I Am Cut
By: Morbid Malfunctions
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A/N: Eh. I'm bloody horrid at updating stories. I've been loaded with homework, and I am very sorry. Here is your new update.
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Chapter Two: Harder to Believe
Everyone was on the edge of their seats when the Sorting Hat opened his mouth and shouted out…
"SLYTHERIN!"
Gasps and loud shouts were echoing throughout the hall. Harry smirked as he stood, his robes fluttering as the colors changed from red and gold to green and silver.
No one noticed the silent Draco Malfoy, whose face was burried in his hands. His pale palms were hiding his gleeful grin from view. He would be in a load of shit if anyone found out he was pleased that Harry Potter was re-sorted into his house.
Harry walked over to the Slytherin table, practically glowing with self-confidence. He might not be instant buddy-buddies with the older Slytherin's there, but he knew that he was in the correct house. Knowing that he wouldn't have a chance sitting with his fellow 7th years, he took a seat at the end of the table, closest to the Head Table.
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The noise of the Begining Feast was starting to aggrivate Harry to no end. The loud chatter was grinding on his nerves, making his glare at anyone that dared look his way.
His wrists itched, they itched to feel the pleasureable pain that drove him to near insanity. His body burned with desire for the cold-bladed knife that was burried deep within his trunk. With an impatient sigh, he stood from the table and fled the Great Hall, ignoring all the gazes that were fixed upon his back.
Glaring at nothing in peticular, he glided down into the dungeons. He was pleased that he and Ron were led to the Slytherin dorms second year, otherwise he would have gotten lost. With a determined look, he walked up to the portrait that was hiding the common room from him.
"Password?" The portrait of Salazar Slytherin himself drawled, looking at him down his aristocrat nose.
"I dunno. I was resorted and left early." Harry mumbled, clearly embaressed.
"Oh, Harry Potter. Is that you?" Salazar drawled, amused.
"Of course, who else!" His thin lips curved up in some sort of half-smile.
"Do tell me, why were you not in my house in the first place?"
"Ah, long story. Do you mind if I call you Salazar?"
The portrait grinned, his silver eyes sparkling. "Not at all, young Harry. I shall see you tomorrow morning. Just a reminder, the password is: Viper."
Harry nodded. "Thank you, Salazar. Good night."
"Good night Harry."
His portrait swung open for him, and Harry let his robes billow out behind him as he entered the common room. It took him a while to find his bedroom, but he did eventually.
There were only two beds, king sized with fancy laced bedspreads and silk pillows. His was douced with a black cashmere (can't spell to save my life) comforter and red silk sheets. Violet pillow covers were wrapped around his eight fluffy pillows and he smiled. His bed matched his personallity perfectly.
His abormally green eyes flickered over to the secondary bed. A silver silk bedspread with ocean blue dragons was smoothed across the mattress, with only four icy blue pillows were grouped together on top. The sheets were a mix of the light and dark shades of blue, blending in perfectly with the perfected sleep-ware. Harry smirked. The first name that came to mind was: Draco Malfoy.
Sighing, Harry unlocked his trunk and searched through until he found his precious little blade. It was all he needed usually, but tonight he felt vunerable. Unsafe in the forgien room. He stripped himself of his clothes, spewing them across the room as he ripped them off his body. With a muttered spell, he collapsed to the ground as his Glamours fell. His pale, scrawny body flinched at the cold air of the dungeons.
With a feral grin, he took the knife in hand and slashed it against his wrist, his legs, his stomach and chest. Any skin he saw plain or unscarred he dug at. His eyes were wild as he released his pain upon himself.
He didn't know when Draco would come into the room, but this was something he needed. It wasn't like the blonde would even care. No one truly cared about him anymore. It was getting hard to believe that anybody cared. Harder to believe that anybody else could see through him. Past his masks of hard facade.
It's getting harder to believe, I'm thinking anybody else can see
The writings on the walls, but my notebooks on the shelf
And the pensil marks on paper slowly fade away with time
And the memories get blurry, 'cause they're locked inside your mind
Harry choked back a cry of anguish as recent memories of his life played across his eyes like a movie screen. He slashed at his body, trying to rid himself of the hurtful words, beatings, nights full of being raped by his uncle. The abuse was just too much. Too much.
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A/N: I think this chapter is better than the first two. -grins-