A/N: Before we start, this has lots of blood and stuff in it and mentions of what appears to be torture. This ends after the second page break so when you get there, you're pretty much in the clear despite it being spoken about (it's discussed but not in detail and it's more about the reasoning rather than the event itself)
'I'm going mad.
I don't know what's happening to me. I have memories that are mine but I can't remember doing them. The darkness is growing and I can't stop it. I'm having nightmares of Godric torturing me and I don't know a Godric. He knows a Godric. And I am him. I always have been him.
I'm going mad. I don't know what to do.'
Harry was lying on a floor. The unlacquered wood panelling was splintered which Harry was sure led to the extreme discomfort that was occuring in his facial region. His cup of tea from yesterday was opposite his face meaning that he was in his house on the sitting room floor. It was light. He must have been unconscious for at least ten hours if the crick in his neck was anything to go by; this begged the question of where India was. She wasn't what you'd call an early riser but she was always awake by this time. What was 'this time'? A brief look at the clock on the wall supplied 11 o'clock. Where was she?
Harry pushed himself up from the floor only to slip on something wet. Blood. Nice.
The scars.
Harry desperately pulled his tee up and stared at his chest, running his fingers along the familiar scars of his past. The front was pretty clear, only a few minor red slashes alerted his attention. Looking in the mirror, his back was a different story. Red lines criss crossed along his back, blood was dried in the ridges and flaps of skin were hanging on for their life. This was horrendous. It had never been this bad since he was nine and the words had appeared. Blood loss was not unexpected then. What was unexpected was why he was still alive? No one could survive that. Apart from a freak.
FREAK
A mug smashed behind him. He span round to see India stood in the doorway from the hall, her mouth frozen wide open.
'Harry?' she whispered, 'Harry, is that you?'
Even India couldn't recognise him.
'India, go, I don't want you to see this,' Harry pushed out, his eyes flaring in humiliation. Not India. India didn't have to know. This was private. He needed to know first, he couldn't let her know. No, she would have to be removed as a threat; it was the logical thing to do. Maybe he should keep her around. It could be useful. But the humiliation and shame was too great, she didn't need to know.
'Harry-'
'No, India, go!' he almost shouted to the watery eyed girl. She had started to move towards him, her hand slightly forward as if to reach out to his.
'Harry, what happened? You can tell me-' she said softly, sincerity ringing through her tone. Her eyes seemed as if they were about to start leaking. Was she crying? Over him?!
'India, I don't-' he mumbled. The pain was starting to kick in now. It felt like slashes down his back, as though whips were striking him scar by scar. He gasped in ill concealed pain.
'Bullshit, Harry. That's it we're going to the hospital,' India said, scooping up her coat and looking for her boots. Harry could barely see through the pain, his mind was fuzzy and everything was going black. You're weak. No he wasn't weak; he could do this. He didn't need a healer telling him what he already knew. He didn't need some person experimenting on him; locking him away like some freak.
'Dittany-' he gasped. He bit into his lip in an attempt to dispel the pain but it was only getting worse. The strikes hurt more as they hit raw flesh. India hesitated as she watched her house mate collapse to his knees in non-existant strikes. What was happening to him? As Harry opened his mouth to let out a tortured shout, she gave into reckless abandon and ran to the medicine cabinet and grabbed as many potions as she could find. By the time she had sprinted back, Harry had fallen onto his side and was flinching every so often with a muted cry from his lips.
'Dittany. Harry, this is gonna sting but just wait for it to end, alright?' India said as she unstoppered the bottle and poured it all over Harry's back. He screamed.
What they do not tell you in textbooks, potions or healer journals is that Dittany is very similar to strong alcohol in its antiseptic properties and burns with fire when applied to open wounds. There is a reason it is called 'burning bush'. But that is of little consequence now as there is a screaming teenager on the floor and a marginally older teenager pouring it on his back.
'Oh my- Harry I'm so sorry! I didn't think it would-' India cried as she watched Harry writhe on the floor. The wounds seemed to close slightly with a hiss and white foam almost leaked out of the wounds. Harry's face relaxed slightly, his eyebrows became less furrowed and his eyes opened a fraction.
