Touching the Untouchable

Author’s note: I am evil and horrible and mean, and I’m going to do it anyway. Here is Chapter 5, as requested…I’m sorry, I had to.
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Touching the Untouchable by Graballz Chapter 5 Undeserving


Harry shot out of the Great Hall and didn’t stop until he was at the portrait for Gryffindor’s dorms. He ignored the glare of the Fat Lady and went up to his room. The first thing he did was grab his wand and tuck it into his sleeve. He was not about to be caught defenseless again. Next, Harry reached for his Marauder’s Map. He felt around for the Invisible Cloak; it wasn’t there. Puzzled, Harry looked through his entire trunk and checked under his pillow, just in case he misplaced the map in his drunken state of mind. Nothing. He sat on the bed and laid his fingertips on the sheet, feeling a sense of horror and desperation come over him. He leaped to his feet and stumbled for the door. Harry knew that he would have to figure out exactly what happened last night; he wasn’t looking forward to it—if he kept having these horrible feelings and Ron was more pissed than if Harry had announced he was quitting Quidditch and moving into Malfoy Manner, then whatever happened last night couldn’t be good—but he had to know.

The only way Harry knew to retrieve his memories was to use the Pensieve in Dumbledore’s office. It would be much more risky without his Invisibility Cloak, and the thought of asking Draco to watch his back crossed his mind.

No, I can do this myself. This doesn’t involve him. Besides, I don’t want to give him or Ron one more reason to hate each other.

With that resolved in his head, Harry headed for the gargoyle that protected the staircase leading to Dumbledore’s office. He was one of the only students with the privilege of knowing the password to the Headmaster’s office. He used the Map to make sure no one else was around; he made note that Dumbledore, McGonagall, Ron, and Hermione were all in the Hospital Wing. As he went up the staircase to his mentor’s office, he frowned, frustrated that something happened, and he didn’t know what. But that was about to change in a few minutes. Harry only felt the slightest twinge of guilt as he cut through the locks and charms on the office doors. Dumbledore would have given him permission without a moment’s hesitation, Harry was sure; but the guilt came from knowing that he hadn’t asked permission. He suddenly gave a small laugh, thinking that maybe Draco had gotten to him more than he realized as a purely Slytherin thought crossed his mind:

It really is easier to ask for forgiveness than permission, isn’t it?

He crept into the office, taking care not to disturb the portraits; they would sound the alarm if they thought something was wrong. There was one part of Dumbledore’s office that his mentor had changed into a “secret area”. It was carpeted and curtained all the way around, and it was just big enough for two people to sit on the comfortable couch side-by-side or in two transfigured (but still comfortable) chairs face-to-face. It was right next to the fireplace, and although Dumbledore had constructed it in Harry’s fifth year, Harry had later found out that its purpose was for Snape to be able to brief Dumbledore on the Death-Eaters’ and the Dark Lord’s activities without having to risk compromising his role as Dumbledore’s spy. It could be “locked” and spelled for silence if necessary, and Dumbledore had also taken Harry into the room a time or two in order to divulge the direst of secrets regarding Voldemort. Even though the war was over, Dumbledore hadn’t deconstructed it, and for that, Harry was grateful.

He slowly removed the Pensieve from the cabinet and took it to the private room. He drew his wand and added the requisite Locking and Silencing Charms, watching the curtains become rigid and resemble walls. They still let in light, however, so Harry could see what he was doing. He held his wand to his temple, sorting through his memories until he found the argument at dinner between himself and Hermione over that dumb job offer in Sydney. He drew it out of his head and dropped it into the Pensieve, peering over it closely.

Another owl flew in, deposited the official-looking envelope in front of Harry, accepted a quick treat, and departed. Harry heaved a sigh, turning it over in his hands. He could guess what it was; he didn’t want to open it, but Hermione’s brow had wrinkled, so he tore it open to appease her. Sydney, Australia. There was a new Wizarding Hospital being built there, and they wanted Harry to be the Chief of Staff in overseeing the Safety and Protection of Staff and Patients. Sighing again, he crumpled the letter and dropped it on the floor, as per usual. Predictably, Hermione scooted under the table and retrieved it, but when she unfolded it, her reaction was wildly different than it had been to all of his other job offers. She had gasped when she read it, and when she looked up, her eyes were shining with unshed tears.

