Secrets and Suprises. Chapter One: The Serpent
Disclaimer: Does a little dance I own NOTHING! JK Rowling is a Goddess and I am nothing but a lowlife.
Warnings: Teenage angst to the max. Slash, eventually. I am a whore for hurt and comfort. Potentially triggering material.
He was late. Christ, I'm late! Harry's mind raced as his lone figure bulleted through empty corridors. Third time this week, McGoogle's gonna flip…
As if this weren't bad enough...his mind began to wander towards his secret as Harry struggled desperately from keeping it away. The secret that neither Ron nor Hermione knew. It was insane. He was insane, he knew it. It was fucked up and wrong, what he did to himself in the dark of night, when nightmares hid in the corners of his mind and Harry couldn't hide from himself anymore, couldn't fight the raging serpent thrashing against his ribs. If it's so bad, why does it help..? No, help wasn't the right word. Calm. Relax. Give a brief moment of focus where nothing else matters, when he could shut the world out. Push aside what he really didn't understand and was therefore killing him. It was an offering of blood to keep the snake at bay.
Minutes later, Harry was startled to find himself outside his classroom. Feet and body had carried him there without his mind. It seemed like that happened a lot these days. Self-consciously, he grabbed the hems at the sleeves of his robes and tugged them down, tucking books between his side and his elbow. A deep breath, and then he slid into class.
"Potter," McGonagall's voice was so cold it sent shivers down his spine and made him cringe. "See me after class. I have no time to waste during class with your childish sense of time." When she turned away from the class to fetch their practice equipment (Dirty shoes, to be transformed into turtles) Hermione turned back to shoot him a look of sympathy. Ron was far to absorbed in taking down notes from the board—McGonagall had caught him passing notes in the past week and reamed the redhead with two week's detentions. Some of the Slytherins that he shared the class with silently high-fived each other, reveling in the embarrassment of "The Chosen One." Harry didn't quite understand that, their joy in seeing him fall. He was human, wasn't he? Well, he thought, left hand moving to rest gingerly over his right forearm, maybe not. His eyes instinctively searched the room for the cold blue ones that were doubtlessly trying to meet his own. They didn't fail him now. Draco Malfoy was staring at, no, not just that, waiting for Harry to look his way. Cold grin crossed the blonde's face as he pumped a fist and mimed cheering at Harry's demise. Harry rolled his eyes with a scowl and flipped Malfoy off.
It seemed to Harry, though, that Malfoy being nasty was really the only thing he could count on these days. That alone seemed to be solid in his life. Pathetic! The serpent groaned inside his mind. Is that all you have, you hopeless dullard? No, you have me. You need me. Harry bit back the urge to scream, run, do anything to drive the stomach-turning voice inside his head. He knew what would make it leave, oh, he knew very well what it wanted, what he needed to do to relieve the growing pressure in his temples and the itch in his fingers.
I hate you, Harry shot back, only half believing his own words. A sickening moment of realization, and then, No, I hate…me.