Harry leaned against the wall in satisfaction, and smiled at his reflection
in the mirror. Then he wished he hadn't. There was vomit around his mouth,
and his cheeks had become fat. Sadistic hospital staff. . .probably wanted
to turn him into a carbon copy of Dudley.
After a quick wash and bandage, he headed up to the library, having been given the day off to sort his belongings out. A breath-freshening charm was the first stop. . .once that was perfected, Harry felt much more relaxed. That is, until he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Mr Potter, a word if you please."
Snape didn't phrase it as a question, so Harry unhappily complied, following the Professor down to the Dungeons. Snape actually said the password loudly enough for Harry to hear, but Harry didn't bother remembering. If Snape thought there was ANY chance he would ever trust anyone again, he was seriously mistaken.
Harry sat in the comfy chair, and Snape looked at him.
"How are you?"
"I'm fine thank you sir. I have to be careful because my heart's still a bit weak, but overall I feel fine. Thank you."
Snape narrowed his eyes.
"I don't believe you."
Harry's expression remained bland, though he was fighting his temper.
"I want an answer, Mr Potter. A truthful answer."
"I gave you one" still in a tone that was not quite dead, but had no life in it either.
"I am head of Slytherin, Potter. Kindly credit me with some sense."
Harry's already short temper snapped.
"As Head of Slytherin, it's not your place to care then, professor. I am sure the rest of the school will look after me just fine, so why don't you concentrate on matters that actually concern you?"
His tone could have frozen ice, and almost made Snape flinch.
"I will not be spoken to like that in my own office!"
"Of course, sir" said Harry, getting up. He gave a sharp nod, and left the room before Snape could blink. However as Harry rounded the corner his stomach rumbled loudly, and Snape looked quickly at him. The cheeks were red. . .but he had seen Harry eating at lunchtime. Not much. . .but still. . .
Head whirling, he stared into the fire and considered what to do about the prickly Gryffindor who really was none of his business.
**************************************
Oh Merlin, what have I done? wailed Harry's conscience. I was so horrible to him, and he cared!
--No he didn't-replied Harry cynicism. -He just didn't want you dying on him. Self-preservation, you know. Dumbledore would have been furious if you'd died.-
Dumbledore does care! They all do!
--Stop whinging, piss off and don't bother coming back-
You'll destroy yourself. . .
-- Which part of 'piss off' did you not understand? --
I'm your conscience!
-- So am I. The pay sucks. Piss off! --
The argument between Harry's two consciences was abruptly disturbed as a head poked around his curtains.
"Oh, hi Harry. Feeling better?" asked Dean. Harry nodded absently, and resumed his staring into space.
"You know we've got double potions next? Snape'll skin you alive if you're late. . ."
"Fuck Snape."
Dean whistled, eyes wide.
"Harry? Are you feeling alright?"
"Yes thank you. But honestly, who'd go to potions from choice?"
Dean laughed and tugged Harry's arm. Harry tried very hard not to yelp as he felt some cuts begin to bleed again.
"You're a good guy, Harry. I don't want to see you get killed by Snape."
Harry smiled at the words. . .and it almost felt real.
**********************************************
If Snape was in the slightest bit surprised to see Harry, it didn't show. Since the fall of Voldemort, explained Dean, he was much less unfair. Still very harsh, and apparently he took as many points from Gryffindors, but he would help if help was asked for, and didn't penalise students for no reason. The class was actually quite interesting. Harry found the potion well within his capabilities and completed it. He had also researched a local silencing spell, which was a variation on a tongue-tying curse. It silenced his growling stomach completely, although he still suffered the odd feeling of the unused acids fizzing and bubbling.
So from Harry's point of view, the lesson went quite well. Snape, however, didn't enjoy it. Harry was nearing a normal size, although he was still slender. Though Snape had a high level listening charm on the classroom, mainly to hear students conversations, he heard no sounds from Harry. But he had a feeling something was wrong. He contemplated holding Harry back after the lesson, but decided that it would do more harm than good. The boy left quickly, with a group of other Gryffindors, and they disappeared from sight. Despite his concern, Snape was gratified to see that Harry's potion was perfect, and he awarded 2 anonymous points to Gryffindor for it.
