Chapter Fourteen: Je ne regrette rien
"Harry, mate, I know this is the pot calling the kettle black, but you're making a mess."
Harry's half of the space between their beds, usually fastidiously neat for anything belonging to a teenage boy, had recently become, just as Ron Weasley had said, a state. Day-old socks, pieces of parchment, and textbooks alike were piled in small heaps as their owner dug through his trunk, tossing its contents onto the floor without regard.
Ron, all too happy to shove his Charms homework away, slipped off his bed and waded through the jungle of clutter forming around him, then stared down at Harry, dipping his head over his friend's shoulder to peer at the contents of the rapidly emptying trunk.
"Come on, what are you even looking for in there?"
Harry paused, letting a jumper he hadn't worn in over a year fall back into the trunk. What was he doing? There was no reason for him to believe the ring was somehow waiting for him at the bottom of the trunk. He'd been wearing it the night of the last full moon, but by the time he woke up, it was gone. The only explanation was that it had been lost during all the chaos. He'd gone back to look for it the next day, but it was nowhere to be seen. Maybe the sensible thing to do would have been to tell someone, but he couldn't, not under the circumstances. There was always the chance it could lead back to Lavender, and he couldn't risk that. Nor could he risk being seen that way again. It was bad enough that people made sure to give him an extra wide berth in the halls, weren't keen to sit next to him at the Gryffindor table. They still whispered behind his back, calling him violent and dangerous, a freak and a monster. The only thing that kept them from outright shunning him was the fact that he had been muzzled.
He stared down at his bare hand. The absence of the ouroboros ring meant he might lose control at any point. The thought went through him like a lightning bolt, paralysing him and making his nerves sting. Was he crazy? He couldn't tell them. Not right now. Not today. After all, he'd held on for this long. He'd asked Ruby to make him one of her fire-marbles, like the one she'd used to scry before, a little flame trapped in glass which he kept in his pocket. It was always within arm's reach, but he could feel that the charm on it was nothing compared to the ouroboros ring. Now, the Obscurus whispered to him near-constantly, an incessant, triumphant buzzing in his head. At the slightest sense of danger, it strained against the binds of his will, threatening to unleash destructive power.
How would everyone treat him if they could hear his thoughts, Harry wondered? They'd only recently stopped whispering in front of him after Malfoy Manor. Not that most people knew the circumstances of the rumour Malfoy and Nott had been spreading; no, all they cared about was that Harry Potter was an Obscurial, he was responsible for the scorched hole on the third floor, and he'd done it again.
Harry looked back at Ron, who was still regarding him with a worried expression.
"Nothing." He shut the lid of the trunk harder than he meant to. "Just — it's not important."
"If you say so."
Ron ambled back to his bed and resumed his Charms homework with great reluctance. After a few minutes, he already started to look bleary, rubbing his eyes at regular intervals. Harry took that as his cue to leave. He was already running late, after all. He had just been hoping to find the ring before his appointment.
Harry and T.M. Riddle come to blows. Ron attempts to play wingman (and matchmaker). Ruby has Slug Club-related problems of her own. Mafalda puts in a special order from Snape. Read from the beginning at AO3|FFN












