Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Cracked	By : Mermaid-in-a-Manhole Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female Views: 43530 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 16
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters within that universe, and I am not receiving any money for my fanfiction.

Chapter List
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Seven days after the death of Sirius, Harry cracked. He had been under so much pressure that year, and had been forced to endure more mental and physical pain than anyone should have to endure that it was a miracle he hadn’t cracked already. He’d been suffering from nightmares for as long as he could remember, starting with the murder of his mother, but after the events of his first year at Hogwarts, he had more material: the troll smashing Hermione to bits and then turning on him and Ron, Voldemort killing him after he’d finished off the unicorn and drinking his blood, the queen chess piece stabbing Ron instead of just dragging him off the board, Hermione choosing the wrong potion and being poisoned, and himself being burned alive by Quirrell instead of the other way round. This gave him nightmares nearly every night, angering his uncle to the extreme and causing his abuse of Harry to increase, so he created what he thought of as a compartment within his brain. It stored all the memories of the horrible things that had caused his nightmares, and while they were locked away, he could still remember them without being traumatised all over again. It wouldn’t be until fifth year when he would realise that he’d created a Pensieve of sorts within his mind.
When his compartment worked, he started moving all the memories of the Dursleys’ abuse and Dudley’s bullying there, and each subsequent year, he would put nightmare-worthy memories inside. By the time he started his fifth year, more than half of all his memories were in his compartment, due to the majority of his childhood being moved there, and the Horcrux he unknowingly carried had migrated there to feed off the fear, hate, and pain within, growing stronger every day. His compartment was overflowing, and thus he suffered from nightmares of Cedric’s death and Voldemort’s rebirth. When Snape started ‘teaching’ him Occlumency, he only managed to see what was in the compartment, plus a few random memories from outside, and his methods cracked the fragile protective layer around the compartment, widening the link between Horcrux and Creator, and stirring up the memories into a frenzy. Then, when Sirius died, Harry’s hope died with him. His whole reason for creating the compartment in the first place was because he wanted to hold onto the hope that someday he would get away from everything causing him pain. The revelation of Sirius’ innocence at the end of third year made his hope intensify tenfold, hanging onto the idea that when Sirius was acquitted, his hope would come to fruition.
That would never be able to happen now. Sure, when he’d listlessly visited his friends in the hospital wing, Hermione had mentioned that the Daily Prophet had said that Sirius had been posthumously declared innocent, but that certainly didn’t help him at all. Since he’d returned from the Ministry and suffered through Dumbledore’s explanation of the Prophecy and what it meant, he’d had more nightmares, not just of Cedric’s death, but of Sirius’, too. He hadn’t been able to cope, and the events of the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, as the Prophet was calling it now, had caused the cracks of the compartment to widen and spread. Suffering from an intense migraine and lack of more than two hours of sleep, he stumbled down the magical staircases until he got to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey looked up at his entrance. “Mr Potter,” she said. “Here for your daily visit with your friends, I gather?”
“I… yes, Madam Pomfrey, but I need to talk to you first,” he managed to say.
The Matron’s lips pursed, whether it was in annoyance, worry, or exasperation, he didn’t know. “Very well. Come this way.”
He entered her office for the first time and tried not to stare at the towering bookshelves on one side of the room and sat himself down in the chair facing the desk on the other side. “What did you need to speak about, Mr Potter?” Madam Pomfrey sighed.
“I… I haven’t slept more than two hours at a time for the past six nights, ma’am,” he started. “Nightmares. Last night, I only slept two hours in total, and I woke up with this splitting headache. I’m exhausted, I can’t sleep, I can’t think, and I can barely manage to get myself to eat anything other than a bit of toast a day. I need help.”
He could have sworn she barely managed to stop herself from rolling her eyes. She waved her wand once towards him and read the parchment that popped out of the end of her wand. “As I suspected. There is nothing wrong with you. I can understand that you may be feeling a tad emotional about the death of Sirius Black, but really, if what you’re telling me is the truth, you’re letting that emotion get in the way of everything. You should be focusing on the fact that you and all of your friends didn’t die. True, it was particularly close for Mr Weasley and Miss Granger, but the point remains. Nightmares are the mind’s way of telling you that there’s something it needs to work through. Surely you can survive a few more days of mild discomfort! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other patients to attend to.”