****************************************************
Harry was no idiot. Well, he was, in one respect, but he couldn't see that. He had seen the look on Snape's face as he watched Harry eat. The annoying man suspected something. So at dinner, Harry waited until the end of the meal before he ate. Nobody noticed that he didn't have very much food. . .he ate slowly, and stayed out of the conversations for the most part. He left casually with the rest of the Gryffindors, being very careful not to hurry. A quick glance at the Staff table revealed Snape looking greatly relieved.
He remained in the Common Room for a few moments before pretending he had forgotten his Charms book from his dormitory. He hastened up the stairs, and went into the bathroom, silencing the cubicle he wanted to use. Smiling slightly at his cunning, he proceeded to push a finger down his throat. However the smile quickly faded as nothing happened. Another finger followed the first, and he just coughed, feeling the smooth muscles pulse around his fingers. This was no use! How had he done it earlier? Blood. . .
He barely felt anything now from the deepest cuts. It was a tolerance he had built up. But the flow of blood could still give him some pleasure; some form of release. It was the taste that pushed him over the edge, assaulting his senses. Again, a bloody finger pressed down, and he threw up the little that he had eaten. Suddenly he was curious, and transfigured a mirror in place of the door.
He stood topless. His ribs had virtually disappeared underneath a layer of fat, and he was suddenly reminded of when his Aunt had taken Dudley to a circus. There had been mirrors which reflected opposites back, so Dudley had appeared slender and Harry obese. He shuddered at the memory, and threw up without even meaning to. His throat burned, rubbed raw by probing fingers. Some cuts had healed now, leaving raised pink ridges. Others bled at Dean's previous pull, and some were growing black and scabbed over. He liked them red best. Open, and stabbing with pain like a thousand knives. It felt right. It felt like punishment. Punishment for becoming so fat.
"Harry? You there?"
Harry gasped; he hadn't realised he'd been such a long time. Quickly removing the spells preventing anyone from entering his sanctuary, he yelled back,
"2 seconds!" and hastily wrapped his arms in bandages.
When he came out, Dean was gone, and he summoned his book wandlessly and walked into the Common Room. Dean smiled and gestured to a chair, which Harry took. Harry was just explaining to Dean why exactly you should use a swish and flick for 'Wingardium Leviosa' but a jab for 'Occulis Reparo' when an owl flew in through the window. Harry frowned and opened the letter, his face rapidly turning the colour of old porridge.
"Harry,
Believe me, if I could come and wring your neck then I would. But I can't. I can't even send a damn Howler because I'm in the middle of nowhere. But do you have any idea how cross and disappointed I am? I got Dumbledore's letter last night, and wrote back to him immediately. But you? I just don't know what to say! Do you really value me, Hermione, Ron, Dumbledore, that little? And your parents. . .they died for you, Harry, and you just throw it away for no goddam reason? I did NOT spend all these years first escaping from Azkaban and then hiding from Dementors just to have you decide to jump off the bloody Astronomy Tower! You couldn't possibly understand true depression. Stunts like that just make me so angry. Merlin, Harry, do you hate me so much?
As your Godfather I have the choice of your punishment; you will leave the Quidditch team, and have nothing to do with it, and you will also be banned from Hogsmeade trips. I suppose I'll see you in time. Don't bother writing back.
Snuffles."
Harry felt bile rise in his throat for the fourth time that day. Ignoring Dean's concerned questioning, he quickly rose and bolted to the toilet where he threw up again, not bothering with silencing spells this time. He didn't care when he heard footsteps behind him. Didn't care when a fist slammed into the back of his head, sending his forehead crashing into the toilet basin. Didn't care that it was his ex-best friend.
A laugh. Bitter.
