THE ART OF COPING

Disclaimer: Own nothing.

Author's Note: Dear me, I never thought I'd be writing another Potter fic ever again! But here I am. So in case anyone is reading this, a few notes, this is a two part fic. So it's only going to be two chapters long. This is an extremely angsty fic, I guess. I'm not entirely sure where it rates on the angst-o-meter, but I'd say it's pretty angsty. I'll finish the story and then explain my rationale for it.

This story takes place in Harry's fifth year. This is a story that has been in my mind for years…like literally at least three years, but I haven't ever thought about writing it until recently. I have not read HP in a very long time so if the characters seem out of character, please forgive me. I have read the first five books over ten times each back in the day (I guess you could consider me an adult now, although I don't) so I remember a lot of the storylines, but if I've made you shake your head at any point, sorry! One last thing, this has not been edited, so apologies for any grammatical errors or weird typos or anything like that! Other than that, thanks for reading, if you read it J

PART I

"Have you got it?"

"Have you got my money?"

Harry pulled out a pouch from inside his robes and handed it to the seventh year Slytherin.

"Fifty galleons, like we agreed," Harry said. "Where is it?"

The tall Slytherin opened the pouch and peered inside.

"Looks like it's all here," he said, pocketing it. He looked at Harry and smirked. "Got to say, Potter, never thought I'd be standing here," he waved his arm in front of himself theatrically, "doing this with you. The way that little snot Malfoy talks…I would have thought you'd more likely turn me in than do business with me."

Harry was growing impatient. The longer they stood here, the more likely it was that they were going to be caught.

"Where is it, Meyers?" he asked brusquely.

Meyers reached into his own robes and brought out a small brown package.

"The instructions are inside," Meyers said, handing over the package.

Harry accepted it and quickly pocketed it.

"Remember our deal, Meyers," Harry warned. "No one can know about this."

Meyers raised his hands in front of him defensively. "Hey, I'm trusting you to keep this secret as much as you are trusting me. No one will hear about this from me."

Harry nodded and went to turn away, anxious to get back to his dorm.

"Oh, Potter, a word of advice."

Harry turned back.

"Be careful," Meyers frowned. "That thing can really mess you up. And not every Slytherin would celebrate your demise."

Xxx

Harry sat cross legged on his bed. Everyone was at Hogsmeade and he was confident that he'd have the dorm to himself for at least another couple of hours. Still, he had pulled the curtains around his bed just in case. The brown package sat in front of him and he looked at it closely. Meyers had told him that it could mess him up. He had seemed sincere. The thought almost made Harry laugh. A sincere Slytherin? Was there ever such a thing?

Dismissing any doubts, Harry leaned forward and opened the package hastily. Inside was a small crystal cube, delicately sitting on a wooden base. On top of the cube was a slip of paper – the instructions Meyers had spoken of. Harry picked up the paper and read the instructions which consisted of only two steps. There was no warning, nothing that cautioned against misuse or overuse or any such thing. Meyers must have been lying.

Harry re-read the instructions again, committing them to memory, and then set the paper beside the cube. Lifting the cube from its wooden base, Harry studied it carefully. It was no bigger than Neville's Remembrall but it was square instead of round. The crystal made it hard to see what, if anything, was inside the cube but it glittered boldly off the curtains around Harry's bed.

"This is it," Harry muttered.

Harry held his hand over the cube, hesitating just slightly before placing his palm flat on the cold crystal. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply in and then let it out slowly. When he opened his eyes again, he saw that the crystal was no longer the opaque colour it had been before, but a mixture of different colours. There was red, green, and the tiniest bit of light blue and yellow. But black and dark blue were by far the most prominent colours present. Harry wondered if this meant he had used the cube properly. Tentatively, Harry mentally retreated into his own mind, searching and felt…nothing.

Xxx

Harry promised himself that he would only use the cube when he needed it most – when feeling nothing was preferable to feeling anything. Problem was, that was most of the time. He found that the cube came most useful in Umbridge's class and in Potions, but he by no means restricted his use of it to just those classes and soon he was carrying it around with him in his pocket, only a swift arm movement away from use. The slightest hint that he was feeling something – anything – he would immediately reach into his pocket, place his palm flat against the cube and breathe in and out steadily. The more he used it, the thicker the colours in the cube became until they sludged about in such a way that reminded Harry of wet play-doh.

