A/N: This is a story I kind of dragged out of the vault. I haven't written fanfic in a little while but the other day I remembered this story and thought I would post it on here. It's something I wrote for the Next Gen Dark Fest over at Livejournal in August of 2012 and though this story was like pulling teeth at the time, once I finally got into it, I got into it and this is actually one of my favorite stories that I've ever written. The prompt for this story was a quote from someone else's story which I can't remember at the time, but the synopsis is basically that Hugo Weasley is different and has always been different, and the story explores how his family dealt with it.

The story is dark (hence its submission to Next Gen DARK fest) and contains some upsetting topics, including self harm and suicidal thoughts and/or actions. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy! Been thinking of doing a sequel if it's well received over here.

2011

Ron

Ron knew that he shouldn't compare his children to each other, and Hermione had told him so a thousand times. She's scolded him and said that they're two years apart and Rose is a girl and Hugo is a boy, for Merlin's sake, and every child behaves differently. Every child does things at his or her own pace, and just because Rose walked at ten months and was chattering up a storm by nineteen doesn't mean that Hugo should do the same.

Ron knew that his kids were two different people, but he felt like there was something... wrong with the silent, sullen boy who shared half his DNA and bright red hair, and at the ripe age of three still hadn't uttered a word.

Yes, Ron also knew that he certainly shouldn't compare his kids with other people's children, even those of his younger sister and best friend. Still, it was hard for him to sit still and listen as Harry and Ginny talked about how brilliant James, Albus, and Lily were, and have little to offer of his own.

He hated these family dinners worst of all, Ron thought as he folded down the collar on his shirt and looked in the mirror. Once a month, everyone gathered at the Burrow for a huge supper that Molly prepared. She insisted on it, refusing to let everyone drift apart, which so often happened in large families. It was a nice sentiment, but what it really was was a big bragging contest about who had the nicest life and the most to offer about it. Ron never thought they'd turn into that typeof family, the kind that had to constantly outdo each other, but he'd found that time could change just about everything.

"Ron? Are you almost ready?" Hermione called from the other room. He sighed, straightened his collar one last time, and went out in the living room. Rosie was playing with her dolls in the corner, and Ron watched her for a moment as she acted out some elaborate scene. She had a wild imagination, his daughter, and she was fiery, prone to fits of wild excitement or rage.

Rosie looked up at Ron and smiled, and he scooped her up. "Look at you. Are you ready to go to Grandma and Grandpa's?"

"Yes, Daddy," she said, snuggling into his neck and laying her head on his shoulder. Hermione smiled at the pair of them and touched his elbow gently. For a fleeting moment, Ron thought that this was how his family should be, because this was how he'd always pictured it. His family was perfect just like this, just the three of them.

As soon as the thought passed, he felt horrible-so horrible that he actually thought for a moment he would be sick, but he pushed it down and forced himself to smile at Hermione and ask about his son. "Where's Hugo?"

"He's in his room playing. Can you go get him?" Hermione took Rosie from Ron's arms and nudged him encouragingly.

As Ron walked down the hallway and pushed the door open, he wondered what he'd find this time. He'd specifically told Hermione he didn't think they should leave Hugo alone, but she always scoffed and said that he couldn't get into much trouble in his own room. Part of Ron wished he would walk into Hugo's bedroom and find him coloring on the walls or dumping his toys everywhere, because that's what a normal child would be doing.

Instead he found Hugo sitting in the middle of the floor playing with a bottle of bubbles, methodically blowing them over and over. The boy had hundreds of toys, Ron mused, magical and non-magical, and he'd been obsessed with blowing bubbles since George brought them for him a few days ago.

"Hey, buddy, come on, it's time to put those away. We have to go to Grandma and Grandpa's for dinner," Ron said, kneeling down next to him. Hugo didn't even look up. "Come on, kiddo," he said, laying a hand gently on his back, and watched as his son moved away from him quickly, spilling some of his bubbles in the process.

"Hugo, come on," Ron said, more sternly, though he'd never been able to really yell at his children. He left most of the discipline to Hermione, which might not be fair, but it was what it was. Ron knew his flaws and had come to terms with them as he'd gotten older, and he knew having a wicked temper was one of them. He had resolved to never let it get away from him as far as his kids were concerned the day Rosie was born, when he'd held that tiny life in his arms.

