Disclaimer- Unfortunately, I do not own the world of Harry Potter, I'm just borrowing the characters to make up my own little world :D
Warning-Contains eating disorders, abuse and self harm! Don't like don't read!
He stared at the plate across from him and felt the all too familiar twist in his stomach. He stared at it just long enough for the sickness to pass and to give him time to swallow before he sighed and walked over to where it lay on his bedside table.
It was the summer before sixth year and Harry had been at the Dursley's for exactly 18 days so far. Usually he'd be looking forward to returning to school and in a way he was, there was just that inexplicable feeling of emptiness that wouldn't allow him to look forward to anything or care about anyone. He couldn't help it and he wished with all his heart that he could be bothered to write back to Ron or Hermione but he just couldn't muster up the strength. He hated having to lie to them so just not writing at all would solve that problem. They would only fuss, asking him how he was and what he was up to... Harry smiled at the thought of his friends but then the answers to those questions came crawling back. The real answers: not the lies he would invent to keep them happy.
He jolted back to reality and Harry realised he had been standing beside his bedside table with his mouth gaping open. He quickly shut it, grabbed the plate of food and ran to the bathroom where he promptly threw the lot into the toilet and flushed the chain. Good riddance.
He could faintly hear the Dursley's downstairs enjoying their meal. He heard his Uncle Vernon laughing along with Dudley, whilst Aunt Petunia fussed over whether they had enough roast potatoes. Personally, Harry thought Dudley and Vernon had probably eaten enough roast potatoes to keep Hagrid full for life but who was he to judge?
His thin arm reached out for his door handle just as Dudley came crashing up the stairs. With a thud, he hit Harry square on the chest before thundering into his room, grabbing his new laptop and rushing back down the stairs, not forgetting to hit Harry once more on his way back. It was a new rule that Dudley was allowed the laptop at the kitchen table whilst eating his meal.
"Well, he may as well get the use out of it, it cost enough!" his Uncle would say.
Harry found this statement neither true nor fair. Harry got nothing; he wasn't even allowed to sit around the table with the 'family' at mealtimes because of the problems he brought along with him. Instead of helping him though, they shut him in his room all day and locked his owl in the garden shed. Harry didn't really care though, this was no problem compared to the internal battle he fought everyday and if he was honest, he'd rather be in his room, alone, than be downstairs whilst his supposed Uncle hurled verbal and physical abuse at him. He still had the bruises covering his left leg from the last time he hadn't washed a dish to Petunia's standard.
He did wish he could get out of the house completely though, but this was physically impossible due to the new bolts and locks on every exit out of the house and unless he wanted another ministry hearing, he would have to lay off opening them by magic.
His stomach grumbled as he strode across his room to his window. He closed the curtains as he knew only too well what Dumbledore was like and wondered if Mrs Figg was staring at his silhouette even now. He switched off the light as he flopped onto his bed with the weakness of a dying man and through the silence he could hear his painfully slow heartbeat.
All too soon the darkness had encroached upon him once again and he was preparing himself for those thoughts. The thoughts that crept up at him and enveloped his body with a numbness so deep, he thought he could never feel again. Physical and emotional pain merged into one and confusion swept through Harry's still body. This time. Always this time: too early for it to be classed as night time and yet too late for the setting sun. It was this time, where dinner was finished downstairs and the lengthy silence began, that Harry had to be at one with his mind. This terrified him but he couldn't stop his thoughts. Not even if his life depended on it. The pain. The guilt. The pressure. The horror that had transformed his life from the childlike beliefs that only one so young can possess, into the nightmare world with wrong turnings at every exit. Wasn't the mind supposed to be a safe haven? A place for the most secure among us, to be at peace and think about insignificant happenings. A place he himself used to visit frequently before the world crept up on him and his naivety caused so much destruction and misery. It frightened him to think that he could not control his own mind and a shiver made its way down his spine. His mental state would never be that of a normal sixteen year old. Not now, after everything he had been through.
How could he have let so many people suffer for his sake? The people who had died in his name crept to the surface of his memories and the notion almost choked him. So much pain and hurt. The vivid image of crimson blood drenching his left arm resurface once again: as it always did when he thought about the pain he had inflicted on others. The only thing that stopped him now was the voices he heard in the cosy living room downstairs. It reminded him that there was someone there, someone to catch him in the act perhaps or hurl abuse at him for bringing yet another problem into their happy little lives. And yet Harry lay there, lost and forgotten, as always.
Maybe he was just a 'problem'. He could feel himself shutting the closest people in his life away and yet he was powerless to cease. It was as if someone else was acting him out: he definitely didn't feel like Harry anymore. He had disrupted everyone's lives without intention but the guilt was still overshadowing him. People had stopped trying to communicate with him and instead looked at him as if they had seen a ghost before backing away slowly. Was this due to his appearance? It suddenly occurred to him that he hadn't looked in a single mirror in weeks, but the fear of what he might see prevented him from doing so. It was his reflection that had first triggered a simple desire within him with the ultimate goal that people would notice a change in him and feel like they could approach him because he looked much better. Was that even true? Would it actually make him look better or more approachable? Probably not. But even with this in mind he couldn't think about food without wanting to hurl. The stress, surprisingly helped as it made him feel physically sick and so food obviously wasn't a good idea anyway. Harry felt he had justified that slight problem a little and could feel the motivation stamping out his hunger pains. One less thing to worry about for now.
He pushed his hair out of his eyes and felt the heaviness of his eyelids. Tiredness just snuck up to him when he least expected it. He rarely had energy anymore and he couldn't remember the last time he felt the wind in his face or the flush of his cheeks. Come to think of it, he couldn't remember the last time he had truly smiled. He tried smiling now as if it would make him feel that little bit happier but as suspected the attempt failed and his face felt distorted from the effort of keeping the grin in place. He let his face fall into its natural state as he pondered on why he insisted on being alone. He had Ron and Hermione and they were there for him no matter what, but for some reason he was pushing them away and the fear of losing them took a hold of his heart for a second before he remembered that he didn't care anymore. Being their friend only put them in danger and Harry felt it was either sooner or later that something dreadful would happen to one of them, or possibly both of them. His presence had that effect on people.
As Harry lay there, silent and unmoving, the urges to cause physical pain in order to suppress his emotional pain were so incessant and oppressive. It was as if his world was running in slow motion and everything and everyone else were moving too fast for him to keep up. The distant humming of voices downstairs blended into a rhythm that seemed lost to Harry, as if he couldn't quite grasp the concept of taking the time to listen to individual words. He coughed so as to break the miserable silence that surrounded him in his box-like room and listened as the sound appeared to echo around him. It was this sharp turn into the reality of sound that made him aware of his physical body and the sting in his arm was enough to let him know that unbeknownst to him, he had been digging his fingernails sharply into his skin, just enough to break the surface and for the red raw flesh underneath to shine through. The familiarity of this act made the fear anyone else would feel dissolve into feelings of comfort and ease and a sense of relief washed over him. He knew he was walking on fire and sooner or later the burn would slowly reach him and overtake him but for now it was just a harmless way for Harry to relieve everything that was piling up on top of him. Just a harmless way...
A/N: What did you think? I was worried I was moving the storyline a bit fast but you have to be introduced to the things Harry is facing in the first chapter in order for it to progress. Rate and review guys I could do with the support to carry on with chapter 2! Let me know if you want any characters adding or if you think Severus and harry mentor would be a good idea for this story. Thanks