She got up and left, leaving a stunned Harry behind. His brain couldn’t get past the phrases tad emotional and mild discomfort. It circled around them for what seemed like hours, gathering force and speed, and finally the walls of his compartment came crashing down.
He giggled once, then again, in a slightly higher pitch.
His mind was finally free of the shackles he’d put on it, free to explore all the memories he’d hidden away. The Horcrux, now free as well, was the first thing his chaotic mind found. It tore the piece of Dark magic to pieces. There was a pain from his scar, a tiny scream, and then a puff of black smoke emerged from the scar, dissipating in the air almost instantly. The soul portion had been destroyed, all that remained now of the Horcrux was Voldemort’s memories up until the portion of his soul was deposited in Harry.
Voldemort’s memories, being far more numerous and better organised than Harry’s own, greatly influenced the way that his chaotic mind saw everything it was examining. Voldemort had been a very paranoid man, and for good reason; Dumbledore had been a dark, ominous figure to him during his Hogwarts years, and he had uncovered many atrocious actions and manipulations the Transfigurations teacher had committed. Only his closest friends had believed him. In time, he had learned to recognise when a manipulation was occurring. This particular recognition, as well as Voldemort’s skills in Occlumency, allowed Harry to quickly and neatly examine all of his memories, discover he had been manipulated all his life by one Albus Dumbledore, and organise and protect his mind.
When he opened his eyes again, there were very faint lines of crimson amongst the green of his iris. Then, they faded to brown. If anyone looked closely, they would assume that they had simply never noticed the colour before, and move on.
Harry cracked his neck on one side, then the other. He had work to do before school finished tomorrow. He exited the office, then made to leave the hospital wing, only to be called back by the idiotic traitor he had once called his best friend. “Oi, Harry! I thought you were gonna chat with us a while.”
Harry put on a sheepish look. “Sorry mate, I can’t today, I promised Neville I’d help him with something in the greenhouses, something about him starting up an informal apprenticeship with Sprout and taking on a bit more than he can chew.”
“Oh, that’s awfully kind of you, Harry. Give my best to Neville,” Hermione said, looking up from that morning’s Daily Prophet.
Ron snorted. “Fair enough, mate. Sucks to be you!”
Harry fought a grin, rolling his eyes instead. “Bye then, Ron, Hermione. I might see you later today, but if not, I’ll see you on the train tomorrow.”
They both waved at him, and he waved back as he went out the doors. Once far enough away from that horrid place, he slipped into an abandoned classroom and conjured a piece of parchment, a quill, and some ink, grateful to be able to use spells and magic that Voldemort had known.

To Whom It May Concern:
I, Harry James Potter, have never received a single letter from Gringotts, and would like to politely point out that as the last member of the House of Potter, and therefore the Head of said House, I am entitled to receive quarterly account statements. As I know for a fact that not even the magical guardian of the last of a House may touch the funds of the House unless the charge signs a document with a Blood Quill, I find the absence of the account statements suspicious. As I am a well-known figure in Wizarding Britain, and specifically known to be a part of the rich and powerful House of Potter, I find this absence even more suspicious.
I implore you to conduct an investigation into this matter, and I will be arriving at Gringotts tomorrow at five in the evening to conduct further matters of business I need to attend to.
Respectfully,
Harry James Potter
Next to his name, he deposited a drop of blood from his finger after he’d wandlessly pricked it. He sealed the letter, then ventured to the Owlery, sending the letter with Hedwig. Once she could no longer be seen in the cloudy sky, he exited the west tower and went up a few staircases until he came to the seventh floor. Opposite the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy, he paced thrice, thinking, I need a place to hide my Horcrux… I need a place to hide my Horcrux… I need a place to hide my Horcrux…
It was the only thing he knew would cause that specific version of the Room of Requirement to open, and he was glad when it did. He opened it to find that a lot more junk had accumulated over the forty or so years since Voldemort had last been here. For some reason, there were a lot of empty cooking sherry bottles right near the entrance, and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. Neither he, nor Voldemort had ever been fond of sherry, the latter because it was a women’s drink, and along with gin and tonic, had been the preferred drink of the matron of his orphanage, and Harry himself because it was what Petunia loved to drink and serve at those stupid gossip parties she had every week while Vernon was at work.