“Harry!” She had breathed, clutching his wrist. “Harry, do you know what this is?? This is SYDNEY! Australia, Harry! I’ve always wanted to go there. My family doesn’t have any money, though,” this was the part where she looked wistful. She glanced at Ron with a sad smile; Harry knew that Ron didn’t have any money either…and it pissed him off further that Harry could go do all of these things that his friends would be jealous of…and he didn’t even WANT to! His anger showed a little on his face, but Hermione mistook it for his usual ‘ungrateful’ sullen attitude. Normally she was very patient with Harry when he got into one of those moods, but for him to be even remotely ungrateful about a chance to go see her top “dream vacation” location was too much. Her hackles went up; she was tired of Harry complaining about the ‘hardship’ of all of these wonderful opportunities he had been given.

“Harry James Potter! You could do to act a little more interested in your future! You have so many choices for so many different lives! You can be whatever you choose! Don’t you know how LUCKY you are? But you don’t care about any of that! You don’t care that you could go live anywhere in the world and not worry about a thing! You could go live in SYDNEY, for Merlin’s sake! Sydney, Harry! You have the world at your feet, but you’re acting just like a stuck-up, spoiled, rich brat who should be entitled to anything and everything!” Hermione had been waving a finger in Harry’s face, and she looked over to the Slytherin table and, more pointedly, at Malfoy, and back to Harry to make sure he knew EXACTLY who she was comparing him to.

It wasn’t lost on Harry. His eyes had narrowed dangerously during her little speech, and his jaw set stonily when she implied that he was acting like Malfoy at all. He had thrown his utensils down onto his plate, satisfied that they made a large clatter, rose up from the bench, and stomped out of the Great Hall. Harry had just lost his appetite completely; the thought of being compared to Malfoy rankled, and it made Harry sick to even contemplate that she might have been right. Damn it! He hadn’t asked to be Mr. Popular or the Savior of the Wizarding World, so where did she get off telling him that he was ungrateful for something he didn’t even want in the first place?!

He sat in his room and sulked a bit until the party started. Ron came up and coaxed Harry into at least sulking in the commons room. Harry had grudgingly complied. He had grabbed a bottle of Butterbeer in each hand, and then sat in the corner on his conjured chair, feeling swig after swig of the alcohol ease his frustration a little. After his first bottle, he wasn’t feeling as angry anymore, and Ron had brought ‘Mione over. She had apologized, he had apologized, and Ron told a couple of dumb Muggle knock-knock jokes to lighten the mood. He knew he was being a baby, but he couldn’t help it. He refused to budge from his corner, and eventually his two friends had excused themselves to ‘check on the party.’ Not that Harry minded; he knew he was no fun when he was in a funk, so he preferred to be alone rather than upset his friends. He had sighed; Ron and Hermione were great, but right now, Harry just wanted to be miserable, and they just couldn’t let it alone. If they were nearby, they felt the need to cheer Harry up, and that was the last thing he wanted. A few others had tried to talk to him but had quickly given up due to his unresponsiveness and morose behavior.

A small part of him appreciated that his friends cared enough to keep coming back, and that they cared enough to want him not to be upset. The rest of him, though, was slightly resentful that they couldn’t just let him be; he knew that they were just trying to help, but the message he was receiving was, ‘You’re not supposed to be upset. Your feelings aren’t valid, and right now, they’re stupid, so we’re going to help you feel better.’ That, coupled with the fact that they snogged every five minutes (or so it seemed) and Harry quickly reached his breaking point. He grabbed a shot glass and an unopened bottle of Firewhiskey. He poured himself a shot, downed it, repeat. When Hermione came back over, she looked reproachful, but Ron must have warned her against saying anything because she kept silent, and Harry was grateful for it. When the bottle was half-empty and he was barely able to pour without sloshing it everywhere, Hermione had taken it from him discreetly. At that point, Harry was drunk off his ass, and he didn’t care.

