My HP/light!Draco fic! OotP! Self-injury! Depression! Rating's for a reason. I'd like to ignore a little plot aswell!
Harry Potter was a shy, quiet boy who tried his best to avoid others. He never really wanted to bother getting people to know him. Voldmort never got to the prophecy despite his trials. All he had were inferences of small pieces of information he'd gathered. The dark lord wasn't entirely sure if it referred to Longbottom or Potter, so, both young boys had the same tragic childhood. Only Dumbledore knew Harry to be the true chosen one, and since the article had been under tight lockdown since it's arrival, all of the other wizards were pretty much unaware of the prophecy. So, for their teen years, both boys were constantly harrassed by Voldemort.
Harry finished up his classes for the second time this week sans the golden trio, opting for his lone golden-boy self, ascribed to the fact that he simply couldn't handle it so much. Swinging his tired body onto the golden couch, he realized he never belonged there. Well, he could see where the idea came from, but, he knew there was a longing to be somewhere else.
Harry Potter was relatively unknown in the wizarding world. He had always been shy and even went out of his way to avoid others. He was good at hiding. That, however had been due to a very serious circumstance no one would have ever guessed The Harry Potter would have to live through. In fact, most people had assumed he was well raised, or, even arrogant. It was becoming apparent, in Harry's mind, that a lot of people are ignorant, yet still want to butt in to every situation to chip in their little splinters of information. Humans. He rolled his eyes at the irony.
He hated Ron, probably not as much as he hated Harry, but Hermione had always been good to him, as Hermione was at least empathetic. Though, since they've been in a relationship since fourth year, now fifth, Hermione was reluctant to reach out to Harry. She had Ron, It was like once Ron was done they were both just up and away with themselves.
To be frank, that was the least of his worries. He didn't much care for their absence, he discovered, as it'd always been a chore anyway to be around them, they always gave him the feeling that he needed something to prove, as a leader of some sort, and once they got together and he was left in the dark, that idea completely vanished. It wasn't even awkward that they weren't friends and they share a room. That's how much everyone just... stopped.
Stopped caring. It was as if everyone had stopped, not only peers, but Snape barely graced him with a sneer, if any eye contact at all. Even his most favoured teachers never acknowledged him as much. And, that was just what was happening at Hogwarts around him. His mind was an unceasing battle of waves, thoughts crashing in his sea of despair, of Sirius, Cedric, and anyone else that will have their lives come to a halt... all his fault.
All around the clock, Harry was plagued with so much fear and depression, his mind had formed an almost apathetic view. He didn't really care, anymore. He couldn't escape his demons even in the realm of comatose, in fact, his nighmares had always been abnormal because of dear, sweet Voldie, but he couldn't even close his eyes without watching Sirius fall into that veil... over, and over, and over. All again. His insomnia was as bad as it was during the summer, which he also couldn't bring himself to care about. As he felt there may be more 'urgent' matters, It slipped into his ocean like everything did.
Harry was sitting in the Slytherin common room, contemplating everything in between, when he sighed outloud, snapping himself out of drowning in his grief. He walked slowly upstairs to his dorm, the dormmates were just starting dinner granted the time.
He plunged his limp body into his bed. He turned over tiredly and stared at the ceiling for a moment. He brought his arm and rested it above his eyes, nearly immersing himself into the comfy mattress, that would've been a blessing, unfortunately Harry was only able to sleep when exhausted, a bad, learned, habit. He didn't really know what to feel, a lot of the time now, and constantly found himself only able to describe the feeling as numb. He sighed, yet another thing he found himself constantly doing, and fumbled lazily to the end of his bed, reaching over the edge for his trusty, glistening, silver potion's knife from his trunk.
Harry- yes- Potter, started to mutilate his own skin at the ripe age of eleven. His familial circumstances were quite out of hand, and the whole business with a "Freak School" only made it much, much worse for himself. The beatings for all of the letters were almost as bad as when he was seven years old and accidentally did magic. Now, that was quite a scene. When aunt Petunia noticed he'd finished weeding the garden way too early, she'd had a fit. Of course Vernon had been just getting home and had caught wind of the event. He saw his uncle a shade he never thought a human face could turn.
Shaking out of the memories, a headache was pinching at the front of his head. His body was aching for release, and without hesitation he flipped the decorative knife open. He lifted his robe to the elbow so he had access to the flesh beneath. He made a few little lines around the old pink and white scars. His routine was the only thing that made sense to him, though, he knew it was completely insane. It's not like he had to tell anyone, and, the Dursley's didn't care when his scars were exposed hen he had to wear Dudley's worn out muggle shirts. Though, they could sum it up to their treatment, which made sense. Vernon did change it up a lot with his abuse. Making some deeper cuts at the top of his forearm, he relaxed into the sensation. He figured Ron would be finished dinner soon, so, he cleaned up and promptly waited.