At night Harry tucked the cube safely in his trunk, buried under old robes and dirty socks. He didn't think there was any use for it while he slept. He was wrong. Exactly one week after his first use of the cube, Harry woke from a nightmare that had his heart pounding furiously, his breathing quickened so that it stung at his lungs and his throat raw from screaming. He had woken the other boys in his dorm but ignored them all as he jumped from his bed and hurriedly, motivated by sheer panic, ransacked his trunk looking for the cube. He was vaguely aware of Ron kneeling beside him, asking anxiously what he was doing. Harry snapped at him to sod off, found the cube and lunged back into bed, drawing the curtains around him for privacy. He pressed both palms against the cube this time and breathed in and out quickly. He felt the panic and distress leave him almost instantly and a numbness settled on him. He withdrew his hands and was unconcerned that the cube was no longer swirling with an array of different colours but had turned completely black.

Xxx

After that night, Harry slept with the cube under his pillow, a hand always gripping it firmly. Wherever he went, so did the cube, whether it was to the bathroom or to dinner, the cube would be only an arm's length away. He used it regularly, for the slightest hint that he was beginning to feel anything would send him into a panic. Even joy or happiness had become so unfamiliar to him that when he began to feel them his heart rate would increase, his breathing would become shallow and his stomach would start doing flips inside him. The very thought of feeling anything would terrorise him with panic until he simply slipped his hand inside his pocket.

He soon began to realise that his thoughts were half of the problem. Thinking would provoke a whole range of emotions and, if he let it, the emotions would only fester until the thoughts inspired panic. He found quickly that without the emotions, the thoughts became simply that: thoughts. Just words in his head that meant nothing and were often so irrational or so ridiculous that he almost felt ashamed of thinking them – that is if he let himself feel the shame. Like all other feelings, shame had become a colour in the cube. When he had finally made the connection between his thoughts and his feelings, his hand never left the inside of his pocket. He no longer gave himself even the chance of feeling anymore.

His calm demeanour, or rather his numbness, had not entirely gone unnoticed by those around him.

"Ron says you don't have nightmares anymore," Hermione said one day over breakfast.

Harry looked at her over his forkful of bacon.

"Not one nightmare," he said coolly. It was a lie though. The cube didn't stop the nightmares, only the emotions that came with them. To Harry, his nightmares had simply become moving pictures with no real significance to them. Cedric falling to the ground with that shocked look on his face meant no more to Harry than a rock on the ground. If Harry ever felt guilty about that, it was snapped up into the cube. His rationalised that there was no point in feeling anything about Cedric anymore. It happened, and nothing he felt was going to change anything.

Hermione looked closely at him, but Harry remained unconcerned.

"Argh!" Ron grumbled beside Harry. "Potions this morning. Merlin! I forgot to the set work from yesterday." He looked expectantly at Hermione.

"I am not giving you mine to copy, Ron!" she said indignantly. "How are you ever going to learn if you keep copying?"

"Come on, Hermione," Ron pleaded. "If I miss another Quidditch practice because of detention, I'll never be any good."

Hermione softened at his words. "Fine," she huffed, pulling out her work from the bag she had at her feet. "But this is the last time!"

"Whatever you say," Ron grinned, quickly taking the work from her and opening it up beside a fresh piece of parchment he had had ready. "Need to copy, Harry?" he asked.

Harry shrugged. "I can't be bothered," he said lazily, taking a sip of orange juice.

"You'll get a detention and miss Quidditch practice," Ron warned.

Harry shrugged. "Doesn't matter," he said. "It's not like I'm going to need Quidditch, anyway."

Ron and Hermione gaped at him.

"But you love Quidditch!" Hermione objected.

Harry shrugged again. "It's just a game." He finished off his orange juice, stood up and walked off, leaving Ron and Hermione flabbergasted behind him.

