Chapter 2: Harry's Addiction

It was two days before school was scheduled to begin. Harry was talking now, but Madame Pomphrey still had not managed to retrieve that blasted dagger. Harry was being counseled by a squib therapist named Amelia Christopher. A nice, portly old lady who had been widowed quite recently. He was being treated for post-traumatic stress disorder. The sweet old lady always wondered why Harry only wore long-sleeved shirts and pants. She didn't understand how he could be so thin. She didn't know that he only ate one meal a day.

Harry was sitting out by a tree that gave him cover from the prying professors of Hogwarts. He was nestled in between these trees that provided nice shade against the scorching sun. Harry smiled as he pulled out his dagger. This was the only reason he smiled anymore. He caressed the blade with his thumb, a thin red line left in its wake and whispered, "You are my only friend now."

The dagger bit into his flesh of his right wrist. He sighed in bliss as the dagger sank into his already mutilated flesh.

"Harry? Harry, where are you?" Amelia shouted. It was time for his third and final meeting for this week with her. He had forgotten. It wasn't that he didn't like meeting with her, she was a nice old lady. However, he didn't feel that he had a problem.

'Shit. I'm bleeding all over the place. I can't believe I forgot.' Harry thought. Making one last slash for his ignorance, Harry stared forlornly at the blade. 'Until we meet again, farewell my trusted friend.'

"Harry, there you are! Where have you been?" The concern in her voice upset him. What right did he have to upset this lady? They began walking towards the castle and then down the hallway towards the class room where they had their "discussions."

'Another person I've let down. I'm such a failure.' He looked at her. "Forgive me. I must have lost track of the time."

"That's alright, dear. Now," she began stopping in front of their room. "Last time we were talking about blondes. . ." She stopped talking when she noticed the unconscious flinch that happened when she had said the word i blondes /i . "…Are you alright?"

"Yes, of course." Harry replied. The mask of indifference settling firmly onto his face.

"Anyway," she continued. "Today we are going to talk about your fear of blondes, where it stems from, and how to fix it."

"I'm NOT afraid of blondes," raged Harry.

"We'll see. Now, I'm going to show you many pictures and I want you to tell me what you first think of. Are you ready?"

A nod from Harry directed her to start with her first picture. The picture was Albus Dumbledore, dressed in splendid purple robes flashing a smile with twinkling eyes.

"Friend," said Harry.

The second picture was Madame Pomphrey, who appeared to be waving at him.

"Hospital Wing and fresh sheets."

The next picture was of Ronald Weasley, glaring at him in his dress robes from the Yule Ball.

"Jealousy."

The following picture was of someone he had never met before. They were modeling suntan lotion. He was splashing in the water and his hair was. . .blonde.

"I can't. I'm sorry. I just can't."

"That's alright, Harry. There is only two pictures left." She showed him a picture of Hermione Granger.

"The Library."

The last picture was Draco Malfoy in his dust-free impeccable robes. He was laughing at a boy that he had just tripped.

"Death," whispered Harry in a voice as if he couldn't breathe. He grabbed the picture and the therapist watched as he ran his fingers against the portrait.

" Why does this picture remind you of Death Harry?"

". . ."

" Well, I can't help you unless you let me." She pleaded.

i "You are going to die, Draco Malfoy. I'm going to kill you." /i

All his blocked memories burst forth from their imprisonment. Harry screamed and unsheathed the dagger. He looked at the therapist, and in a voice not like his own hissed, "You are going to die, Draco Malfoy. I'm going to kill you."

He slid the dagger against his wrist, in a way described by Amelia as crazed. She screamed and begged the hanging portraits to journey into the castle and fetch Snape, Dumbledore, and Madame Pomphrey. She watched in unconcealed horror as he pulled the dagger out of his wrist only to stick it in the other. A rapidly growing puddle of blood began to pool at his feet. He began to dizzy and then collapsed into the puddle. Snape, Dumbledore and Madame Pomphrey entered just as he fell onto the ground.

"Hurry, we must bring Harry to the Hospital Wing with haste. Amelia, please accompany us. Severus, fetch a blood replenishing potion if you please." Pomphrey said taking charge.

When Harry was safely tucked into a hospital bed with extra blankets to warm up his severely chilled body, she sighed. She didn't want to do this, but they had no choice. Harry was a danger to himself. Dumbledore thought it was for the best that he be restrained.

"Hold him down, Severus. I'm going to tie his restraints." She made quick work first tying his hands and then his feet. Lastly, she tied his stomach down. She put a magic proof spell on the bindings to insure that Harry did not use magic to escape.

"Aren't you going to remove that dagger?" Severus inquired. " You should seeing as that is how he has been hurting himself."

"I'm afraid, Severus, that none of our attempts to remove that dagger from his person have been successful."

"Nonsense." Snape stepped up to where Harry was and touched the dagger. There was so much power coming from it. Magic that should not be there. Comprehension dawned on Snape's face. " Did you check this dagger for dark magic?"

"No. We didn't. We must have forgot.."

"Undoixzen." Snape picked up the dagger. " I'm confiscating this. Needless to say, I will be examining this knife quite thoroughly. If you require my aid for any reason, just notify me." He left, dagger in hand.

Harry regained consciousness later that night. The opening feast was in less than two hours. He felt an itch on his nose, and he was quite surprised when he could not move his hand to alleviate said itch.

"Madam Pomphrey!" He screamed.

She ran into the room. "Harry, I am so glad you are awake. We were very worried about you."

"Why am I in restraints? Let me out. Please," pleaded Harry.

"I'm afraid that I am not allowed to, Harry. The Headmaster wishes to speak with you and your attending this school for the upcoming year depends on the outcome of the conversation.

"But. . ."

"Here he comes now." Albus walked over to the bed.

"Harry, my boy. It is very grave, young lad. This conversation we will be having."

"I'll just be leaving now. Just inform me when you exit."

Harry refused to look at Dumbledore. He, instead, began staring out the window.

"Now, Harry. Together we will be deciding whether or not you should attend school this year. Do you want to?"

"Of course, I do." Harry seethed. "Hogwarts is my home."

"Well then, some rules will need to be implemented and followed. You have to agree to them before you can attend this academy.

"What?" Harry began thrashing.

"You can't keep hurting yourself, Harry." Dumbledore continued calmly, ignoring the disgruntled youth. "Therefore, Rule One: No sharp objects. Your teachers will provide you with quills and inkpots and you will check them back in before you go to your next class. Rule Two: You will be checked every morning by Madame Pomphrey to insure no more cuts appear without explanation. Rule Three: You will attend meetings with a therapist of my choice since your own therapist does not believe she has the capacity to treat your illness. Lastly, Rule Four: If you are found breaking any of these rules, the consequences will be dire. However, if you break Rule Four, you will be immediately taken elsewhere for treatment and your schooling can wait. Rule Four: You are required to attend and eat every meal in the Great Hall unless you have explicit permission from me to miss. Do we understand each other?"

Harry nodded but inwardly thought, 'Oh, he'll think I'm following all his rules, but what he doesn't know won't hurt him.'