Freak. Freak. Freak. Freak. The word echoed through his mind as he carved his flesh with a sharp knife, repeating the one word that could truly describe him as a motto, forever engraved in his skin.
"BOY! Get down here!" The loud from down stair was issued by a fat, mustached man, also known as Vernon Dursley, muggle uncle of Harry Potter. The boy in question gave a heavy sigh, wiping his blood stained arm with a red jumper, rolling his- thankfully clean- shirt sleeve over his injuries.
Harry slipped off the bed and walked down stairs, wand in his pocket, even though he was only fourteen-magic was illegal to under seventeen's and Harry hoped he wouldn't have to use it.
"We're going out for a holiday, boy. And you aren't coming with us." Harry had fully expected this- the only time he had ever been out with the Dursleys was when he was ten, to a zoo and that was only because Mrs. Figg, their neighbor was unable to baby sit. "Now come into the kitchen. I am setting you some chores, and I do not want any of them un-done when we return." Harry's heart sank. While certain he would get a list of chores, he knew it wasn't why he was called to be on his own.
Fat man and skinny boy entered the room most commonly occupied by Dudley- Harry's lard ball of a cousin. Vernon slapped his nephew. 'It begins.' Thought Harry bitterly.
Vernon's mustache bristled. He didn't like it when Harry didn't react to him. He clenched his fist and punched him full on the face, drawing back for another round. Harry saw blood on his uncle's hand, then the knuckle duster reflected the morning sun. He knew then to leave it. He would not fight back, or Vernon's best friend would come out.
His arms were twisted behind his back and bound together, then he was thrown face first onto the tiled floor. His nose broke with a resonating crack! Vernon grinned with glee, though Harry could not see it.
Vernon dropped himself onto Harry's legs, his weight to much for them; they buckled and broke. He leant across Harry's back and whispered into his ear.
"Little freak in more than one way," he breathed threateningly. "Who would have thought a BOY would keep a diary? Such interesting secrets, too!" Harry froze, though he had not been moving previously anyway. How had he found his journal? And did really know his greatest secrets? Oh no. he thought. Oh no, I'm so screwed!
Suddenly the weight was gone and blood rushed towards his legs. But in his current state, he couldn't move them at all. Harry sensed Vernon behind him, and then heard the un mistakable sound of a trouser zip. He clenched his eyes shut. This is just a dream. He told himself. Just a horrible nightmare. Vernon gave one last grunt then came all over Harry. Unable to stand it, Harry screamed as the liquid slipped down his neck. His uncle slammed his head into the floor, almost rendering him unconscious, but that was enough to silence him.
Dursley pulled Harry up by the hair, slammed his head against the wall and slipped something into his shirt pocket. Harry had a hunch as to what it was, but wasn't given the chance to find out as he found himself exposed to cold air.
He noticed something warm and wet touching him before he finally passed out.
Harry moaned, clutching his head as he rolled onto his back. What a horrible nightmare! He thought to himself, relief washing over him. But why was his bed so much harder than usual? Why was he wearing a shirt and no- suddenly it hit him. It had all been real. And sure enough, in his front pocket, he found the chores list his uncle had so kindly promised, every task seemingly more impossible than the last.
Harry crawled upstairs, panting with the effort of dragging his useless legs. When he reached his room, Harry put on his school trousers which he had dug out from the bottom of his trunk after a quick sweep of the room proved there to be a distinct lack of any other clothes. Harry was extremely thankful Dursley had forgotten to reopen his trunk to take them out.
His journal lay in between clusters of broken quills and empty ink pots. He grabbed a pen and wrote down his last experience, tears forming in his eyes. Harry flicked to the very front page of the journal, which held a beautifully drawn sketch of a young, dark haired man. He had an aura of both danger and protection about him, but his eyes, which to anyone who knew him normally held nothing, seemed overflowing with a softness unknown to mankind, a most peculiar expression on his face, his mouth almost-almost- twitched up to smile, a straight, proud, defined nose. This was a beautifully drawn sketch of Severus Snape, all and any flaws eradicated in this one simple drawing.
