Pretend
Hello there! This is my very first HP fanfic and I've had this story going on in my head for a while now. I've read a couple of stories like this, and I'm just going to let you know that I will have an OC here. Just one. So it's fine. Also it's very Angsty .-. Hope you don't mind! This takes place in OoTP btw :)
Disclaimer : Do I look like I own Harry Potter? I don't even own my bloody hair Ties! ;-;
I like it when people are happy.
I like it when I make people happy.
I like it when people laugh.
I like it when people get complimented.
I like it when I'm with my friends.
I like it when my friends are happy.
I like it when people are too happy to notice me.
I like it when people
are too happy to notice
that I've changed.
I like it when people don't. ….
realize that I'm pretending.
I like it when people …..
…
don't realize that I'm broken.
I
like it when
people see what they want to see in me.
I like it when
...people
don't ...notice
...anything.
Harry sat down on the edge of the Astronomy Tower at night, staring into the horizon. The midnight blue sky was dotted with sparkling stars. He could count all of the constellations that he saw. Ursa Major, Ursa Minor, O'rion. The dark silhouettes of the tall trees stood out, and Harry had a small smile on his face, admiring the beauty of Hogwarts.
He rolled up his leaves and began tracing his scars. First his scars from that blasted blood quill courtesy of Professor Toad Face. I must not tell lies, he said to himself, doing the worse imitation of Umbitch as possible. He scowled in his mind in pure hatred. He then went down lower onto his wrists. He remembered these scars. These were the times he had first cut himself.
-FlashBack-
July 30, 1992
Today marks the day that I cut my skin open for the first time. It was exhilarating and felt amazing. At first I felt scared, but then I felt relieved. It felt like a large weight on my shoulders had been lifted. I'd been so worried about my friends lately, and they haven't been writing to me yet. Yesterday one of my bestest Muggle friend (who I found out a few days ago was a Squib. By the way Muggle means Non-magical in the Britain Wizarding World.) killed herself. I can still remember the way all of her cuts had opened, and how the floor was colored red with her blood. I called her dad and 999, though. Was that enough? Was that the right thing to do? Did I help? I hope so. I hope she's still alive. I haven't received news from her or her father. I consider her as a sister, ever since we first met. We were so close, I don't know what I did wrong. I should've noticed she was hurting.
But I think I understand how Fiona felt when she did it now. I'm supposed to be the brave and responsible one, though. So I decided I won't cut myself too deep, unless I decide to kill myself.
I don't understand why my subconsious tells me to get help when I'm the happiest I've ever been. I'd rather keep cutting myself until I blow my cover and land myself in the emergency room.
-End-
He felt himself smiling on the inside as he remembered how it felt at first. First it was painful, but then it felt so good. It felt like releasing all of your burdens. He had cut himself more frequently, he didn't want that feeling to leave. He didn't want the choice of cutting himself to be taken away, either. It was the only thing that he had in control, the only thing that he can stop and continue. It made him feel numb. It made him feel. Seeing the blood that oozes out of his arms made him feel human, and not just some person who's gonna die or win in a war.
This was one of the times that he had let himself stop pretending. To finally stop pretending to be someone he wasn't. He hated being the boy who lived, he hated being the golden boy. He hated being admired. He wished that he had just been a normal child, with a normal childhood, with normal worries such as who he should date and what he should wear. He didn't want to fight Voldemort. This was the real him.
How would Dumbledore feel if his Golden Boy was broken? He'll probably be furious. After all, no one wants a broken pawn in battle.
This was the real Harry. Not The Boy Who Lived, but just Harry. The real Harry is broken, depressed, and suicidal. The real Harry goes out of his way to make others happy. The real Harry doesn't want people to worry about him. The real Harry wishes that he wasn't famous for something he didn't do. The real Harry wished that it was he who died instead of his parents.
" Potter, what are you doing out after curfew?" Came Draco cold drawling voice. Harry froze and rolled down his sleeves, and stared into the night sky.
I could ask the same with you, Harry thought coldly. I was here first.
That was such a childish thing to think about
"Studying, Malfoy," Harry said dully, not bothering to be snappy like he usually was to the Slytherin. He really wanted to try to be civil with him. "Astronomy. Looking for how many constellations and stars I can recognize. It is the Astronomy Tower."
He looked up. "See there? Ursa Major has Polaris in its form. Now just follow Polaris and you can find Ursa Minor." He recited tonelessly, pointing to the stars.
"I have never heard of a more pathetic excuse than that." Draco rolled his eyes. "Tell me why you're here."
Harry let out a shaky breath, still staring lifelessly into the horizon. "Just thinking, Malfoy." He said politely. "What about you?" He changed his tone from dull to cheerful. His posture changed at once, his attitude perky. "Are you okay, Malfoy?"
Draco raised an eyebrow. "Don't worry about me. What are you thinking about?" The fuck was wrong with this kid?
"Life." Harry answered simply, smiling dreamily to himself while looking out. "I think about what would have happened if I lived somewhere else. Maybe an orphanage, perhaps? You know, sometimes I wonder what would happen if —" He stopped, not letting his dark thoughts intervene.
The Slytherin sat down beside him. "What, your coddled and pampered lifestyle not good enough for you, Potter?"
Harry sucked in a deep breath, trying to control his feelings. Pretend, he thought, Pretend that you're unfazed.
"No Malfoy, I just love being with my relatives every holiday." Harry said sarcastically.