He looked around at the disorganised room in despair. Why couldn’t it all just be organised? There was a blurring of his surroundings, disorienting enough for him to have to close his eyes to adjust, then when he opened them, the room had changed: there were now neat stacks of chairs, tables, books, and all sorts of other things, meaning that the diadem would either be in a stack of jewellery or Dark objects. He decided that the other things he had wanted to do today could be left for sometime early in the summer—better to explore everything this room had stored away while he could, instead.
He turned down the first isle and was happy to find it had a collection of trunks, most of which had the hinges for the lid coming off. His own trunk was getting extremely worn, with the wooden slats falling apart, the hinges coming off, and the feather-light charm non-functional. So, he pictured exactly what he wanted, then waved his wand over the trunks. “Congrego,” he cast.
There was a flash of light, and the six trunks he wanted all merged into one which had six small dents next to each other on the lid. He pricked his finger again and let a drop fall on the lid of the trunk, then waved his wand and chanted a complicated blood-anchored glamour charm which made his new trunk look like his old one. He added a blood lock to the current locking mechanism which would cause only the first compartment to open should someone other than himself open it. Then, he placed fireproof, waterproof, and unbreakable enchantments on it, and put undetectable extension charms on the other five compartments. Finally, he made it able to shrink and unshrink at the deliberate tap of a wand, and made the second compartment have multiple compartments which had adjustable climate control charms for potions ingredients and the like.
He pulled the trunk behind him and stopped at the next ‘section’, as he thought of it. Honestly, it was like a huge department store! This section contained desks and bookshelves, so he opened the fourth compartment and conjured a huge slab of black marble inside, to act as a floor. Then, he selected a desk, a beautiful antique mahogany desk that probably had a dozen secret compartments which he couldn’t wait to find, and levitated it out of the way of the other desks. He shrunk it so it would fit through the mouth of the trunk, then re-sized it within and placed it in the centre of the marble floor. He did the same procedure for all of the bookcases in the room, placing them around the edges of the floor so he would have enough space for a comfy chair or two. He moved on to the books in the room, and simply levitated them all into his study, arranging them randomly on the available shelves. He had no time to go through any of them if he wanted to go through everything else in this fascinating room, so he would simply have to look through them during the summer. In the chair section, he selected a Muggle swivel chair for his desk, then put in a beanbag, a fancy green leather wingback armchair with a matching leg rest, and a comfortable couch. Of course, each of the chairs were slightly damaged in one way or another, but it was the work of a moment to either fix them or to conjure a part that had been missing for one reason or another.
The next aisle was bedroom furniture, so he opened up his fifth compartment and added an ebony floor before levitating in a super king-sized bed (after a thorough scouring charm and a sterilisation charm), some ebony bedside tables, some lamps, and some storage cabinets. He went back and added some floor and table lamps to his study compartment before continuing to the next aisle, which had remains of animals and all sorts of pet supplies. He didn’t really see a use for much of it, but he didn’t want to leave much behind, so he placed the animal remains in his potions ingredients compartment and put most of the intact pet furniture and supplies in his sixth compartment, which he had only just designated for miscellaneous storage. His only undesignated compartment so far was the third one, which would be for his clothes.
Speaking of clothes, he opened the third compartment, added a pine floor, then put in a long rail for all the clothes he would need to hang up when he bought it, levitated in two chests of drawers and two tallboys, which were in the next aisle, and finishing off with a full size mirror and a collection of assorted jewellery boxes which he laid on the chests of drawers and the tallboys.