"Great Harry Potter. Sirius told me everything, you know. He gave me permission to tell everyone, as soon as you'd received his letter. What a tragedy. . ."
"Go away, Ron". Harry was proud that his voice held out that well. Everything was swimming in front of him. A kick to the ribs; he could cope with this. He wouldn't think of Vernon or Dudley. Would not. Would not cry. He retched again, wondering if his throat would actually crumble. It felt like it could. He wouldn't give Ron the satisfaction of seeing him cry. He just had dust in his eyes, that was all.
"W-Why are you doing this, Ron?"
"I hate you. I'm jealous. And now it doesn't matter what happens to you, because we all know that you've outlived your purpose. Nobody cares what happens to you now."
Harry hung his head. He knew it was true. He just wanted it be over.
And then it was. Just as his ears had started to roar from the pain shooting through his ribs, the foot stopped and there was the sound of shouting and scuffling. Then a shouted 'Stupefy', and hasty steps.
"Harry? Harry! Can you hear me?"
Harry blinked at Dean.
"I'm fine. You just misunderstood! We were only playing!"
Dean frowned at Harry.
"Playing?" Harry's masochistic side took over, and he nodded with a small smile.
"Playing. I know we're a bit old, but it's been a long time since we saw each other"
Dean didn't look convinced, but he released Ron.
"You are sure?"
Harry nodded cheerfully, and then sent an unidentifiable expression to Ron when Dean had left.
"Do what you like, Weasley. I don't care anymore, and I know concealing charms."
The look of amazement on Ron's face was almost worth the pain.
*************************************
Harry had been truthful - he was good with concealing charms. Very good. The practise he'd needed had paid off, and he could transfigure his face into whatever shape he wanted, as well as making bruises and cuts go away. Unfortunately, strong wizards like Snape or Dumbledore could still destroy the image.
Ron had left him alone after Dean left, but Harry knew he'd seek Harry out soon enough. People like that just couldn't get enough. It was a drug that wasn't a drug. . .rather like the trail of blood weaving down Harry's stomach where he had just carved a huge lightning bolt into his chest.
Maybe he was going mad. . .
After a quick wash and bandage, he headed up to the library, having been given the day off to sort his belongings out. A breath-freshening charm was the first stop. . .once that was perfected, Harry felt much more relaxed. That is, until he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Mr Potter, a word if you please."
Snape didn't phrase it as a question, so Harry unhappily complied, following the Professor down to the Dungeons. Snape actually said the password loudly enough for Harry to hear, but Harry didn't bother remembering. If Snape thought there was ANY chance he would ever trust anyone again, he was seriously mistaken.
Harry sat in the comfy chair, and Snape looked at him.
"How are you?"
"I'm fine thank you sir. I have to be careful because my heart's still a bit weak, but overall I feel fine. Thank you."
Snape narrowed his eyes.
"I don't believe you."
Harry's expression remained bland, though he was fighting his temper.
"I want an answer, Mr Potter. A truthful answer."
"I gave you one" still in a tone that was not quite dead, but had no life in it either.
"I am head of Slytherin, Potter. Kindly credit me with some sense."
Harry's already short temper snapped.
"As Head of Slytherin, it's not your place to care then, professor. I am sure the rest of the school will look after me just fine, so why don't you concentrate on matters that actually concern you?"
His tone could have frozen ice, and almost made Snape flinch.
"I will not be spoken to like that in my own office!"
"Of course, sir" said Harry, getting up. He gave a sharp nod, and left the room before Snape could blink. However as Harry rounded the corner his stomach rumbled loudly, and Snape looked quickly at him. The cheeks were red. . .but he had seen Harry eating at lunchtime. Not much. . .but still. . .
Head whirling, he stared into the fire and considered what to do about the prickly Gryffindor who really was none of his business.
**************************************
Oh Merlin, what have I done? wailed Harry's conscience. I was so horrible to him, and he cared!