'Pain relief potion. Now!' Harry shouted through his pain and soon felt the lip of a conical flask meet his lips. He sipped it slowly before falling into a drug induced haze.
India stayed kneeling as she watched in shock.
'So you come into the house covered in blood and screaming bloody murder and then you fall asleep on my floor? Unbelievable. Just unbelievable.'
India stayed with Harry all day, just watching him and cleaning any blood that puddled in his cuts. Harry seemed to be utterly unconscious but he flinched every now and again or let out a little whimper of pain before going back under. His back was horrific: deep cuts seemed to mark every section possible with long straight lines. His arms were in one way worse though: words had gradually appeared on his arms. At first they seemed to just be a mild irritation, then they became a glossy white, barely visible to the naked eye unless you looked from the right angle, but then they grew and bled. Harry looked like he had been beaten up or something else equally horrible.
What confused India was that it was still happening, almost as though someone had cast a spell on his to remotely hurt him- surely there was not magic like that though? India had never heard of such a thing! Harry though- he always had a book for every situation. Harry's books practically consumed the house; surely there must be a book about what was going on?
India stared up at the book case, her eyes running along the titles of the infamous books Harry seemed to collect as a hobby: 'Moste Potent Potions' ' Gallium's Methology: an in depth guide to curse creation' and 'νεκρομαντεία'. India wasn't sure what this meant and in fact what language it was in, but whatever it was it looked pretty dark seeing the black leather covering and, if the number of creases in the spine were to suggest anything, that it was of particular interest to Harry. With this in mind, India made a mental note to look at it later when she had time to spare. Currently, speed was of the essence.
India grabbed a book that appeared to be about delayed curses if the obscure latin title was to meaning anything- from what India could make out, it appeared to be 'Curses ... time ' and then something else in small print. It was going to be a long night.
The next morning India woke with a biro lodged up her nose.
It turned out she wasn't as good at the whole research thing as Harry was and so translating and understanding a Latin text book written by Pliny the Younger proved to be tedious and monotonous task. India, ever the diligent student, had made reams of notes about the subject despite the fact she couldn't seem to draw any meaningful conclusion from what she had read:
'Delayed curses have varying effects on the victim depending on the strength of the caster. If the caster has high magical power, the curse can be delayed indefinitely; if the caster is weak, however, the curse will take place any time as quickly as a couple of minutes or hours later.
Delayed curses are intrinsically linked with blood magic and the idea of rituals. To cast a delayed curse you must take time between preparing the curse and delivering it, thus making delayed curses ideal for torture and magical punishment. Before the use of Dementors in Azkaban, delayed curses were used through blood magic to ensure consistent pain for the criminal. This was disbanded in 1487 when it was shown to have a detrimental effect on the caster, in some cases the curse backfired and caused the caster to experience the effects rather than the victim.
A fan of delayed curses was Salazar Slytherin who infamously tortured Gryffindor to insanity through use of the stated, using well placed curses to mirror the effects of whipping and unadulterated torture; however, this is widely perceived as rumour seeing as no true evidence could be found.'
The more India read about Slytherin, the more she realised he was a git.
India could only conclude that either a) Harry had been kidnapped and held hostage at some point in his life by a powerful wizard, or b) he had casted a delayed curse and in his youth and inexperience, it had backfired and left him with horrendous cuts. India wasn't sure which one she favoured...
India picked up the book and started reading again, looking for a clue as to how to stop the connection for either end. 286 pages later she found what could be construed as an answer:
'The only way of severing the connection is killing the caster as the magic is in constant flow and thus the connection must be severed. Either the caster's magic or life must be halted. Either way, someone ends up dead.'
This Pliny chap was a right old bundle of joy. It was either keep the curse going or kill someone. Problem was she didn't know who to kill: Harry or some random bugger who wanted to kill Harry. She would start with the latter.
