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Unaware that I could sense all his distress and guilt, Harry took a deep breath, trying to steady his turbulent emotions.
'Yes, I could have... no, I should have done it!' he thought, frowning. 'I should've burned Voldemort to ashes the moment he came back.'
Clenching his fists, that stubborn Gryffindor mind of his could only focus on that. He had already convinced himself that it should have been his duty to destroy the Dark Lord in that graveyard.
And with that conviction, the guilt for his "inaction" and "weakness" ate away at him even more.
But as soon as that thought ended, a memory from his first year at Hogwarts flashed before his eyes — a dark recollection of his confrontation with Quirrelmort, in the chamber that guarded the Philosopher's Stone.
He remembered Quirrell's desperate, pain-twisted face, burning and turning to ashes in his own hands.
He remembered the panicked eyes of the DADA professor, begging for his life.
And, even more vividly, he remembered the repulsive smell of burnt flesh and those terrifying, agonized screams that haunted him to this very day.
It was a terrible memory — one Harry desperately wished he could forget. For the poor boy, that moment had been one of the most distressing and horrifying experiences of his life... even worse than the years of abuse he suffered under the Dursleys' roof.
And he tried. Merlin knows how hard he tried. He tried to lock that memory deep within his mind, hoping that forgetting it would ease his nightmares and guilt.
However, the more you try to forget or ignore something, the more vivid and haunting it becomes.
And sometimes, in traumatic cases like his, the weakened mind of the victim tends to distort those memories, making them even worse than they really were.
Unfortunately, that was exactly Harry's case.
'Hm...' I frowned, sensing the spiral of dark emotions boiling violently inside Harry.
'What on earth is going on with him?' I wondered, trying to piece together the puzzle that was the Boy-Who-Lived.
I began thinking about everything that had happened to Harry since he entered the wizarding world, and even about things that might've happened without my knowing.
Situations, moments, losses, or pressures that explained why he felt so depressed.
Unfortunately, the answers I came up with were far from pleasant.
'Sigh... Hogwarts could really use a therapist.' I slowly shook my head.
Then, with a little guilt — but knowing it was necessary — I used a light touch of Legilimency on Harry, just enough to catch his surface thoughts.
As soon as I made eye contact with the distressed boy, I immediately heard a single word repeating in his mind.
Quirrell.
That name alone — so simple, yet so heavy and full of meaning — was enough for me to unravel the mystery before me.
'So that's what this is about...' I thought, finally understanding his turmoil... but also realizing the situation was more complicated than I expected.
Knowing things couldn't go on like this, I decided I had to ease some of the pressure and guilt weighing on Harry... or at least distract him with another topic.
"Well, Harry," I began, catching his attention, "Seeing dear Voldy turn to ashes would've been quite the sight — and very satisfying — but your plan wouldn't have worked anyway."
My words broke through Harry's dark thoughts, and thankfully, that shift in conversation stopped him from sinking deeper into his spiral of self-blame.
"What? Why not?" he asked, giving me a puzzled look.
"Because of the ritual, obviously," I replied calmly. "Why do you think Voldemort needed your blood specifically to resurrect himself?"
"Oh, well..." he paused, thoughtful. But before he could answer, I continued.
"Voldemort likely used your blood in the ritual not only because he sees you as his mortal enemy, but also because that way he could nullify the protection within your body."
"So now that he has your blood in his new body, he can probably touch you... and maybe, contact between the two of you could even have the opposite effect — with you being the one who gets hurt."
I stated my assumption... one I already knew was true.
Hearing that, Harry frowned, realizing I might be right.
"So there was really nothing we could've done to stop him?"
"Not that I know of," I said with a casual shrug.
"Damn," he muttered under his breath, frustrated.
Of course, that was what he showed outwardly, and while genuine, it wasn't everything he felt.
Inside, both he and I knew how relieved he was to learn that this cruel method was no longer useful against the Dark Lord.
It might not have lessened his guilt for "killing" Quirrell, but it did ease a bit of his burden for "doing nothing" — which, honestly, made no sense whatsoever.
I understood that it came from Harry's default setting, with the whole "hero with the weight of the world on his shoulders" thing. But thinking it was his duty to stop Voldemort was utterly ridiculous.
Voldemort had been alive for more than six decades, spreading terror through the British wizarding community for at least thirty years. That meant he had gone through many generations of witches and wizards before reaching ours.
Considering that, it made zero sense that everyone — even Harry himself — thought he had to deal with the snake-faced bald freak.
Sure, there was the damned prophecy, but fewer than five people even knew about it.
And that was precisely what made everything so infuriating and unbelievable.
The fact that no one else knew about the prophecy only proved that the rest of the world — those trying to dump all the war's responsibility on Harry — were nothing but ungrateful, lazy cowards.
An entire community that failed to solve its own problems and decided to pass the burden to "someone more capable", and in this case, a fourteen-year-old boy.
'Seriously, these people are the main reason all this crap got this far,' I pursed my lips, irritated by the wizarding world's stupidity.
But shaking my head, I let out a tired sigh.
'Well... I can't really judge Harry too harshly,' I thought with an ironic look. 'I'm also trying to protect this world and these people who, honestly, haven't proven they deserve to be protected.'
I'll admit that, at first, I only got involved in this mess because I wanted to save or change the fate of a few characters I liked, and because I wanted to be part of this world I loved so much.
But after living here, my reasons changed.
Now, I wanted to fight in this war because I couldn't allow the things I'd come to cherish and love to be destroyed by a bunch of prejudiced idiots.
I had made many friends, formed strong bonds, and even developed a sense of belonging in this magical, wonderful world. And I wouldn't let anyone take that away from me.
'Yeah... I think I'm starting to understand Harry's mindset.' I snorted softly.
"Uh... Ethan?" I heard my cellmate... I mean, infirmary mate, call out, pulling me from my thoughts.
"Yes?" I turned to him.
Harry, with a worried, uneasy look on his face, asked a question that caught me off guard.
"Do you think things will turn out alright? I mean... with Voldemort being back and all?"
"Honestly, Harry? I have no idea," I replied, and his expression fell.
But before he could get too disheartened, I added:
"But hey, even if things get really bad in the future, I'll still do whatever it takes to protect the people I love. Even if that means kicking the pale serpent's ass with serious daddy issues."
Hearing that, Harry nodded, slightly amused. He realized he agreed with me, though he wouldn't have phrased it quite like that.
Then he seemed to remember something, a curious look crossing his face before he spoke again.
"Ethan, about Voldemort... why didn't you let me tell everyone he's back?" he asked, confusion written all over his face.
"Like, I know you told them we faced a Dark Lord, but you didn't deny or confirm it was him."
"So wouldn't it have been a lot simpler if we'd just said it outright, since, well... it was him?"
I blinked at his question, before opening my mouth to answer.
"Oh, well... actually, I—"
But just as I was about to explain my reasons to Harry, I stopped.
My ears picked up some loud sounds and noises coming from beyond the curtains.
'Huh?'
End.
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