A/N: Hello! So this is a re-write of a previous version of this fic, which I wrote with a different name. I will be updating once a week on Thursdays.

Triggers: self-harm

Red. Red is Gryffindor. Red is the Bulgarian quidditch team. Red is Ron's hair. Red is the color of Ginny's cheeks when Harry used to lightheartedly compliment her. Red is the expelliarmus charm. Red is the color of Voldemort's eyes. Red is what Harry saw when he learned of the death of Fred. Of Lavender Brown, Colin Creevey, Moody, Dobby, Tonks, Remus, Hedwig, Cedric, Dumbledore… Sirius. Red is blood. Of which Harry has had too much of, yet can't get enough.

Red is pouring out of Harry's wrists.

He doesn't care.

The blood makes Harry feel something again. He hasn't actually felt something since the battle over a month ago. Even then he'd only felt the burning wrath of hatred deep within his soul. What he's feeling now is different from that, refreshing. Bleeding provides a distraction for Harry. When Harry's blood flows out of his wrist, so does his emptiness, his worthlessness, his guilt. Harry can forget that he has no purpose now that Voldemort is dead. He can forget that the wizarding world now has no use for him. He can forget the dead. And that it was his fault there were so many dead. By cutting, Harry can forget altogether. His world becomes shrouded with the relief of forgetting.

Sometimes when Harry cuts, he doesn't want to forget. He needs to remember each and every one of the people he let die. He knows he needs to be punished, but the Wizengamot would never get anywhere close to charging him, let alone sentencing the vanquisher of Voldemort. So Harry punishes himself when he sees fit. Which is often.

Looking at any of the Weasley's makes Harry sick. He can't fathom how any of them can still look at him knowing that it's his fault Fred is dead. He's tried pulling away, for their own good, but he doesn't really think it's working. Molly still comes over from time to time bringing a delicious-smelling but undeserved dinner for Harry. Ron and Hermione of course won't let Harry distance himself from them. They floo in unannounced at least twice a week. At least Ginny hasn't tried talking to him since he broke up with her after the battle.

As if Harry had summoned her, he suddenly hears Hermione's voice after the sound of floo travel. He spells his wounds to stop bleeding but doesn't heal them. He needs a reminder of his punishment. And pressing down on his cuts in times of need while in public grants him a short relief. Harry loves his cuts in that way. "Coming, Hermione!" He yells, before scrambling to hide his razor and clean his bloodied bandages.

When Harry goes downstairs, he sees Hermione sitting on a couch in the living room. "'Lo, Hermione," he says, staying where he is. He knows Hermione wants him to hug her and sit next to her and actually talk to her, but Harry can't. He can't deal with knowing Hermione pities him when he doesn't even deserve that.

"Hello, Harry," Hermione says. "Have you gotten your letter from Professor McGonagall?"

At this, Harry's confused. He hasn't gotten any letter from Professor McGonagall. What kind of letter? Are they finally realizing that he's a bad person? Is Professor McGonagall the one to make sure Harry receives the punishment he deserves? Harry knows he shouldn't be thinking these things or he'll be disappointed when they don't happen.

"She's inviting us all back for an eighth year! Because no one got a proper education last year, our entire class, minus the Death Eaters in Azkaban of course, can come back and finish their seventh year! Isn't that exiting?" While Hermione was almost bouncing out of her seat with enthusiasm, Harry's blood ran cold when he heard the news. An eighth year? Harry used to love Hogwarts; it truly used to feel like home. But now the prospect of leaving the safety of Grimmauld Place terrifies Harry. He doesn't know what would happen if he were to return to the place where everything happened. To be reminded even more of the deaths that happened because of him. The turmoil and stress that happened because of him. Even the school year being disrupted was because of Harry. Harry knew that going back and facing everyone and everything that happened there could be devastating, but he has to do it anyway. After all, it's expected of the former "Golden Boy."