Filled with a renewed sense of determination, India set about writing a list of anyone who would want to kill Harry. Half way down the page she realised that actually that the list was actually almost half of the pureblood population and probably a load more. And Voldemort. She couldn't forget Voldemort.
With a resigned sigh, India took one last look at Harry snuggled under his duvet on the sofa. His face was so peaceful in comparison to the weary, battered and angry complexion he usually had. It was almost childlike the way he had buried half of his face into the pillow with his mouth slightly parted. The blood in his hair somewhat drew away from the overall image but India couldn't help but feel slightly warm at the sight of her companion looking something that closely resembled happiness. It was a sweet image.
India tucked Harry in a bit more and smoothed his incorrigable hair before pulling her boots on and apperating to Diagon Alley to try and find the one person she thought would be able to help: Remus Lupin.
She arrived on the street with a crack. The street looked the same as it did last time: puddles sat around the drains and all the houses looked like they had seen better days. Remus' house was still run down and in need of a good paint job, not that she'd ever admit that to the man! She opened up the shaky garden gate and walked up the path to Remus' house, peering in through the window to see if he was in, well in the front room at least. The curtain had slipped slightly to the side and India could see a desk surrounded by books. It seemed a happy little study with numerous quills with their tops chewed off. The thought of chewing a quill made her shiver; ever since Astoria Blackwood had spitefully covered hers in dribbleberry juice - a foul, bitter tasting liquid that strongly resembled vomit - India had had a very real sense of paranoia around chewing her quill; one that despite Harry's teasing, India thought was very well reasoned.
India rapped on the door with three decisive knocks and stood back, waiting for the smiling man to arrive. The door was harshly pulled open to reveal a man who looked like he'd been pulled through a hedge backwards, knocked by a rake, and then run over by a bus in that particular order. His eyes were ringed and he had large black bags under his eyes that looked like he'd had a go at doing eye makeup and gone to a celtic warrior for advice. All in all, Remus Lupin looked like he had most definitely seen better days.
'What?' he groaned as he massaged his forehead, 'Was there an issue with my order?' India froze in front of the man who she wasn't entirely sure should be at home rather than in the hospital.
'No, sir,' India began with a small twitch, 'I came to ask about some areas of magic that aren't exactly dinner table conversation and seeing as you're the Defence Professor I thought you'd be the best person to go to. I didn't really want to ask any of the other teachers because the only one I know well enough is McGonagall and she scares me,'
That ellicited a laugh from the man, who then pulled a face that spoke of sore regret at doing so. India was pretty sure by now that either he had the mother of all hangovers or that he was about to die from some horrific disease.
'Minnie's alright when you're on her good side... I never really was but she isn't as bad as you'd think. Sorry, you're on my doorstep, do you wanna come in? I'm making a tea of pot,' Remus said, almost half asleep. India rose her eyebrows. This man wasn't nursing a hangover or dying: he was stoned. At least he would think that this was all some trip. A boring trip but India could live with that.
'Sorry, my brain's half dead right now. I'm making a pot of tea; want some?'
Bugger.
'Oh yes please, Mr Lupin,' India smiled as she took a look around the downstairs as innocently and discretely as she could. It seemed like the usual stuff: school photos, books, more books, more school photos. He seemed pretty knowledgable though if the seven 'Hogwarts' Award for Outstanding Achievement' certificates were anything to go by.
India followed Lupin into his small kitchen and sat on the proffered stool as she watched Lupin fish around his cupboards for tea bags; the pot was already on the side and was surrounded by tea stained rings on the counter around it: Lupin obviously had a tea obsession. After having received her drink and cradling it in her hands, India decided to crack on and get straight to the point.
'What do you know about delayed curses, Professor?'
Lupin raised his eyebrow and stared at her intently, all sleepiness gone from his demeanor. He lowered his cup of tea and placed it on the counter, his fingers loosely gripped the handle as he watched.
'Why would you want to know about those?' he asked with a slight tilt of the head. His expression was one of shock and mild amusement despite the morbid topic of conversation.
'Call it trivial interest. Do you know anything about them?' India repeated with slightly more insistance.