The tears on Harry's face started pouring now, for one man he could never have, and he kissed the portrait's forehead before closing the book and placing it where the chores list had lain recently. Now Vernon knew. He couldn't stand another day of the agony he put him through routinely. He was fed up. He could no longer live like this. He wanted out.
Harry picked up his knife with shaking hands, and wrote the work freak upon his inner wrists, pausing only to gasp slightly at the pain. Once this was done, he sliced directly down the main vein, crossing out the words, and thus eradicating his life.
Professors Dumbledore and Snape appeared with a pop into Harry's bedroom at Privet Drive, accompanied by two men who looked like they had protection at heart, but seemed ready to kill if necessary.
Upon seeing Harry's body sprawled across the floor, surrounded by blood, Severus gave out a strangled cry, falling to his knees. In an attempt to mask the sudden outburst of emotion, he began to examine the boy.
Harry had several large lumps on his head, caused by hitting something extremely hard – numerous times. He had puncture marks on his cheek, caked in dry blood. Both his legs were broken, snapped cleanly in two. He had a fractured rib, a collapsed and completely inoperable lung, but his heart was-amazingly-still beating. About one thump a minute. Or a thousand a second, barely noticeable?
Severus saw something from the corner of his eye. A trickle of blood running into the still spreading puddle on the bedroom floor. He traced the liquid back to its owner's body, to his arms. Harry's wrists were sliced cleanly down the main vein; curiously, the lines seemed to cross out a word. Gulping nervously, Severus leant closer to get a better look. FREAK. That's what it said. Harry had numerous other scars littering his arms, all repeating the same word. Freak. Freak. Freak. Freak.
"You're not a freak, Harry." Severus whispered to the unmoving body. "You're not!" he may have hated the boy's father, but that was no reason to hate him: an innocent schoolboy, victim of violent abuse who slipped into such a state of depression that he had to kill himself. Well, almost kill himself. He didn't know he hadn't, yet.
After sealing the gaping wounds, Snape siphoned the blood from the floor into a glass jar he'd just conjured. He grimaced in disgust as he enlarged the jar several times to prevent the life-saving liquid overflowing.
Harry's emerald green eyes had rolled up into the back of his head, but occasionally twitched unnervingly. Trying to ignore this, Severus relayed the grave news to Albus. The ever present twinkle in his eyes was extinguished, and tears formed in the corner of his eyes.
Albus picked up a bloodstained knife, examining the handle with horrified interest. Harry J Potter. It read on one side, and on the other, Severus Snape, surrounded by little hearts which were self engraved. The head teacher handed it to the man himself, confusion in his azure orbs.
Harry's journal fell from his shirt as Severus hefted him up off of the floor, resting the boys head on his shoulder as he picked up the small book and put it in his pocket.
Looking up, Severus' eyes met Dumbledore's and they nodded. With a pop, they disapperated.
The first thing Harry noticed when he woke up was that he was surrounded by warm walls. Then he realized he could move them with the tiniest of twitches. Next, he noticed he wasn't wearing anything. He felt gentle hands massaging his head, and couldn't help releasing a happy sigh- then, he had his final realization. He was alive.
What the hell? He thought. But I- uncle Vernon- the knife-oh shit, it didn't work!
Severus heard a muffled sob, then a loud cry of anguish as Harry woke up fully. Thankfully he only needed to finish washing his hair; otherwise it would have been extremely embarrassing for the both of them.
"Harry? What's wrong?" he knelt down and took the teens face in his soft hands, making him look at his eyes.
For a second, something akin to love flashed in Harry's eyes. Then it turned to dread. If Snape had found his journal, which he must have when he took Harry's shirt off for the bath, he knew everything. Forgetting he was stark naked, Harry struggled to scramble out of the bath, hands slipping on the cool surface.
Gentle hands held him down softly, but Harry fought with all he had to get out. sudden inspiration hit. Harry stopped struggling, and pretended to let Snape finish washing his hair. The potions professor relaxed his grip, and the Gryffindor in the bath lowered himself into the water, carrying on under way past the top of his head.