Disclaimer: I do not own any characters used in this story, all recognizable names, locations, and characters are property of the wonderful JK Rowling, who was lovely enough to bless us with the Harry Potter books to become obsessed with as I have.

Summary: AU summer between fifth and sixth year. Remus visits Grimmauld Place to find a very distressed Harry involved in self-harm. They have a little talk. Hurt/comfort. Angst. Fluff. One-Shot. Rated M for scenes of self-harm, and because I'm paranoid.

A/N: While this fic deals with self-harm in a semi-casual way, that doesn't mean it is ever all right to cut yourself. I can say, from personal experience, that it can seriously hurt everyone around you. I nearly had my high school principal, a very calm and collected man, in tears when he found out that I had been doing it. Though I have a lot more time under my belt than Harry with this particular issue, that doesn't mean it won't seriously upset everyone around you. If you even think about cutting yourself, I urge you to talk to someone you trust, because it is an uphill battle to stop once you start. I would know. It took me three years to stop once I started, and the only reason I stopped was because of my, previously mentioned, high school principal. Talk to someone you trust and who cares about you if you cut or have the urge to cut. It makes life a lot easier when you finally stop.

…..

Cuts and Scars

…..

He could feel the Cruciatus Curse ripping through his body like wildfire. Every nerve in his body was in agony, he was surely going to die. He could take this no longer, he must succumb to the pain and die.

Then the pain stopped. Panting, Harry got to his hands and knees and lifted his head to look into Voldemort's scarlet eyes.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Now, he was in a big, sunken room with a raised dais in the middle. There was a battle raging all around him. There were flashes of light every second. People were flying, falling, being blasted away.

Harry knew this place. He could see himself fighting on the dais, near where Sirius was fighting Bellatrix. Harry didn't find it odd that he was seeing himself. He had seen this many times before. While he watched, the battle was fought around him, but never once got near to him. He just stood in the same place as he did every night, watching the battle rage on.

Even though it was too loud in the chamber to really hear it, Harry heard Sirius taunting Bellatrix.

"Is that the best you can do?"

With a flash of light, Sirius began falling. Harry watched him fall in slow motion through the veil that separated mortal life and the afterlife. He saw Remus grab ahold of him so he would not run through the veil in search of Sirius. He heard his heart-wrenching, agonizing screams as he begged Sirius to step back through the veil.

The Voldemort showed up, as he always did.

"Pity your dear godfather had to die. I guess he was just as pathetic and worthless as your parents, dying to protect you. Are you going to let everyone die for you, Harry?" Harry looked into Voldemort's scarlet eyes and remembered. He remembered everything that had happened, everyone who was forced to die to keep him alive…

And he woke up.

…..

"Harry, are you all right, mate?' Ron asked the next morning at breakfast.

"I'm fine. Just didn't get a lot of sleep last night." Harry remembered his dream vividly. He had it every night, without fail. He wished for some peace, but her realized that if everyone was going to be forced to die for him, he could at least lose some sleep over it.

"Harry, dear, I believe Remus might be coming around later for dinner. You'll have to join us tonight!" Mrs. Weasley called from the kitchen sink.

"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley, but I doubt he'd want to see me in this state. I'm sure he would prefer to just see you lot." Harry replied.

"He insisted he see you when I invited him. Go take a shower dear, and take a nap. Merlin knows you need it. We will be having stew." Mrs. Weasley responded.

"Fine. I'll be in the bathroom." Harry stood and took care of his unfinished breakfast before slowly making his way upstairs. Before heading into the bathroom, he darted into Ron's room. He grabbed some clean clothes, along with his wand, watch, and pocketknife.

Once he made it into the bathroom, Harry flipped the lid of the toilet seat down and sat on it, pulling his pocketknife out of his heap of clothes that he had sat on the counter. He flipped it open and looked down at the blade. It was very shiny.