'Well yes I do, but they are no longer commonly used. Went out of fashion years ago,' he chuckled as if recounting a fond memory, 'They're no longer widely used, not since around 1000 AD and that was only after some big scandal involving the muggle Royal family,'
'So is it likely that one would be used today?'
Lupin quirked his eyebrow again and replied in a much more suspicious manner: 'Well yes, it is possible, but likely? I doubt it. You would have to be extremely adept at magic to pull one off successfully and even then there's the question of knowing about them. I only know about them because I was a autonomous reader, but I can't imagine the average wizard knowing about them, seeing as they are so rare,'. Lupin took another sip of his tea as he watched the young book keeper; she kept on rapping her fingers along the table as if to remind herself she had to be somewhere.
'Say someone cast this spell- any delayed spell- and it backfired, would it ever run out on its own course or would it have to be halted artificially?' India asked, trying to school her features into something that vaguely resembled innocence. If Lupin's narrowed eyes and slight tilt of the head were anything to go by, she was failing. India couldn't bring herself to kill Harry; it was unnatural for such a young person to cast such a horrible curse. With that in mind, India stored any thoughts about Harry being the initial perpetrator away and decided to focus on how to track down the caster in the first place.
'I believe that it could be halted artificially; most spells can be. How you would go about it? I couldn't say,' Lupin scratched the growing stubble on his face, his face a picture of contemplative concentration. Cup of tea still in hand, Lupin skirted out of the room and into the room that seemed to be a mixture between a dining room and a study; India followed unsurely behind him (she wasn't entirely sure she was meant to be following him, but her curiousity got the better of her once again - a fatal strength according to Harry) and watched him brush his fingertips over the spines of the dog-eared books that covered one of his walls. He was muttering something under his breath and every now and again stopped for a fraction of a second before continuing. It wasn't until the fourth shelf down that he truly stopped and pulled out a brown leather-bound book.
'This was once the secret to our success,' Lupin chuckled as he turned to face India, 'My friends and I were, for lack of a better term, notorious pranksters in our day and making sure a charm or hex went off at the right time was, as you can imagine, a very important part of our jokes. There is nothing of the scale you are looking for in here, but it's worth a read none the less. Most of our charms before they were activated could be halted by a simple finite incantatum but after everything had gone off, they were sometimes impossible to halt - well, to our knowledge anyway,'
He held the book out with a small smile. It was worn and battered and had etches of a badly drawn dog or wolf or some canine- India couldn't even tell- with ginormous testes and a deer with penises for antlers scribbled on the inside cover after a quick inspection; Lupin profusely blushed at this and stuttered out apologies as he had completely forgotten those were in there and he should have thought to check and really he was truly sorry, but India just grinned at the pictures that had obviously been drawn by teenage boys in class (probably History of Magic).
After Lupin's personal embarrassment, India quick bid her leave after thanking him for the tea and potentially promising to not bug him again; when she apparated back it was already getting dark outside and so she hurried back into the house where Harry was waiting for her.
Well, when India said 'waited', it was more of a 'he's not asleep and he's acknowledged my appearance in the house' which in Harry's book were pretty much the same thing.
Harry was upside down on the sofa with his head dangling over the edge of the cushions, a straw from his drink next to his mouth. He stuck his tongue out and chased the straw around the glass in a desperate attempt to get the bloody straw into his mouth. After thirty seconds of trying to catch the straw and evading India's incessant questioning, he gave up with an exapserated sigh.
'India, seriously, you have got to let this one go. It's not a biggie and it's gone of for years now and it's not been an issue before,' Harry groaned,' I mean yeah I get that it's a tad weird and not exactly normal, but I'm fine now. Look!' he exposed his chest to show the scars that had formed and aged on his torso. They were no longer the stark pink they had originally been, instead they had reduced to white lines that stood out from his tanned skin. On the one hand, Harry was glad that the scars were no longer painful, but in a way, he wished they were: they would serve as a reminder of what he could go through and push him to delve deeper into his past, never sleeping until he knew all the answers.