The second last aisle had all sorts of jewellery, loose jewels, beauty products, wigs, and galleons. At the very end, the sherry bottles laid like interlopers among numerous other, far more rare and expensive bottles of alcohol. He simply levitated everything but the sherry bottles, beauty products, and wigs, then deposited the jewels and jewellery in his wardrobe, the galleons in his bedroom, and the alcohol in a single compartment of his potions ingredients trunk. The final aisle contained Dark and forbidden objects—mostly just simple things like a wastepaper basket that spewed out its contents and a music box which had an enchantment designed to mimic the effects of the Draught of Living Death, but there were also sealed vials of mystery blood, various poisons, a dormant Devil’s Snare, an Angel’s Trumpet plant, bracelets, rings, and necklaces designed to rip off the skin of the wearer, whips and canes designed to cause as much damage as possible, two hangman’s nooses which looked like they’d been used, and finally a St Andrew’s Cross which automatically bound anyone close enough and had their back turned. He happily stored all the objects in his storage trunk and then turned to the last item in the isle. There lay the infamous Lost Diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw, and he shrunk his trunk and pocketed it before levitating the diadem.
He made his way down to the Chamber of Secrets with it floating before him, and since it was now lunch time, he encountered no one. Luckily, Moaning Myrtle was not in her haunted bathroom; perhaps he should see about exorcising her? Well, he could think on that later. In the meantime, he lowered the diadem onto the filthy ground, tore out another Basilisk fang from the somehow not rotting corpse, and stabbed the central jewel. There was a horrible scream from the Horcrux, and black ectoplasm oozed out of the shattered sapphire, signifying the soul piece within was now dead.
Happy with this, Harry spent the next few hours rendering the corpse of the Basilisk into several bottomless vials he’d found in that remarkable room, which he stored with his other potions ingredients and alcohol. Then, he looked around the room to see if he’d missed something, and his gaze settled on the statue of Salazar Slytherin. His mouth was still open from when the Basilisk had exited it, and he assumed its lair was inside. He levitated himself up to Slytherin’s agape mouth and found himself in a smooth, dark tunnel. He went inside and eventually came to the light at the end of the tunnel, which was really an extremely warm room that had centuries worth of shed Basilisk skin. Happy with his find, he deposited it with his harvested skin and, not seeing anything else, he swiftly exited. He was slightly disappointed not to have found a secret library or ancient potions room, but he supposed that Slytherin, being an arrogant sort, would never have deigned to have a hideout where he stored his Basilisk.
Being finished with the Chamber, he went back up to the school, going back to his dorm room to pack almost everything in the trunk at the foot of his bed into the final compartment of his new trunk. As he looked around to see if he'd missed anything, his eye fell upon the sneakoscope Ron had given him before third year. For some reason, his mind leaped from that to the socks he'd hidden it on before the socks had been Dobby's Christmas present, and then to Dobby himself. Voldemort's research on house elves said that unless an elf was bonded to a person, it would die a horrible, slow death, often wasting away for years until succumbing to death. By no means did Harry care about Dobby's well-being now that his mind was free and merged with the Horcrux, but why buy an elf or 2, using his own money, when he had access to two perfectly good ones who would die if no one bonded to them? It would make Dobby feel even more indebted to him, and Winky would likely grasp the opportunity of a new master and family as tightly as possible without question.
He called for Winky and Dobby, and the latter appeared with an eager grin on his face, then threw himself at Harry's feet. “Harry Potter called for Dobby!”
Winky appeared, looking drunk and disheveled. “Harry Potter—hic—called for Winky?”
Harry smiled. “Yes, I have called both of you here because I found out that if an elf is unbonded they will die, so I wanted to know whether you both would like to be my elves. At the moment, it's just me, not even a house, but soon my family will grow, and I would like you two as my elves.”
The two elves stared at him in wonder, then, slowly, Dobby said, “Harry Potter would really do this for Dobby and Winky?”
“Of course I would! I don't want you dying just because of things that were out of your control. Dobby, the Malfoys didn't bind you properly, and they were abusive. Wanting out of that is perfectly understandable,” Harry said. Voldemort had once found an ancient text that had details everything house elves could do, and one of them was that when their ownership was transferred from one magical person to another, they would lose their old personalities and gain ones that are perfect for their new master. However, problems would arise when an elf was the property of an entire family instead of only one person or a particular position within the household because a little bit of each person's desires were reflected upon the elf. Dobby was a good example, as Lucius had wanted an elf that would cower away from him and fear him, Draco had wanted him to constantly do punishable things so he would get hurt in more and more horrible ways, and Narcissa had wanted one with an inner sense of dignity and an awe of power due to her Black upbringing.
