"Shit" said Harry. Then he ran. Before he was hit with a body bind, and
fell to the floor. Dean pulled him over so he was looking up, and Harry
felt a guilty twinge at the worried expression on his face. Then his
resolve hardened. It was none of their damned business.
"Harry, honestly, we didn't mean to pry."
Harry would have come out with a very Snape-ish retort if his mouth hadn't been magically shut, so he settled for glaring. It seemed to work; Dean edged away slightly. However he continued doggedly.
"We were worried, and then Seamus saw your arm bleeding, and we care, Harry. We don't want to see you hurting yourself."
Harry's heart twinged again. Perhaps they really did care. About Harry. But he had imagined that Snape had, and look how wrong he'd been there. Surely it wasn't a risk worth taking? He settled for glaring once more, scornfully, and Seamus loomed over him.
"I want to talk, Harry. If you will listen without running, blink twice."
Harry blinked twice and Seamus took off the spell. Harry made good use of his height over the Irish boy to stand up and glare menacingly down on him, before he carefully chose his words.
"Thank you for caring. I will never forgive you for looking through my belongings. I don't want to talk about my feelings or anything else, and I am managing just fine on my own, thank you very much, so please leave me alone."
Dean stepped forward.
"We're not leaving you alone, Harry. Not anyway, but especially not after I found this."
Any remaining colour drained out of Harry's cheeks as he stared at the parchment he had written that morning. The suicide ideas. Bloody hell, this was shaping up to be the worst day in his life. Ever. Dean and Seamus looked accusing, which made what he was about to do next an awful lot easier.
He laughed.
*****************************************
Dean looked at Seamus in confusion and his Irish friend shrugged nonplussed. Why was Harry laughing?
"Oh, you two. C'mon, how dense are you being?"
Even to Harry's ears the words sounded fake. He was fake. He was lying.
"You're overreacting! I mean, seriously. Who doesn't experiment with this sort of thing? Yeah, I did it a few times, just to feel what it was like. But it's hardly like I'm hooked or anything."
His eyes twinkled merrily, and he smiled benevolently at the two slightly bemused Gryffindors.
"I'm sorry I worried you. . .but really, you shouldn't have panicked. Everyone does it! It's just part of growing up."
He saw the cautious glances they exchanged, and cheered inwardly. He had already anticipated their next question. Stupid Gryffindors. They couldn't see through any sort of lie. If it was a Slytherin. . .if it was Snape. . .he would be in St Mungos already. Fools.
"But what about that parchment? It talks about suicide!"
Harry forced a concerned expression onto his face.
"Yes. . .I found it in the Common Room today, and put it in my bag to show McGonagall. I was quite concerned. It's not my handwriting! I don't know who left it though."
It was true; he had obviously been so distressed at the time that he had been unable to even write properly, and the writing looked like that of someone else. It was a lie that might just work, especially on two not- especially-astute Gryffindors who would probably give their lives if Harry told them to.
A cold, hard knot of pain and fear and hatred and sadness gathered in his stomach, and he forced a smile, hoping that his eyes looked like they were shining with happiness rather than tears. It worked.
It had always worked.
It always would work, because it was so simple.
Tell them what they want to hear. Let them believe what they want to, and don't cross their minds.
Dean let out a breath.
"I still think it's pretty fucked that you're doing that, Harry. I think you should get some help."
Harry grimaced, smiling inwardly at how well he could lie when he needed to.
"I didn't really want to tell anyone about it. Because they'd freak out." he looked pointedly at the boys. "But I'm taking anti-depressants. Muggle ones. They help a lot."
It hurt him, made him cringe, to talk about himself this way. Like he was some sort of crazed attention-seeking schoolchild. Perhaps he was. On second thoughts, he didn't want to contemplate his inner feelings. They scared him sometimes.
********************************************
Dean looked at Seamus uncertainly.
"Do you believe him?"
"Ye-ess. . ." murmered his friend, his eyes concerned. Together, they wrenched the door back open to see Harry standing by his bed, a stream of blood running down his arms which were horribly scarred. Dean was suddenly overcome with fury. He pulled out his wand and yelled 'Expelliarmus!'
Harry flew backwards and landed on Ron's bed, gasping. Dean threw the knife down and grabbed Harry's collar.
"You stupid bastard! Just admit that you need help!"
Harry spat in his face, livid, and Seamus gripped Dean' hand to stop him from slapping the Boy Who Lived.
"I think we need to see McGonagall."
Harry narrowed his eyes.
"Look, I've told you once to stay out of this. I don't want to repeat myself." Inwardly he was furious at being so foolish as to underestimate them. "I can destroy any evidence, and I will if you force me to go to anyone."
