Hey everyone, this is my first fancic so when you review, please be nice!
I should warn you that I have no idea how long this story will be, I don't
have a clue as to how long it will take me to update and I only have a
vague idea as to where its going so be careful alright?
RATING: R
DISCLAIMER: The characters in this story are NOT mine (but oh how I wish they were!). They belong to J.K. Rowling and I guess Warner Bros. I only stake claims to the plot, which might seem kinda creepy but in my opinion an interesting read.
WARNING: This story contains mature themes like self-mutilation and depression; sorry if you can't handle that. It will also eventually contain slash (not for a little while though). If that's not for thing, then you'd best bugger off unless you'd just like to read up until that part winks. You've been warned.
Chapter 1:
This story begins the summer after Harry's fourth year and the Triwizard Tournament, and will probably go through most, if not all of his 5th year. By the way, he's a bit depressed.
Harry James Potter stood by his window, in the smallest bedroom of #4 Privet Drive gazing longingly into nothingness, while the early dawn light slowly filtered in through the blinds, bathing everything in a cold eerie gloom, even if it did happen to be midsummer. A letter dangled limply from his bruised hand, and he silently wished that his owl, Hedwig, hadn't delivered it to him.
It was July 31st, his birthday, and his Godfather, Sirius Black, having already finished with the mission that he had been sent on with his friend and Harry's old Professor, Remus Lupin, had written to tell him that he had gotten permission from Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, for Harry to spend a week at Lupin's cottage where they were both currently staying due to the fact that Sirius was still on the run from the Ministry of Magic for a crime he didn't commit.
A few months ago, Harry would have whooped for joy at the thought of being able to escape the Dursely's for a week, a specially if it meant being able to see his Godfather and favorite Professor again. But things were different now; he was different now. Different in so many ways that even he couldn't count. He hadn't changed for the better, or worse for that matter, he had simply come to terms with reality.
He still loved Sirius very much and his friends as well, and he knew that they cared for him in return. But that's exactly what bothered him. He didn't deserve their love and he knew it, so why couldn't they see it too? He'd failed them all. His parents, his friends, Sirius, Cedric.and all those poor muggles in his nightmares that died every day from Voldemort's hand, he'd failed them too. "Ah.but they aren't nightmares are they?" Whispered an annoying voice in the back of his mind. They were real, those people were real and he knew it because he could feel their pain every time he fell asleep at night and that pain would still be there when he woke up screaming and clutching at his scar the next morning. They were real, and their pain was too, and it was all his fault because he didn't know how to save them. Still, he would never let himself forget, never.
Harry closed his eyes for a minute before glancing down at his naked torso. He grimaced a little; eyeing his arms, chest, stomach, and even though he couldn't see them, legs in disgust. His entire body looked like one huge, unsightly purple bruise. On top of that there was the occasional welt and several deep cuts, and also a multitude of long since healed scars that mainly centered on his inner arms and thighs. He wanted reminders, but reminders that are obvious to other people wouldn't do him any good. They would get suspicious and of course try to make him stop but Harry knew they wouldn't be able to, he needed it too much. The scars served as reminders of everything he had done wrong, of what a mistake he had been and as an added bonus helped numb the internal anguish he constantly felt. They were his punishment and his savior. There was one scar however that was blatantly obvious to anyone when he didn't have long sleeves on and he was in fact quite proud of it. Raising his left arm, palm directed toward him, Harry examined his crowning mark; it was a scar that was unlike another he had ever seen. New skin covered the once deep, 16-inch long gash that was red, and slightly swollen. It began at his wrist, stopping just a few inches passed his elbow joint, and had incidentally been done on an impulse with the hope of ending all his misery. With his eyes closed, flashes of the nightmares came to him; he saw Death Eaters chasing muggles, entire towns being engulfed in flames and smoke, heard the last screams of the distressed and Voldemort laughing as he gazed around at the dead bodies scattered before him. All of a sudden, the visions cleared away and he saw himself lying on the floor, blood flowing and pooling around him, and the faint cries of a familiar voice before he pulled himself out of his reminiscing and wearily heading back over to his desk in the far corner of the room.
