2iiiiit's CJ, back from a long vacation!
Basically, this is Neville, Harry, Padma, Ginny, Ron, Hermione,Blaise, and Cho (our MC), about eight months after the War, trying to recover. Since they were all key figures in the War, they've been given a secure apartment which is Apparate-only, where they live to keep out of the press as much as possible.
This fic'll be dealing with a lot of different things, including depression, insomnia, self harm, PTSD, GAD, and SAD...as well as a lot of gendersexualityfucked things, because that's what's on my mind right now. For all of you who don't know, I'd be so so happy if y'all referred to me with ei/eir pronouns, because I found out that I'm not a girl, but also not a guy, but still kind of identify as a girl and honestly I don't know. Hahaha I'm a mess. (Also, if my pronouns make you uncomfortable, she/her is totally fine, too).
Warnings: Mental illness, panic attacks, all of the shit that comes with mental illness, also, I don't have GAD, or PTSD, I don't technically self harm, and I'm not transgender, so I might write these guys badly... Oh, and gendersexualityfuckery.
xxCJxx
.oOo.
You're used to cramped living quarters, but you're not used to actually having to sleep in them, because you never slept last year, not at night, anyway. So you're staring at the ceiling, listening to Ginny's whistling breath that fills your ears and grates your skin raw.
The room is dark.
There are no windows, because the paparazzi could get in, or worse.
You don't want to think about the 'or worse', but suddenly the shadows creeping up the walls are actually the Carrows, arms outstretched, leering.
Your eyelids are heavy, loaded down with the fatigue that comes from four sleepless, restless nights in a row, but fearful, tall shadows pry them open again, and all you can do is toss and turn in your tangle of sweat-soaked blankets until everyone else wakes up.
.oOo.
Today was a good day.
Harry went grocery shopping, and didn't have a panic attack after the journalists crowded him like a pack of hungry wolves. Instead, you two made salad together in the small kitchen, while Hermione sorted out everyone's potions by hand ("My parents would never approve of magic-monitored medicine, they'd turn over in their graves!") at the kitchen table next to them.
Today was a good day.
Hermione lent you a book about Astrology that you devoured, curled up in an armchair, stomach full after two potions and a sandwich. When you returned it, she smiled, and as she took the it from your hands, her pinky brushed yours, and a strange spark blossomed from your finger into your bloodstream. You couldn't breathe, but it was in a good way. A peaceful way.
Today was a good day.
So why can't you sleep?
There are dark circles, purple bruises embedded in your face, and it hurts to blink, but no matter how hard you press your eyes shut, Ginny's breath worms its way through your eyelashes and into your mind.
Your breaths are full, deep. Inhale, exhale. It takes so much effort to consciously think this. When did breathing become so much work?
You spend the rest of the night trying to not forget to breathe.
.oOo.
In the room next to you, there lies a traitor.
Is he a traitor?
You remember him, one of the six Asians at Hogwarts, and the only one in Slytherin. (Well, he's half-and-half, but it's all the same). He was friends with Malfoy, wasn't he? And Malfoy was a Death Eater, so he probably was, too, and now he's in the room next to your own, plotting heaven-knows-what, and you could die because that damn Neville Longbottom is too trusting.
("I found him on the street," Neville said, putting an arm around a decidedly bedraggled Blaise Zabini. "And I got permission from Shacklebolt himself to let him stay here for as long as possible." He added as Padma opened her mouth.
"See, I understand why she's here," Ron said, nodding at you, "and I see why she's here - a jerk of his head towards Padma- but why him? He's a bloody Death Eater!"
"Not...not really," Blaise said, his voice managing to be hoarse and wet at the same time.
"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, turning towards him.
Blaise blushed. Harry had been staring at him, unblinking, for several seconds. "He's not lying," Harry said. "I can't tell what he was doing, because my Legilimency is pretty shoddy, but he definitely was on our side."
"So he's in?" Ginny asked.
Everybody nodded their assent.
"What do you mean, you understand why I'm here?" Padma bristled, shoving Ron.
As Blaise sat down awkwardly on the edge of the couch, you couldn't help but cross your arms protectively around yourself.)
There's no way you're getting any sleep tonight. Maybe if you trusted Harry's Occlumency skills more, but for now, another sleepless night.
The days are starting to blend together.
.oOo.
You give up going to bed, at a certain point.
Ron's awake, he's always awake at night ("Somebody has to stand guard! What if...") and he nods when you tiptoe into the kitchen and pour yourself a cup of milk.
You don't speak.
He doesn't speak.
But it's nice to be awake with someone else.
.oOo.
You don't speak.
He doesn't speak.
But a week or so later, he begins leaving a cup of milk out for you.
.oOo.
"Has Hermione been taking her potions in the morning?" Ron asks, and you nearly jump at the sudden sound.
But he knows to keep his voice low, level, unthreatening.
You think. Has she? ("I already took them before you woke up." "Oh, I'll take them after I finish writing this letter!")
"I...I don't know." Your voice withers from misuse. You try to remember the last time she took her morning potions with the rest of you, but all you remember is her hunched over the kitchen table, counting out milliliters of doses for everyone else.
"I just worry about her, you know?" He says. "Even though we split up and shit, she's still one of my best mates, and... I don't think she wants me to tell you this, but I think she's gone through this before. This whole bloody not eating thing."
( "Cho, you have to eat breakfast, it's the most important meal of the day!" Hermione said.
"I used to wake up before sunrise to eat breakfast with Parvati, before-" Padma began, before abruptly cutting herself off. Nobody knew what had happened to the twins when they had fled Hogwarts, but something had happened in Mumbai that left Parvati dead and Padma insatiably angry.
"Eggs have nutrients! And- well, at least have some fruit?" Hermione continued, laying a gentle hand on Padma's shoulder.
But you shook your head no, and your tired brain rattled painfully inside your skull. A vice gripped your throat.
"Hermione, maybe you eat some first, to show her that your eggs aren't nearly as bad as your fish," Harry grinned. She turned red.
"I shouldn't have to prove to someone that food is good for them! Fine, Cho, if you want to starve yourself, then be. My. Guest." She threw the banana into the rubbish, and you wished you had eaten the damn thing, just so she dadn't upset herself.
Your stomach was full of ashes until lunch, when Hermione passed you a glass of juice and a trembling smile. )
"Will you keep an eye out on her for me? Don't tell her, she'd go after my arse, but...just watch her for a bit?"
You nod, slowly.
.oOo.
The next night, a soul-shuddering scream rips the silence, and grips your heart, and everything changes.