Dean shook his head, and held up Harry's wand. Then he petrified Harry and levitated him up to the Infirmary.
Pomfrey looked up, and sighed.
"What's he done this time?" she asked resignedly. Dean shook his head.
"He cut himself. Can you get the Headmaster and professor McGonagall?"
Blanching slightly, Pomfrey moved over to the fireplace and called everyone to the Infirmary as Dean sank down next to Harry, who was glaring blue murder at them both. Pomfrey rolled up Harry's sleeves and saw. . .
Nothing.
She looked icily at Dean and Seamus, who were totally nonplussed.
"I thought you said. . ."
"He did! We. . ."
". . .saw it, we saw the knife and. . ."
"Well there's patently nothing wrong with him! I think. . ."
"We're not lying! We honestly. . ."
"Saw it, we would swear our lives to it!"
"What exactly is going on here?" asked Dumbledore, who had just entered. McGonagall was right behind him, and they both paled slightly on seeing Harry.
"Oh no."
"No, Headmaster, he's alright." Pomfrey shot an evil look at the two Gryffindors. "He's just fine."
"He's not!" protested Seamus vehemently. "He was cutting his arms!"
"Well I see no marks!"
Dumbledore held up his hands automatically, forcing a twinkle into his eyes, and stepped between the medi-witch and the Gryffindors. Inwardly his mind was swirling. He had known people who had known people who had self- harmed. To him, it had seemed like a cry for attention. But one could never be too careful. And it seemed he had misjudged the Boy Who Lived terribly in the past. This theory would also explain what it was Severus had always refused to tell him. . .
Moving next to Harry, he examined the boy carefully. The skin was completely unblemished, white and fine. Completely unblemished. . .he froze, and checked. Yes, it was that arm which Wormtail had cut. Clever, sneaky boy.
"Finite incantatem" he said. There was no effect, the arm stayed as smooth and unmarked as it had been. But deep inside he felt a flicker of power, the murmur of a deep spell. There was a concealment charm.
Delving deeper into the boy's magic and mind, he repeated the spell, aware of Poppy shooing away the other watchers. The spell was hard, and as he tried to break it the cords resisted strongly, pushing him further away and confounding his mind. Eventually, knowing that he would pass out from exhaustion if he was much longer, he released Harry and sank back, looking through narrowed eyes at his prodigy. Had he really been so terrible as to bring this on the boy's shoulders, or had he been an accident waiting to happen, as it were?
McGonagall placed a hand on his shoulder tremulously.
"Albus?"
"Concealing charms" he said shortly. "Too heavy, too powerful for me to break."
Her hand squeezed his shoulder gently, and he sat back suddenly feeling very much his age.
"Was it all my fault?"
McGonagall didn't answer; perhaps she didn't know what he meant. Perhaps.
"Will you send Severus up to my office, please? And ask Poppy to inform me as soon as Harry wakes up."
And with that, he swept out of the infirmary, twinkle firmly in place, smiling benevolently at everyone he met on the way back to his office.
**********************************************
Snape snarled the password at the gargoyle and walked swiftly up the stairs, rapping sharply on the headmaster's door. He didn't know what this was about, but he had been in the middle of a very good book and glass of red wine, mentally steeling himself to face his next class. Dumbledore's voice commanded him to enter, and Snape suddenly had a bad feeling. That was the type of voice he'd heard used before. And the repercussions were not normally very nice.
Resignedly he entered the office, and winced at the cold fire burning in Dumbledore's eyes. He sat without being asked to, as he had a feeling he would need to. He didn't have long to wait before Dumbledore blew up.
"You fool! You knew all along that Harry was harming himself, and did not see fit to inform anyone!"
Snape couldn't remember ever seeing the headmaster so angry; perhaps because he knew about everything, and had time to formulate a suitably grave demeanour. Anyway. . .
His eyes flashed like sleet, and Snape sank back in his chair, trying to think of a good excuse. None came, and he settled for cursing the boy. Dumbledore leaned forwards, his eyes still furious.
"Two of his friends took him to the Hospital Wing today, claiming his arms were cut. Nobody could see anything. There didn't seem to be any concealing charms. There were, though. Deep and strong, so much so that I could not break them."
Snape winced. Nothing would piss Dumbledore off more than inaptitude.
"Well, Severus? Why is it you have not seen fit to inform me? For Merlin's sake! Anything could have happened. Were you trying to respect his privacy? Did you think he'd get better on his own?"
Again, Snape couldn't answer. He felt a flush rising in his face as it occurred to him how stupid he'd been. Dumbledore leaned back, now looking more old than angry, and regarded Snape.
"I am very disappointed in you, Severus. I will not take any action, but I do expect you to visit the Hospital Wing and talk to Harry; both to apologise, and find out more about his problem."
