The next morning, no one had any clue about what had happened the night before. Harry Potter was still the Chosen one, his friends were still worried about him, and the rest of the world loved him. All was the same.
But a nagging began in the back of his mind. 'All you do is cause others pain, Harry.' He hurt too, emotionally, still struggling with Sirius' death… Attention was still not being paid, not in any of his classes. In potions, the book he'd found from the Half Blood Prince helped him, made things far easier. Slughorn loved him now, he was the favorite, the best in the class. But even that gave him no satisfaction.
"Detention, Potter," Came a cold voice one day in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Harry looked up surprised at Snape, who was standing over him. The rest of the class was watching him. He must have zoned out again on a question… Harry nodded, wishing to shrink away. Why couldn't he concentrate?
That evening, he went to detention in Snapes office, not fond of being the room once again. He hated it here. Hated the Occlumency lessons. Inside he felt anger at Snape as well.
The teacher didn't look up from his work, just motioning for Harry to sit down.
He looked at the boy from his papers, unsurprised to see him looking off into the distance again. A dead man's stare. Severus put down his quill, and interlocked his fingers, leaning forward. He detested this boy, for who his father was. And for who is mother was. Lilly should not have died for this child.
'Don't forget who told the Dark Lord about the prophecy in the first place, Severus,' his own inner voice hissed. He ignored it, staring at the blank Potter. It was strange to see him without emotion.
Usually his green eyes would be locked on the older man with enough hatred to burn him alive. But he was too lost in thought.
"Potter!" Snape barked loudly, knowing anything more gentle wouldn't stir the boy from his trance.
It was like a light went on, as the Harrys head swung to look at Snape slowly.
"You need to stop this," Severus said coldly. Harry looked at him confused. "Talk to someone. The Headmaster, your little Gryffindor friends, someone. I would more than gladly have you expelled for not being able to concentrate, however there is more than a lack of concentration here." He explained slowly. Harry looked away.
"Potter," He growled, Harry looked at him again. Emotion flickered. Sadness, regret, depression. Snape pursed his lips, knowing all those emotions all too well. Damn boy.
"I don't need to talk to anyone," Harry replied, adding force behind his words. "And unless you're detention is talking me into submission-"
"Arrogant, and insolent, just like your bloody father," Snape hissed, standing to his feet. A twinge of anger. There was the emotion. But it hardly lasted, as Harry looked off again. Snape raised his brows. Potter, refusing the chance to defend his fathers holy way of living? Something really was wrong with him.
Why should he even care? If anything, a silent, brooding Potter was an improvement. And yet... He thought of the razor blade. Would Potter really go that far as to mutilate himself? Or worse, kill himself. He was all the Wizarding world had left, even Snape had to admit that.
Snape strode to Harry's side, waving a hand in the boys face. Harry's eyes flickered away from his hand, but still empty. He tried another approach.
"Lost in your day dreams of fame, Potter?" He asked icily.
…...
Fame? Was that what this was? If this was fame, he'd rather jump from the Astronomy tower. That was an idea now... He could hear Snape talking, attempting to provoke anything out of him. He stood, focusing on the Professor. Was that worry on his face? Couldn't be. He hated Harry. Hated everything about him, from his lineage to how he walked for Merlins sake.
He walked out. Just left. Snape made no move to pull him back and make him stay. He had to leave, he was suffocating in his mind. He needed to move, to clear his mind. He walked everywhere and no where, up and down stairs, until he collapsed against a wall.
His head hurt. His scar hurt. It burned, but he knew Voldemort wasn't near here, and there was no vision, he wasn't seeing through his eyes, yet... It burned. He cried out once, grabbing his head as if it could make it stop. It didn't.
'Poor, weak little Harry...' the voice whispered. The pain was more then before. Much more. Was his depression causing it to be worse? 'Just end it. No more pain, no more suffering. For anyone.'
"No!" Harry yelled out loud. He hadn't meant to, but it slipped out. The pain began to subside, slowing to a dull throbbing.
"Harry..." A small voice came. He looked over, regaining his breath as he saw Hermione. She was looking at him, worry obvious. "Oh, Harry." She knelt beside him. "I knew something was wrong."