He was hungry and extremely tired and knew that he should get some food and rest before continuing on with his day, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Just the thought of food made him nauseous and he knew that if he went back to sleep, the horrible dreams would return.
"If I keep doing this to myself, I'm not even gonna make it through the holidays" he thought to himself glumly. But by this time he was beyond caring. Harry shuffled slowly across the room and as he passed by the mirror above his dresser, paused while he surveyed himself. He shuddered at his own appearance as he took in his frail figure and for some reason, derived a sick kind of amusement from being able to count every one of his ribs. He noted the diminished appearance of his once nicely toned muscles and closely examined his pale, nearly transparent skin.
"Guess I should try and get out more" he mused.
He then began staring into his eyes which were bloodshot and had heavy bags under them, obviously caused from lack of sleep and he realized that 4-5 hours a night just didn't cut it. He also saw that horrible haunted look that resided within them and flinched slightly at the discomfort of knowing what had caused it and anxiously wondered if it would ever go away and return his once sparkling green orbs that everyone admired back to normal. //My mother's eyes// he thought sadly. But that sadness quickly turned to anger.
"Damn it!" How was Voldemort able to do this to him? Why was he doing this to him? His life had been turned into a living hell and he didn't even know why. His very spirit had been shattered and was now only a mixture of pure hatred and pain both caused by just one person beside himself.
"I WILL kill you Voldemort" the voice he spoke in was no more than a deathly hiss, as it usually was when he repeated this goal to himself. He had made it soon after he had given himself that scar on his arm, realizing that he didn't deserve peace until he had avenged all those that he had let down.
"I swear it on my life, if I'm going down, I'm taking you with me." Then he laughed. Wow, that was real original.
Then, he turned away from the mirror unable to look at himself any longer and instead began staring silently at the letters and presents piled by the dozens on top of his desk. He sighed. He didn't want the gifts, he didn't deserve them. But knowing that he couldn't very well return them, one by one he placed them in his trunk (stopping a moment to give thanks that the trunk could hold more than 3 times what it looked like it could) carefully arranging them so that nothing was crushed. //I'll just try and give them back later// Then, grabbing the remaining letters and cards, he gently sat on the edge of his bed to continue reading them which is what he'd been about to do before Hedwig had flown in with Sirius's letter.
The pile in front of him was huge. It seemed that everyone he knew had decided to write him that summer. There were letters from Ron, Hermione, Hagrid, Sirius and Remus, Dumbledore, Fred and George Weasley (thanking him for his generous contribution to WWW), he'd even gotten a few from his roommates at Hogwarts, Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, and (surprise surprise) a small birthday card from Ron's little sister Ginny. she had liked him since she was ten but the adoration appeared to have worn off a bit.
His smile was sad as he opened every card and letter and read up on the events of the world that he had been trying so hard to push away. It was nice hearing from his friends and everyone always had something to tell him. Ron was especially excited when it came to Mr. Weasley's promotion at the ministry (apparently he'd found a better paying job that still involved interaction with muggles) and laughed as Ron rambled on for the next three pages about his new broom, and Nimbus 1000. Hermione usually talked about France, books, and homework and had hinted to Harry that starting his summer assignments now would be a good idea. Harry had laughed at this because he had finished his schoolwork during the first two weeks of vacation and left with nothing else to do (his relatives were too scared to make him work and going outside where there was people made him feel uncomfortable) had taken to rereading his school books and avidly studying them until he nearly knew them by heart. //Geez, what would Ron say if he knew that I could quote entire passages from "Potions of the New Age?"// This newfound hobby had quickly become and obsession being the only thing besides letters (which he was reluctant to read) that could keep his mind off the nightmares and approaching school year. But Harry realized that this "obsession" could definitely work to his advantage in a number of things. He decided that when he went to Diagon Alley to get his schoolbooks he would pick up a few extras on the advanced forms of his subjects. Advanced anything was usually reserved for seventh years but since it was only for his own personal study, he figured that he could handle it. He would in fact enjoy the distractions that the books could offer. He might even find a good book of hexes and cures to practice on Ron with, he thought smiling slightly. Then he remembered why he couldn't and began mentally berating himself.
