Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Rivalry	By : Pseudonymous_Entity Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 4959 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: If you recognize it from the Harry Potter books, I didn't come up with it. I'm not making any money off of this story nor do I intend to. It's purely for entertainment.

Chapter List
- 25
- 26
Harry sped from the room of requirement without a word as soon as he finished with the potions for Cassius and Garnet. He ignored Hermione in the hall when she tried to speak to him and then ignored Ron in the dorms, pushing past him into the washroom and locking the door behind him. He quickly downed two of the pain potions he made for himself. It took an excruciating half an hour to dull the pain shooting through his body and he spent it leaning against the sink, holding to it tightly, cursing and biting back screams. He could hear Ron taunting him from the other side.
"You're acting like a little girl Harry. Let me know when you get tired of sulking. I'm not the one crying in a broom closet with Slytherins-"
Harry cleaned up his mess and headed straight for his bed shutting the curtains on Ron's face. He silenced the curtains and flopped on his pillow to stare at the ceiling. Several hours later Harry opened his eyes. He lay there on his bed and felt himself carried back to the monsters laying in wait for him. They drew him near, clutched at him tightly and swept him away by air and by sea, through dark realms no proper soul had ever seen. Harry heaved himself upright, blankets pooling around his waist. Abruptly he stood and leaped from his bed, stumbled across the room and into the washroom with barely the sense of mind to wave his hand and silence the room. He stood there grasping the edge of the sink, arms shaking, staring at the mirror. At the boy with desperate green eyes rimmed with shadows, tanned skin glistening with sweat, dark hair sticking to his forehead. Harry swiped aside his fringe to expose the scar the brought him into this mess. Something was different today. A door long locked inside of him burst open and he would never be able to close it up again.
Enemies of the Heir beware.
You're a wizard harry.
A single finger touched his reflection, the glass smooth and cold, rather like Malfoy he thought, and tried to convince himself the person he saw was himself. Willing himself to forget everything this world expected him to be and to see himself as he was. It was so obvious really how could they have missed it. How could they have ever thought he was this naive, ever forgiving boy with an easy smile? He tried out the mask and it screamed FRAUD.
Oi, Darth Potter!
You speak Parseltongue, snake language.
Stop acting like a pureblood.
The same darkness strangled him, the same unfathomable black eternity his thoughts were striving against and pretending they did not understand. Inside of him, down among the motionless shadows lurked invisible things, things that were nameless, shapeless and malignant. Things which could see without being seen. Things looking out at the world, clawing against his insides, growling and biting and just waiting to get out. Freak they whispered. Worthless. Weak. Beating against his ears in rhythmic timing to the shooting pains of the behavior cuff on his wrist, both in direct contrast to the steady almost too slow movements of his traitorous heart. Every unwanted movement in his body, every abrupt stiffening, every twitch that he could not anticipate or arrest, was a reminder that even in the dominion of his own being he was not the one calling the shots. He couldn't tell someone. Hell he couldn't think about telling someone without the pain nearly knocking him off his feet.
Scared Potter?
Your mother's eyes.
I think it's obvious if you're wanted here or not.
Use the boy.
Fighting it took every ounce of his self-control and it hurt. Every breath he took tore down his throat and exploded into his lungs to slam against his chest. Every step he took or word he spoke that did not fall in line with Dumbledore's expectations came at a cost. He made an effort to find a word black enough to characterize this darkness, some word so horribly black that it would darken his lips if he uttered it. Labeling things, putting them into categories, this was how man convinced himself he had some measure of control over the chaotic world he found himself abandoned within. Harry knew though that control was only ever an illusion. The only thing you had control over was yourself. Unless you were Harry, he thought bitterly feeling a poisonous amount of resentment toward his self.
This is a necessary evil, as one might put it.
We even look something alike.
He was pacing, his body whipping back and forth in uneven strides along the length of the washroom. He pulled at his hair and scratched at his arms before pounding and kicking at the wall and then the door. Harry turned and then turned around the other way, laying his forehead against the cool of the stone and screaming. He slid down until his knees smacked the floor and he sat there. He didn't know how long. When his legs started to hurt and thought he could breath properly he stood and pushed the door open. Quickly shoving his shoes on he stopped only to toss on a robe and retrieve his wand and the cloak. Harry was out the door, down the steps and across the common room before he knew where he was heading. Through the corridors, beyond the gargoyle statue and he was rapping at the door and barging in without welcome.
