Okay guys. I know it took me very long, but I finally made it. I have to admit that Snape still did not appear in this chapter, but in the next one! And it's already written and I'm going to post it right after this one.
I would really love to hear your opinion, if you're reading this!

IMPORTANT: There are some changes: WARNING FOR SELF HARM!
If this does affect you in any way, please stop reading! It is very detailed!
Even though self harm is an important thing in my life, I never thought I would include it in this story...But it just happened, so...

Ah, and I just wanted to remind you, that I'm german and very sorry for any mistakes in my story!

Chapter 3

Deciding that he should visit Snape was more easy than actually doing it. The first problem was a very practical one: Where is Snape?
But he knew it would not be hard to find his former potions professor. Snape wasn't teaching anymore but he could always ask McGonagall, who now was headmistress of Hogwarts, about Snapes whereabouts.
McGonagall and Harry would still contact eachother from time to time and he knew that even though McGonagall and Snape never made the impression to like eachother they were friends. Even if she wouldn't know where exactly Snape was she would be able to help him on his search.
So his first problem actually wasn't a problem – or at least it was easy to solve.

The second problem about visiting Snape was something entirely different: What should he do, after he found Snape? What was his reason, after all? He didn't know it, he just had the feeling that it would clear things up for him. But Snape would want to know a reason for Harry visiting, after all their relationship was non-existent.
So the days passed and Harry still didn't do anything except existing, working, eating. Not that he was eating very much, his appetite got smaller with every day.
Ron and Hermione each wrote a letter a few days before, he assumed they have been talking about him. He had answered, he even was kind of proud of himself that he was able to keep his mind focused long enough to write two letters.
His job wasn't really keeping him from thinking and overthinking everything. It was only a little job in a shop in muggle London. Life was easier around muggles. They would not stare at him all the time. All he had to do to get the job was faking a few documents. He even rented a litle flat in London, because he didn't want to live in Sirius old house. After all he was already thinking about him nearly every day, so why choose to live in his birth house?
But there were days on which he didn't think at all, not even about Sirius. Afterwards he named them „Days without thinking" in his head. They seemed to pass in a blur and sometimes he wasn't even able to remember everything that had happened during the day.

One of those blury days brought a soution for Harry, or at least something he thought of as a solution.

He was at home, trying not to let his mind wander too much and was biting his thumb in an attempt to keep his mind focused. As he realised what he was doing, he realised another thing: He wanted to see it. He wasn't biting down hard, after all it was only unconsciously in the beginning. But he wanted it to leave a mark. He wanted to be able to see what he had accomplished. So he tried to bite down harder, but his body was betraying him. The pain always made him stop. It was ridiculous, he thought. After all he had gone through much worse injuries in his life, this little bite was nothing against them.
It might not have been working the way he wanted, but he was beginning to feel excited.
There had to be another way, so he looked at his surroundings searching for something to harm himself. As he was in his kitchen, he soon saw the drawer with the cutlery. His excitment got even bigger, he walked over to it, opened it and took out one of the knives he used for cutting fruits. Growing up in a muggle environment without magic still influenced his life. The knife wasn't big, but he knew it was sharp as he always kept his belongings in a good shape. Just something Petunia taught him.
He contemplated where to use the knife. Doing it on his hands was not a good idea, everyone would be able to see it and he wouldn't be able to use his hands properly. His gaze wandered from his left hand to his left forearm and a grin spread across his lips. It was perfect. Wounds wouldn't annoy him there. Plus it was autumn and already cold, so everyone was wearing long sleeves.
So he put the knife on the outside of his left forearm and took a deep breath. He was so nervous he couldn't even think properly. But he pressed the knife down, just a little bit, his instincts trying to hinder him from harming himself. Slowly dragging the knife across his arm he watched his skin, eager to see something.
But he didn't feel pain and he didn't see any mark or blood. Disappointed he put the knife on the kitchentable. After all the things he did in his life, all those risky stunts with Ron, playing Quidditch, fighting others, hurting others and even killing others he couldn't believe that he wasn't able to cut his skin, not even a little bit.
Determined he picked the knife back up, dragged it across his skin again. This time, he could feel a little pain. Nothing more than breaking the skin just a little bit. Excited, his eyes stared at his arm, searching for something that shouldn't be there, a sign that he was able to do this. A thin line appeared, but he still was disappointed. There was no blood, his skin was just a little bit irritated. He could feel anger building up in his stomach. The anger was directed towards himself, towards the fact that he wasn't able to remain in control of his life, towards the fact that he wasn't even able to harm himself properly.
The anger deformed his face, made him raise the knife and made his arm come down fast, dragging the blade of the knife through his skin again, this time with more power, strength and speed. Not just one time, but three times. After the third time, he stopped. His heart was beating fast and he stared at his left forearm. This time, he could see his skin gaping open. Blood was bubbling up on some points in the cuts, forming drops that soon joined others, forming bigger drops that slowly began moving over his skin towards the ground and finally falling down to it.

He was disgusted. That was not how he had planned it to be. All he wanted was a mark, something he could see, something to hold on to. But he guessed he would have his mark, he just had to stop the bleeding. So he put a few paper towels onto it and also cleared up the few blood drops on the ground. After the blood had dried, he looked at his wounds again. They weren't very deep and would heal without help, even though scars would remain.

Suddenly he was proud. It was strange, but he was kind of proud of these three cuts on his arm.

He put the knife away and continued with his day, his steps a little bit lighter than before.

The following days his thoughts were about harming himself. He didn't do it again immediatly, but it was something new and exciting. Only a few times he thought about visiting Snape.