A/N: DarkFic. It's all about abuse and cutting. Consider this your trigger warning. (And being that I don't generally agree with trigger warnings, you are lucky you got this much of one). Mainly the story came from the fact that fanficrants folks were discussing why people write cutting fic, and I wanted to see if I could write one that was at least a little less cliched "ZOMG the world is ending, I ddin't get on the Quiddich team!" kind of fic.

Child is the unnamed HP character. However, I have my own theory on who it is, and why the story is what it is.

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And once again, the pain had come. Ragged nails this time, shoved deep, causing blood to flow. It hurt, but a part of of the process was numbness. Everything was numb. Everything was rage, but it was a low-burning rage, tucked deep inside like the wounds that wouldn't heal. Not that they ever gave them time to heal.

They forgot to take the knives out of the room. They were dull, but they would get the job done. Not death, oh no. One must never wish for death at the knife's edge. Instead, the draw of the edge over flesh, high on the arms. Leaving behind small patches of raw skin, sometimes a hint of blood.

The voices came. They whispered about the blood. They helped to claw the scabs off. Left the flesh bleeding once again.

And then he would come. Once upon a time, the scabs, the blood, the pain etched into flesh... it had stopped him with a shudder. Revulsion at the marks he hadn't created. He had shut his eyes, and the torn-flesh child had won, just once.

That small victory had helped the child to survive. To win the final battle against the daemon. The final strike came with the edge of the knife. It had been honed on the stone floor. Child made sure that they wouldn't forget knives again.

Not that there would be anyone left to remember, in the end.

Child fled, panic growing, even with freedom. First hint of pain, of rage, of something dark growing inside, and the knives came out again. Drawn tight over flesh. Child laughed as blood flowed slowly. Still no wishing for death. Still the voices helped to keep the wounds bleeding.

Bright white scars to match the bright white scar that never faded, even after freedom had been obtained.

After all, one is never free of one's self. And Child had become a part of that which was most hated. That darkness grew with each slice of the knife's edge, but child couldn't stop.

It never went away, the suffering, the blood, the pain of the cuts deep inside that still did not heal. Wipe with clean white paper, and see it covered with deep red blood. Filling toilets with crimson. Scared, child sharpened the knife again. Just in case, just in case.

Growing darker, larger. Feeling evil kicking from the inside, trying to break out.

Slice stomach open with the sharp edge of knife. Pull out the darkness. Stare at the face of evil from inside.

Knife blade down. Quick slash of blade, marking the darkness, mirror of the child. Watch the blood flow out, covering the world. Darkness fades.

Darkness comes.

Too deep, too deep. First and last time that depth has been wrong.

Had to be wrong. Needed to pull out the darkness while it was still possible.

Too much blood. Too much pain. Too much darkness.

Child falls.

Darkness falls.

Freedom from the glowing edge of the knife.