Xxx

"Where's your set work, Potter?" Snape sneered down at him.

Harry, a hand firmly placed on the cube in his pocket, looked up calmly at Snape and said, "I didn't do it, sir."

"And why not?"

"I didn't want to," Harry replied, unfazed by the dangerous look in Snape's eyes.

"Well then," Snape said, a cruel smile on his lips. "You may find that motivation you're lacking this Saturday night."

There was immediate protest from the Gryffindors in the room.

"But that's the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw match!" Ron cried.

"Oh dear," Snape mocked. "Well looks like Gryffindor better start looking for a new Seeker then." He stared down at Harry. "I expect you in my office by seven, Potter."

"Fine," Harry said simply and Snape walked off with a strange look on his face.

Xxx

"What is wrong with you?" Ron exclaimed when the three of them were back in the boys' dorms. "You didn't even argue with him!"

"What did you want me to do?" Harry asked.

"Anything!" Ron yelled. "But you just sat there! Do you even care?"

Harry sat down on his bed. "Not really," he said. "Neither should you, really. It's not like you're going to make a career out of it. You're not any good."

There was a shocked silence that followed his words. Ron gaped, moving his mouth soundlessly as though trying to find the right words to convey his shock. In the end, he let out a strangled yell and stormed out, Harry turned to Hermione who had stood watching quietly, but who now had a sad look on her face.

"That wasn't very nice, Harry," she said.

"But it's true, isn't it?" Harry replied.

Hermione looked conflicted. "Well, yes, but you don't tell him that!" she said, exasperated. "He's feeling hurt now."

"Well, if he didn't feel, he would know I was right," Harry shrugged.

Hermione gave him a strange look, the same one Snape had worn in Potions.

"Why are you so…cold, Harry?" she asked. "What's happened to you?"

Xxx

The morning of the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw game, and Harry's detention, found Harry, Ron and Hermione sitting on the front lawn of Hogwarts eating from a plate they had taken from the kitchens. It had become more of a habit now that Harry still accompanied Ron and Hermione. He felt nothing towards them – no affinity, no loyalty, nothing. He remembered that he once felt something for them, but whatever it was, he had long forgotten it.

Hermione was trying to reassure a nervous Ron that he would perform fine in the match.

"You'll do great Ron," she pushed. "You did great last week."

"That's when we had Harry," Ron pointed out. "He caught the snitch early enough so I couldn't make many stuff-ups. Isn't that right, Harry?"

"I told you I was sorry," Harry said, munching on some toast. It was true. Hermione had convinced Harry to apologise for what he had said to Ron. Harry did not see any good reason for apologising for the truth but eventually conceded that doing so would mean that he would no longer have to deal with Ron's bleeding heart. Or so he thought.

"And if you actually meant it, I'd believe you," Ron snapped. "You didn't even sound sorry."

Harry shrugged, a behaviour trait that was becoming more and more noticeable by the days. "No one said anything about meaning it."

Ron's face began to turn red.

"Merlin, Harry! What the hell is happening to you?" Ron all but shouted. "Do you even hear yourself?" He took a breath and turned to Hermione. "I think you were right, you know," he said.

"Right about what?" Harry asked, turning on Hermione.

Hermione looked intimidated but sat up straight and looked at Harry fiercely.

"Harry, it's like you…it's like you don't care anymore! About anything! I haven't seen you smile in weeks, not even one of your 'I'm going to smile to pretend everything's all right' smile. But it's more than that. It's like you don't feel anything. You never get angry, you never get sad or happy. You never speak more than you think is necessary and when you do speak it's like listening to a computerised voice – that's a muggle contraption Ron," she took a deep breath and started again. "And you don't care about any of us anymore! The other day I heard you tell Neville that you didn't think he would pass the O. . He's been fretting ever since."

"If you ask me, Potter did him a favour," a drawling voice came from behind them.

The trio turned to find Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle standing not a foot behind them.

"Go away Malfoy," Ron shouted. "We don't have time for you today."

"I just came by to wish you luck on your game against Ravenclaw today," Malfoy jeered. "I can't wait to see you get hit in the face by a quaffle. I've booked Creevey for the night to take pictures."

