Harry couldn’t help but mutter some sort of disagreement to any mention of her so called understanding. It was so easy. So easy to deny that she grasped anything that he had said. It was much simpler to just say, “You don’t understand, you never will.” than to say, “Yeah, you get me.” It was much less of a promise to confide in a person when you keep them at bay of full comprehension. Or rather to keep yourself reassured that you never really confided in anyone. Either way it was a lie. He again went through the process of addressing her new inquiries.
“I do indeed, Doctor. I live by comparison.” Harry stated in a manner too nonchalant to flow with the conversation. “I can’t help it. I see myself in a degraded manner because of it, but I can’t stop. The judgement, the antagonizations. Even when they seldom come from someone else, they inevitably come from me twice as harsh.”
“I cherish Hermione as one of my wonderfully close companions, don’t get me wrong. I’d say she would call me something along the lines of stubborn, frustrating, and confusing.” Smirk. Frown. “You never know when someone will walk away. I choose not to blind myself with possibly misconstrued affection that will attempt to convince me otherwise. She’s great, we’re friends, she does way more than expected, and I appreciate it but… I won’t hold her to be there all the time. She’ll snap, one day. S’not like I want her to, but that doesn’t mean I can’t anticipate it.” He gazed around the room, not fixing his sight on anything in particular. “I’m not paranoid.” He constituted matter-of-factly.
“I am harsh with myself and I do judge every thought and feeling. It’s not like I want to.” His bottom lip quivered. “I can’t do anything without it passing through my mind with a self-made comment alongside it. Anything. I relay it all over and over in my head. ‘You’re an idiot.’ I’d say. ‘You’re pathetic.’ You don’t know how terrible I feel right now, throughout the duration of today; every day. Every word that has come out of my mouth has had an unspoken one nearby. It’s horrific.” He gave a shudder and a repressed cry.
“I appreciate your will to aid me, I do. I really wish that you could just wave a wand and fix me. I wish it were that effortless, that simple. What if I don’t have that power? What happens then?” He answered his own question with a sob. “I’m a lost cause, Doctor. There’s really no point in saying much more.”
“But why must you compare yourself?” she implored, knowing it was inevitable for anyone really, to live a life in which they gave no thought to the person next to them in relation. Even she herself, a woman of forty-plus years, found herself making unfair comparisons of her own situation to another’s. To say she didn’t understand would be a lie, but professionally speaking, it was unfair to make assumptions. “It’s human nature, yes, but what about it is helpful?”
“No, Harry. I don’t believe you’re paranoid,” Dr. Harcourt sat back, tapping a finger against her chin. “Have you had many friends? That is I mean… true friends? Friends like Miss Granger? Or family even? Anyone who has always been there?”
Harry’s own reluctance to accept help, to accept himself, was frightening. This seemed to be the last desperate attempt of a young boy, to determine whether or not he would stay or leave the life he’d been given. She was slow in her thought, not wanting to make the wrong move, ask the wrong question. It was such a delicate thing. “Have you always felt this way? Always had such a strong sense of dislike for yourself, Harry?”
“No, Harry. No one is a lost cause. Especially not you.” Dr. Harcourt nodded firmly, trying to comfort the boy. “We are all here for a reason, and you have all the power you need, Mr. Potter.”