Summary: Harry is struggling after the loss of Sirius but discovering that he isn't a Potter pushes him over. Now that he knows the truth what should he fight for?

Pairing: Draco/Harry, Lucius/Charlie, Severus/Lily

free-form; telepath harry

Harry has gotten used to the barrage of voices in his head.

He’s gotten used to the echo of other people’s problems embedding themselves in his mind, digging in and taking root, infesting him. He’s learned how to detach from himself and ignore the chaos, letting the voices dwindle into a low thrum behind his temples, irritating but not painful.

It’s been about fifteen years since Harry first manifested his powers. Fifteen years since he woke up and heard the familiar lilt of his mother’s voice ring through his head even though she was nowhere to be seen. It was something about the dentist, Harry remembers. His mother making a mental note to reschedule Gemma’s appointment at the dentist because she had a Chemistry test that day. He was only ten then.

That was the first thought, nothing more than a soft whisper in his head. Something he brushed away along with the dew of sleep, blaming his sluggish cognizance for the strange occurrence. But it hadn’t been the last. The voices kept coming - his sister, his stepdad, Jake from school. They grew louder too, prodding at his ears and throbbing in his skull.

The confusion and helplessness that tore through him, consuming him, is something that sticks with him even now. And though it’s been fifteen years - fifteen years of learning and growing and gaining control - the feeling of lostness hasn’t faded. It’s settled deep in his bones, reminding him every day that he can hear other people’s thoughts so loudly that it’s hard to separate them from his own.

But Harry doesn’t like to dwell on that too much, knowing those types of worries are the kind one can drown in if they wander too far. For the most part, he’s come to terms with his abilities. He’s come to terms with being alone, knowing that he’s been given this gift - this burden - to carry on a path that no one else knows.

There’s no explanation for it either, he knows. So many questions he’s spent his life searching for answers to only to accept that some secrets will never be unfolded. So he tolerates.

Harry tolerates the voices and the noises and the fact that he’ll never know true quiet with another person. He tolerates the loneliness and the weight on his shoulders of thousands of thoughts and dreams and secrets that he wasn’t given but didn’t take either. He tolerates it.

Sometimes he even lets himself enjoy it. Like now, as he sits on the Tube on the way to his job interview, surrounded by people and voices and thoughts. He’s let them all fade away to some extent, wisps of words still cutting through his blocking attempts. He’s also learned to accept that no matter how hard he tries, some thoughts always break through his defenses.

That’s not the point though. Harry purses his lips, trying to be discreet as he scans the people around him, looking for someone interesting while maintaining his composure. Someone whose thoughts are quieter and more subdued than the harsh babbles of average people.

He finds him quickly. A man around his age but dressed a lot more casual, worn jeans and a sweater two sizes too big, sleeves falling over slim fingers that tap anxiously against the edge of his seat. He’s looking down, a soft fringe falling delicately over his forehead. Harry can’t see his face but he can see the tension in his shoulders, the way he hunches in on himself, making himself smaller than he already is.

There’s something familiar in the weariness Harry sees etched in his limbs. Something familiar about the nervous energy radiating from his body, like it’s pushing in on him and he’s letting it, exhausted from fighting it. It’s familiar.

So Harry opens his mind, channeling his abilities to him and wondering what he’ll find. What plagues you? he wonders.

A minute passes and Harry frowns when he’s still empty handed. Not even a thread of a thought or a hint that one’s there. It’s… silent.

Harry straightens up, brows furrowing as he studies the boy. Minds are never silent, is the thing. It’s another thing he’s learned and another thing he tolerates. Another burden he carries. Minds are never silent.

This… this is strange. Strange and unusual.

Unable to comprehend this unexpected change of events, he tries again, pushing harder. He feels his temples throb, lips twisting into a grimace as his vision gets a bit blurry like it always does when he’s reaching past his usual barriers. He shouldn’t be extending his powers like this. There are boundaries - ones he’s set for himself to maintain some distance, to maintain some respect when his abilities are the exact opposite.

But he can’t help it. He’s rattled by this, that intimate feeling of confusion and being lost filling his throat. He pushes and pushes, a frisson of heat crackling inside him. Just as he feels that it's going to work - that he can see the beginning ribbons of a thought - it all snaps.

As in literally snaps. He jerks with it, accidentally letting out a choked sound that has the lady who’s been chatting on the phone to her sister across from him looking at him in concern. His lips pull of their own accord, stretching into a polite and apologetic smile, charming and blank.

When she returns to her call, Harry exhales shakily, fingers curling into his suit pants and wrinkling the smooth fabric. He squeezes his eyes shut, spots dancing over his lids. What just happened?

He had been reaching but the connection snapped - it broke. This has never happened, Harry thinks hysterically. This has never happened. He glances back at the man, a lump rising in his throat. What just happened?

Who are you?

As if sensing Harry’s intense stare and bristling discomfort, the man lifts his head and turns to look at him.

Harry sees blue.