Hugo, though...Hugo tried his patience.

It's the way this child wouldn't even look at him sometimes, the fact that he wouldn't eat foods that were green or drink anything besides pumpkin juice, how he wore one thing he liked over and over until it practically fell off of him, and especially how he simply refused to say a word. Of one thing Ron was certain: Hugo could speak if he wanted to. He simply...didn't want to. Ron could tell.

Hugo lifted his eyes and glared at Ron, who immediately snatched him up, spilling the bubbles all over him. He carried him, kicking and screaming, into the living room, where a shocked Hermione watched as Ron magicked away the mess from his son's clothes and sat him on the couch.

"What happened?" Hermione asked incredulously, and Ron shook his head.

"He wouldn't come with me so I had to grab him and he started yelling! I don't get this kid, Hermione, I just don't..."

Hermione shot him a glare as she held Hugo close to her, and after a moment, he stopped crying. She smoothed his hair and gave him a kiss on the forehead. "Alright, let's go. We're running late now."

"I'd just as rather not go at all," Ron said as he tossed a small handful of Floo powder into the fireplace.

"It's just a family dinner, Ron, don't get so worked up," Hermione said, taking a handful of the stuff herself and stepping into the fireplace with Hugo in her arms.

"I'm not the one who gets worked up, it's everyone else..." he murmured, watching as his wife and son vanished.

Ron sat through an excruciating forty-five minute dinner listening to his family members as he pushed the food around his plate. He wanted out of there. He didn't think he could sit through another moment of Percy talking about work and George talking about the shop and Harry and Ginny talking about the children without losing his mind. Occasionally Hermione chirped in that things were going well for them; they were thinking of sending Rose to a Muggle primary school so she could socialize with the other children but they weren't sure if that's what they should do. Ron nodded along and gave the appropriate responses when he had to, but he was counting down the minutes until they could leave.

He could feel the way everyone was judging Hugo, who shrieked when anyone touched him and had been mashing his hands in his food the entire time. And, of course, they were judging him. What kind of father was he? Really, what kind of man was he? Who had he become?

After their second cup of tea, Ron leaned over and whispered to Hermione, "Shouldn't we be going?"

"It's still early," she said back, but the look on his face made her sigh and then nod her head in agreement. "Fine, but you are being bloody ridiculous, you understand?" she hissed back at him. To the room, she said, "We'd really better be going, we both have early mornings tomorrow. Everything was wonderful, Molly."

That was one reason why Ron loved Hermione, her ability to handle a situation despite what she might be really feeling.

They both exchanged the obligatory hugs, hand shakes and well wishes with everyone. Hermione went to get a pouting, sleepy Rose from where she was playing with her cousins and asked Ron to grab Hugo. He'd been sleeping on the rug in the dining room for the past half hour, and Ron thanked whatever God might be up there that he didn't stir when he scooped him up. He turned around and nearly ran smack dab into Harry.

"We need to get together, Ron, it's been ages. Let's go to the Leaky next week for a beer." Harry smiled down at Hugo. "He looks so peaceful when he's sleeping."

"Yeah, too bad that's not the case when he's awake," Ron said with a soft chuckle, intentionally walking around Harry's invitation. It had been ages, and he'd made it that way on purpose. He didn't want to sit at the Leaky with Harry and make small talk; Merlin knew that they didn't talk about anything big or important anymore. He used to be sad about the way their relationship had deteriorated but he had his own things to worry about, his own family to take care of. It was just the natural order of things.

"I know how that goes," Harry said with a smile, but then looked back up at Ron. "So you promise? Next week?"

After a moment, Ron nodded. "I'll owl you." Telling Harry what he wanted to hear was the only way to get him off his back; that was how it had been for years. Maybe he would, and maybe he wouldn't. Maybe he'd actually try this time. Hermione had been on him for ages about it, and he knew that she missed the time they used to spend with Harry, and Ginny. Back when the kids were first born, back before everything got so complicated. "I'd better go," he said, and gave Harry a smile. It was, after all, all he really had to offer him at that point.