India sighed as she watched him glaze over the cuts that had hurt him so much not two days ago.
'I know, I get it. It's just- it shouldn't happen, it's not normal. It's not right,' she insisted, 'Harry, you've gotta see this; you can't remain oblivious to the fact that this is dark magic. It's not your every day expelliarmus, this could kill you some day! And I refuse to stand by and watch that happen. I refuse to stand by and watch you be ruined.'
'Oblivious?' Harry span round and sat up straight, his drink forgotten. 'You think me oblivious? You of all people? I know more about dark magic than you even care to think. I know the full implications of what happens to me, I know how this sort of thing works; I've used it.
'Do you think I have ever been an example for what is normal? I'm a freak, a weirdo; I always have been and I always will be. You want to know why? It's because you cannot be normal when you've seen the things I've seen, done the things I've done and been the person I am. I already am 'ruined'. I know it's not right. Honestly, I do. But never think that I accept it without question and that what I get is not what I deserve,'
Harry's eyes were stormy as he regarded India. At some point during his tirade, he had risen and was now stood peering over India who was leaning back in her chair. His drink began to shiver on the floor, the tinkling adding to the cacophony of silence that had swept over the room. All of a sudden, the tinkling stopped and India let a breath out she hadn't realised she had been holding. Harry looked almost remorseful as he dragged his hand over his face.
'You know what, India. Just drop it, just drop it' Harry said and with one last mournful look, he left the room.
He couldn't help it, the outbursts. They just appeared from nowhere, flashing and burning everything they touched. India's face ran over and over again in his mind, replaying the fear that was so obviously in her eyes. He just felt so angry the whole time. He was a danger to her. He couldn't live with himself if the monster inside of him reared its ugly head and hurt the person he was growing to care about most.
He cared about her more than he wanted to admit.
He flung himself down onto his bed and pushed a pillow over his face, trying to fight the thoughts that were raging inside his head. He could see no way to counteract what was happening to him: the nightmares, the scars, the new bits of him that were becoming uncovered oh so slowly. It was like he was trapped in his own personal horror movie where he was the monster, the victim and the survivor all in one horrible package.
Just run. Save her while you still can.
India would never forgive him. She would never look at him even if their paths crossed. But at least she would be alive, not dead at his hand. He had killed before.
NO. That wasn't him, that was someone else. Not him, never him. He hadn't killed before. But he had, he could remember it.
'That's not me. That's not me. That's not me,' he mumbled into his pillow. His breathing was laboured and every breath came in and out in several short bursts. The pillow was wet. He was crying. He didn't cry. He wasn't allowed to cry. He had always been told that.
'NO SON OF MINE SHALL CRY IN SUCH A PITIFUL MANNER'
He wasn't pitiful. He just didn't know how to cope. There was too much in his mind and it hurt. It hurt so much. India was right, this wasn't normal and he needed help. He was already ruined though. She couldn't stop that and he didn't expect her to: it was a fanciful notion of a innocent child who had not seen the darkness of the world. Harry couldn't fight it anymore; he couldn't fight the constant presence in his mind that pushed and pushed and pushed in a manner that was so natural and beautiful and pure that Harry couldn't help but feel like it belonged.
So he gave in.
The pain was unbearable.
A/N: I know this seems like a really weird chapter that doesn't seem to have much in it apart from 'what's happening to harry' 'ew he has cuts' but it's actually a turning point in the story and so even if it looks ueber weird now, I promise it will make sense soon... By soon, I mean like seven chapters' time, but you guys can wait that long... Hopefully.
Anyway, it would be really great if you guys could comment on this chapter and say whether you like the direction this story is going in and what you think about my writing style. I know it's changed a lot since I started writing and I want it to improve further and the only was I can do this is by getting feedback.
I'm trying to integrate two key elements of the plot in this chapter and so I want to know whether you feel it is working or whether you think I need to give more explanations or what?
Anyway, please comment and tell me what you think because I do really want to improve and you guys are the people who can help me xxx thanks :)