The old wizard stood beside his desk as if anticipating Harry's arrival. This only agitated him more. He couldn't stand it. His every move, his every possible choice being analyzed.
"I can't do this anymore!" He burst out. Harry tore off his glasses and pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes, sucking in deep breaths that never seemed to fill him up enough. Dumbledore for his part merely motioned to the chair beside his desk and sat himself in his own around the other side. Blue eyes glanced him over, wrinkled face settling into a kindly, patient expression.
"I know this is a lot to handle Harry." He began, reaching out to pat his hand and frowning when Harry pulled it back like it burned. "Why not get some nice hot chocolate from the kitchens and then get some sleep? It'll look better in the morning, I promise."
"With all due respect, sir, I sincerely doubt Tomorrow has ever called to ask your opinion in its fashioning."
The old wizard's eyes twinkled. "Alas even I can not control fate."
"You haven't got a problem trying to control mine." Harry bit out before his brain could catch up with his mouth.
Dumbledore sighed, suddenly looking very tired. He looked around his own office at all of the unidentified, spinning and beeping gadgets mixed in with books and scrolls and paperwork with a wistful air about it. "I know it seems that way my boy but you must believe me when I say I do this with the best of intentions."
"Some of the worst things imaginable have been done with the best of intentions."
The headmaster gave a nod, his gaze turning calculating. Harry wouldn't have caught it before but hanging around Malfoy as much as he was this year gave him a marvelous read on people.
"Perhaps. I must have faith in my judgment and you must have faith in it as well. Everything I do, no matter how harsh or heavy it may be, is always done with the greater good in mind."
He wanted to scream again. He wanted to pick up his shining trinkets and toss them against the fireplace along the far side of the room. He wanted ti light the office flame and watch it burn. Anything to get a genuine reaction out of the man. Anything but these carefully chosen expressions and gestures all meant to put him at ease but dfid nothing but put him on edge. His soft voice belied his thoughts.
"What about my good? I'm fourteen, I ought to be getting rebellious and dating and drawing pictures on my desk in Transfiguration to traumatize first years. Not screaming in a locked bathroom because the behavior modification cuff my headmaster put on my against my will is burning me from the inside out. I'm not a pet. I neither need nor desire a leash. Sir."
Dumbledore sat up straighter. "I do not see you as a pet Harry. You must understand you are doing this to yourself. You do know that, don't you Harry? I made it very clear the expectations required of you while wearing the cuff. If you are choosing to do things you know you ought not to then you are choosing to receive the negative aspects of the cuff. You are choosing to be punished," he paused to peer at him over his glasses, "I wonder if perhaps at a deeper level you want to be punished?"
Harry stared. He couldn't be serious.
"Sir-"
"I am disappointed you are resisting like this Harry. I thought you understood. I thought you knew better than your more naive peers that life isn't fair-"
"Of course I know that!"
"-and yet you think your life is of more value than your peers? You shouldn't have trials to face you should be a child as you wish while others may suffer as a result of your inaction? Is that really what you want Harry?" The headmaster leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk.
Harry licked his lips, throat dry. "I never said that."
"Actions speak louder than words my boy."
He felt like the breath in his lungs just disappeared. "I couldn't agree more," he whispered hoarsely, "You can try to control me through this, this vile thing." He slammed his fist on the desk, "I have control over how I plan to react to my circumstances. I have control over how I feel, what I think and what I choose to believe."
"Of course Harry," Smiled Dumbledore, "And I have faith you will choose to do the right thing."
The right thing. The greater good. "I'm just fourteen. I don't understand why it matters who I-"
"You are The-Boy-Who-Lived Harry. You don't get to be fourteen."