2018

Hermione

Hermione sat with her hands clasped, lips pursed. She could feel Ron looking at her, trying to make eye contact over their son's head, but she was so angry with him that she wouldn't give in. Hugo sat between the two of them, a physical barrier that she needed.

"Mummy?" Hugo's voice was quiet, and she looked down at him, breaking her vow of silence. This was not his fault. None of this was his fault.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Can we go home? I don't want to be here," he said, and Hermione's heart broke a little. She smoothed his hair and gave him the strongest smile that she could muster.

"I know, but this Healer is going to try to help you. We just want what's best for you," Hermione said, knowing that the words sounded fake and forced, because they were. Hugo rolled his eyes at her.

"There's nothing wrong with me. I don't want to see another Healer," he said with an angry edge to his voice. Hermione took his hand.

"Hey. Just do this for me. Me and Daddy. If this man can't help you, that's it. We won't take you to anyone else, I promise. Do it for me, honey, okay?" Hermione squeezed Hugo's hand and looked into his eyes. She had always been the one who could calm him down; Ron had always, bless his heart, been slightly hopeless with their son.

"That's what you said last time," Hugo said, looking away, and she realized that he was right.

"Well, I really promise this time. I mean it, Hugo. I swear." She looked over his head at Ron as she said it, but Ron just shook his head and closed his eyes, the way he always did. Just as she was trying to resist the urge to scream at him, a Healer wearing dark blue robes came out and called Hugo's name. Reluctantly, Hugo got to his feet and followed the man into his office, and as soon as the door closed, Hermione turned to Ron.

"I mean it, Ron, this is the last time I'm dragging him to a mind Healer."

"Do you think that I like this, Hermione? Do you think I like making my son see a mind Healer? I'd love to never take him to see someone again, but if one of these Healers can help him, I'm damn well going to push the issue." Ron's face was pink with anger. "It's time you accepted what's really going on here."

"And what might that be?" Hermione asked, narrowing her eyes at him.

"That there is something wrong with Hugo."

Ron reached for her hand, but she wrenched it away.

"He's just a little more sensitive, Ron, for Merlin's sake! He just needs a little extra help."

"He still sleeps in bed with us and he's nine," Ron said dryly. "Harry said he saw him eating cat food at Andromeda's New Years party. He won't talk to any other kids. He cries if you look at him the wrong way."

"I repeat, he's sensitive and needs a little extra help and support. You yelling at him and constantly being on his case certainly doesn't help matters. He'll sort it out when he's older," Hermione said. She wasn't trying to ignore the fact that their son was different from other kids, but she knew that things would be okay. Ron didn't.

"He's been different from the very fucking beginning," Ron said, leaning in closer to Hermione so his face was close to hers. "From the very fucking beginning and it's not getting any better. I've let you convince me over and over that he'll 'sort himself out' as he gets older, but it's not happening. I've let you object to all the mind Healers that could've helped him, but I'm done. Not this time."

Hermione glared at him. "You make me sick, you know that? You've never given Hugo a fighting chance."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Ron said incredulously. "I'm doing this because I care about our kid."

"You're doing this because you can't stand the thought of Hugo being our kid. You want perfection; you demand perfection. You want a perfect family, and I'm sorry, darling, but families come in all shapes and sizes. I don't know when you became this way." As the years had progressed, Ron had gone from her mild-mannered, sweet husband to someone who snapped at her over coffee and glared at his own son when he came downstairs wearing two different shoes on the wrong feet.

"I didn't become any way, Hermione. You love turning me into the bad guy, but you're the bad guy here." Ron nodded at her, a smug smile on his face.

"Oh, I'm the bad guy? For embracing our child for exactly the way he is?" Hermione rolled her eyes. "Stop. We aren't having this fight in the middle of a Healer's office."

"Yes, we are. Listen, Hermione. Do you ever think about what's going to happen when Hugo goes to Hogwarts? That's coming up, you know, quicker than either of us expected. He's got a little more than a year left, and those kids are going to eat him alive." Ron grabbed her hands and squeezed. "I don't want things to be this hard for him."

"Rose will protect him," she said stiffly, thinking of their daughter, who was finishing up her first year at Hogwarts. "She'll look out for him, she always has."