Snape nodded numbly and left, all the while thinking,
'Curse the boy for putting me in this position.'
"Harry, honestly, we didn't mean to pry."
Harry would have come out with a very Snape-ish retort if his mouth hadn't been magically shut, so he settled for glaring. It seemed to work; Dean edged away slightly. However he continued doggedly.
"We were worried, and then Seamus saw your arm bleeding, and we care, Harry. We don't want to see you hurting yourself."
Harry's heart twinged again. Perhaps they really did care. About Harry. But he had imagined that Snape had, and look how wrong he'd been there. Surely it wasn't a risk worth taking? He settled for glaring once more, scornfully, and Seamus loomed over him.
"I want to talk, Harry. If you will listen without running, blink twice."
Harry blinked twice and Seamus took off the spell. Harry made good use of his height over the Irish boy to stand up and glare menacingly down on him, before he carefully chose his words.
"Thank you for caring. I will never forgive you for looking through my belongings. I don't want to talk about my feelings or anything else, and I am managing just fine on my own, thank you very much, so please leave me alone."
Dean stepped forward.
"We're not leaving you alone, Harry. Not anyway, but especially not after I found this."
Any remaining colour drained out of Harry's cheeks as he stared at the parchment he had written that morning. The suicide ideas. Bloody hell, this was shaping up to be the worst day in his life. Ever. Dean and Seamus looked accusing, which made what he was about to do next an awful lot easier.
He laughed.
*****************************************
Dean looked at Seamus in confusion and his Irish friend shrugged nonplussed. Why was Harry laughing?
"Oh, you two. C'mon, how dense are you being?"
Even to Harry's ears the words sounded fake. He was fake. He was lying.
"You're overreacting! I mean, seriously. Who doesn't experiment with this sort of thing? Yeah, I did it a few times, just to feel what it was like. But it's hardly like I'm hooked or anything."
His eyes twinkled merrily, and he smiled benevolently at the two slightly bemused Gryffindors.
"I'm sorry I worried you. . .but really, you shouldn't have panicked. Everyone does it! It's just part of growing up."
He saw the cautious glances they exchanged, and cheered inwardly. He had already anticipated their next question. Stupid Gryffindors. They couldn't see through any sort of lie. If it was a Slytherin. . .if it was Snape. . .he would be in St Mungos already. Fools.
"But what about that parchment? It talks about suicide!"
Harry forced a concerned expression onto his face.
"Yes. . .I found it in the Common Room today, and put it in my bag to show McGonagall. I was quite concerned. It's not my handwriting! I don't know who left it though."
It was true; he had obviously been so distressed at the time that he had been unable to even write properly, and the writing looked like that of someone else. It was a lie that might just work, especially on two not- especially-astute Gryffindors who would probably give their lives if Harry told them to.
A cold, hard knot of pain and fear and hatred and sadness gathered in his stomach, and he forced a smile, hoping that his eyes looked like they were shining with happiness rather than tears. It worked.
It had always worked.
It always would work, because it was so simple.
Tell them what they want to hear. Let them believe what they want to, and don't cross their minds.
Dean let out a breath.
"I still think it's pretty fucked that you're doing that, Harry. I think you should get some help."
Harry grimaced, smiling inwardly at how well he could lie when he needed to.
"I didn't really want to tell anyone about it. Because they'd freak out." he looked pointedly at the boys. "But I'm taking anti-depressants. Muggle ones. They help a lot."
It hurt him, made him cringe, to talk about himself this way. Like he was some sort of crazed attention-seeking schoolchild. Perhaps he was. On second thoughts, he didn't want to contemplate his inner feelings. They scared him sometimes.
********************************************
Dean looked at Seamus uncertainly.
"Do you believe him?"
"Ye-ess. . ." murmered his friend, his eyes concerned. Together, they wrenched the door back open to see Harry standing by his bed, a stream of blood running down his arms which were horribly scarred. Dean was suddenly overcome with fury. He pulled out his wand and yelled 'Expelliarmus!'
Harry flew backwards and landed on Ron's bed, gasping. Dean threw the knife down and grabbed Harry's collar.
"You stupid bastard! Just admit that you need help!"
Harry spat in his face, livid, and Seamus gripped Dean' hand to stop him from slapping the Boy Who Lived.
"I think we need to see McGonagall."
Harry narrowed his eyes.
"Look, I've told you once to stay out of this. I don't want to repeat myself." Inwardly he was furious at being so foolish as to underestimate them. "I can destroy any evidence, and I will if you force me to go to anyone."
Dean shook his head, and held up Harry's wand. Then he petrified Harry and levitated him up to the Infirmary.
Pomfrey looked up, and sighed.