“And you, Winky,” Harry continued, “from my point of view, you did the best you could in an impossible situation. Such loyalty and dedication should be commended and rewarded, not punished.”
By now, both elves were blushing a faint green in pleasure that a wizard understood their plight. They looked at each other, drew identical breaths, and then turned to Harry again. “We would be honoured to be your elves, Harry Potter,” Dobby said. Winky nodded.
Harry smiled and touched both their heads. A golden glow enveloped the two elves as they accepted his ownership of them. “Well, first things first,” Harry said, “how long does it take the both of you to acclimate to your master's personality?”
“One week for me, Master,” Winky said.
“Four days for me, Master,” Dobby admitted.
Harry nodded in understanding. “Good. Winky, get sober and come to me a week from now. Dobby, come to me in four days. I will have tasks for both of you.”
“Yes, Master,” the elves said, and he dismissed them with a gesture.
The remainder of the day went by quickly, and then quicker than he thought possible, it was morning. Now free of mind compartments, his brain had properly processed everything that had happened to him in his life. He hadn’t slept that night, but rather had meditated for close to ten hours establishing proper Occlumency shields using Voldemort’s memories. The meditation had calmed his mind immensely, and now he knew that he couldn’t have nightmares any more—he’d put a series of commands into place that would immediately sort out and calm down terrifying or violent memories should they appear, and further his mind would do the same thing to any nonsense nightmares that appeared, harmlessly transitioning them to more pleasant dreams.
Already being fully packed, he merely shrunk his trunk, went to the Owlery to tell Hedwig to find him in a week, as he wasn’t sure where he’d be staying but it definitely wasn’t going to be the Dursleys, then headed to breakfast. Ron and Hermione were already seated at their normal spot, so he sauntered over to join them. Hermione was reading a book on magical injuries, and Ron was practically stuffing all food in sight down his gullet, so neither of them noticed his approach until he sat down and began pulling the nearest vat of porridge toward him.
“Harry!” Hermione said, marking her page with a finger. “We thought we’d see you down here sooner, you said you weren’t sleeping well. Is it because of—of… you know, Sirius?”
Harry no longer felt a horrible emotional pain at hearing his late godfather’s name, but it had only been two days since he’d last flinched at it, so he made himself flinch to make it look like nothing had changed. That way he’d barely be bothered by them on the way back to London.
Hermione sighed. “Sorry, Harry. I shouldn’t have said it.”
“Why ‘ere ‘oo ‘ate?” Ron asked with a full mouth.
“Ronald! Manners!” Hermione screeched quietly.
Ron swallowed, then repeated, “Why were you late, mate?”
Harry shrugged. “Packing. Seems I decided to be half Weasley for the day.”
Ron guffawed while Hermione sniffed, and Harry simply shrugged again. “Not much I could do about it except pack quickly and head down. Anyway, it’s nearly time to head down. You got your stuff?”
His two friends agreed, and they leisurely made their way outside and got in a thestral-drawn carriage. He patted the thestral on the flank before getting in, then patted it again once they got out. The train ride back to London was long and boring for Harry, but at least it wasn’t noisy and fraught with everyone asking how he was doing. He could put up with the pitying or worried looks.
Upon seeing the members of the Order disregarding his wish not to have them approach his relatives and instead threatening his relatives, his anger spiked. Once again, there was someone interfering with his life! He could see the Dursleys weren’t taking well to the threats, so when the Order disappeared, he turned to the enraged and embarrassed Dursleys. “Just so you know, I know that you all prefer not to have any contact with my kind and I asked them not to do that.”
Vernon’s colouring went down a shade. “As it should be! All that nonsense! I’ll do what I like under my roof, and no one can stop me!”
“I agree,” said Harry. “However, I won’t be going with you back to your home, now or ever. I intend to stay somewhere else for the summer. If I have my way, I’ll only see you all once more, just before I go back to school, because they’ll be expecting me to come out of that house.”
Petunia nodded sharply. “Get going, then. You should have been raised among your kind anyway, it’s only fair that if they don’t let you, that you make them let you.”
“Let’s go,” Vernon said, and he and his family left.
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