"Yeah… Really exciting," Harry replies, not at all enthused. If Hermione picks up on Harry's wariness, she doesn't say anything.

"We get to finish the seventh year curriculum we missed and learn new things as eighth years! In the letter, Professor McGonagall said we'd be getting a list of books and such that we need at a later date, but I can hardly wait! Do you think we'll have privileges we didn't before? Maybe I'll get to use the restricted section! All of the knowledge in that section that I'm missing out on…" Harry tunes Hermione out, letting her get off on a tangent about eighth year. He presses his wrists against his side, wishing he could cut instead of feeling this lesser pain. He wishes Hermione would leave, so he could cut again.

"Harry? Harry, are you even listening to me?" Hermione asks, scrutinizing Harry's mood.

"Sorry, Hermione… I didn't get much sleep last night." It wasn't a lie. Harry had tried going to sleep from 10:30 to midnight, but couldn't. He ended up cutting himself for an hour before falling asleep on his bathroom floor. Even then, he was plagued by nightmares.

"Nightmares, again? You know, you should really talk to Madame Pomfrey about that. She could prescribe you some dreamless sleep; you know that, Harry." Of course Harry knows. But he also knows that he deserves the nightmares that have haunted him since that night in May. He deserves to be reminded of each and every life that was taken because of him every single night. He doesn't deserve to take a potion that would fix everything. He deserves to suffer.

"Yeah, Hermione… Maybe I'll go do that when we get back to Hogwarts for eighth year…" Harry says, hoping Hermione believe his lie. It seems that she does when she gets up, hugs Harry goodbye after telling him to keep his eye out for that letter, and exiting through the fireplace.

• HP •

King's Cross station was even more crowded than it usually was, stuffed to the brim with new students and the returning eighth years. So far out of his class, Harry had seen Ron, Hermione, the Patil twins, Neville, Luna, Hannah Abbott, and, surprisingly, Draco Malfoy. Harry had thought Draco wouldn't be returning to Hogwarts for eighth year, even after he and his mother were pardoned for their crimes. Among the returning underclassmen that he knew well, Harry had seen Dennis Creevey—that stung—and Ginny.

Ginny turns to look at Harry, and for a second they lock eyes. There's a sadness in Ginny's eyes that Harry knows is there because of him. He feels an immense amount of guilt as a result and presses down on his wrist, telling himself he'll cut later when he has time. He tears his eyes away from Ginny and rushes to get on the train. He can't bear the crowded station and the feeling of being stared at, both by Ginny and the people who think him a "hero." Locking himself in a car by himself, Harry takes a few calming breaths and pulls up his sleeve. The most recent cuts had reopened when he pressed on them and are now bleeding profusely. Harry sighs as he feels the rush of relief along with the rush of blood. He drags his thumb along one cut, rubbing blood around on his wrist. Harry's fascinated by the sight of his blood dripping down his arm, watching it—

Harry's broken out of his thoughts by banging on the compartment door behind him. He jumps and quickly shoves his shirt sleeve down. He then unlocks the door and says, "C-come in."

The door opens to reveal a disheveled looking Draco Malfoy. "Sorry, Potter, I—There are no compartments left… So I figured I might ask if it would be okay for me to stay here…" Harry didn't reply, just nodded. Harry had more important things to worry about than his childish rivalry with Malfoy. Like how he's going to find places to cut in privacy at Hogwarts. And how he'll deal with the guilt of seeing the loved ones of those whose deaths he's responsible for everyday. Draco continues, "And sorry for my… rather unkempt state. I guess people don't like ex-death eaters going to school with their children, and—Potter, what happened to you?!"

Harry follows Malfoy's line of sight, straight to the blood dripping off of his hand and collecting in a small pool near his feet.

Shit.

A/N: So that was the first chapter! Pretty please with cherries on top tell me what you think with a review! Or fav/follow. Constructive criticism is always welcome! Thank you SO MUCH for reading!