So this is just a little something I wrote about Harry. He is in his seventh year and I realize that the time line is messed up in this but I just got out of the hospital an don't really care. Anywho it doesn't follow the books really, I mean it could but it doesn't seem likely.
And no I don't own Harry potter.
2 AM get up.
Grab the case, pull on the slippers, walk out the door quiet as a mouse.
get maybe half way down the stairs to my dorm and curse silently to myself. Turn around, set case on floor, walk back up the glossy marble stairs.
Go to my bedside table, grab the cloak sitting neatly under it.
Go back to the case.
Pull on the cloak and continue down the stairs leading to the great room in Gryffindor tower.
Pause and stop breathing for two seconds before inching slowly past the sleeping figure of my studious best friend, all alone on the couch her books the only company shes keeping these days, bushy hair the only thing visible from the stair well. Not like she can see my under the silky fabric of my long used cloak.
Push open the picture frame quietly listen to the fat lady grumble. Peering left and right I head out down the moving staircases the lead from my houses tower.
I know the path perfectly, which is nice since the stairs are particularly restless this evening.
Down two flights over another walk through the charms hallway and head straight for the boys bathroom. Once inside I glace into the stalls and sigh in relief that no one is cooped up in one having a quick snog or something this evening.
Sitting on the floor I set the beautiful leather bound case on the smooth blue stone floor.
I shiver, its quite cold this evening.
Pushing the invisible fabric from my shoulders I quickly pull open my shirt breaking a button on the way.
I have thirty minutes but still I hurry and pull at the scratchy wool.
Opening my nightly hope in the form of a protective case I smile into its velvet lined depths. Quietly withdrawing a thick band of green latex plastic like material I wrap it above my upper left arm above the many small scars that have stained my flesh in the crook of that same elbow.
Next I grab for a small glass vile filled with a wonderful clear liquid that has gotten my through the last two years in this hellish world that expects so much of the little boy I am…. Was.
The syringe comes out next to pierce the aluminum casing of the little glass vile, simply fascinated as the clear substance moves from its home in the vile to its transportation in the syringe.
Sighing softly I retighten the tourniquet on my arm so the vein enlarges once again. Then comes the fun part, the part where I sink the needle into the vein and push the amazing elixir into my blood. Its new home. Once emptied I put it all way and fall back to just enjoy the moment. Who knew that the savior of the wizarding world was a heroine junkie? I think to myself before bursting into uncontrollable laughter. 'honestly? Who knew?'
This all takes 15 minutes, 20 tops.
I begin packing my case with tender care. Setting the empty vile next to the rest of the months doses.
I smile sadly, once a week I allow myself this indulgence. Once a week I break down a little more and can't help myself to just one more.
Everyday I smile out to my friends begging someone to see, anyone to see the begging and pleading in my eyes. To see the words 'fix me' to hear the words 'fix me'…. one more week I say to myself, and then I'll stop. Knowing stopping isn't really for me anymore, knowing I need someone else to fix me. because i'm just another junkie