Crabbe and Goyle guffawed loudly and Ron's face turned a deep shade of pink.

"Are you done, Malfoy?" Hermione asked, turning her back to him. "We're trying to eat here."

Harry watched the exchange silently, wondering why Ron and Hermione were getting so worked up. All Malfoy was doing was speaking. They were just words. Nothing more.

"At least Potter won't be around to see you embarrass yourself," Malfoy continued. "Don't worry, Potter, I'll make copies for you." He laughed. "Oh, by the way, I heard Professor Snape's got quite the evening planned for you. You'll be scrubbing cauldrons until the morning. At least all of Gryffindor tower will finally get a good night's sleep: they won't have to hear you crying out 'No, Cedric, no!' all night." This last bit was accompanied by a loud clap as Crabbe and Goyle high-fived eachother.

Ron jumped to his feet, his wand already in his hand. And animosity he felt at Harry disappeared as he stared down Malfoy.

"Get out of here, Malfoy," he growled. "I've been practising my Transfiguration spells. How would you like toad this time around?"

Malfoy put up his hands in mock surrender.

"Come on boys," he said to Crabbe and Goyle. "Our work here is done." The three walked off, their laughter echoing back to the trio.

"Are you okay, Harry?" Hermione asked, reaching over to place a hand on Harry's knee. "Don't listen to Malfoy. He's just trying to get under your skin."

Harry looked down at Hermione's hand on his knee and then up at her face. She was wearing that strange look again.

"I'm fine," Harry said, taking the last piece of toast from the plate and standing up.

"Aren't you angry at what Malfoy said?" Ron asked, also wearing that strange look on his face.

"No," Harry replied, taking a bite into the toast and waiting for Hermione to gather up her things.

Hermione stood up now too but made no move to gather up her bookbag or the plate they had left on the ground. She and Ron exchanged glances.

"Do you even care?" Ron pushed, his voice rising a touch.

"Why should I?" Harry asked.

"Your dad was a giant prat!" Ron blurted suddenly.

"Ron!" Hermione gasped.

"Your dad had a big head and that's what killed him!"

"Ron!" Hermione shrieked. "What are you doing?"

Harry simply stood there, watching as Ron practically boiled over and Hermione wrung her hands in what Harry identified as distress. He knew Ron's words should mean something to him emotionally, but his hand was, as ever, clutching at the cube in his pocket.

"Look at him, Hermione!" Ron shouted, pointing at Harry. "Look at his eyes! It's like he's not there! He's done something to himself. Or someone has done something to him! Look at him!"

Hermione stopped her fretting and stared intently at Harry for the briefest of seconds.

"No one has done anything to me, Ron," Harry said. He knew he should put in a laugh to convey the ridiculousness of Ron's sentence and to assure them both that he was fine, but he'd long forgotten what laughter sounded like.

"Then you've done something to yourself," Ron yelled. "Look at him Hermione. You said it yourself, he's gone cold. It's like he can't feel anything."

"Harry, aren't you hurt at Ron said?" Hermione asked softly, drawing closer to Harry and peering into his eyes.

Harry knew what the right answer was. "Of course I'm hurt," he said. "He's my best friend and he said…bad things about my dad."

Hermione did not look convinced. "You're not there, are you?" Hermione whispered, her eyes suddenly glinting. "You're not in there."

"What are you talking about?"

"You say the words, but you don't mean them," Hermione said, a tear slipping from her eye.

"Of course I mean them," Harry said. "I'm going back to Gryffindor Tower now."

He turned away from them and began to walk towards the castle. Suddenly, he felt a body slam into him and he found himself lying with his back flat against the grass.

"What have you done?" Ron demanded. He was sitting horseback style on Harry. "What did you do to yourself?"

"Get off me, Ron!" Harry still had his hand in his pocket and tightened around the cube.

"Not until you tell me what you've done!" Ron screamed, gathering Harry's collar in his fists and thrusting Harry's upper body upwards. By this action, Harry's hand was pulled from his pocket, the cube still clutched tightly between his fingers and palm. His fist hit the ground on its way out and he loosened his grip on the cube. It slipped from his fingers and buried lost itself in the grass.