"No! I can't do that to them anymore! I can't be their friend if it assures their deaths in the future, and I refuse to be the cause of grief any longer. They need to move on, they're better off without me. "
"But how are you going to keep them away?" That horrible little voice was back. "They care for you too much and are far too noble and brave to just leave you to handle the worlds problems on your own. They are Gryffindors after all."
"I'll simply tell them. They'll understand."
"HA! You actually think your friends will stand you trying to give them the brush off? You're denser than I thought. Think back to all those times when they never left you alone. In first year with the Sorcerer's Stone, in second year and the Chamber of Secrets, third year with Sirius and fourth year during the tournament. They risked their lives for you and would do it again in a heartbeat."
"All the more reason for them to stay away! I'll get them killed; there's no denying that!
"But-."
"Shut up! I'm crazy enough as it is! I don't need everyone knowing that I hear fucking voices so just go away.besides, if they won't understand, then I just won't tell them. They can't talk to me when I'm ignoring them."
And with that, the conversation with himself ended, giving Harry plenty to think about. Preferably at a later date.
After finishing his reading, Harry swept all of the letters, save one, into his arms and proceeded to dump them into his trunk beside the presents. Then he reviewed his school letter once more before placing it carefully on his desk. The last thing he wanted was for it to get lost. As he set it down, the invitation from Sirius that he had momentarily forgotten about once again caught his eye. Reminded of it, he let out a loud groan and collapsed into his desk chair, head falling forward onto his outstretched arms. What was he gonna do? He wanted to see Sirius, but he knew that it just wasn't a good idea. First of all, he and Remus would probably freak when they saw him, and of course the Durselys would get blamed and probably turned into June bugs before he could even bat an eye. Second, the idea of having to face Sirius and Remus for a whole week while his conscience slowly ate away at him.no, it would be too difficult to bare. He couldn't do it. He would simply tell his godfather that he was unable to come.
And with that, he grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill and wrote a quick apology while explaining very briefly why he couldn't make it. Sealing it, Harry stood back up and motioned for Hedwig to join him. He swiftly tied the letter to her leg and watched as she flew out the window knowing that she was grateful for a chance to stretch her wings. The familiar feeling of guilt washed over him as he watched her disappear into the newly risen sun. He hadn't given her a lot of freedom lately. The reason being that he now rarely wrote letters to anyone and of course when he did they only consisted of 2-3 sentence responses of whatever they mentioned in their last letter. He was glad Hedwig had the chance to enjoy herself even if it was only for a short trip but it hurt knowing what he was going to be passing up.
In fact, at this point everything hurt. Well, he could put an end to that. Sitting down on his bed, he opened the drawer in his nightstand and pulled out the well-sharpened pocketknife that Sirius had given to him as a Christmas present last year. Flipping it open, he pressed it against the flesh of his inner right arm and slowly dragged it across. The blooded gushed and began flowing freely down his arm, dripping onto the floor. He grabbed a towel and held it down firmly. After about five minutes, the blood had slowed and he removed the towel to examine his work. It was fairly deep, about 5 inches long and it hurt like hell. He smiled bitterly. Yep, this will help. It would hurt for another day or so, and meanwhile he could ignore everything else and go back to studying. So, with another scar, and another small hole in his heart, Harry laid down, pulled out his potion's book and set to work memorizing the ingredients to the extremely complicated brain power brew.
