Disclaimer: I don't own The Slider (T-Rex does I guess) and neither do I own HP (unless JK wants to give it to me).
Credit must go to Bhangra Santa who gave me the idea for this in her story "When I'm Sad I Slide"
WARNING: This is not a happy piece! Self-harm, drug use, and semi-explicit m/m action. Don't like, don't read.
A/N: I'm aware that the characters are a little OOC in this, but I thought it was an interesting perspective given that these are teenagers having to deal with a war very close to home and most people have something they use to help them cope (even if it's just ice cream:))
Please R&R. Flames welcome as long as you tell me what you don't like.
When I'm Sad….I Slide….
The blood was warm as it spread slowly down his arm. The nick would be barely visible once it closed, but it was deep, and his aching heart thanked him for the release of the pressure bottled up inside.
Leaning his head back against the clean white tile of the shower wall and closing his eyes, Sirius let slip a sigh of relief. His shirt sleeve pinched where it was rolled up out of the way, but he left it where it was – it wouldn't do for the others to find bloodstains. Besides, he liked the pain, deserved it coming from that filth, the thought of letting some of their precious bloodline wash down the drain actually brought a grim smile to his face for a moment. That they could ally themselves with Voldermort, that there precious pureblood stopped so short of having any humanity in it. The thought that the Slytherins were probably cheering his idiot brother in their common room about now didn't help. He remembered the looks on everyone's faces as the news spread around the Great Hall: the Blacks have been caught!
Bile rose in his throat and his hand clenched convulsively around the razorblade, nicking his fingers. Opening his eyes he looked down to see the stark drops of red against virgin white and sickened further. What kind of person was he, what kind of man would do this to himself? Wretched shame coloured his cheeks and he felt the bite of the dull edge of the blade against his fingers again.
Pain. He deserved pain. Bringing up the blade he sunk it into his arm once again, deeper this time, wider. Sirius grit his teeth, but felt a sick sense of pride that he could stand this physical feeling. The blood welled up quickly, running freely over arm and hand and trouser leg to drop with a certain finality on the tile. Sirius no longer cared about the stains he friends might find on his clothes, no longer cared if he ever saw them again. As glistening red pooled around his shoes he felt the sickness fade to leave an aching numbness. Or maybe it didn't fade – maybe it had simply reached a peak where he could no longer feel it. Either way, Sirius didn't care. He felt the heat running across his skin begin to cool and prayed for everything to just…stop…
A sharp hiss was the shower curtain being pulled back revealing a worried face quickly darkening with anger.