Itās one month after the end of the war when harry first speaks.
āMr. Potter, you are here to testify in the trial against known Death Eater, Draco Malfoyāā
and he doesnāt know why he hasnāt started speaking until this point. Maybe itās some sort of trauma response. He has heard Hermione talk about it to Ron.
Ron thinks itās grieve. That maybe the world had been filled with the wails of friends and family to a point where talking seemed simply unnecessary. There is too much to feel, to say, to accept.
There is no point in talking when you know the simple joy of communicating wasnāt made for a time in war. Or after that, really. The words harry wants to say donāt exist. At least thatās how Ron explains Harryās silence.
Because Ron himself longs to do the same. To just say nothing for once.
But Fredās death has hit a vital nerve in the family. To say nothing is the same as closing off. Not speaking means working as an individual and not as a grieving family. They canāt carry Georgeās non-smiling expression on top of Ronās silence.
So no, Ron canāt keep his words to himself.
Harry, on the other hand, stays silent because he honestly doesnāt know what else he could do. Heāsā¦.exhausted. A feeling he grew familiar with from a very young age, with being the Chosen One and all.
But now. Now itās over and at the same time not at all.
Harry feels as if he stopped breathing the day he saw Tom Riddle fall for the final time.
Or was it when he saw Remusā limp body on the ground? Or was it Fredās? Was it Sirius dying? Snape? His parents? Or even Draco, his blood colouring the water crimson around him?
Maybe it was the moment he recognised a stuttering professor as a mere vessel for a murderer.
Or had it been the giant named Hagrid, knocking down the front door of a house that was too cold, too dirty? Had his lungs worked before that? Harry canāt remember ever breathing in the cupboard.
He thought after everything, breathing, talking, would come easily. It doesnāt.
Now, simple talking brings more bother than sense and he canāt feel enough to feel sorry for it.
That is why he himself is irritated about the situation heās now in. The walls are too high in the courtroom. Harryās back is too exposed, his fingers itch for his wand every time someone so much as glances in his direction and Dracoās hair is flat, dirty and his face lifeless. Traces of Azkabanās cell. Harry decides he doesnāt like it. Not one bit.
āMr. Potter, you are here to testify in the trial against known Death Eater, Draco Malfoyāā
āNo,ā Harry says firmly, the magistrate freezes. He does too.
There is no sense in talking when it doesnāt change anything. It doesnāt bring back Fred. Dumbledore. Sirius. Dobby. Names. People. Faces he will never see again. Harryās still an orphan and James Potter died thinking he could protect his family.
Thereās no sense in it. It just is and thereās nothing he could do to change any of it.
Except this. Now. Breathe.
āI am here to testify for Draco Malfoy, in his defense.ā
It gets easier with every word he says. This he can do. This changes something.
For the first time in a while, harry feels a sense of purpose.
snowghoul
vaporwave
discoholicmusic
gummygunk
prguitarman
izzy806
dededos
janainaart