"What's he done this time?" she asked resignedly. Dean shook his head.
"He cut himself. Can you get the Headmaster and professor McGonagall?"
Blanching slightly, Pomfrey moved over to the fireplace and called everyone to the Infirmary as Dean sank down next to Harry, who was glaring blue murder at them both. Pomfrey rolled up Harry's sleeves and saw. . .
Nothing.
She looked icily at Dean and Seamus, who were totally nonplussed.
"I thought you said. . ."
"He did! We. . ."
". . .saw it, we saw the knife and. . ."
"Well there's patently nothing wrong with him! I think. . ."
"We're not lying! We honestly. . ."
"Saw it, we would swear our lives to it!"
"What exactly is going on here?" asked Dumbledore, who had just entered. McGonagall was right behind him, and they both paled slightly on seeing Harry.
"Oh no."
"No, Headmaster, he's alright." Pomfrey shot an evil look at the two Gryffindors. "He's just fine."
"He's not!" protested Seamus vehemently. "He was cutting his arms!"
"Well I see no marks!"
Dumbledore held up his hands automatically, forcing a twinkle into his eyes, and stepped between the medi-witch and the Gryffindors. Inwardly his mind was swirling. He had known people who had known people who had self- harmed. To him, it had seemed like a cry for attention. But one could never be too careful. And it seemed he had misjudged the Boy Who Lived terribly in the past. This theory would also explain what it was Severus had always refused to tell him. . .
Moving next to Harry, he examined the boy carefully. The skin was completely unblemished, white and fine. Completely unblemished. . .he froze, and checked. Yes, it was that arm which Wormtail had cut. Clever, sneaky boy.
"Finite incantatem" he said. There was no effect, the arm stayed as smooth and unmarked as it had been. But deep inside he felt a flicker of power, the murmur of a deep spell. There was a concealment charm.
Delving deeper into the boy's magic and mind, he repeated the spell, aware of Poppy shooing away the other watchers. The spell was hard, and as he tried to break it the cords resisted strongly, pushing him further away and confounding his mind. Eventually, knowing that he would pass out from exhaustion if he was much longer, he released Harry and sank back, looking through narrowed eyes at his prodigy. Had he really been so terrible as to bring this on the boy's shoulders, or had he been an accident waiting to happen, as it were?
McGonagall placed a hand on his shoulder tremulously.
"Albus?"
"Concealing charms" he said shortly. "Too heavy, too powerful for me to break."
Her hand squeezed his shoulder gently, and he sat back suddenly feeling very much his age.
"Was it all my fault?"
McGonagall didn't answer; perhaps she didn't know what he meant. Perhaps.
"Will you send Severus up to my office, please? And ask Poppy to inform me as soon as Harry wakes up."
And with that, he swept out of the infirmary, twinkle firmly in place, smiling benevolently at everyone he met on the way back to his office.
**********************************************
Snape snarled the password at the gargoyle and walked swiftly up the stairs, rapping sharply on the headmaster's door. He didn't know what this was about, but he had been in the middle of a very good book and glass of red wine, mentally steeling himself to face his next class. Dumbledore's voice commanded him to enter, and Snape suddenly had a bad feeling. That was the type of voice he'd heard used before. And the repercussions were not normally very nice.
Resignedly he entered the office, and winced at the cold fire burning in Dumbledore's eyes. He sat without being asked to, as he had a feeling he would need to. He didn't have long to wait before Dumbledore blew up.
"You fool! You knew all along that Harry was harming himself, and did not see fit to inform anyone!"
Snape couldn't remember ever seeing the headmaster so angry; perhaps because he knew about everything, and had time to formulate a suitably grave demeanour. Anyway. . .
His eyes flashed like sleet, and Snape sank back in his chair, trying to think of a good excuse. None came, and he settled for cursing the boy. Dumbledore leaned forwards, his eyes still furious.
"Two of his friends took him to the Hospital Wing today, claiming his arms were cut. Nobody could see anything. There didn't seem to be any concealing charms. There were, though. Deep and strong, so much so that I could not break them."
Snape winced. Nothing would piss Dumbledore off more than inaptitude.
"Well, Severus? Why is it you have not seen fit to inform me? For Merlin's sake! Anything could have happened. Were you trying to respect his privacy? Did you think he'd get better on his own?"
Again, Snape couldn't answer. He felt a flush rising in his face as it occurred to him how stupid he'd been. Dumbledore leaned back, now looking more old than angry, and regarded Snape.
"I am very disappointed in you, Severus. I will not take any action, but I do expect you to visit the Hospital Wing and talk to Harry; both to apologise, and find out more about his problem."
Snape nodded numbly and left, all the while thinking,
'Curse the boy for putting me in this position.'
