Title: Scratch Till it Bleeds

Author: illusory

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of J. K. Rowling and I'm just playing for my own amusement. Unfortunately I don't own anything.

Rating: R

Warning: Scratching

Notes: Disturbing is fun. Enjoy.

It itches, all over. Like insects beneath my skin it travels from my face down to my toes. Merlin, please not again.

I scratch my cheek, very lightly. I don't want it to show and I know if I scratch too hard there it will. Lightly I rake my uneven nails down my neck, up and down again. It barely satisfies the itch. I need more, so much more.

My other hand follows a similar trail, starting at my forehead. I run my nails against the scar, the cursed scar that I hate. Wish I could scratch it off.

Tried once, but it didn't work and I had to tell everyone I fell out of a tree and hit my forehead on the bark on the way down. I'm not sure if they believed me.

The itch gets worse and a whine escapes my lips. Only a soft one though, I can't be heard. It moves beneath my skin, sliding like quills against my skin and I scratch more. A little bit harder down my neck.

Scratch at the guilt, the fear, the anger that flows through me. Scratch at the magic that flows through currents beneath my skin. God I hate magic. It causes so many more problems then it could ever fix and who knows. Maybe if I weren't a freak my family would love me.

It's the only reason they hit me, yell at me and tell me I'm no good. Because of the magic, freakish thing that causes mayhem. Unnatural and maybe they're right.

Dirty nails run across my arms, from upper to lower leaving long red marks that rise in the wake of raking nails on flesh. My legs are next and I sigh as I dig my nails in deeper, harder. Blood pools beneath the surface, small droplets bead along the shallow cuts. I give a particularly hard tug against my flesh as I reach my thighs.

Red little beads and I smear them across my thighs as I run my jagged nails against the cuts again and again. I arch and moan as I run my nails against my thighs harder and deeper and the blood begins to run in little rivets as I dig and scratch.

Pain, pain to take away the guilt, the fear, the anger and pain to take away the itch. The maddening itch burrows deeper beneath my skin. That's okay though, I can claw deeper until I reach it. Scratch it all away.

I pull at the cuts, scratch at them and tug at the torn flesh opening it the air and letting all the magic, imperfection, guilt, fear and anger bleed away.

It isn't enough though and I bring my hands up running my nails against my groin, arching and moaning in pain at the action as I smear blood across me and scratch at my stomach.

Lightly I run my nails back down, only panting slightly from the pain that washes through me and takes my mind from all the bad things. Makes me forget about the bad, for a little while at least.

My thighs are red with the spilt blood and torn flesh. I run my finger through the cuts, dig in my nails and pull again. The sting of it makes me hiss and my face contorts with the pain. Just what I need to go on a little longer.

I lay against the cool floorboards in the hot summer air and think idly of cleaning up before morning. Dudley is due soon, but he only thinks it's funny and manages to make good use of the spilt blood.

He isn't smart enough to understand. I dig a finger a little deeper into one of the cuts and sigh. Uncle Vernon would though. He'll know that I might go for a vein one day and bleed to death on the cool floorboards. Not that he would mind, but he won't want to deal with the inevitable wizards and witches that would come and ask him questions. Perhaps blame him.

No, Uncle Vernon would make me stop, for his own sake. Dudley just finds it to be great amusement.

Floorboards creak outside my door and I sigh again, this time in defeat and let my mind slip away. I think upon later and about all the scabs I'll be able to peel away. It'll be so much easier to scratch away the guilt, fear and anger next time. So much easier to scratch till it bleeds.