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Read, why I only sleep an hour a night
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Published:
2020-10-05
Completed:
2020-10-30
Words:
3,409
Chapters:
2/2
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One Last Phone Call

Summary:

Harry's hands are shaking as he dials the number on his telephone. The coiling white wire is slipping off of the nightstand, right next to the bottle of empty pills. What had he done?

Notes:

Yes, I do need help. No, I'm not okay.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: The Call

Chapter Text

Harry’s hands are shaking when they land on the phone. The coiling white wire of the phone is slipping off of the table, right next to the bottle of empty pills. Harry swallows around his oddly dry mouth. Nothing’s truly set in yet.

Harry had never seen the point of suicide notes. And really, wasn’t this much better? With a note, you’d spend the last few minutes of your life sobbing over a piece of paper. At least with this, he can pretend for a few minutes that everything’s going to be okay. It’s not.

He closes his eyes, and tries to still his shaking hands. At this rate, he wouldn’t even be able to dial the number. His mind is still dizzy. Part of him realises that he will never see the next sunrise again. 

At least this won’t be too hard. Ever since Harry had taught Ron to use a fellytone, it’s been much easier to speak to him over the summer. But he guessed it didn’t matter in the end.

He barely notices that the phone stopped ringing.

“Hello?” 

Harry lets out a sigh he didn’t know he was holding in. “Hey.” His voice sounds normal, he registers idly. It was a far cry from what he really felt. Not for the first time, he considered telling Ron everything. He needed help, he knew this.

But the problem was...he didn’t want help.

“What are you doing?” It’s easy enough. Just a conversation starter. Why did this feel so hard?

The sound of paper crinkling can be heard over the phone. “Just doing homework. I swear, Mum’s trying to drive me mad. She’s been on my case about homework since summer started. Blimey, you’d think she was Hermione with the way she’s harping!”

Harry chuckles softly at that. It was relieving to hear his boyfriend’s voice again. He can practically hear Ron’s grin over the phone. 

“What about you?” 

“Nothing.” Overdosing. “How’s everyone doing?”

“Ginny’s fine. She’s been all over Luna ever since they started dating. She’s always holed up in her room, writing to her. Percy’s still being a right prat, he refuses to talk to any of us. Stubborn git. Fred and George’s shop is going well, though. Mum’s gone frantic with Bill and Charlie in the Order, she’s afraid they’ll be murdered in their sleep or something. But other than that, everything’s fine. Just a bit boring.” 

Harry smiles weakly at that. His head is spinning. The pills’ effects are settling in. “That’s good.”

There’s a momentary pause between the two of them. “Harry, why’d you call?” 

Harry froze at that. “No-no reason,” he stuttered, nails biting into the palms of his hands. “I was just bored, and it’s not like there’s anyone here I can talk to.” What would he normally do?

“Oh, okay.” 

Ron obviously doesn’t believe him, but lets it go. 

“What’re you planning to do this summer?”

“Nothing much. Probably just chilling and doing homework.” He won’t be around to do anything.

“That’s great.” He can hear Ron shifting around over the line, obviously excited about something. “Mum and Dad are dragging us out on this camping trip to the mountains, and they said I could bring someone with me.”

“That sounds cool. I’ll ask the Dursleys if I can go.” Harry hated camping. Though he supposed it wouldn’t matter anyways.

Harry knows Ron’s grinning, and he doesn’t need to be there to see it. He swallowed painfully around the lump in his throat, beads of sweat growing on his forehead. Had the room always been this cold? He rolled over to the other side of the bed, scarred arm hitting the wood with a thump .

Harry breathed. When was the last time he had seen Ron? He barely registered the way his hands were shaking.

Oh right. A few weeks ago, at the train platform. His mind was moving slowly. Harry hadn’t realised that that would be the last day he’d ever see Ron. A part of him snapped at the thought. 

“Harry?”

His blood froze at that. Now Ron would know something was wrong. “Y-yeah?” he stuttered. “Did you say something?”

There’s a forced laugh over the line, laced with obvious confusion. “Yeah. I asked if you want me to come over tomorrow. Mum said I can visit using the Knight Bus, as long as I don’t use any magic.” 

It sounded wonderful. “You can’t.” Guilt began to creep up on Harry, anxiety feeling like a cramp in the stomach. 

“Why?” Ron sounded disappointed. 

“M-my u-uncle’s having a-a dinner party.” Breathe, Harry. In and out. “He’s bringing g-guests over.” Lies. Uncle Vernon hadn’t brought over work colleagues ever since the disastrous incident the summer before his second year. 

