Summary: Harry is up late one night, righting out his thoughts that he never tells anyone, those thoughts he keeps to himself.
Authors note: Ok ok, so its dark. I was depressed while writing this fic. Please, if your going to review, make it constructive and tell me how I can improve, seeing as this is my first upload in a very long time, since I only just got back into writing seriously.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Drago Malfoy or anything associated with J.K. Rowlings Harry Potter. I came up with the story, based on the quote which starts off the fic, but I can't remember where exactly I got it. If it is yours please tell me and I will give you due credit.
You asked what was wrong and I said "Nothing.", the I turned around and whispered "Everything.".
Always hiding myself from everyone and everything. It's better that way. The world has too much pain in it as it is.
I am the savior, the one everyone depends on in hard times. The only one to survive a terrible curse. That somehow makes me special, though I'm just like everyone else. Fragile.
Harry Potter stopped writing and looked around the dark dormitory. Everyone was asleep, Ron was even snoring loudly and mumbling about something random. Harry checked his watch which was magicked to work on the grounds of Hogwarts. 2:03AM
Harry sighed softly and returned to his writing in his very private journal, not even Ron or Hermione knew of it and his feelings contained there in.
I'm not special in any way. I survived this long due to dumb luck and the help of those around me. Though it seems that they only help me for their own selfish needs. No one wants to die in this grim world we live in.
The one who doesn't treat me like that. Those cold stormy silver eyes, the hate in those eyes. How I crave to see those eyes on me all the time. Those eyes who seem me for what I am. Just a lonely person, who was somehow able to survive one of the darkest wizards of all time. Even that wouldn't have been possible without the sacrifice my parents made.
Harry smiled, his eyes taking on a new light. Sadness. He was sure no one was awake to see him as he moved the sleeve of his pajama shirt up, exposing his pale wrist, the moonlight making his ghostly pale skin glow brightly, thin white scars standing out amongst the paleness of his flesh. A haunting smile came to his face as he remembered the pain and the ecstasy that came to him as he drew that silver blade slowly down his wrist, only to do it again right next to it.
The crimson torrents of blood that flowed, like little rivers only to stop at the end of his arm and drop onto the bathroom floor, drop after drop. The sound deafening in his ears, the silence of the bathroom magnifying every sound made in that large room. Drip, drip, drip, drop.
Those eyes. Staring at me, at my arm. What I had done. I remember I laughed. Said something in my delusion. He slapped my face, the sting. It only added to the pleasure, the pain…
He treated me like the filth, the dirt that I am. That time he found me in the bathroom, large self inflicted gashes in my arm. He hurt me, yelled at me. Called me selfish. I laughed and told him he really didn't care. "Leave me here to die." I think I said. He slapped me again, the stormy eyes filled with rage. With… More emotion then I though he could possess in those eyes. The windows to his soul.
"Potter get your ass up and stop being such a selfish prick. Killing yourself wont prove anything!" He said to me in a low voice, he shook me roughly, like trying to knock some sense into me. All I remember before I blanked out.
Harry ran his fingers down the pale white scars, his face falling blank. His eyes no longer held light in them, they became dark as his mood hand sunk in his reminiscing. He put his quill down in the middle of his book and shut it, only to shove it under the bed. He put the lid on his ink pot and placed it on his bedside table before sinking deep into the comfy sheets of his bed.
The fingers of his right hand ran over something cool and solid and he smiled, another haunting smile as it was dark. He took the handle into his hand and moved it up out of the sheets and held it in front of his face, the cool silver shining brightly in the pale moonlight as he moved the blade in his hands slowly. It comforted him and soon he fell asleep, the dagger hidden under his sheets carefully before he fell into the darkness of sleep.