--No he didn't-replied Harry cynicism. -He just didn't want you dying on him. Self-preservation, you know. Dumbledore would have been furious if you'd died.-
Dumbledore does care! They all do!
--Stop whinging, piss off and don't bother coming back-
You'll destroy yourself. . .
-- Which part of 'piss off' did you not understand? --
I'm your conscience!
-- So am I. The pay sucks. Piss off! --
The argument between Harry's two consciences was abruptly disturbed as a head poked around his curtains.
"Oh, hi Harry. Feeling better?" asked Dean. Harry nodded absently, and resumed his staring into space.
"You know we've got double potions next? Snape'll skin you alive if you're late. . ."
"Fuck Snape."
Dean whistled, eyes wide.
"Harry? Are you feeling alright?"
"Yes thank you. But honestly, who'd go to potions from choice?"
Dean laughed and tugged Harry's arm. Harry tried very hard not to yelp as he felt some cuts begin to bleed again.
"You're a good guy, Harry. I don't want to see you get killed by Snape."
Harry smiled at the words. . .and it almost felt real.
**********************************************
If Snape was in the slightest bit surprised to see Harry, it didn't show. Since the fall of Voldemort, explained Dean, he was much less unfair. Still very harsh, and apparently he took as many points from Gryffindors, but he would help if help was asked for, and didn't penalise students for no reason. The class was actually quite interesting. Harry found the potion well within his capabilities and completed it. He had also researched a local silencing spell, which was a variation on a tongue-tying curse. It silenced his growling stomach completely, although he still suffered the odd feeling of the unused acids fizzing and bubbling.
So from Harry's point of view, the lesson went quite well. Snape, however, didn't enjoy it. Harry was nearing a normal size, although he was still slender. Though Snape had a high level listening charm on the classroom, mainly to hear students conversations, he heard no sounds from Harry. But he had a feeling something was wrong. He contemplated holding Harry back after the lesson, but decided that it would do more harm than good. The boy left quickly, with a group of other Gryffindors, and they disappeared from sight. Despite his concern, Snape was gratified to see that Harry's potion was perfect, and he awarded 2 anonymous points to Gryffindor for it.
****************************************************
Harry was no idiot. Well, he was, in one respect, but he couldn't see that. He had seen the look on Snape's face as he watched Harry eat. The annoying man suspected something. So at dinner, Harry waited until the end of the meal before he ate. Nobody noticed that he didn't have very much food. . .he ate slowly, and stayed out of the conversations for the most part. He left casually with the rest of the Gryffindors, being very careful not to hurry. A quick glance at the Staff table revealed Snape looking greatly relieved.
He remained in the Common Room for a few moments before pretending he had forgotten his Charms book from his dormitory. He hastened up the stairs, and went into the bathroom, silencing the cubicle he wanted to use. Smiling slightly at his cunning, he proceeded to push a finger down his throat. However the smile quickly faded as nothing happened. Another finger followed the first, and he just coughed, feeling the smooth muscles pulse around his fingers. This was no use! How had he done it earlier? Blood. . .
He barely felt anything now from the deepest cuts. It was a tolerance he had built up. But the flow of blood could still give him some pleasure; some form of release. It was the taste that pushed him over the edge, assaulting his senses. Again, a bloody finger pressed down, and he threw up the little that he had eaten. Suddenly he was curious, and transfigured a mirror in place of the door.
He stood topless. His ribs had virtually disappeared underneath a layer of fat, and he was suddenly reminded of when his Aunt had taken Dudley to a circus. There had been mirrors which reflected opposites back, so Dudley had appeared slender and Harry obese. He shuddered at the memory, and threw up without even meaning to. His throat burned, rubbed raw by probing fingers. Some cuts had healed now, leaving raised pink ridges. Others bled at Dean's previous pull, and some were growing black and scabbed over. He liked them red best. Open, and stabbing with pain like a thousand knives. It felt right. It felt like punishment. Punishment for becoming so fat.
"Harry? You there?"