“Fine. I’ll reschedule. But only ‘cause it’s you.” 

Harry giggled at that, when he really wanted to sob. “Sounds good. So, what’d you do today?” The words taste heavy on his mouth, almost coming out slurred.

This-

This was starting to hurt.

He shifts to the other side of the bed again, drawing his knees up to his chest. He vaguely registers Ron talking over the phone, but he isn’t listening. His mind is falling into a dazed state, barely aware of his surroundings. He can’t hear Ron, nor does he want to. He’s talking about the Order, his family, Hogwarts, other things that Harry will never see again. A whimper wells up in his throat at the thought. 

But it lets him stay quiet. To relish in the smooth, baritone sound of Ron’s voice. It helps calm him, distract him from the pain slowly rising up from his stomach. He has to stop himself from letting out a choked sob. He could taste blood in his throat.

He couldn’t stop himself from letting out a groan, as a wave of nausea came over him. The line suddenly went quiet on Ron’s end. 

“You okay?”

Shit, how was he supposed to play this off? Now Ron probably thought he was getting off on this or something. This wasn’t supposed to be that kind of call. In fact, this was the furthest thing from that.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine. Sorry, you were saying something? About Percy right?” 

“Ugh, yeah-”

Harry let out a breath. He was safe, for now. A headache was coming on now, the pain in his gut only getting worse. He’s sweating now, he had to take his jacket off. He left the phone on speaker as he changed out of his clothes into pyjamas. Had the floor always tilted that way? He almost pukes as he stumbles to his dresser. 

And he does. The phone is on mute, so Ron can’t hear. It didn’t matter anyways, since Ron was just rambling. It’s weird to listen to when he’s puking into the garbage can. 

He settles back into his bed, entire body shaking. A whimper escaped him, despite his efforts to stay quiet. Everything ached. Another choked sob left him, as he pressed his knees to his chest. 

Ron’s talking about the school dance now. Since the Yule Ball, Dumbledore had gotten the idea to host a school dance every Christmas at Hogwarts. Everyone had been excited about it. The Triwizard Tournament only reminded Harry of Cedric. His dreams were constantly haunted with unseeing eyes and ghosts of the past.

The dance. Ron would probably look nice. Fred and George had bought Ron some decent dress robes with the winnings Harry had given them. He wondered if the robes were in blue, Ron had always looked good in that colour. 

Harry, on the other hand, hadn’t bothered buying any new dress robes. He had known, even weeks ago, that he would not need them. 

But Ron had already bought two tickets for them. At least he had them in his trunk. Who would Ron go with now? Maybe Hermione? She and Krum had just gone through a rough breakup. She could easily take Harry’s place in his absence. Another day, the thought would have made him burn in jealousy. But now, it comforted him. Harry didn’t want Ron alone when he was gone, after all. 

One second, and he was puking into the trash can again. He nearly had to dive over the side of his bed. Dizzily, he pulled away with a choked whimper. Oh. There was red in the trash can now. There was a stabbing pain in his abdomen. 

Still in a daze, he grabbed some tissues from his nightstand, wiping the blood from his mouth. His throat was still burning with pain. 

He didn’t need to look in a mirror to see that his face was flushed. He was shaking worse than before now. He could barely keep the phone upright in his hand. 

“So, what do you think? Would the black shoes or the blue shoes go better with my outfit?” 

Harry was jolted back to reality with Ron’s question. He pressed the button to unmute himself. “The black shoes. Hey, Ron?”

“Yeah?” It’s a casual hum. Content. Harry wouldn’t know what that felt like.

“I think I’m gonna go to bed.” His vision is going blurry now. Dark spots are dancing in his eyes. He needs to lay down.

“Ugh, alright. It’s so early.” There’s a momentary pause. Ron’s obviously checking his watch. “It’s only 9. Since when do you go to bed this early? What, did you take sleeping pills or something?”

It’s only a joke, but it makes Harry’s blood run cold. It was well-known that Harry had insomnia. That’s where he had gotten the supply of pills in his gut, after all. Aunt Petunia really had to be more careful with locking the medicine cabinet.

He tries to speak, but his breath is stuck in his throat. He can’t lie to Ron, he never could. 

“A few.” The whole bottle.

He can hear Ron shifting uncomfortably over the line. “I thought you were going to stop taking those. Can’t they do all kinds of weird things?” His voice is chastising, and it almost makes Harry feel guilty about what he’s doing. Almost.

“As long as they get me to sleep, I don’t care.” Oh, they would get him to sleep alright.