Harry pulled up the left sleeve of his shirt. His entire forearm was covered in crisscrossed cuts and scars ranging from thin, milky-white scars to brick red, brittle scabs to deep, crimson wounds. He looked down at his arm in disgust. How had his life come to this?

He reached down and pulled the blade of his pocketknife across his wrist one, two, three times. He enjoyed watching then deep cuts fill with blood before it started trickling down his arm. He watched for a few more moments before standing and washing off his knife in the sink. He shoved the pocketknife back into his heap of clothes before getting into the shower.

The hot water stung the fresh cuts on Harry's wrist, but he enjoyed it. He quickly washed his hair and body before taking his time letting the hot water run down his arm onto his wrist, stinging the new cuts.

When he finished, he quickly pulled on the clothes he had brought in with him, sticking his wand in his back pocket and latching his watch around his bleeding wrist. He then sat back down on the toilet seat and pulled up both sleeves of his shirt. He didn't remember the last time he wore a short-sleeved shirt. While he could easily use a charm to cover up the cuts and scars crisscrossing his wrists and arms, he preferred to wear long sleeves.

He flipped open the pocketknife and made one, two, three cuts on his other wrists. He watched the blood trickle down his arm before making a big, deep slice down his left forearm. That one bled much more than the cuts on his wrists. To finish it off, Harry made four small, deep cuts on his right forearm. Before blood could get on his clothes, Harry stood and washed his arms, wrists, and pocketknife off in the sink. He idly waved his wand to clot the cuts so they would stop bleeding before shoving the knife in his pocket and making his way out of the bathroom. While he was still an underaged wizard, he was in a magical home, therefore he could not be caught doing underaged magic.

On his way downstairs, he shoved his dirty clothes in a laundry basket, making sure there was no blood on them. While he walked down the stairs, he unknowingly rubbed the large cut down his left forearm, causing it to sting. He stopped right before entering the living room.

"Hey, mate. Up for a game of Quidditch?" Ron asked when Harry walked in the room.

"Not today. I was going to read outside." Harry responded.

"You've been reading for the last week! You're turning into bloody Hermione!" Ron exclaimed.

"I'm just not in the mood for Quidditch, Ron. I want to be left alone." Harry snapped back.

"Are you all right, mate?" Ron asked, concern for his friend etched across his face.

"I'm fine. I'll be outside, reading." And with that, Harry turned and marched out of the room. He retrieved his book from Ron's room and made his way outside. He settled in under the crabapple tree and opened his book. He had no intention of reading.

…..

"Harry?" Remus had just Apparated outside of the gate. As he made his way through, he saw Harry sitting under the crabapple tree.

Harry heard the pop caused by Remus's appearance, and hastily pulled down his sleeve and shoved his knife into his pocket. He saw Remus notice his movement toward his pocket, but he didn't think he has caught what exactly he had shoved in there.

"Hello, Professor." Harry responded dully.

"I haven't been your professor in over two years, Harry. Please call me Remus." Remus let out an exasperated sigh.

"Sorry, Remus," Harry replied. "You're here early. I thought you were coming for dinner. I only just had breakfast an hour ago."

"Yes, I apologize for how early I came. I wanted to see you. To see how you were holding up." Remus sat down beside Harry, also leaning against the tree.

"M'fine." Harry replied dully. Remus was not fooled.

He sighed. "Harry, there is nothing wrong in admitting that you're hurting. Sirius was your godfather," Remus felt a twinge in his heart when he mentioned Sirius, "you have every right to be upset by…what happened."

"No, I don't." Harry bit back.

Remus was taken aback. "And why is that, Harry?"

"I shouldn't be allowed to feel sad that he's gone when it's my fault that he's dead." Harry's voice broke on the last word.

"What gives you the impression that it's your fault, Harry?" Remus questioned.

"Voldemort sent me that vision to lure me there. If I had learned Occlumency like I was supposed to then he wouldn't have been able to lure me there and Sirius would still be alive." Harry responded angrily.

