PAIN
A/N: Honestly I never thought that little bit of writing would get so much attention. Thank you and please enjoy reading.
ATTEMPT #1
He had just turned 16 that very night. Making dinner for the people he had to call family, even though they didn't deserve that title. It was Harry's birthday and they knowingly denied him any food. Punishing him for being born as if he had a choice in that decision. Running up the stairs, he wonders why. Why was he given to this family? Logically, he knew why but using his heart he just couldn't find reason in the decision.
He had been hurting himself for awhile now, nothing serious just ACCIDENTLY burning his wrist while cooking breakfast or SLIPPING and cutting himself on the knife. It wasn't as if his family cared. Getting away with it was, no one ever asked. He panicked at first, not understanding why his will to live was slowly but surely leaving.
He wrote every day to his friends, mentors, anyone he could think of asking why he felt that way.
The answers he got were obviously less than helpful. It was expected apparently in his situation but it was something they said he needed to handle on his own. He had tried and long into the future those letters will come back to bite them. A few weeks had gone by and slowly Harry happiness started to leak from his pores into puddles on the floor, one more mess he had to clean.
The Dursleys were out and Harry was getting a rare opportunity to bathe for as long as he wished. Sitting on the bathroom floor with his forehead pressed to the porcelain of the tub, he looked as if he couldn't focus. He had been trying for weeks to contact his friends but it was pointless.
All he ever got back was short answers saying that they'll write him later when they had more time. Harry had wondered if his friends were together and leaving him out. He couldn't think about that right now, it's his time to relax.
Reaching he turns the tab to hot, as hot as it will go and after he retracts his arm he sluggishly rises from the tiles and strips off his clothes as if it's a chore. Harry steps into the shower not caring if he being cooked by it.
The pain it brings makes him feel more than he has in a long time, and for a moment he relishes in it. He quickly scrubs his body and hair, sitting on the floor when he is done. Looking down at himself, he feels tears coming to his eyes, whether from anger, sadness, or whatever else he could feel, he doesn't know, feeling only a sense of mourning over something he didn't know he lost. A frame of slight build, hunched in the corner of the shower, lets out the most heart wrenching howls as he shakes with the force of tears. Harry is at first unwilling to let them fall, but gravity is yanking them out of his tear ducts without any mercy. Slowly he can breathe once more, but not without difficulty.
Sitting up, Harry can't understand how people can just expect him to be fine and able to function after everything he has ever been through. Yes, he has gotten love but not enough to be sufficient, to function healthily. Out of his peripheral vision he caught sight of his uncle's razor, new and sharp. Before he even knows what he is doing, he has summoned it to his slick and red palm.
Not caring harry removes one of the small razors from its holding, and quickly without time for second thoughts swipes it down the length of his left forearm. He has scarlet tears dripping off his arm and turning into a gentle pink before swirling out of sight and he repeats his act of harm to his right arm with a bit of difficulty. Harry doesn't remember how much time sat there watching the ruby jewels fall from his skin.
The last thing he can remember is a gruff and husky voice screeching "BOY!" And then it's all gone. Blackness all around and for a moment he is at peace. Only for a moment.
PRESENT
~
Voldemort doesn't know what has gotten into the boy, but at this moment, he doesn't care. All that matters is that Harry Potter is his after years of struggling to obtain his most prized possession. The letter came with a snowy white owl that even after delivering the letter would not leave his quarters. He didn't mind though, she was sweeter than most owls.
Pacing was something the dark lord was good at, great even, so it was only appropriate that he commence such action while his death eaters were gathering. His entrails were tied into such tight knots that he feared even the strongest magic would fail to undo them. Suddenly Voldemort was struck with a thought so hard he stopped breathing for a mere moment. Why on earth was he, the great Lord Freaking Voldemort, nervous about collecting, Harry Bloody Potter? Is that even a question he wants to ponder now?
No it is not, he decides, and mentally pulls the thought from his mind and pushes it far away from his being. Voldemort can hear shuffling outside his door which signals to him all his recruits are here ready to bend over backwards at his will.
As he stalks through the door all movement stops and all bodies bow, he bellows out, "My faithful followers, it seems little Harry Potter has requested to be rescued from the bright and painful light." He let this sink in a moment before speaking again. "Tonight we will plan and tomorrow we will obtain the merchandise and the dark will be one step closer to rising again."
Sweeping out of the room, shouts of joy and twisted excitement were heard through the closing door and Voldemort knew he would be successful this time around. It was inevitable that he would rise once more and the fact the 'victim' was coming willingly was even sweeter than sugar. It was like a huge smack in the face of all who thought they knew the Potter boy.
He couldn't wait to see how much damage had been inflicted on his property. Voldemort may be quiet but he wasn't uninformed, he was aware of the suicide attempts but not in detail. That would change very soon if he had any say, and he had all the say in the world.
End of Chapter
