She sat on the floor of Slytherin Common Room, knees curled up into her chest, her shoulders shaking from the sobs escaping her mouth, no control over the uncontrollable tears cascading down her cheeks, her wrists on show to the whole world. Except, there was only her. No-one else was there. It was late, everyone else was fast asleep, leaving her completely and utterly alone in both the room she was in and the rest of the world. Her hand fell down to beside her foot, the box lying there, innocent. Like it could do no damage, and to anyone passing, it was, just a box. But to her, it was so much more. It was her life, her release. It rid her mind of the pain she was facing, of the hurt. It helped. It really did. Relaxing every muscle in her body, the tears stopping, instead the tears coming out of her skin, red instead of clear. But it helped. She could control it, the only part of her life she had control over, the only part she liked. The only part she didn't live to regret. The way the blade felt in her fingers: Cold...Hard...Powerful. She dragged the blade across her wrist, watching the metal dig into her skin, the red substance over flowing out of the cut flesh. The relief of that days problems vanishing. She closed her eyes at the pain… the soft… welcoming pain. It was what she lived for; the pain showed her that everything was ok: It was comforting, relaxing to know that she could still be in control. Never in the whole time of doing this, had she created something so painful yet so beautiful. Cause that's what they were, beautiful. Every single cut that she had created, every single scar that had been left behind was beautiful. And she didn't regret anything...
She looked through blurred eyes, the blood leaving her skin, pooling onto the floor, her hands dripping with the silky substance. She's alone in the world. No one to care for her, no one to help her. No one to save her from the monsters inside her head. No one cared enough to knock down the barriers she had oh so well built around her. But that was ok, people only disappoint. They only pretend to care before they leave you alone again, the only friend she had being the blade. She closed her eyes again, her fingers finding the fresh cut, the tissue under the skin visible, the whiteness of the fat concealed under the never ending flow of crimson. She started to feel light headed, the blackness wanting to take over, but she fought it, not for long, but she fought it, her fingers digging even deeper into the wound she had created only minutes before. Before she couldn't fight it any more, her eyes closing to the soft voice of someone shouting her name...
She awoke to the soft beeping of a machine, her eyes sticking together slightly, the light painful. Before she felt a slight movement next to her. He hand went straight to her wrist, which had now been bandaged, the pain bearable, yet still comforting.
She opened her eyes fully, and saw a pair staring straight back at her, the grey of his iris boring into her soul, him wanting to know everything, the pain she felt, the thoughts that were running through her mind, everything. And she knew, as he held her in his arms, that, for the first time in her life, someone cared. For the first time, someone wanted her to get better, for her to stop hurting herself in such a way that would be there for the rest of her life, for her stop finding the release in the blade, and to find her release in him instead...