable silence with. After a while, he sighed and gave up. They remained in eerie silence for the remainder of their time together.

…
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…

“Alicia, you’ve got to tell us what’s happened. What was wrong with him?” Hermione ambushed Alicia as soon as she entered the living room. Even Mrs. Black was there, having taken over a portrait of a rather disgruntled looking fat woman in a tight white dress that showed off her large bust. The woman ‘harrumphed’, flipping her midnight colored hair over her shoulder haughtily, and joined a thin, frail, old looking man in the portrait next door to her own.

Alicia sighed. “He’s tried to convince me that he hadn’t tried to commit suicide,” there was a collective gasp throughout the room, even from Mrs. Black, who had been rather taken with the boy ever since he had arrived earlier that summer. She had known that he had been trying to hide something, and had vowed to find out what it was. Of course, back then she had had different motives, but slowly she was coming around to the Order’s ideas and plans. Poor, poor Harry!

Alicia shot everyone a sharp glance, and they quieted down. “However, I have reason to believe that he’s made it up. We must keep a constant watch on him for at least another month.”

“Will he be able to go back to school this year?” Hermione cut in quickly, her eyes shining with worry.

Alicia looked thoughtful for a few moments, then shook her head. “I see no reason why he shouldn’t. You would all just have to keep an eye on him there. And I don’t think you will have a problem with that, will you?”

Ron slung an arm over Hermione’s shoulders and Ginny followed suit, all shaking their heads in unison. Neville stood silently by his grandmother, mulling it over. A sharp prod to his side quickly made his mind up for him. “No, ma’am,” Neville cried out quickly, shaking his head as though it were about to fall straight off of his neck and dodging another well-aimed prod to his side for the slight crack in his voice. “No problem!”

“I cannot assure you that Harry won’t attempt to take his life again. In some cases, we’ve just got to believe him when he says that he isn’t trying to. But I want you all to be prepared for it. I want you to stop him if he attempts it again, and I want you to comfort him. Don’t treat him any differently than what you would if he were visiting after a long summer holiday.

“The circumstances he has faced, alone, would be very hard on anyone. The events of the past six years are just now catching up with him as well. This will be a very hard time, not only for him, but for everyone associated with him, as well. I just ask that you support him. Do not criticize him, or scold him. He says that he isn’t fragile, and I’m sure that he thinks he can do this alone, but I assure you that he cannot. I would like for you all to remember that almost twenty percent of all suicide attempts are, eventually, successful. Given, that is after multiple tries, but one can never be too certain.

“If he asks to be left alone, it would be wise to do as he wishes. But, have him leave his wand in view of everyone, and have someone near the room that he is in at all times. Remove the locks of any possible rooms he may wish to be in. Like I’ve said, he will need to be under constant surveillance. But he should not feel like he is being watched. He needs to trust you. He needs someone to lean on, someone he can trust. I trust that you will all be willing to be there for him when he needs you?”

Everyone in the room nodded, and Alicia continued, though this time she was addressing the portraits. “You, Mrs. Black, need to watch him the most. It is easier for portraits to watch people, because they are thought to be less susceptible. That goes for all of you, as well,” Alicia turned around the room, looking at each portrait in turn.

“You all need to watch him closely, and give both Molly and myself full reports daily of his whereabouts, who was watching him, and what occurred in the time remaining. I would like for you, Sir Bartholomew, to take the first shift of watching Harry. Please depart from us now.”

A man in a suit of armor, nearest the door, saluted Alicia, and quickly departed from his portrait. Alicia nodded grimly, her lips pursed, as she was bombarded with even more questions.

…
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…

“Sir Bartholomew, reporting for duty, sirs!” The normally empty picture above Harry’s bed was quickly filled with a red-headed, middle-aged looking man. He was short, with a curly goatee. His armor clanked and clicked loudly, and Harry stared at him peculiarly.

“Um…are you sure you’ve got the right room?” Harry asked hoarsely after a while. Draco stared at the proceedings curiously.

Sir Bartholomew cocked his head and eyed Harry. “You are Sir Potter,” he stated after a moment.

Harry blinked. “Yes,” he said, his eyes clouded and confused.

“Then yes,” Sir Bartholomew said, righting himself and leaning his sword against the frame of the otherwise empty painting. “I am in the correct place.”

Sir Bartholomew made himself comfortable in the corner of the blank painting, and Harry watched him curiously.

“You…you’re sure?” he asked suspiciously after a little bit longer.

“Yes, noble Sir Potter,” Sir Bartholomew stated, saluting Harry swiftly. Harry blinked.

“Um, okay,” Harry said, brows furrowed. “If you insist.”

He turned to Draco and gave him a weird look. Draco smirked but shrugged. “Don’t ask me,” he said. “I’ve been here the whole time. I’ve no clue what’s going on.”

Draco’s assurances did nothing to comfort Harry, and he stayed on his guard stiffly, refusing to get comfortable in Malfoy’s presence.