"She shouldn't have to. She has enough on her plate, she'll be trying out for Quidditch next year," Ron said.

"That's what family is for," Hermione said. "I'm done talking about this right now. We can talk later."

"You don't want to talk now because you'd rather sit by and pretend that he's just a little quirky. You don't see that he's a fucking freak." Ron spit the words out at her, and Hermione glared at him, her eyes full of tears. He had said many things about Hugo but he'd never said anything so hurtful. She was about to say something back when she saw that their son was standing a few feet away, the mind Healer behind him. Hermione had never seen that look on his face. It was one of fierce anger and contempt, mixed with a hurt so powerful and palpable she could feel it herself. He closed his eyes.

"Ready for bed?" Hermione asked Hugo, who had immersed himself in a book and was sitting, cross-legged, in a corner of the living room. He ignored her at first, just flipping a page casually, but then he flicked his eyes up and looked at her.

"I'm sleeping in my bed tonight," he said quietly. Ron looked up from across the room, then looked at Hermione with a smug look on his face.

"I think if you want to, that's great, honey. That's great," she said, squeezing Hugo's shoulder.

"I'm going upstairs. Good night, son," Ron said, putting down the Daily Prophet he'd been reading. Hermione watched as he walked away, shaking her head.

"Listen, Hugo..." she began, not sure of where she was going.

"Dad thinks I'm a freak," he said in a low voice, that look of anger and contempt back on his face. "I heard him. He thinks there's something wrong with me."

"Sometimes people say things they don't really mean," Hermione said, pulling Hugo close to her in a hug. "Even if it hurts other people, sometimes people are angry enough to say things they don't mean."

"Not Dad. He meant it. He always has. He hates me."

"Don't ever think that, honey. Your father and I love you so much, and he would never want you to think that."

"I can't be what he wants," Hugo said quietly, and he pushed away from Hermione and went upstairs. She heard the distant sound of his door shutting, and she finally let go and cried. This was not like her. Hermione Jean Granger-Weasley was a fixer. She was not someone who sat back and allowed bad things to happen; she pulled up her sleeves and worked hard until she found a solution and fixed the problem. But she could not, for the life of her, figure out how to fix her family.

She didn't know how to fix Ron's ideas that there was something really wrong with Hugo. She didn't know how to fix their marriage, which was falling apart because they couldn't agree on anything anymore. She didn't know how to fix the feelings of failure she felt every single day. And she certainly didn't know how to fix the way her son was feeling right now. She didn't know how to make a nine-year-old understand that you could think something forever, but not really believe it until it came out of your mouth; that the way you felt could be so complicated that it was possible to love someone while not liking them in the least; and most importantly, that your feelings about someone could change so suddenly. In an instant. In a sentence.

Twenty minutes later, she had dried her eyes and made her way upstairs to go to bed. She looked at Ron, laying there reading a book, and felt little more than disgust and anger. She flicked her wand and changed into pajamas, then slipped between the sheets.

"I'm sorry about our fight earlier," he said, his voice low and gravelly, his hand wandering to the small of her back. She moved away, and heard a sigh. "Don't be like this, I didn't mean what I said. I was mad."

"You can be as mad as you want, Ronald Weasley, but you still should never have called our son a freak," Hermione said in an icy voice.

"I know, that's why I'm apologizing."

"Well, it's not good enough this time, okay? It's just not good enough. Not for me, and not for Hugo." Hermione turned over and faced him.

"What do you want me to do? I already said sorry to him, too. And hey, maybe that Healer is working. He's not between us, is he? Look who was right," Ron said. Hermione could have slapped the self-righteous look off his face.

"He's only doing that because he thinks you hate him and it'll make you happy. It's sick is what it is."

"That's ridiculous, I don't hate my son." Ron shook his head incredulously. "People don't hate their children."

"Today, I wasn't so sure of that," Hermione said quietly. "You know earlier, you accused me of just looking the other way about Hugo and writing him off as being a little quirky. You said that I didn't think about what will happen when he goes to Hogwarts. But you were wrong. You don't think I worry about that all the time? I think about it constantly. I worry about him, constantly. I know how hard life can be for kids who are a little different, a little more sensitive. I'm a teacher, Ron, and I went to Hogwarts myself. I worry every day that he'll get eaten alive there. Don't you dare accuse me of turning a blind eye to either of my children, don't you dare."