"NO!" Harry shrieked, a sudden avalanche of emotions cascading down on him. At the first sign of emotion, panic reared its ugly head. Almost instantly Harry couldn't breathe, couldn't think past finding the cube and stopping any more emotions from destroying the fine balance in his life he had fought to build.

Harry's shout surprised Ron enough that he let go of Harry's collar, but he did not get off him entirely.

"Finally! So you do feel something," Ron exclaimed, but any happiness or relief he had felt turned sour when he noticed the panic Harry was going through. "Whoah, Harry, it's okay."

"What's going on?" Hermione surged forward and knelt beside the pair. "Harry? Harry! What's wrong?"

Harry couldn't breathe but he knew that all that would go away if only he could just get to the cube. He turned his head furiously to both sides, trying to find the cube. He spotted it a mere foot away, the sun glinting off its black crystal. Harry tried to squiggle out of the hold Ron had on him, but he was getting weaker from a lack of oxygen and now Hermione had a firm grip on his arm too.

"GET OFF ME!" he yelled and instantly Ron and Hermione were no longer there. Uncaring as to what happened to them, Harry got on his hands and knees and crawled desperately towards the cube. Gripping it harder than he ever had before, Harry breathed in and out as the emotions left him.

"POTTER!"

Harry shoved the cube back into his pocket hastily and turned around, never letting his grip on the cube falter. McGonnagal was running – actually running – across the lawn towards him. Harry stood up and looked around. At first he didn't understand why McGonnagal was looking so angry and then he spotted two figures slumped awkwardly on the ground several feet away. Ron and Hermione.

"What is the meaning of this?!" McGonnagal shrieked, rushing over to Ron first. "Merlin, he's out cold!" She ran over to Hermione and then looked up at Harry. "Quickly, bring Madam Pomfrey. And then wait for me in my office."

Xxx

Harry had fetched Madam Pomfrey and then waited for McGonnagal in her office. He waited for close to an hour before she returned, looking sombre.

"Would you care to tell me what happened out there?" she asked straightaway, standing before Harry with a dangerous look in her eyes.

"I don't know," Harry admitted. It was the truth, or as much of the truth as he was willing to give.

McGonnagal waited, for what Harry didn't know.

"Well?" she asked impatiently.

"Well what?"

"Aren't you going to ask how they are?" McGonnagal asked flabbergasted that he hadn't already.

"Oh."

"They're fine," she said angrily and then that strange look came over her face – that look that Ron and Hermione were wearing earlier. "They will have a slight headache for the next hour, but other than that…" she paused. "You don't care, do you?" she asked, sadly surprised.

Harry didn't answer. He knew he should care and maybe if he wasn't holding onto the cube in his pocket for dear life, maybe he would.

"I've spoken to Professor Dumbledore," McGonnagal walked over to her desk and placed a small ballerina figurine on it. "He thinks it best if you return home for a while."

"You're sending me to the Dursleys?" Harry asked, knowing yet again he should feel something specific about this. "Am I being expelled?"

McGonnagal shook her head. "No, but we agreed that some time at home may do you some good and cure whatever it is that ails you."

"Nothing ails me," Harry objected.

McGonnagal gave him a cynical look and then pointed at the figurine on the desk. "This is the portkey that will take you home," she said, taking out her wand and placing the tip of it on the ballerina's head. She whispered a few words and then pocketed her wand again. "We will have your things sent to you tonight. I think it best if you leave immediately, so as to avoid questions from your peers."

Harry stood, neither feeling opposed to the plan or in favour of it. He walked over to it and was about to touch it when McGonnagal grabbed his arm at the elbow.

"Talk to them," she said softly. "Let them help you."

When she let go of him, his arm fell and he grabbed at the figurine.

When his feet touched solid ground again, he wasn't ready for it and felt himself falling. Before he could hit the ground, strong arms caught him and he looked up into a familiar face.

"Welcome home, Harry."

"Sirius?"