"True, Harry. While you learning Occlumency could have possibly prevented the situation happening when it did, I assure you that it would have happened eventually. Voldemort would have found another way to get you to the Hall of Prophecies." Remus responded calmly.

Harry hung his head. Even Remus blamed him for Sirius's death. He was itching to cut.

"However," Remus continued, "That doesn't make this your fault. Bellatrix killed Sirius, nobody else. Blaming yourself does nobody good, especially when you're the only one doing so. I don't blame you, and neither does anybody else." Remus sat silently for a moment, collecting his thoughts, before continuing. "And Sirius died the way he would have wanted to. He would have wanted to go fighting in a duel, especially if it meant protecting you. He cared for you so much, Harry." Remus finished.

"Thanks." Harry started itching at his fresh cuts, which were starting to bleed through his sleeve. He hadn't had time to clot them before Remus showed up.

"It's no problem, Harry, though I doubt you believe me. You will in time, I trust." Remus looked down and saw Harry scratching at his arm. He also saw blood seeping through the sleeve…

He quickly snatched Harry's hand away from his arm and grabbed the bleeding one, all in one fluid movement. Before Harry had the time to protest, Remus had yanked up the sleeve of his shirt, revealing all his cuts and scars, ranging from the ones from the night of Sirius's death to the ones that he had inflicted just moments before Remus's appearance at the gate.

Harry didn't want to see the look on Remus's face when he comprehended what had happened, so he hastily turned away, but not before catching the saddest look he had ever seen blight Remus's usually handsome features.

Remus didn't say anything as he quietly healed the five bleeding cuts on Harry's wrist and arm. Being a werewolf, he was quite good at healing cuts and scrapes.

"Are there any more?" Remus asked quietly. Harry's heart broke when he heard the sadness in his voice. Harry nodded and gently lifted his other arm so Remus could examine it.

Though thought not to be possible, Remus's features grew even more sad, so the rugged handsomeness of his features was completely masked. He quietly healed the three bleeding cuts on the second arm before taking to openly staring at both, gently turning them this way and that to take in every cut and scar.

When he finished, he dropped both arms and leaned back against the tree with his eyes closed. Harry took that time to finally look up at Remus's face.

Though Harry hadn't noticed before, there were a few tear tracks lining Remus's face, meaning he was silently crying while he was either healing the cuts or examining his arms. Probably both.

Perceptive as ever, Harry also noticed how Remus's shoulders were tense and he was breathing deeply. He could tell Remus was trying to steady himself before even toying with the idea of conversation.

In Harry's eyes, Remus had aged ten years in the matter of minutes. Sure, because of his lycanthropy, Remus always looked older than he really was, but never had Harry ever seen him look so old, so defeated. He turned away quickly before Remus could open his eyes and catch him staring.

After a moment, Harry felt Remus move beside him. Once he was situated, he spoke.

"How long?"

It was a simple question, really. How long had he been cutting? But it was so much more.

To Harry, it meant revealing how hurt he was when Sirius died. How badly his guilt had affected him.

To Remus, it meant finding out how long he had been failing this poor child. How long it had taken him to notice that this young man, the son of two of his best friends, and the godson of his other, had been hurting, with him being none the wiser. He cared so much for Harry, seeing him like this made him feel as broken as he had when he lost all four of his best friends in one night, nearly fifteen years ago.

Harry hung his head before replying. In the quietest voice Remus had ever heard, Harry said "Since…that night."

Remus sighed. It had been over a month since Sirius died. It had been over a month that Harry had been slicing his own arms and wrists, desperate for something to relieve the pain of losing the closest thing he had to a father. And Remus had never known, never suspected.

He felt a lone tear roll down his check. He gently reached out and cupped Harry's chin, lifting his face so they were making eye contact.

"I'm so sorry, Harry."

Harry was taken aback. "For what?"