"I'm fine," He snapped, pulling his head away and flexing his neck. Hermione recoiled, staring into his sudden angry eyes.
"I just want to help-"
"No one can help, Hermione. No one," The last words came out as a whisper. He pulled his knees up, and rested his head between them. Hermione carefully placed an arm around him.
…...
Hermione led him back to the dorms after he'd felt well enough to walk. She worried for him, and that made him feel comfortable. Better. But not fully. He slept, but was restless, and he woke up with dark rings around his eyes.
At breakfast, Hermione paid much more attention to him than normal, Ron left behind in what was going on.
"Harry, let me go talk to Ron," Hermione said as the red head practically stormed away. Harry nodded, eyes flickering around. Malfoy and his gang seemed surprisingly quiet, but Harry preferred it that way.
Snape was watching him, although when Harry stared, he looked away as casually as if he hadn't meant anything by it. He did though. Why was Snape even paying attention? He was just a git who had no care for Harry Potter or any Gryffindor.
Hermione didn't return as fast as Harry had hoped, so he left on his own. Of course, he was never really on his own. People were everywhere, watching him, following him, pestering him. He smiled and continued his humble act. In truth he wanted to be rid of them all, to shout and curse them all.
He wanted to be alone, but he wanted someone there. No one here could be who he wanted though. He hardly trusted even his own friends.
…...
Harry skipped his first class. And the second. No one asked him why, no one cared. He hid away in the library, grabbing any books he saw, and reading them. Not really read, per say, more like skim, to avoid being kicked out by the Librarian.
Eventually he did leave, feeling dragged down by everything. He couldn't make himself stop with the mask of smiles, no one even knew anything was wrong with him. Maybe it was better that way.
"Harry! Where were you?" A panicked voice came. Hermione grabbed his shoulder and he looked at her. Ron was watching him with a reassuring smile. She must have told him. Hermione looked him over quickly, and he smiled meekly.
"I'm fine, Hermione. I just... didn't want to go to class?" He offered. His smile was so plastic, it almost hurt. But she gave him a serious, stern look.
"You can't just skip classes when you want, Harry!" She exclaimed. Ron chuckled, and she shot him a glance. Harry laughed a little at her reaction, and they both lightened up as if he was suddenly... Better. He couldn't be as far from it.
…...
That night, it was dementors that kept him thrashing. Coming down on him and Sirius at the lake, sucking every ounce of happiness. He woke up clammy and sweating. Careful not to disturb any of his classmates in the dorm, he went to grab his cloak. But it wasn't there.
"Damn it..." He spat quietly. He had left it in the Room of Requirements, when Snape had found him. Grabbing the Marauders map, he left. He would need to tread a little more lightly tonight...
It was almost 2 in the morning, and luckily few were awake at this ungodly hour. Snape was, of course, but as long as he stayed in his dungeons, Harry was safe. He went up the stairs and down the corridors, until he reached the seventh floor corridor. He stood in front of a wall, and closed his eyes.
I need my cloak back. He thought, trying to rid his mind of any other need. It wasn't as easy as he' hoped. As soon as he began to think of what he didn't need, his mind wasn't his safe haven. The door appeared, but he was almost afraid to open it.
It was the same as before, a bed, a fraught and his cloak. And a razor blade. He grabbed his cloak, turning and determined to ignore the glinting silver metal. It called to him like a magpie to shiny coins. He looked around, grabbed it, and fled, before he changed his mind again.
…...
He had the razor. He could have easily transfigured another item into a razor, a blade, something sharp, if he so wanted. But he had this one. He sat in bed, no longer longing to run around the castle, even with his cloak. It sat at the bottom of his trunk once again, while he sat on his bed, and played with the sharp metal.
It was 3 now, and everyone was still asleep. Maybe just a nick. He pressed the blade against his thumb, sliding it across easily. He gasped at first, but the beading of blood felt... calming. It eased the pressure. He watched the blood drip down his hand, clenching his fist to halt the blood flow, while adding pain.
The pain, it felt wonderful. It didn't feel like when his scar burned, it was warm, sharp. He loved it.