Ron reached out to touch her shoulder, but she jerked away again. "Mione, I didn't mean it like that. I know how much you love Rose and Hugo."

"If you knew, you never would have said that to me. Or said that about Hugo." After a brief pause, Hermione took a deep breath and said what she needed to say. "I don't think I can do this anymore. Our marriage. You." Just as Ron started to yell about how she was being ridiculous and he wasn't going to allow this to happen, she glimpsed Hugo running from their bedroom door and back into his own room, hearing something for the second time that he should not have been privy to.

2023

Rose

Rose knew she should eat something-she couldn't very well play Quidditch on an empty stomach- but she was too nervous. It was Gryffindor's big match against Slytherin, and her last rival match at Hogwarts. She was in her seventh year and even though it was still only November, she was already starting to feel anxious about graduating. She would miss her friends, and Quidditch, and even the teachers and subjects that had been so challenging. This castle had become home to her, more of a home than her mother's or father's.

"Rose? We have to talk, it's about Hugo." But I will not miss this, Rose thought. Lily had slid into the seat next to her, helping herself to some eggs and bacon.

"What is it now?" Rose asked wearily, taking a bite of her toast, which had grown cold.

"It's just that Zachary kid has been picking on him again and Al says he's been really down. He might need you," Lily said.

"I can't deal with this today," Rose said. "Does that make me terrible? I've just been looking after him for so long, making sure he's okay, that I can't do it today. I know he's my brother but for Merlin's sake, what happens next year when I'm not around?"

"I know. He's going to be fine, Rosie, I just wanted to let you know. I should have waited until after the match," Lily said apologetically.

"No, it's alright. I haven't seen him in a day or two. I needed to talk to him anyways. Thanks." Rose gave Lily a quick hug, then stood up from the Gryffindor table and went to find Hugo.

She searched up and down the Ravenclaw table, but he was nowhere to be found. Would he be in the library this early? She looked at her watch and knew she had a few minutes before she had to be down at the Pitch, so she went upstairs to check. Leave it to her brother, her dark, cerebral, Ravenclaw brother, to be in the library at ten o'clock on a Saturday morning.

All of them-James, Rose, Albus, and Lily-had been sorted Gryffindor, but Hugo had been put in Ravenclaw. It made it that much harder to do as her mother had asked of her.

As she climbed the winding stone staircase, she thought back to five years ago, the night before Hugo started his first year at Hogwarts. They had been at their mother's house, and Hermione had come into her bedroom and sat on the bed. She had talked a lot about family and the importance of being there for each other, but what it had really boiled down to was that it was her job to take care of Hugo. It was her job to make sure he was okay, and she had agreed to that. It had been that way since he was very small and the other kids in their neighborhood had picked on him because he was just plain different.

She knew that there was no expiration date on being a big sister, and that it was important to be there for him...but sometimes, a selfish part of her would rear its ugly head, and now was one of those times. When did she get a chance to be herself, without worrying about Hugo? Would she ever get a chance to play Quidditch, or study, or see her friends without wondering if he was somewhere being pushed around or bullied or worse?

She pushed open the door to the library and saw Hugo sitting at a table. He was the only one around; even Madame Pince, the ancient librarian, was nowhere to be found. Rose slid into the spot next to him.

"Morning, Rosie. What are you doing here?" he asked, looking up and giving her a smile.

"Looking for you. Are you okay?"

He looked at her, puzzled. "Yeah, I'm alright. Just studying, I have an exam in Charms next week and I'm a little behind. Why exactly are you looking for me?"

"Lily and Al said you've been weird lately, that some little ass is picking on you."

"Nothing new, Zach's always an ass to me. This is courtesy of his morning greeting yesterday...when he shoved me into a wall. I'm awful at Episkey or I'd have fixed it." Hugo pushed his bangs off of his forehead, showing a long scrape.

"I'll kill him," Rose murmured as she touched it tentatively, then grabbed his arm. "Hugo!"