Harry gasped; he hadn't realised he'd been such a long time. Quickly removing the spells preventing anyone from entering his sanctuary, he yelled back,
"2 seconds!" and hastily wrapped his arms in bandages.
When he came out, Dean was gone, and he summoned his book wandlessly and walked into the Common Room. Dean smiled and gestured to a chair, which Harry took. Harry was just explaining to Dean why exactly you should use a swish and flick for 'Wingardium Leviosa' but a jab for 'Occulis Reparo' when an owl flew in through the window. Harry frowned and opened the letter, his face rapidly turning the colour of old porridge.
"Harry,
Believe me, if I could come and wring your neck then I would. But I can't. I can't even send a damn Howler because I'm in the middle of nowhere. But do you have any idea how cross and disappointed I am? I got Dumbledore's letter last night, and wrote back to him immediately. But you? I just don't know what to say! Do you really value me, Hermione, Ron, Dumbledore, that little? And your parents. . .they died for you, Harry, and you just throw it away for no goddam reason? I did NOT spend all these years first escaping from Azkaban and then hiding from Dementors just to have you decide to jump off the bloody Astronomy Tower! You couldn't possibly understand true depression. Stunts like that just make me so angry. Merlin, Harry, do you hate me so much?
As your Godfather I have the choice of your punishment; you will leave the Quidditch team, and have nothing to do with it, and you will also be banned from Hogsmeade trips. I suppose I'll see you in time. Don't bother writing back.
Snuffles."
Harry felt bile rise in his throat for the fourth time that day. Ignoring Dean's concerned questioning, he quickly rose and bolted to the toilet where he threw up again, not bothering with silencing spells this time. He didn't care when he heard footsteps behind him. Didn't care when a fist slammed into the back of his head, sending his forehead crashing into the toilet basin. Didn't care that it was his ex-best friend.
A laugh. Bitter.
"Great Harry Potter. Sirius told me everything, you know. He gave me permission to tell everyone, as soon as you'd received his letter. What a tragedy. . ."
"Go away, Ron". Harry was proud that his voice held out that well. Everything was swimming in front of him. A kick to the ribs; he could cope with this. He wouldn't think of Vernon or Dudley. Would not. Would not cry. He retched again, wondering if his throat would actually crumble. It felt like it could. He wouldn't give Ron the satisfaction of seeing him cry. He just had dust in his eyes, that was all.
"W-Why are you doing this, Ron?"
"I hate you. I'm jealous. And now it doesn't matter what happens to you, because we all know that you've outlived your purpose. Nobody cares what happens to you now."
Harry hung his head. He knew it was true. He just wanted it be over.
And then it was. Just as his ears had started to roar from the pain shooting through his ribs, the foot stopped and there was the sound of shouting and scuffling. Then a shouted 'Stupefy', and hasty steps.
"Harry? Harry! Can you hear me?"
Harry blinked at Dean.
"I'm fine. You just misunderstood! We were only playing!"
Dean frowned at Harry.
"Playing?" Harry's masochistic side took over, and he nodded with a small smile.
"Playing. I know we're a bit old, but it's been a long time since we saw each other"
Dean didn't look convinced, but he released Ron.
"You are sure?"
Harry nodded cheerfully, and then sent an unidentifiable expression to Ron when Dean had left.
"Do what you like, Weasley. I don't care anymore, and I know concealing charms."
The look of amazement on Ron's face was almost worth the pain.
*************************************
Harry had been truthful - he was good with concealing charms. Very good. The practise he'd needed had paid off, and he could transfigure his face into whatever shape he wanted, as well as making bruises and cuts go away. Unfortunately, strong wizards like Snape or Dumbledore could still destroy the image.
Ron had left him alone after Dean left, but Harry knew he'd seek Harry out soon enough. People like that just couldn't get enough. It was a drug that wasn't a drug. . .rather like the trail of blood weaving down Harry's stomach where he had just carved a huge lightning bolt into his chest.
Maybe he was going mad. . .