And it was in that moment of distress and confusion that the whip of terror laid its calculated lashes against him. It dropped again and again with deadly effect, completely unraveling him. He stood motionless for an instant, listening to his heart within his chest, listening to the clatter of his wand as it slipped through his fingers to the ground. Harry staggered sideways and held himself up against the wall, disorganized hopelessly in mind and in spirit. He had believed, truly believed, that Dumbledore cared for him. That he wanted to help him, that he was doing this for Harry. The-Boy-Who-Lived. To him in that moment it seemed the most shattering and dislocating experience he had ever known, so that his heart and his soul emptied of all feeling. It seemed ages before he could find anything in the chaos of his scattered sensations to which he could anchor himself steady. He did find it though.
Harry reached out and slid the offered seat closer, sat in it and looked pointedly away from the headmaster. He traced the behavior cuff with a finger, his breath coming back to him in too quick gasping gulps. "It's a funny thing, don't you think," he gasped, "in a tragically human sort of way, how we can convince ourselves that we're in control at the very moment we are about to lose it."
The blue eyed wizard frowned at him. "What do you mean Harry?"
"Is the only way this can come off by your leave?" He asked instead of answering.
"I...yes Harry." Dumbledore answered slowly. "The behavior modifier is keyed to my magical signature and yours. None but mine can disengage it."
He locked eyes with the old wizard. "I want it off."
Dumbledore's shoulder's rose and then fell with a sigh. "I can not do that. I do not believe you will make the correct choices without and until I see an improvement in your behavior I will not consider removing it."
Harry stood and kicked the chair away from him, turning to the door. He paused and took a look at the headmaster over his shoulder.
"You seriously underestimate me if you think I don't see another way out of this."
"Harry wait-" He turned and let the door slam behind him. Harry followed his feet trusting them to know his subconscious wants and needs better than he did. It was an odd thing to trust one's feet but then if you couldn't trust your own feet whom could you trust? And they must know what they were doing, he reflected, because they did not falter a single step. Sweeping through halls and up staircases never once coming upon another student. No prefects or patrolling professors. They led him up and up and pass the inner balcony that was good for framing icy blonds and pretending things were fine. They took him beyond the door and into the night air, across the viewing platform. No, he knew it now, his feet had known exactly what they were doing.
Some other part of him, with a greater attachment to painful things than his numb, determined feet struggled against them at the railing of the outer balcony. While his body waged war against its self Harry allowed his mind to ponder the recent turn of events. It was not that he hadn't known his friends would be disappointed in him if they ever learned even a hint of what lay beneath his carefully crafted persona. He could see it coming. They didn't want him. They wanted Harry Potter. They wanted a bashful smile and easy forgiveness. But Harry had never been as humble as he pretended nor had he any inclination to be forgiving. He only pretended to forgive and he thought pretending to forgive someone was much worse than refusing to do so all together. He seemed to be the only one who had such thoughts and the world didn't thank him for sharing. No, he wasn't surprised. It was just one of those things. But Dumbledore...
He'd tried to cry thinking that maybe it would help but having lived most of his life in cupboard under the stairs where silence was the key to survival he'd learned to cry on the inside rather than the outside and realized he did not quite know the mechanics of forcing tears out of his eyes. So instead he cried on the inside and his eyes filled with tears he was conditioned not to shed and they felt very full and hot. Not long after he began screaming. He screamed at the heavens, at the gods surely laughing at him, he screamed until his throat threatened to rebel and grew raw and weak and the screams were demoted to whispers. And he knew when it finally relented, and he was so utterly numb and full of nothing, that it was not because the gods out there cared. It was because they'd become so bored and indifferent of him that he wasn't worth the trouble any longer. They'd finished with him.
He took a moment to send a half hearted glare at the sky. It was nothing like the night he'd brought Draco here. The world had been gray covered and thrashing with wind and rain and glimpses of lightening in the sky. Now it was hushed and everything lay still and tense. Harry smiled. A tragic, broken sort of thing. His fingers ran along the cuff on his other wrist and he found his smile broadening, baring his teeth in its ferocity. Standing on the railing his feet had dutifully climbed on to, apparently they had won the war he'd quite forgotten about, he tore his eyes from the stars to look directly down on the darkened grounds.
It was as if the world held its breath.
- 25
- 26
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The Rivalry