"What!" He wrenched away from her, but she wouldn't let go.

She pushed his sleeve up all the way, revealing cuts in neat rows up and down his arm. They were layered on top of old scars and scabbed over wounds.

Rose closed her eyes. "You promised you weren't going to do this anymore, Hugo."

Hugo rolled his sleeve down again. "Don't worry about it, it's not your problem."

"But there's where you're wrong, this is my problem, it's always been my problem and it always will be," Rose said exasperatedly, running her hands through her hair. "I can't do this right now."

"Go to the Quidditch match and we'll pretend this never happened," Hugo said, flipping his book open again.

"Are you mad? You're cutting again. I have to tell Mum."

"You're not telling Mum."

"I have to, this is too big for just me to deal with," Rose said angrily.

"Here's a novel idea then: don't make it your problem," Hugo said wearily. "You have no idea what this is like or what's going on. That's not a bad thing; in fact, I'm glad you don't know. But you're not taking away the one thing I have left that feels good, I won't let you."

"I have to take care of you, Hugo," Rose said, touching his shoulder. "Whatever's going on or whatever is wrong, we can fix it. But I can't do it on my own, I have to tell Mum."

Hugo sighed. "No, you don't."

"Do you want me to tell Dad instead?"

"If you tell Dad I will kill you," he said instantly. "Can you picture Dad's reaction? Merlin, I think I'm going to throw up."

"Okay, no Dad. But someone. You're my little brother, I can't stand to see you hurting," she said, touching his arm again softly. "I do love you."

Hugo paused for a moment. "Rosie, you don't know what it's like to just hate everything about yourself. Sometimes it hurts just to get up in the morning. There's nothing I can do to fix it. My mind is always telling me how wrong I am or how stupid whatever I do is; there is nothing that will ever just be enough to satisfy myself. I'm a freak. I have no friends. I can't get along with Dad and Mum is just...impossible. You can't understand what that's like. I deserve this. And it makes things better."

Rose's eyes had filled with tears as she listened to Hugo. He was right; she didn't know how that felt. Things had always been easy for her. She'd always been able to make friends, and her relationship with her parents was great and had been forever. She was on the Gryffindor Quidditch team and school came easily to her as well. She had never had more than a few moments of insecurity; she was able to admit that to herself.

"But I love you and I don't want you to do this to yourself," Rose said, knowing it sounded weak, but having nothing else to offer. "I can protect you from other people, but I can't protect you from yourself."

"You're not supposed to," he said quietly, and then he stood up and gave Rose a tight hug. "Good luck at the match."

"Thanks," she said quietly, but she knew she wouldn't be going. She turned to leave the library.

"Promise you won't tell, Rose. Promise." Rose heard Hugo's voice behind her, and she stopped and nodded.

"I won't tell."

Fifteen minutes later, she sealed the envelope containing a letter to her mother and father and attached it to the leg of a school owl. From the distance she could hear the cheers of students as the match started, and a part of her heart lurched. She might not be able to protect Hugo from himself, but maybe someone else could. One of her parents, maybe, or someone else. But she was done. She resolved that this would be the last time; if he was beyond her help and didn't want it, who was she to stand in his way?

2026

Hugo

I am exhausted. I am eighteen years old, and I am already exhausted. I know I'm too young to be this tired and broken, but I am. I've spent my whole life fighting against a world that I don't fit into, fighting tooth and nail to be a person that I'm not. I don't belong, and I will never belong.

My dad knows that there's something fatally wrong with me. He's felt that way since I was little. I grew up under the watchful glare of a man who others spoke so highly of, but who I could never stand. I knew that whenever he was looking at me, he was seeing nothing but a chink in the chain, a barrier to his perfect white picket fence of a family. I can't count the number of times he yelled at me to just be different. Those weren't his exact words, but they might as well have been.

In his eyes, I was too quiet, too studious, too strange. As a kid I spent a lot of time talking to inanimate objects with the vain hope that they'd talk back, and I also had a habit of rarely leaving my room and keeping a collection of my used gum. I'll admit I was a weird one, but I never thought there was anything wrong with it. My father, however, dragged me to different mind Healers trying to find out what was wrong with me until I left for Hogwarts, and even when I got there, I couldn't stop disappointing him. He has never let me forget, no matter how subtly, that I am not the son he was supposed to have. When he finds out about what I'm about to do, he'll be proud. I'm taking things into my own hands for once, and not blaming anybody but me for my problems. That'll make him happy.