He heard laughing nearing the dorm room, and, suddenly it halted into a whispered voice, which sounded like Ron. All of a sudden, the room filled with light from the hallway, as Ron stood in the frame. He'd been ignoring him along with the rest of his mates, and, it looked like Ron had something to say, finally. He never thought of asking them about it, since it was almost welcomed, but, he did kind of want an explaination.
"Hey." Harry said, quietly. Ron looked towards him on his bed, with a mix of emotions.
"Harry... I think it's gone on long enough... I mean, you've been so depressed over his death and all, can't you like, get over it, mate? Just cause you know you led him to his death... doesn't mean you gotta make everyone else feel bad."
Ron said, with a hint of anger. Harry didn't even bother to be offended. Of course Ron wouldn't understand, nor would he have the words capable of reaching him. He also had a feeling, that, if he were to argue this out, it'd end up a lot worse than he wanted. He could just tell. So, he simply stood up. And brushed past a gaping redhead, and walked past a group of people he barely knew anymore, just as much as they didn't know him.
Harry had requested to be resorted, by the vehemenance of the hat, Dumbledore was swayed. Or, rather, despite losing his golden boy to another house, he didn't want to lose his secret weapon all together. He had a war to win. He'd asked because of the first confrentation between himself and his ex-redhead. He didn't want to encourage more thought on that subject. The past was in the past, and, by now he's learned there's a time and place for thinking. Thankfully, Dumbledore could book it within two days, so on the third, he was sorted into Slytherin privately. And that night, in his new dorm, he knew he was safer emotionally.
And, the hat had assured him that Slytherins have a rule. They're a family. They only treat people within their house kindly, though, he did feel rather jealous. That they had this pact, and, it gives them freedom to hate the people they hate. Non-Slytherins. And, he'd experienced it first hand. Though, he knew it would now play to his advantage. Which, he never expected.
"You killed him! Just like Cedric!"
Harry awoke in a thick icy sweat, panting, his widened eyes relaxed slightly and he caught his breath. Lying down, He thought about how thankful he was to be a non-vocal sleeper. Ever since Ron's little speech he'd been having the same nightmare, predominantly. Though Ron's face was always as red as his hair and he looked ridiculous. At least he found the silver-lining.
It had been the second day in Slytherin dorms. Waking up earlier than the unfamiliar dormmates, Harry grabbed a towel, his robe, and some clothes. Harry slipped off his silky bed and his feet hit the dungeon ground. He tip-toed on the uncomfortably cold stone ground, towards the inviting looking shower. After warming up his bones, he thought it best to prepare himself for the day's classes.
Harry thought it'd be quite a shock for Draco Malfoy to know he was resorted into his house. Though, they'd not much spoken since the first fight Ron and Draco had ever had, aside from a few glares and remarks. Harry was quite sure that Draco would remember him as the aggressive red-head's Gryffindork friend. Oh well. He was Slytherin now.
Harry got dressed with his robes and had his bag in his hand by the time the rest of his dormmates had even blinked the blear out of their eyes. He knew everyone had been informed about the arrival, but everything was making him annoyingly anxious and he didn't really want to bother with anything. The social aspect breakfast brought looked unappealing, so, he thought it best to get there earlier as well. He walked past all of the dorms with swiftness, his fingers twitching along the way in nerve. He heard a dormitory door opening behind him. His posture sharpened further. Wasn't Draco always early to beakfast? His heart sounded and his previous pace suddenly quickened, now in motion. Bolting down the stairs into the common room, he nearly rammed straight into the door.
Pulling open the Slytherin doorway with immediacy, he launched himself into the corridor. He caught his breath and nervously checked around him. As he was worried that someone may be curious as to who the "new student" was in Slytherin, he didn't want to give anyone a chance to find out currently. So, he opted for the less preferable route to the Great hall. He thought that if he were to jog half of the way, he'd get the hottest scramble. Scramble-focused, he managed to realize he's jogged all the way to the changing stairs . The Great hall was to the left, follow the corridor, and turn right to the entrance. So, after waiting for the correct set of steps, he promptly walked up and over. The scent of everything hit him and his stomach finally growled in request. The scent of butter melting on the various breads and biscuits wafted over to him.