"Don't say that in that ungrateful tone!" Malfoy snapped. "You should be happy that you get everything you want at home! You have all the money anyone could possibly want!"
Harry flinched mentally. Something in him broke. Just snapped. Maybe it was his patience. Maybe it was his self control. Maybe it was the fact that he had been pretending for way too long.
"You want to know WHY I said that in that 'ungrateful' tone?!" Harry snarled, standing up with angry un shed tears in his eyes. "I'll tell you why! Have you ever noticed anything different about me every term after summer? Ever noticed that I'm about as thin as a twig? How I don't normally want to talk to people? Hell, everyone wants to talk to me, though! Because I'm the boy who fucking lived! Famous for something my mother did!
The Dursleys? What did they do to me? I'll tell you what they fucking did-" as Harry was talking, he was clenching his fists so hard that his knuckles were turning white and his fingernails were digging into his skin"- They fucking kept me in a cupboard."
Harry took a shaky breath. "I lived in the cupboard. Under the stairs. The was my home. My routine was that everyday I wake up super early to prepare them a glorious breakfast, then Uncle Vernon hands me two pages worth of chores, and if I'm not done, or if I don't do something right, I get beaten and whipped and tortured. Tell you what, my innocence was taken when I turned fucking seven. That was how awful they were. But for Dumbledore? NO NO NO! I was safest there! He wouldn't care about the abuse I was going through even if it was staring right at him! He only cares about me as a fucking pawn in the war and nothing else!"
Tears were now running down Harry's face and he took a deep breath. He slid down one of the columns and cried silently into his arms and knees.
"I hate doing this..." He muttered to himself.
Draco was dumbstruck and unsure of what to do. Potter wasn't a spoiled brat. He then paled considerably. He was beaten. He was abused. He lived in a fucking CUPBOARD. This was not what he was expecting when he asked what he was thinking of. The least he could've done was to comfort the boy. It took all his willpower to not curse Pott- Harry's poor excuse of relatives.
"How have you hid this all from us?" The King of Slytherin asked softly, 'us' referring to the people at school.
Harry laughed humorlessly. "I learned a very important talent when I was in kindergarten at muggle school." He said dully, no emotion in his voice. There wasn't even a trace of emotion in Potter's face, Draco observed.
"I learned how to pretend." Harry said simply and tonelessly. "You ever play make believe? Pretend you're one thing, when you're really the other?" He laughed again. "'Mione and Ron never learn. But I do."
Draco felt a pang of guilt in his heart, but quickly pushed it aside. He was NOT feeling sorry for Potter. But then again... This wasn't the same Potter he knew. This Potter was... Broken.
How had the Mudblood and Weasel not realize this? They were Potter's closest friends for Merlin's sake!
But then again... He'd been hiding them. He'd been hiding the evedence.
"You've changed, though, Potter." He stated calmly.
Harry smiled without feeling. "I've always been like this," He said cheerfully. "You're just seeing it for the first time."
"I don't understand."
"Have you noticed how everyday I'm late for Breakfast or just skip breakfast?" Harry asked. "It's because on most days, I can't even find a reason or an ounce of motivation to get up. Why go to school? Why make friends? Why eat? Why make others waste their energy by spending time with me? That's what it feels like." He grins. "It's bittersweet, when people care about me. On one hand it's finally good to have someone to care, and on the other hand I feel disgusted as to why people would even bother caring about me. I'm better off dead! Haha! Imagine that, the Ministry comes and I'm just hanging from the ceiling!" Potter was laughing now.
Draco was getting creeped out. What was going on?
"Potter, stop that!"
"No." Harry said. "If we're going to be talking like this then we might as well call ourselves by our given names Mal- Draco."
Wait, where did that come from?
"Fine, HARRY," Draco inwardly scowled. "Are you going insane?"
Potte- Harry giggled. "I don't really know." He replied, looking at the stars. "Some days I think I've gone insane, other days I want to go insane."
He began playing with his long shirt sleeve and absent-mindedly, accidently lifting it up high enough for Draco to notice his most recent cuts. Draco grabbed hold of his hand tightly.
"What is this?" He hissed. Harry became horrified and tried to pull himself away from Malfoy's grip.
"I-it's nothing! It's a scratch! Let me go!" He snapped, trying to fight his hand away.
Draco kept on holding Potter's hand tightly. "No. It is not just a scratch!" He rolled up the sleeves and quickly let go, eyes wide.
Harry's arms were littered with cuts, from wrist to elbow, and not only that...
There were bruises.
Angry, purple bruises and red marks everywhere.
Harry sighed. "I knew I should've put on a glamour before I came up here," he muttered to himself.
"Potte– Harry?" Draco asked quietly. "H-how long?"
Harry shrugged. "Long enough." He said simply.
"I... I'm sorry."
Harry sighed in frustration. One minute Draco was acting such an ass and then the next he acts like a friend. "Dude, what the bloody hell?" He snapped, standing up. "Stop acting like an ass! You keep on being rude and then now you're being nice to me!"
"Im trying not to make you kill yourself!" Draco argued.
"Well, stop being such a dick about it!" Harry huffed, turning around. "See you tomorrow, Malfoy."
He left the Slytherin on the Astronomy Tower, annoyed. He put on his glamours and grabbed his invisibility cloak with him, walking away.
Draco felt guilty. Why had he been rude to Potter lol these years. He felt tears coming into the corners of his eyes, but blinked them away.
Malfoys don't cry.