…
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…

Two days later, Hermione was lounging in Harry’s room on the freshly vacated bed that Ron no longer slept in. Ron had opted to sleep in Ginny and Hermione’s shared room as everyone circulated with having a chance of watching over Harry. Although Harry was slightly suspicious about what was going on, he was glad that his bonds had been taken away, so he really didn’t care that something fishy was going on.

Hermione was flipping comfortably through pages of her newly acquired book for the fresh year at Hogwarts that Arthur had gotten for her just the day before. Harry had also been supplied school supplies, but Harry had to wonder how Arthur had managed to get Harry entirely new supplies without being able to get a hold of Harry’s money, but he had other things to worry about, so the suspicions were quickly pushed to the far corner of his mind.

It was also quite suspicious that the empty portrait above Harry’s bed was now nearly constantly home to someone or another. Mrs. Black even seemed to visit him quite often. It made Harry wonder even more.

His friends often kept him occupied, and it was quite odd in the change of the way they were treating him. Just days before, they had been treating him like fragile glass, but now…now it was as though nothing had happened to him at all. Harry spent most of his time pondering over what Alicia had said to everyone to cause this change in their attitude.

“Hermione?” Harry asked, turning the page of one of his own new books.

“Hmm?” Hermione continued reading, as though Harry hadn’t said anything at all.

“The other day,” Harry stopped momentarily. That caught Hermione’s attention. Perhaps he was about to reveal to her exactly what had happened to him! Hermione jumped at the chance excitedly.

“Yes?” she asked, her attention completely diverted from her book now.

“Um,” Harry was reluctant to ask Hermione what he so desperately wanted to know, but taking a deep breath, he went for the plunge. “What exactly did Alicia tell you about what happened?”

Hermione’s eyes lit up as though something new was occurring to her, and she smiled warmly at Harry. “She was quite vague, actually. She just said that we should treat you like normal, mostly.”

Harry’s brow furrowed and he sighed. Of course Alicia would tell them something like that. No wonder why everyone’s attitude had changed so much.

“Hey, Harry, don’t look so sad,” Hermione soothed, tossing an arm over his shoulder as she plopped down beside him. Harry jerked away quickly, eyes wide and chest heaving.

Hermione looked at him in surprise. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her brow furrowed.

Harry inhaled deeply and gulped, shaking his head and saying nothing.

Hermione sighed and pulled away. She really needed to study up a bit over some things. “Harry, I’m sorry. I’ve got to go, but Ginny and Ron wanted to come see you. Would you mind if I…” she trailed off and motioned questioningly towards the door. Harry pursed his lips but shook his head, and Hermione smiled warmly at him before bounding out of the room.

Ginny and Ron slinked into the room, Ron carrying a chess board and Ginny carrying a red leather-bound book. Ginny grinned widely at Harry and tossed herself onto the empty bed, cracking open the book and burying her face in it immediately. Ron slunk over to Harry like a kicked dog with his tail between his legs, offering the chess board almost nervously. For some reason, he reminded Harry of Neville.

“Wanna…play?” Ron asked, and Harry hated the way he sounded nervous and apologetic.

Out of mostly pity, Harry half-heartedly agreed.

…
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…

After Ron had won three games, he had become rather full of himself. He didn’t get quite so in-your-face as he had prior to…this summer, but he was quite gleeful. He even upped the stakes for the fourth game.

“Okay, Harry, this is what we’re gonna do,” he had said after one of his pawns rammed bodily into one of Harry’s castles. “If I win, you have to come out of the room for at least two hours,” at Harry’s look of spite, he grinned widely. “And you have to spend the night with Malfoy.” Harry cringed and crinkled up his nose in disgust.

“And if I win?”

Ron pondered on it for a minute. “I have to streak around the house twice?”

Harry pulled a disgusted face, and Ron grinned sheepishly, his cheeks flushing brightly. Harry shook his head disgustedly, then decided. “How about you spend the night with Malfoy?” he challenged.

“Me?” Ron squeaked, ears turning bright red.

Harry smirked. “Fair’s fair,”

Ron sighed resignedly, but nodded.

…
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…

Two hours later, Harry and Ron were engaged in one of the most competitive games they had ever played against each other.

Harry cried out triumphantly as one of his knights slammed a sword violently into Ron’s queen. Harry wasn’t the only one. Behind him, perched atop a stool that had been materialized out of nowhere, Sir Bartholomew also cried out with joy. Both Harry and Ron looked questioningly at him, but he could not withhold his laugh of glee as one of Ron’s own knights impaled the very knight that had just taken his queen with its sword.

Finally, the game was down to a few players. Ron quickly finished off Harry’s own players, and grinned wickedly as he put Harry’s king in checkmate with his bishop.

Behind her book, Ginny grinned triumphantly as well. But it seemed that overall, Sir Bartholomew was the one who grinned the widest.

Harry groaned in horror, not looking forward to the night that was sure to be the longest of his life.

All thoughts of fishy suspicions were pushed from his mind as Ron and Ginny bodily forced him out the door and down the stairs to the family room.