* * *
Ok, so what did you think? Please review if you have any questions or comments or just feel the need to brutally rebuke me for ever having written. I REALLY don't care, just review!
RATING: R
DISCLAIMER: The characters in this story are NOT mine (but oh how I wish they were!). They belong to J.K. Rowling and I guess Warner Bros. I only stake claims to the plot, which might seem kinda creepy but in my opinion an interesting read.
WARNING: This story contains mature themes like self-mutilation and depression; sorry if you can't handle that. It will also eventually contain slash (not for a little while though). If that's not for thing, then you'd best bugger off unless you'd just like to read up until that part winks. You've been warned.
Chapter 1:
This story begins the summer after Harry's fourth year and the Triwizard Tournament, and will probably go through most, if not all of his 5th year. By the way, he's a bit depressed.
Harry James Potter stood by his window, in the smallest bedroom of #4 Privet Drive gazing longingly into nothingness, while the early dawn light slowly filtered in through the blinds, bathing everything in a cold eerie gloom, even if it did happen to be midsummer. A letter dangled limply from his bruised hand, and he silently wished that his owl, Hedwig, hadn't delivered it to him.
It was July 31st, his birthday, and his Godfather, Sirius Black, having already finished with the mission that he had been sent on with his friend and Harry's old Professor, Remus Lupin, had written to tell him that he had gotten permission from Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, for Harry to spend a week at Lupin's cottage where they were both currently staying due to the fact that Sirius was still on the run from the Ministry of Magic for a crime he didn't commit.
A few months ago, Harry would have whooped for joy at the thought of being able to escape the Dursely's for a week, a specially if it meant being able to see his Godfather and favorite Professor again. But things were different now; he was different now. Different in so many ways that even he couldn't count. He hadn't changed for the better, or worse for that matter, he had simply come to terms with reality.
He still loved Sirius very much and his friends as well, and he knew that they cared for him in return. But that's exactly what bothered him. He didn't deserve their love and he knew it, so why couldn't they see it too? He'd failed them all. His parents, his friends, Sirius, Cedric.and all those poor muggles in his nightmares that died every day from Voldemort's hand, he'd failed them too. "Ah.but they aren't nightmares are they?" Whispered an annoying voice in the back of his mind. They were real, those people were real and he knew it because he could feel their pain every time he fell asleep at night and that pain would still be there when he woke up screaming and clutching at his scar the next morning. They were real, and their pain was too, and it was all his fault because he didn't know how to save them. Still, he would never let himself forget, never.
Harry closed his eyes for a minute before glancing down at his naked torso. He grimaced a little; eyeing his arms, chest, stomach, and even though he couldn't see them, legs in disgust. His entire body looked like one huge, unsightly purple bruise. On top of that there was the occasional welt and several deep cuts, and also a multitude of long since healed scars that mainly centered on his inner arms and thighs. He wanted reminders, but reminders that are obvious to other people wouldn't do him any good. They would get suspicious and of course try to make him stop but Harry knew they wouldn't be able to, he needed it too much. The scars served as reminders of everything he had done wrong, of what a mistake he had been and as an added bonus helped numb the internal anguish he constantly felt. They were his punishment and his savior. There was one scar however that was blatantly obvious to anyone when he didn't have long sleeves on and he was in fact quite proud of it. Raising his left arm, palm directed toward him, Harry examined his crowning mark; it was a scar that was unlike another he had ever seen. New skin covered the once deep, 16-inch long gash that was red, and slightly swollen. It began at his wrist, stopping just a few inches passed his elbow joint, and had incidentally been done on an impulse with the hope of ending all his misery. With his eyes closed, flashes of the nightmares came to him; he saw Death Eaters chasing muggles, entire towns being engulfed in flames and smoke, heard the last screams of the distressed and Voldemort laughing as he gazed around at the dead bodies scattered before him. All of a sudden, the visions cleared away and he saw himself lying on the floor, blood flowing and pooling around him, and the faint cries of a familiar voice before he pulled himself out of his reminiscing and wearily heading back over to his desk in the far corner of the room.
He was hungry and extremely tired and knew that he should get some food and rest before continuing on with his day, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Just the thought of food made him nauseous and he knew that if he went back to sleep, the horrible dreams would return.
"If I keep doing this to myself, I'm not even gonna make it through the holidays" he thought to himself glumly. But by this time he was beyond caring. Harry shuffled slowly across the room and as he passed by the mirror above his dresser, paused while he surveyed himself. He shuddered at his own appearance as he took in his frail figure and for some reason, derived a sick kind of amusement from being able to count every one of his ribs. He noted the diminished appearance of his once nicely toned muscles and closely examined his pale, nearly transparent skin.
"Guess I should try and get out more" he mused.
He then began staring into his eyes which were bloodshot and had heavy bags under them, obviously caused from lack of sleep and he realized that 4-5 hours a night just didn't cut it. He also saw that horrible haunted look that resided within them and flinched slightly at the discomfort of knowing what had caused it and anxiously wondered if it would ever go away and return his once sparkling green orbs that everyone admired back to normal. //My mother's eyes// he thought sadly. But that sadness quickly turned to anger.
"Damn it!" How was Voldemort able to do this to him? Why was he doing this to him? His life had been turned into a living hell and he didn't even know why. His very spirit had been shattered and was now only a mixture of pure hatred and pain both caused by just one person beside himself.
"I WILL kill you Voldemort" the voice he spoke in was no more than a deathly hiss, as it usually was when he repeated this goal to himself. He had made it soon after he had given himself that scar on his arm, realizing that he didn't deserve peace until he had avenged all those that he had let down.
"I swear it on my life, if I'm going down, I'm taking you with me." Then he laughed. Wow, that was real original.
Then, he turned away from the mirror unable to look at himself any longer and instead began staring silently at the letters and presents piled by the dozens on top of his desk. He sighed. He didn't want the gifts, he didn't deserve them. But knowing that he couldn't very well return them, one by one he placed them in his trunk (stopping a moment to give thanks that the trunk could hold more than 3 times what it looked like it could) carefully arranging them so that nothing was crushed. //I'll just try and give them back later// Then, grabbing the remaining letters and cards, he gently sat on the edge of his bed to continue reading them which is what he'd been about to do before Hedwig had flown in with Sirius's letter.
The pile in front of him was huge. It seemed that everyone he knew had decided to write him that summer. There were letters from Ron, Hermione, Hagrid, Sirius and Remus, Dumbledore, Fred and George Weasley (thanking him for his generous contribution to WWW), he'd even gotten a few from his roommates at Hogwarts, Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, and (surprise surprise) a small birthday card from Ron's little sister Ginny. she had liked him since she was ten but the adoration appeared to have worn off a bit.
His smile was sad as he opened every card and letter and read up on the events of the world that he had been trying so hard to push away. It was nice hearing from his friends and everyone always had something to tell him. Ron was especially excited when it came to Mr. Weasley's promotion at the ministry (apparently he'd found a better paying job that still involved interaction with muggles) and laughed as Ron rambled on for the next three pages about his new broom, and Nimbus 1000. Hermione usually talked about France, books, and homework and had hinted to Harry that starting his summer assignments now would be a good idea. Harry had laughed at this because he had finished his schoolwork during the first two weeks of vacation and left with nothing else to do (his relatives were too scared to make him work and going outside where there was people made him feel uncomfortable) had taken to rereading his school books and avidly studying them until he nearly knew them by heart. //Geez, what would Ron say if he knew that I could quote entire passages from "Potions of the New Age?"// This newfound hobby had quickly become and obsession being the only thing besides letters (which he was reluctant to read) that could keep his mind off the nightmares and approaching school year. But Harry realized that this "obsession" could definitely work to his advantage in a number of things. He decided that when he went to Diagon Alley to get his schoolbooks he would pick up a few extras on the advanced forms of his subjects. Advanced anything was usually reserved for seventh years but since it was only for his own personal study, he figured that he could handle it. He would in fact enjoy the distractions that the books could offer. He might even find a good book of hexes and cures to practice on Ron with, he thought smiling slightly. Then he remembered why he couldn't and began mentally berating himself.
"No! I can't do that to them anymore! I can't be their friend if it assures their deaths in the future, and I refuse to be the cause of grief any longer. They need to move on, they're better off without me. "
"But how are you going to keep them away?" That horrible little voice was back. "They care for you too much and are far too noble and brave to just leave you to handle the worlds problems on your own. They are Gryffindors after all."
"I'll simply tell them. They'll understand."
"HA! You actually think your friends will stand you trying to give them the brush off? You're denser than I thought. Think back to all those times when they never left you alone. In first year with the Sorcerer's Stone, in second year and the Chamber of Secrets, third year with Sirius and fourth year during the tournament. They risked their lives for you and would do it again in a heartbeat."
"All the more reason for them to stay away! I'll get them killed; there's no denying that!
"But-."
"Shut up! I'm crazy enough as it is! I don't need everyone knowing that I hear fucking voices so just go away.besides, if they won't understand, then I just won't tell them. They can't talk to me when I'm ignoring them."
And with that, the conversation with himself ended, giving Harry plenty to think about. Preferably at a later date.
After finishing his reading, Harry swept all of the letters, save one, into his arms and proceeded to dump them into his trunk beside the presents. Then he reviewed his school letter once more before placing it carefully on his desk. The last thing he wanted was for it to get lost. As he set it down, the invitation from Sirius that he had momentarily forgotten about once again caught his eye. Reminded of it, he let out a loud groan and collapsed into his desk chair, head falling forward onto his outstretched arms. What was he gonna do? He wanted to see Sirius, but he knew that it just wasn't a good idea. First of all, he and Remus would probably freak when they saw him, and of course the Durselys would get blamed and probably turned into June bugs before he could even bat an eye. Second, the idea of having to face Sirius and Remus for a whole week while his conscience slowly ate away at him.no, it would be too difficult to bare. He couldn't do it. He would simply tell his godfather that he was unable to come.
And with that, he grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill and wrote a quick apology while explaining very briefly why he couldn't make it. Sealing it, Harry stood back up and motioned for Hedwig to join him. He swiftly tied the letter to her leg and watched as she flew out the window knowing that she was grateful for a chance to stretch her wings. The familiar feeling of guilt washed over him as he watched her disappear into the newly risen sun. He hadn't given her a lot of freedom lately. The reason being that he now rarely wrote letters to anyone and of course when he did they only consisted of 2-3 sentence responses of whatever they mentioned in their last letter. He was glad Hedwig had the chance to enjoy herself even if it was only for a short trip but it hurt knowing what he was going to be passing up.
In fact, at this point everything hurt. Well, he could put an end to that. Sitting down on his bed, he opened the drawer in his nightstand and pulled out the well-sharpened pocketknife that Sirius had given to him as a Christmas present last year. Flipping it open, he pressed it against the flesh of his inner right arm and slowly dragged it across. The blooded gushed and began flowing freely down his arm, dripping onto the floor. He grabbed a towel and held it down firmly. After about five minutes, the blood had slowed and he removed the towel to examine his work. It was fairly deep, about 5 inches long and it hurt like hell. He smiled bitterly. Yep, this will help. It would hurt for another day or so, and meanwhile he could ignore everything else and go back to studying. So, with another scar, and another small hole in his heart, Harry laid down, pulled out his potion's book and set to work memorizing the ingredients to the extremely complicated brain power brew.
* * *
Ok, so what did you think? Please review if you have any questions or comments or just feel the need to brutally rebuke me for ever having written. I REALLY don't care, just review!