November 25

Christ. Jesus frigging Christ. I was sitting in the common room with Harry and he went to the dormitories early because his scar was hurting him something awful. So I said okay, goodnight, I'll be up there shortly. I went up about an hour later and he had ripped the skin on his forehead, all around his scar right off. He wasn't wearing a shirt and his skin was ripped and shreaded, I don't think he knew what he was doing, his eyes were glazed and he had a look like a trapped animal. I wrapped him up and carried him downstairs. It wasn't hard, he's lost so much weight lately. I wonder why in hell I didn't notice it before. I took him to the hospital wing and told everyone he had the flu. I went to visit him at around nine o'clock and he was standing at the window. He wanted to know if it was high enough. He thought it was but he wasn't sure. He didn't want to jump out of the other window because there were some first years standing underneath it. His eyes had that glazed look and I carried him back to his bed. I've been sitting here since then. He woke up about half an hour ago and he seemed perfectly sane. He was scared, he didn't know what he had done to himself. Dumbledore won't let him leave the school. He wants him to stay here and continue like nothing is the matter. For the first time in my life I think that he's wrong. Bleedin' Christ. When you lose your mind where does it go?