Real-life Harry watched his memory-self stumble up the stairs after Hermione had walked away. So far, he hadn’t seen anything too bad, but apprehension rooted itself in his stomach, which was still empty since he didn’t eat lunch. He watched himself pummel his defenseless nightstand and trunk, and then proceed to strip down and pull on the pajama pants that were, at present, crumpled on Draco’s bedroom floor. His memory-self sat on the edge of the bed, and Harry remembered vividly the feelings of loss and abandonment, loneliness, desperation, and self-hatred all welling up inside him, and it had almost been more than he could take. He saw Hermione enter the room. She crouched down in front of him, trying to peer into his face. She saw the hurt in his eyes, and she responded to that. She had hugged him and kissed him on the forehead. Harry watched as she kneeled on the bed behind him, rubbing his shoulders in a gesture of comfort.

His eyes widened as he watched his moment of weakness, and he cringed at the desperate tone of his voice as he begged to hold his best friend’s girlfriend. What the hell was the matter with him?? Real-life Harry knew better than that! He didn’t even LIKE girls! He had talked with Ron about his sexuality, but he had pretty much come to the conclusion that girls just didn’t do it for him, and then he had gone and asked Herm—oh, Merlin! WHAT THE FUCK??? What was he doing??? Real-life Harry recoiled in horror as he watched himself become aroused and begin to touch his best friend in the most inappropriate of ways. He knew that he wasn’t aroused because of Hermione, per se, but the closeness, the intimacy, the contact had been emotionally intoxicating for Harry’s already alcohol-intoxicated brain. Real-life Harry began to scream as he watched his memory-self roll half on top of Hermione. He was watching a memory, though; he was watching the past, so they couldn’t see or hear him. Harry wrung his hands as he screamed silently and pleaded with himself to stop. It was like watching a nightmare, except that Harry knew he didn’t have the luxury of waking up and knowing that his mind had created it; he had really done this!

Real-life Harry was sickened by what was happening before him, and he fell to his knees, still screaming and pleading and crying. The door burst open, and real-life Harry felt his stomach drop as his best friend burst into the room, hauling him off of his almost-victim. Harry prayed that Ron would hit him or kick him—he knew he deserved it, and it would make him feel better for Ron to have exacted some kind of revenge—but the red-headed prefect had just stood there, shaking Harry! Memory-Harry drunkenly reeled back and punched Ron in the face! Real-life Harry clapped a hand over his mouth in shock, unable to look away as he watched Ron rush over and gather Hermione in his arms, ignoring Harry completely. Memory-Harry turned and ran; real-life Harry knew that he might be able to forgive himself if Ron had just yelled at him or hit him or SOMETHING! Anything other than what he did, which was nothing, except comfort his girlfriend.

Still choking on his tears, Harry followed his memory counterpart down the stairs; real-life Harry noticed all of the details that memory-Harry had been too drunk and in too much of a hurry to take into account: the glass on the stairs that had embedded itself in Harry’s feet as he thundered past a shocked-looking Neville who was about to clean it up. Harry had vague recollections of running wildly through the halls of Hogwarts, and he remembered looking up at a smirking Draco Malfoy, thinking the git was terribly handsome. Real-life Harry watched as he began retching, and he was stunned to see Draco helping him! He followed the two boys into Slytherin—ah, so the password was “snakebite”; that piece of information could come in handy later—and blushed as he heard himself tell the blondest of the blondes, Draco Malfoy, that he, Harry Potter, “liked blondes better” just before passing out.

Harry pulled himself out of his memories, gasping as he returned to his “real” body in real time. He fell to his knees beside the couch, dry-heaving as his mind replayed what he saw. As nervous and excited as the interchange with Draco had been, it was overshadowed by his revulsion at what had occurred just before it. He, Harry Potter, was an almost-rapist! He was no better than Voldemort or any of the Death-Eaters, and that thought struck Harry hard. He had trained all of his life for the Final Battle; to kill the most unholy of violators who wanted to enslave, beat, rape, and murder for fun, and not even six months later, he himself had turned into a rapist! He cried out in pain, searching for absolution.