“Alright, if you’re sure.” He can hear the concern in Ron’s voice. “‘Night, Harry.”

It would be the last nice thing Harry would ever hear. “‘Night.” He puts a hand over his mouth to cover his crying when he hangs up the phone. He closes his eyes, and lays back on the threadbare mattress, shaking from the sheer force of his sobs.

He falls asleep crying, as his breathing draws to a close.

A mere couple of miles away, Ron hums as he shuts close his textbook and heads downstairs for a snack. He’s feeling quite hungry. 

He frowns at the sight of Order members running around, in obvious disarray and chaos. Something must have happened. Weird.

Chapter 2: Survivor's Guilt

Summary:

She could have stopped it…

Notes:

Some people were asking for a second chapter to the original one-shot, so here it is!

Hope you enjoy it, lovelies <3

Chapter Text

“Hi, Harry.”

The greeting is soft, unnatural with the boy’s deep, baritone voice. Ron took a few steps forward, the autumn leaves crunching underneath his black sneakers. “You would not believe the day I just had.”

He sunk to his knees in front of the grave, knowing that the grass would stain his jeans, but not caring. “This guy - Blaise or something - kicked Malfoy’s arse today at lunch. Literally.” Ron paused, to let out a forced chuckle at the recollection. “He really had it coming to him.”

The silence that greeted his ramblings stung more than he thought it would. He supposed that he had gotten somewhat used to it over the past few months, but it seemed to hurt no less each time. 

“I missed you today,” Ron inhaled shakily, forcing the corners of his mouth into a pained smile.

His voice caught in his throat, as he tried to speak again. “T-the team did awesome at the match today,” he whispered, vision blurry with tears. “Ginny caught the snitch in ten minutes. It’s all because of you, you know, with your training…..But they’ll never be half as good as they were, without you.”

Ron combed his hand through his ginger hair, starting off gently, before tugging. “God, Harry,” he muttered through a broken laugh, tears sliding down his cheeks. “Do you even have any idea how bad you got me fucked up?”

He clutched the bouquet of roses tighter, pressing it against his chest. “I brought you flowers,” he murmured, gingerly placing them on the frosted grass in front of the tombstone. His gaze shifted to read the letters engraved on the grey slab for the thousandth time. 

In Memory of Harry Potter, 1980-1996, Age 15. There are some who bring a light so great to the world, that even after they have gone, the light remains.

Ron’s breath hitched in his chest. “Fuck, you don’t know what I’d give to see you again. It’s been months, but I still can’t get over the fact that you’re g-gone.”

The wind blew across the deserted cemetery, masking the sound of footsteps approaching. Ron didn’t notice, shining blue eyes still locked on the gravestone. “I miss you so much…”

The breeze seemed to whisper in his ear, mumbling words of consolation. 

“He’s in a better place, now. He’s happy.”

Tears pricked the corners of Ron’s eyes, as he eyed the roses in his hand. “I know that. I just wish...you would have thought being with me was better than d-death.”

The red of the roses contrasted starkly with the faded background of the cemetery, a clump of dried grass, dirt, and leftover ice. Almost a flicker of hope in a world drained of it.

Everything had been so cold, so frozen, so dull ever since he had left.

Since he had left. Because he wasn’t coming back. Ron’s heart nearly stopped as the thought occurred to him; he’s not coming back.

His breathing grew shallow, as he let out a gut-wrenching yell, bursting into a fit of angry sobs. 

“Harry, Harry, you were mine, and you’re gone -” Ron choked out, chest heaving with every word he spoke. “YOU’RE NOT COMING BACK! ” He collapsed onto the ground, shirt soaked with tears and body shaking uncontrollably. “Y-you’re not c-coming b-back-”

His throat closed up, leaving him to fall apart in the middle of an empty field.

The dull ache in his chest spread to every fibre of his body. Every part of him screamed, desperate for any kind of miracle. Something - anything - that would bring his Harry back to him. To go back to the way things used to be when, when…

When they were together.

Ron buried his face in his hands, rocking his body back and forth as a memory floated to the surface of his mind.

“It’s us against the world, Ron,” Harry grinned, putting a hand on the redhead’s shoulder. He gently squeezed it, as a form of reassurance. “We’ll be fine, as long as we have each other. As long as we’re together.”

“Together…” Ron echoed, the ghost of a smile etched on his freckled face. 

“Forever.”

Ron hugged his knees to his chest, whimpering softly.

Forever hadn’t lasted nearly long enough.

