Nobody ever asked my birthday

Chapter 138

As the DA meeting came to a close, the Slytherins left hurriedly, somehow mingling with the Hufflepuffs without directly touching any of them. Blankly, Harry watched as the Gryffindors and the rare Ravenclaws broke up into groups, packing up and getting ready to leave.

Naturally, that meant that Ron was ambling over towards Harry, "Ready to go, mate?" He asked amiably.

"I'll be up in a bit." Harry Potter said, crossing his arms. He'd let a bit of the tension he felt seep into his words... (which was good, otherwise Ron'd spend the entire time wondering what Harry was up to).

Ron studied his friend for a long moment, before nodding and saying, "Don't stay too long, or Snape might getcha." Harry let out a soft laugh at this, both at the way things had changed, and the sure knowledge that Snape really would have him in detention if he got caught.

Harry waited until everyone had left (Ron had corraled Hermione so that Harry didn't have to deal with her too, for which he was thankful. For all the times when Ron was a rubbish friend, he'd have these moments of absolutely ordinary awesomeness).

Harry sat down, closed his eyes, and began to unwrap himself. He'd been pretty focused on not blowing up at Pansy Parkinson.

Now, now he just wanted to let off some steam.

"Reducto!" he shouted, scrambling to his feet as his spell exploded a priceless vase. Spells passed through his mouth like water, as he vented his outrage ... at life, at everyone, at himself especially.

Harry'd thought it was bad enough, after all, when he was just the freak - the kid who deserved to be forgotten. But, listening to Pansy earlier - no one who had loving parents ever would think of saying something like that. "The first time my mom said she loved me."

"Ha!" Harry said, his laughter bitter and broken. No one said something like that, because moms said that often enough that kids just took it for granted. The first time, for Ron, or Gin or well, anyone - was well before they could remember.

Harry hated this world - a place where kids were abused, were neglected, were abandoned.

He wanted everything to stop. He wanted to take back time, to give Pansy what she'd never had. What he'd never had, for that matter.

His parents were dead. What excuse did hers have?

Another vase exploded, and Harry sent a tendril of flame at a tallboy, whose dry drawers sputtered into flame.

Was everyone like that? Harry thought - most of the people I don't know, in some state of suffering, of worthlessness, of pain?

Harry made an astrolabe swing through the air, spinning as it flew. It embedded itself in a wooden door (how had that gotten here?) with a satisfying clunk.

Harry cast, and cast, and cast again, tears starting to leak down his cheeks as he made a fist, his hands pummeling a huge stuffed teddy bear.

Harry Potter didn't care - he wanted all the rage out, and so spells or muggle means were just as good to him.

Slowly, as his anger and frustration dwindled, Harry returned to thinking. Was there anything he could do?

... And that was the wrong thought to think, as Harry descended back into destruction, sending the entire room quaking with his fury.

Again and again, he destroyed object after object, until he felt just like a hollowed out shell, with everything that had animated him completely drained out.

Harry Potter slumped to the floor, staring down listlessly.

At this point, Greg Goyle emerged, and strode over to Harry, "Alright then?" He asked in that solid manner of his.

Harry Potter looked up at him, blinking. "What are you -? How'd you-?" He asked incoherently, in a dull monotone that belied the curiosity inherent in the questions.

"You looked fit to strangle a grown hog, earlier." Goyle said, his face approving as he nodded at the flinders all around them. "Meant to make sure you didn't summon Fiendfyre or something stupid like that."

Harry Potter nodded, standing - too drained to even wonder how Goyle would have stopped him. "I'd better go."

Goyle just nodded, and watched Harry Potter stumble out.

[a/n: I was originally going to put something in about why Harry wasn't upset when he figured out Snape had been abused, but... the story didn't bend that way.

Goyle's not the most skilled spellcaster, but he's keen on emotions, and Harry was nearly blazing with suppressed rage.

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