Harry's about to close his trunk, finished packing, when he finds the robes under his bed.

Several days old by now but still not laundered, they're apparently the source of the burning odor that's been the mystery of the dormitory for the past week. They're slimy and wrinkled and he holds them at arm's length, pinched between thumb and forefinger.

He shakes them out, trying to force them into a neater pile, and then he notices the rip in the left sleeve.

Right in the middle of the forearm.

He drops the robes like they've caught fire, stumbles backward into someone else's – maybe Ron's – bed and catches himself on his hands, staring at them, breathing heavily.

A moment's hesitation and he gets up to inspect the robes more closely. The hole's big, and clean, too, just as, he guesses, it would look if it had been stabbed with enough force to pull a several-foot-long fang out of the roof of a giant snake's mouth. There's still dried blood around the edges.

Harry's blood.

And for the first time, it hits him just how lucky he is to even be thinking about this, lucky to have his heart be pounding extra hard for the realization (or at all, really).

He almost died.

At twelve years old.

Harry sinks to the floor, his fingers poking through the hole in the sleeve, curling around it even as every sensible part of him screams to fling it away, burn it to ashes.

He feels sick. He wants to throw up. He shouldn't be alive. He was supposed to die down there in the Chamber… It had been so close… He had been only seconds away from death…

Ron finds him there, after a while, staring into space and clutching foul robes.

"Ready for the feast?" he says brightly, obliviously.

Harry starts and jumps to his feet. "Yeah," he says, hoping his voice isn't as hoarse as it sounds.

Ron's eyes find the robes and flicker back to Harry's, confused.

"What's that?" he asks, taking a step closer –

"Nothing," says Harry quickly; without even pausing to consider it, he crosses to the window, pushes it open, and releases his grip on the robes. He can hear them flapping as they fall, buffeted by the resisting air and the wind – so fragile, he thinks. Such a thin line to be walking on.

He doesn't watch them hit the ground. He slams the window shut, turns to see Ron raising an eyebrow.

"You okay?"

Blind as ever.

"I'm fine."

He's not.

A/N: I thought Harry might have a startling realization after the Chamber... I mean, really, getting that close to dying at only twelve? that's... mind-blowing. it's definitely not my best, but I wanted to get this out there and see if I could make anyone think. ;D

please, please review!

~whispered touches

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended.