Title: Numb
Author: Aussie Mel
Email: stargazer_97au@yahoo.com
Category: Angst
Spoilers: Song Numb by Linken Park, Shakespeare sonnet XXVIII
Characters: Harry, Snape
Pairing: None
Rating: R
Warnings: Dark, suicide, child abuse and rape, song fic
Summary: Harry contemplates his habit; cutting.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and the associated characters. I am making no money off this fic, and I am only doing it for fun. Linken Parks song Numb Belongs to them not me I just borrowed it.
Authors Note: songs used Numb by Linken Park and Shakespeare Sonnet XXVIII
***
//How can I then return in happy plight,
That am debarr'd the benefit of rest?
When day's oppression is not eased by night,
But day by night and night by day oppress'd?
And each, though enemies to either's reign,
Do in consent shake hands to torture me,
The one by toil, still farther off from thee.
I tell the day, to please him, thou art bright
And dost him grace when clouds do blot the
Heaven;
So flatter I the swart-complexion'd night,
When sparkling stars twire not thou gild'st the
even.
But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer,
And night doth nightly make grief's stranght
Seem stronger.
~Shakespeare//
***
//I'm tired of being what you want me to be
Feeling so faithless//
I Hurt.
I'm tired of my life. Always living up to people's expectations of me.
People see me as a figure head, someone who is only here to kill Voldemort, and now that I've done that I'm taking steps to achieve that I'm nothing. Not important, they only see Potter; The-Boy-Who-Lived. The Hero.
I'm no Hero.
I'm just me, Harry Potter.
Nothing special.
I didn't ask for the special treatment.
Sometimes I wish Voldemort had finished what he started sixteen years ago.
//Lost under the surface
I don't know what you're expecting of me//
I'm balancing on the edge of the blade.
Addicted to its sharp edges, releasing me.
Helping me survive in this world that no longer needs me.
The Blade calls to me to make another cut.
I look down at my wrists; covered in the white criss-crossing of past scars that hold witness to my addiction.
I could not stop, even if I wanted to.
And if they found out, my so-called friends, They'd make me stop, and I can't let them do that. They wouldn't understand that I need to cut myself, it's how I survive. No-one notices my cries for help.
I pick up my Blade; my life-line, and make my first cut, Pressing it down. I welcome the small amount of pain it brings to me. I savor the pain as the blade slides through the skin on my wrist, leaving the angry red line of blood behind; adding another line to the ever present pattern covering my wrists.
I can't continue being what you want me to be. I need to be me. To be Harry.
Not The-Boy-Who-Lived. Just me. At least with the Dursley's they can recognize Can recognize I'm Harry. They have no expectations of me. Like the wizarding world does, they expect me to do my chores but that's it, I could do that stuff in my sleep.
To them, I'm just a Freak.
A good Fuck.
Nothing more.
Help me!
//Put under the pressure
Of walking in your shoes//
Looking around the dungeons I realize it was a pretty stupid place to do this. In Snape's Dungeons. But I don't care. Snape is the only one who really sees me. To him I'm not The-Boy-Who-Lived.
I'm just Potter.
He doesn't care for titles and unwanted fame.
I'm only a tool to Dumbledore and his Order.
I'm only someone to be used to kill the dark lord.
I'm only sixteen years old.
I don't want to have the responsibility of killing the Dark Lord.
If I have to I think I'll break down. I can't do it.
I never asked for it, can't someone older have the responsibility?
Who sends children in to fight the battles of full grown men? And expects them to live?
I feel like I'm set to burst.
I make another cut, and another, until my left wrist is crossed with many lines.
It helps me releases the pressure, helps me survive.
//[Caught in the undertow, just caught in the undertow]
Every step that I take is another mistake to you//
Snape only sees my mistakes; but at least he sees me and not that stupid title I'm stuck with.
I'm caught with my addiction.
With cutting myself.
Switching hand's I make a cut in the other wrist.
He would probably understand. Unlike my friends.
They couldn't understand, they've never been brutally raped by their uncle since they were six years old.
Until I started Hogwarts I thought what was happening was normal, that it happened to every child who did wrong.
What kind of screwed up person thinks being raped by their uncle is normal?
When we had our sex-ed classes with Madam Pomfrey I was sick with the knowledge of what my uncle had done. I couldn't stand anyone touching me for months after, to some extent I still can't, and on top of the rapes I was beaten.
My friends never had to endure the beatings.
I've never felt what love is like, not really.
Next week I go back.
Back to the Dursley's.
Back to Hell.
Please don't send me back there!
//I've Become so numb
I can't feel you there//
I've become numb to the world around me, I'm on auto piolet just going along like normal.
No one notices.
No one cares.
Who would believe them anyway? They never have before.
When I was nine I told my primary school teacher when she found my bruises, she told the child services who came to investigate, but they never found anything the Dursleys made sure of that. Once the investigation was over I got the worst beatings and rapes of my life. I was out of school for a month recovering. No one thought to check up on me. I never told anyone since. Telling only leads to pain and hurt.
//Become so tired
So much more aware//
I'm tired of living with so much pain.
But with me just existing I notice everything.
I pull the blade through my wrist cutting slightly deeper than the last time.
//I'm becoming this
All I want to do
Is be more like me
And be less like you//
I'm numb.
I feel as if my world is crumbling around me; that the people I surround myself with: Ron, Hermione, the other Gryffindors, they don't see the real me.
I'm tired of all the fame, of the way people I don't even know insist on giving me presents on my birthday and Christmas.
I feel smothered.
Maybe Uncle Vernon was right I'm a Freak; Useless waste of space.
Only useful for a good Fuck. He treats me like an unwanted possession.
Only there to be used: for his and his whale of a son to relieve their frustrations with.
The summer holidays start next week.
I don't want to go back.
I can't go back.
But Dumbledore won't let me stay.
//Can't you see that you're smothering me
Holding too tightly//
He says it's what's best for me. I'll be safe, protected.
What would he know?
Just another small cut…right here; I take the blade pulling it along my skin making a large cut about five centimeters long. Relishing the euphoric feeling the pain-filled cut gives me. It releases all the pain, the feelings of despair and loneliness that I feel.
My Blade is my one true friend; it's always there and never judges me, just accepts.
//Afraid to lose control//
If others knew they'd stop me. Tell me it's wrong to hurt myself, but they don't understand.
They can't understand.
I'm alone.
My blade helps me stay in control of my life. Before my life was like a never-ending roller coaster ride.
It helps me stay in control.
It knows what's best.
//'Cause everything that you thought I would be
Has fallen apart right in front of you//
If they knew their Golden boy cut himself; hurt himself,
Your illusions would be shattered.
You might actually see me, and not only what you want to see.
You'd lock me up like I'm crazy.
I'm not, crazy that is.
I just hurt.
And my blade eases my hurt; makes my life more bearable.
//[Caught in the undertow, just caught in the undertow]//
I move along; existing with everyone else, but not quiet living.
//Every step that I take is
Another mistake to you//
Why can't you just see me?
I make another cut, letting the pain and hurt seep out with the blood flowing freely down my arms.
//[Caught in the undertow, just caught in the undertow]//
I feel wetness slide slowly down my face.
I'm not crying. No, there must be a leak in the ceiling somewhere.
I don't cry.
Crying is for wimps, for freaks.
My uncle said crying needs to be punished.
Crying is wrong.
//And every second I waste
Is more than I can take//
Everyday gets worse.
It used to only be maybe once a week I'd feel the urge to cut.
To feel the release of pressure I'd get from the act.
Now I feel the urge at least every second of every day.
I look down. My arms are now covered in blood; my blood.
Tonight I've made several new cuts.
I already feel better; more like myself.
//And I know
I may end up failing too//
I feel light headed; I slipped.
Cut too deep.
And now I can feel my life slipping away slowly.
This was not how it was supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to die like this.
Alone.
Helpless.
Scared.
"Help…" I try and call out for help. I didn't want to die, but my voice cracks and falls on deaf ears.
No one will hear my cries for help.
I'm going to die here.
In the dungeons.
But at least I wont have to return to the Dursleys for another summer of abuse.
// But I know
You were just like me//
Snape should be by soon. He always catches me when I do something wrong.
He'll help me.
No… he hates me. No one will want me around now.
Footsteps. Yes, someone's coming. I'm not going to die.
They'll save me.
They'll save Harry.
Not the Boy-who-lived; he die's tonight. From now on I'm just Harry.
"Potter, where are you? I know you are in here!"
Snape.
"Prof…" I try to call out to him. I've no voice left.
He'll leave me here.
Maybe I will die after all.
I slip bonelessly to the floor from my seated position on the dungeon floor.
I've got no energy left to call out to him.
I laugh weakly. An ironic, slightly hysterical laugh.
I'll die and they'll realize they almost found me; almost saved me.
Almost.
Apparently my laughter must have been louder than I thought, as I see Snape come around from the other side of the desk.
He sees me.
I'm going to live.
Maybe someone cares after all.
Even if it /is/ Snape.
Finally I succumb to the calling darkness and slip into unconsciousness.
//With someone disappointed in you//
***
The End
Author: Aussie Mel
Email: stargazer_97au@yahoo.com
Category: Angst
Spoilers: Song Numb by Linken Park, Shakespeare sonnet XXVIII
Characters: Harry, Snape
Pairing: None
Rating: R
Warnings: Dark, suicide, child abuse and rape, song fic
Summary: Harry contemplates his habit; cutting.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and the associated characters. I am making no money off this fic, and I am only doing it for fun. Linken Parks song Numb Belongs to them not me I just borrowed it.
Authors Note: songs used Numb by Linken Park and Shakespeare Sonnet XXVIII
***
//How can I then return in happy plight,
That am debarr'd the benefit of rest?
When day's oppression is not eased by night,
But day by night and night by day oppress'd?
And each, though enemies to either's reign,
Do in consent shake hands to torture me,
The one by toil, still farther off from thee.
I tell the day, to please him, thou art bright
And dost him grace when clouds do blot the
Heaven;
So flatter I the swart-complexion'd night,
When sparkling stars twire not thou gild'st the
even.
But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer,
And night doth nightly make grief's stranght
Seem stronger.
~Shakespeare//
***
//I'm tired of being what you want me to be
Feeling so faithless//
I Hurt.
I'm tired of my life. Always living up to people's expectations of me.
People see me as a figure head, someone who is only here to kill Voldemort, and now that I've done that I'm taking steps to achieve that I'm nothing. Not important, they only see Potter; The-Boy-Who-Lived. The Hero.
I'm no Hero.
I'm just me, Harry Potter.
Nothing special.
I didn't ask for the special treatment.
Sometimes I wish Voldemort had finished what he started sixteen years ago.
//Lost under the surface
I don't know what you're expecting of me//
I'm balancing on the edge of the blade.
Addicted to its sharp edges, releasing me.
Helping me survive in this world that no longer needs me.
The Blade calls to me to make another cut.
I look down at my wrists; covered in the white criss-crossing of past scars that hold witness to my addiction.
I could not stop, even if I wanted to.
And if they found out, my so-called friends, They'd make me stop, and I can't let them do that. They wouldn't understand that I need to cut myself, it's how I survive. No-one notices my cries for help.
I pick up my Blade; my life-line, and make my first cut, Pressing it down. I welcome the small amount of pain it brings to me. I savor the pain as the blade slides through the skin on my wrist, leaving the angry red line of blood behind; adding another line to the ever present pattern covering my wrists.
I can't continue being what you want me to be. I need to be me. To be Harry.
Not The-Boy-Who-Lived. Just me. At least with the Dursley's they can recognize Can recognize I'm Harry. They have no expectations of me. Like the wizarding world does, they expect me to do my chores but that's it, I could do that stuff in my sleep.
To them, I'm just a Freak.
A good Fuck.
Nothing more.
Help me!
//Put under the pressure
Of walking in your shoes//
Looking around the dungeons I realize it was a pretty stupid place to do this. In Snape's Dungeons. But I don't care. Snape is the only one who really sees me. To him I'm not The-Boy-Who-Lived.
I'm just Potter.
He doesn't care for titles and unwanted fame.
I'm only a tool to Dumbledore and his Order.
I'm only someone to be used to kill the dark lord.
I'm only sixteen years old.
I don't want to have the responsibility of killing the Dark Lord.
If I have to I think I'll break down. I can't do it.
I never asked for it, can't someone older have the responsibility?
Who sends children in to fight the battles of full grown men? And expects them to live?
I feel like I'm set to burst.
I make another cut, and another, until my left wrist is crossed with many lines.
It helps me releases the pressure, helps me survive.
//[Caught in the undertow, just caught in the undertow]
Every step that I take is another mistake to you//
Snape only sees my mistakes; but at least he sees me and not that stupid title I'm stuck with.
I'm caught with my addiction.
With cutting myself.
Switching hand's I make a cut in the other wrist.
He would probably understand. Unlike my friends.
They couldn't understand, they've never been brutally raped by their uncle since they were six years old.
Until I started Hogwarts I thought what was happening was normal, that it happened to every child who did wrong.
What kind of screwed up person thinks being raped by their uncle is normal?
When we had our sex-ed classes with Madam Pomfrey I was sick with the knowledge of what my uncle had done. I couldn't stand anyone touching me for months after, to some extent I still can't, and on top of the rapes I was beaten.
My friends never had to endure the beatings.
I've never felt what love is like, not really.
Next week I go back.
Back to the Dursley's.
Back to Hell.
Please don't send me back there!
//I've Become so numb
I can't feel you there//
I've become numb to the world around me, I'm on auto piolet just going along like normal.