"I should have noticed. I should have done something. I should have checked to make sure you were okay. This wouldn't have gotten as far as it did if I would have made sure you were all right." He turned and looked up at the sky. If Harry hadn't had extremely well-trained ears, he wouldn't have caught the softly spoken words that issued from Remus's lips.

"I have failed you."

Harry wouldn't let this stand.

"Stop." He commanded. Remus spun around and looked at Harry sadly.

"I'm speaking the truth, Harry." Remus replied sadly.

"No, you're not. Just moments ago, you were telling me that it wasn't my fault that Sirius died. That I didn't know that the vision was a trick, and there was no one to blame but Bellatrix for his death. You are essentially contradicting yourself, saying I'm not to blame for Sirius's death, yet you are to blame for…this." Harry motioned toward his arms. "The only person to blame for this is me. Stop saying it's your fault, because it's not."

"Perhaps, Harry. But I should have noticed and done something nonetheless." Remus responded.

"Seems to me you already have." Harry replied. "You saw the blood, and instead of freaking out like most people would, you calmly healed me. Instead of berating me for doing something as stupid and reckless as cutting myself, you asked me questions to try to understand. That's more than anyone else has done."

Remus smiled faintly.

"For what it's worth, I was making sure no one would find out. Especially you." Harry said.

"Why?" Remus questioned.

Harry shrugged. "Because I knew you'd do something about it, and I didn't want to stop."

"Oh, Harry." Remus said sadly. "While I hate to discourage any way to cope with tragedy and loss, I mustn't condone this one." He held out his hand.

He didn't have to say anything, Harry gathered what he meant by the gesture.

"Remus, honestly, I'm handling it fine. I haven't hurt myself too badly, and I need this. Please." Harry pleaded.

"I'm sorry, Harry, but I care about you far too much to continue letting you…do this. I will not allow you to continue causing yourself harm when I can prevent it." Remus replied.

"Remus, please…"

"There are far better ways to handle your pain and guilt, Harry, and I intend to help you find them. Please, hand whatever it is you use over." Remus hated himself for hurting the boy, and being so stern with him when he was obviously hurting, but he could not let the boy he loved and cared for so much continue to harm himself.

With a look of utter defeat, Harry slowly reached into his pocket and retrieved the knife. In hindsight, he was glad he had not used the pocketknife Sirius had given him, but rather an old muggle one that he had taken from Dudley's room a few years back. He slowly handed it over to Remus, feeling his relief being taken away from him.

Remus stared at the knife for a moment before pushing it deep into the pocket of his robes.

"Come, Harry. I think we have been keeping the Weasleys waiting for long enough." Remus stood and helped Harry to his feet.

Before making his way to the Burrow, however, he turned and enveloped Harry in a strong hug. He could not help but feel relieved that he had caught Harry before the cuts turned suicidal; he could not think of what would have happened if he lost him. Harry was all he had left. He could not help but feel that by hugging Harry so tightly, he was tethering him to life, and making sure that yes, he was still here, breathing, and yes, he was going to be all right, in time.

Harry hugged Remus back just as tightly. He felt so bad for making the man so sad, so worried. Yes, he knew he was going to struggle to overcome his barrier. He knew it would take a long time for the urge to go away, to not have the fleeting idea to grab a knife of sorts every time he was upset. but now that Remus knew, he realized he didn't need self-harm. He didn't need to handle everything by himself. He didn't just have the Weasleys and Hermione, who would be appalled by his behavior. Yes, Remus was extremely upset, but he didn't resort to calling him an idiot for doing it. He understood what it was like to be consumed with so much grief and guilt that thoughts become irrational. He simply wanted to help Harry, and that was all Harry needed.

But everything would be…all right now. Harry and Remus were both grieving, but they were no longer doing it alone. After all, he was still alive. They both were. And they both had each other.

Without lifting his head off Remus's chest, Harry whispered something that Remus never thought he would hear again, after Sirius died.

"I love you, Remus."

Tears in his eyes, Remus replied. "I love you too, Harry."