“Hermione! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to! Please, please, you have to be okay. I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Ron, you have to know how sorry I am!”

Harry went half-crazy with guilt, shame, and self-abhorrence. He couldn’t stand the thought of himself having any traits in common with Voldemort, and his traumatized mind held onto one thought:

If I killed Voldemort only to turn into him…I don’t deserve to live!

He dispelled his Locking Charm with a wave of his hand and lurched into Dumbledore’s office proper. There, on the desk! He grabbed the Muggle letter opener, attracted to its seemingly double-edged blade and sharp point. He pressed the edge to his wrist; nothing. The damn thing was dull as could be! Well, Harry could fix that. He concentrated and Transfigured the letter opener into a double-edged and razor sharp knife. Harry looked at the blade in his palm, nodding to himself that he, in fact, didn’t deserve to live, and slashed his wrist.

He was surprised at the absence of pain as he looked at his bleeding arm. Suddenly his owl came zooming in through the open window. She landed on the back of the chair, taking in the scene. Harry looked up at her dizzily. The knife clattered to the floor as he reached out weakly for Hedwig, his one constant friend and confidante through everything.

“Hedwig,” he whispered, no longer able to stand, and he sank to his knees and then slumped onto his side. “Hedwig, I’m sorry I wasn’t stronger. I’m not worthy. Forgive me, my friend.” Harry stared blankly at the wall, feeling the pull of mortality coming to claim him. He felt one final stab of regret; he had never told Draco he loved him.
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Author’s note: I know, I know! I’m sorry! They told me to do it! This is the way they said they wanted the story written, and I don’t have a choice but to obey! So as perhaps not to leave you quite so traumatized, I will respond to previously-left reviews that warrant responses. However, it will not affect the length of my chapters, so no fear on that.

hismama21—thanks for the review! I hope you keep reading!


thrnbrooke—Can the trio work things out? Will they want to? Poor Hermione but poor Harry as well! Honestly, right now…I don’t know. I haven’t gotten that far yet…as loathe as I am to say it: Read And Find Out (lol and I’m interested as to what is going to happen, too!)


lissagal99—You make a good point, and I concede. It went from less than 200 hits to over 400 pretty quickly, in my opinion, and I was just really shocked about that…I mean, I know that this is a site to read stories, but I personally reread stories all the time, so…I didn’t know. And don’t call me Shirley ;) I’m sorry, I’m sorry…the opening was there; I couldn’t resist…I hope that makes you smile and not mad…


Kay_Rage—That’s a good question. Well, I started out by reading the HP/DM fan fiction. Honestly…the story “Redeem Me” by Samayel is the biggest influence and inspiration for me. I felt like I was reading what J.K. Rowling should have written, and it just struck me deep in my soul. Hopefully, though, for someone who HASN’T any experience with the characters, I’m doing okay…I am, according to the hits…

Besides, the beginning two chapters of the storyline came to me and demanded to be written. Once I did that, the characters have been completely relentless in what they want to happen in the story; I’ve tried arguing…doesn’t work.


Danine—Your explanation of Neville does make sense. That’s kind of how I had pictured him. I didn’t want to write him TOO strongly, but I also wanted him to be up to his tasks in this story.

*ashamed confession* When the books first came out, I was horribly religious and appalled that someone would be marketing “witchcraft” to children. I have since seen the error of my ways, but right now, I don’t have access to the books or the movies, but you can bet I will be watching them before the newest movie comes out!!! And I’ll probably wait for the last book to be published before I start the series so that I know the end. But it’s amazing how someone who hasn’t read them is still so on-edge (as I am) to find out what happens and how the series wraps up!


Elric—thanks for reviewing! I hope Ron understands, too! Takes a while for stuff to sink into that flame-red head of his, though, so we’ll see…