“Ron?” 

Fuck.

Ron winced, knowing that he’d been caught in the middle of a breakdown. He inhaled sharply, before turning around to face whoever it was. 

Hermione stood behind him, brown hair whipping around with the wind, brown eyes looking immeasurably saddened.

Ron looked down at his shoes, unable to face her pitying expression. “Go away,” he croaked, burying his face in his arms again. 

“Ron,” she whispered, taking a step forward. He whipped around to furiously glare at her, as she looked surprised at his hostile demeanour. “I said leave,” he growled, jabbing his finger in the direction of the car nearby. “Leave me alone with him.”

Hermione pursed her lips for a moment, before she stepped forward again, obviously challenging the redheaded boy. Ron watched her do so, feeling anger begin to rise within him. He didn’t want to deal with this, he just wanted her to leave him alone. 

“He’s all I had. Please, just let me be alone with him.”

A sparkle of indignation rose in Hermione’s eyes, as she didn’t budge from her spot. “That’s not true. You have-”

“I have no one.”

Ron held the girl’s gaze, unaware of how tears were slowly slipping down his cheeks and onto the frosted grass below. His breath let out into the air as a puff of white smoke, before dissipating within seconds. Hermione frowned at Ron’s words, and as she went to speak, she was abruptly cut off. 

“You have-”

“I have no one. Everyone in my family thinks I’ve gone mental. You’re hardly around anymore, now that you and Pansy have gone and hooked up.” He paused in his monologue to sneer slightly, before continuing. “Do you have any idea what it was like? To see his dead body?”

Ron couldn’t stop the tears from streaming down his face, as his fingers clenched into a fist. His heart was breaking, piece by piece, and he’d leave the remains by Harry’s grave when the encounter was over. 

Harry...Harry..who was gone...

Hermione inhaled softly, biting her lower lip. “Ron,” she whispered, voice weak now.

“No, you need to listen,” Ron hissed, rage coming over him like never before. “Were you there? Were you the one he called before-” 

His voice broke off, as he shut his eyes, which were now stinging with more tears. 

Hermione only stood, staring timidly at the redheaded boy. She didn’t know where he was going with this, but she thought she was beginning to understand.

“I could have done something,” he finally choked out, facing away from Hermione. She didn’t need to see his expression to know that it was one of self-loathing. “I was the one he called before he did it. If I had listened to him, if I had realised, I could have saved him. But I didn’t. And because I was so stupid, now he’s gone. I’m practically the one who killed him.”

Stepping away from the grieving boy, Hermione continued to back away, seeing misery unlike any she had seen before cloud over his eyes. How could Ron say that about himself? He couldn’t possibly blame himself for Harry’s death. How could he have known?

“Ron, please, it’s so cold,” she desperately tried again. “Come back inside, and let’s just talk- ”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

The dismissal is cold, his tone icy as he stares down at Harry’s tombstone. The words stung like needles in Hermione’s brain, as she winced. 

“Ron-”

“Get the fuck out of here.”

“Please, Ron, I-”

“Get the fuck out of here.”  

Hermione stood by her newly-purchased car, eyes watering as she looked up at the gates of the cemetery. This wasn’t how she thought things would end…

She remembered Ron being strong, unaffected by almost anything. But the moment Harry was out of the picture, he collapsed at the seams. 

Was that why he was strong? For one person?

The thought played throughout Hermione’s mind, as she rested against her car, deciding to wait until Ron had finished with his visit. She knew that she probably should have left, Ron obviously would want no part of her being there, but Hermione had always been stubborn. She knew that Harry would have wanted her to get Ron out of the freezing cold, and take him home. To keep him from getting too sad after his death…

Nothing seemed right anymore. And likely, nothing would feel right ever again. 

A gunshot sounded, and Hermione’s eyes went wide. She grabbed her phone and started running into the graveyard, fear rising up within her. Her mocha brown eyes were clouding over with tears, as she dialed the police, running towards the spot where she had heard the shot.

“Ron?!?”

There was no answer.

Running past the endless graves, she turned a sharp corner and her heart stopped beating as she came upon the grisly scene.

“N-no. No, no, no, no, no…..”

Blood was spattered against the snow, against Harry’s grave, and Hermione broke down. She couldn’t stand the sight, as she backed away, falling to her knees. Her cries sounded into the night, nobody listening. 

Ron was gone.

Shot himself clean through his skull.

As she trembled, looking down at the sight before her, only one thought could come to her mind. 

She could have stopped it…

Notes:

Comments and kudos would be much appreciated!