No one notices.
No one cares.
Who would believe them anyway? They never have before.
When I was nine I told my primary school teacher when she found my bruises, she told the child services who came to investigate, but they never found anything the Dursleys made sure of that. Once the investigation was over I got the worst beatings and rapes of my life. I was out of school for a month recovering. No one thought to check up on me. I never told anyone since. Telling only leads to pain and hurt.
//Become so tired
So much more aware//
I'm tired of living with so much pain.
But with me just existing I notice everything.
I pull the blade through my wrist cutting slightly deeper than the last time.
//I'm becoming this
All I want to do
Is be more like me
And be less like you//
I'm numb.
I feel as if my world is crumbling around me; that the people I surround myself with: Ron, Hermione, the other Gryffindors, they don't see the real me.
I'm tired of all the fame, of the way people I don't even know insist on giving me presents on my birthday and Christmas.
I feel smothered.
Maybe Uncle Vernon was right I'm a Freak; Useless waste of space.
Only useful for a good Fuck. He treats me like an unwanted possession.
Only there to be used: for his and his whale of a son to relieve their frustrations with.
The summer holidays start next week.
I don't want to go back.
I can't go back.
But Dumbledore won't let me stay.
//Can't you see that you're smothering me
Holding too tightly//
He says it's what's best for me. I'll be safe, protected.
What would he know?
Just another small cut…right here; I take the blade pulling it along my skin making a large cut about five centimeters long. Relishing the euphoric feeling the pain-filled cut gives me. It releases all the pain, the feelings of despair and loneliness that I feel.
My Blade is my one true friend; it's always there and never judges me, just accepts.
//Afraid to lose control//
If others knew they'd stop me. Tell me it's wrong to hurt myself, but they don't understand.
They can't understand.
I'm alone.
My blade helps me stay in control of my life. Before my life was like a never-ending roller coaster ride.
It helps me stay in control.
It knows what's best.
//'Cause everything that you thought I would be
Has fallen apart right in front of you//
If they knew their Golden boy cut himself; hurt himself,
Your illusions would be shattered.
You might actually see me, and not only what you want to see.
You'd lock me up like I'm crazy.
I'm not, crazy that is.
I just hurt.
And my blade eases my hurt; makes my life more bearable.
//[Caught in the undertow, just caught in the undertow]//
I move along; existing with everyone else, but not quiet living.
//Every step that I take is
Another mistake to you//
Why can't you just see me?
I make another cut, letting the pain and hurt seep out with the blood flowing freely down my arms.
//[Caught in the undertow, just caught in the undertow]//
I feel wetness slide slowly down my face.
I'm not crying. No, there must be a leak in the ceiling somewhere.
I don't cry.
Crying is for wimps, for freaks.
My uncle said crying needs to be punished.
Crying is wrong.
//And every second I waste
Is more than I can take//
Everyday gets worse.
It used to only be maybe once a week I'd feel the urge to cut.
To feel the release of pressure I'd get from the act.
Now I feel the urge at least every second of every day.
I look down. My arms are now covered in blood; my blood.
Tonight I've made several new cuts.
I already feel better; more like myself.
//And I know
I may end up failing too//
I feel light headed; I slipped.
Cut too deep.
And now I can feel my life slipping away slowly.
This was not how it was supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to die like this.
Alone.
Helpless.
Scared.
"Help…" I try and call out for help. I didn't want to die, but my voice cracks and falls on deaf ears.
No one will hear my cries for help.
I'm going to die here.
In the dungeons.
But at least I wont have to return to the Dursleys for another summer of abuse.
// But I know
You were just like me//
Snape should be by soon. He always catches me when I do something wrong.
He'll help me.
No… he hates me. No one will want me around now.
Footsteps. Yes, someone's coming. I'm not going to die.
They'll save me.
They'll save Harry.
Not the Boy-who-lived; he die's tonight. From now on I'm just Harry.
"Potter, where are you? I know you are in here!"
Snape.
"Prof…" I try to call out to him. I've no voice left.
He'll leave me here.
Maybe I will die after all.
I slip bonelessly to the floor from my seated position on the dungeon floor.
I've got no energy left to call out to him.
I laugh weakly. An ironic, slightly hysterical laugh.
I'll die and they'll realize they almost found me; almost saved me.
Almost.
Apparently my laughter must have been louder than I thought, as I see Snape come around from the other side of the desk.
He sees me.
I'm going to live.
Maybe someone cares after all.
Even if it /is/ Snape.
Finally I succumb to the calling darkness and slip into unconsciousness.
//With someone disappointed in you//
***
The End