My mother was the exact opposite of my father. She spent her time fighting so hard for my right to be that weird kid who talks to rocks that it ruined her marriage. They got divorced when I was ten, and I don't know if my mother ever forgave me. She never came out and said it, but I know that I'm the reason. I heard them so often, up late nights fighting about what a weird kid I was and how I needed help. Dad would tell her that she was delusional and she would say that he was an asshole. It went on and on. After we moved out, I could tell by the look in her eyes that she knew it was my fault, too. Mum would never say it...she would never blame me for anything...but that's just the way it is.

She's sad all the time now, Mum is, and I can't solve it. I've caused so much devastation for her-being the catalyst for the end of her marriage, her constant worry about my lack of friends or a normal life, and later on, the self-harm-that she'll never be able to get over. I can't ever thank her for everything she's done or tried to do for me.

I remember when Rosie sent her and Dad that letter in my fifth year telling them that I was cutting myself, Mum went into crisis management mode. She sat me down as soon as possible and grilled me for an hour about why I was doing this to myself, and what she could do to help me. Then she went on a rampage and removed every sharp object from the house. She checked my arms every day and found me a mind Healer to talk to, and I've pretended ever since then that it really helped, because I could not bear to see the look on her face if she knew that it hadn't. She forgot that my wand could make cuts just as well as a knife could, and she never looked at me legs, or my stomach, or anywhere else but my arms.

Maybe Dad was right. Maybe she was slightly delusional.

Mum will be sad when she finds out, but in time she'll see that this was for the best. I am unable to be saved. I am unable to be helped, and I am miserable. I'll leave her a note that says I know how hard she tried; I never want her to feel like this was her fault. In time she'll realize that I was not meant for this world, and nothing she could do could have saved me.

And oh, Merlin. Rosie. If anyone is going to benefit from this, it will be Rosie. She's spent her entire life looking after me as some weird pact about the importance of family courtesy of our mother. I won't lie and say that I didn't hate Rosie at times because of the way she seemed to breeze through life, but I looked up to her, too. I wanted to be Rosie so badly in a way, but I never could be. I wasn't meant to be. She told me all the time how much she loved me and wanted me to be safe. She looked out for me. But I knew a part of her hated me for it as well. I could see it in the way she was when she was around me, and I couldn't blame her.

Rosie will think this is selfish of me, I know. Maybe it is; she's my big sister, after all, she's usually right. I'm not thinking of this as selfish though; a little self-preservation can't hurt.

I look around my dingy flat and realize that my family will find me in here. I wonder if it'll be Mum, or if it'll be Rosie. It won't be Dad; he hasn't seen or talked to me since I graduated from Hogwarts. He never forgave me for cutting because he certainly could never understand it. It'll probably be Rosie. It's Tuesday, and she usually stops by for lunch on Wednesday to check on me. Before I do this, I decide to tidy up because it will be one less thing for them to do after I'm gone.

After everything's neat, I sit down and write out three letters.

Mum's is longest; I make sure to say over and over how much I love her and to thank her for trying to save me. I try to make her see that it was futile, but I know she'll blame herself. That kills me, but this beast inside of me is killing me more.

Rosie's is almost as long as Mum's. I need my big sister to know how much I love her and appreciate how she's been there for me. I need her to know that it was never her job to protect me. Like she said, she can't protect me from myself.

Dad's is the shortest. I tell him that I'm sorry I could never be the son he wanted and that he'll be able to move on quickly. I don't know if he'll ever even open it, nor do I care. This is strictly business between the two of us.

I'm ready now. I've never been more certain of anything in the world. This might hurt more than usual, but I don't care.

Each slash is deep, and it shocks me every time how red the blood is. It does hurt, badly, and I close my eyes and take deep breaths. This will be over before I know it. This failed, pitiful, pathetic excuse for a life will be over.

For the first time, I can rest assured that I've made the right decision. For the first time in a very long time, I am happy.