The clock hanging over the fireplace, ticking away the seconds, minutes and hours of Harry's life as he sat there, in the alcove – drowning in depression and despair, watching as he slashed away at the already scarred skin flesh of his arms. But it didn't really help, nothing seemed to. It was just relief, right? Escapism.
He sighed, his hand creeping down his side to the little flick-knife in his pocket, drawing it out, and staring at the glittering silver-skinned blade with a slight smirk.
He flipped his arm over, staring at the intricate tangle of scars on his skinny arm, and drew the blade across – feeling the relief flood through him at the cold edge bit into his arm. Blood flowers blooming up and growing, slipping down his arm, pooling at his elbow – soaking into the cloth of his shirt.
He felt
himself drag the knife across his arm again, separating skin, and it
hurt. Fuck, it hurt. He gasped in pain, realising too late that he'd
dug in too deep. He gulped, dropping the knife, hearing the clatter
of blood stained metal on stone. He fumbled for his wand, deftly
closing the wound with a flick of his wand.
He sighed, leaning
against the cold wall and trying to calm himself, and mentally
abusing himself for being so fucking stupid. I don't want to
Fucking die, I just want relief.
He climbed out of the alcove and moved over to the fire, however low it burned, he still could gleam heat from the dying embers. Harry stared in the hearth, the bright red of the blackened wood hurt his eyes, but he didn't care. A deep blood red glowed against the brilliant green of his eyes, reddening his alabaster skin, highlighting his jet-black hair, just proving that in your darkest hour, beauty can come of it.
He fell
asleep there, back propped up against the arm-chair, soothed into a
dreamless sleep by the fire. A slight saving grace to his mutilated
soul.
'You know Harry, beds' do tend to be a little more
comfortable than the common room floor.' Said someone, shaking him
– and obviously highly amused on finding him there. It was
Hermione.
'Ugh.. morning Herm.' He managed, stiff and sore
from sleeping in a stupid position.
'Morning, sleep well?' she teased.
He groaned, smirking. 'Fuck no.'
'Language Harry.' She warned, Harry scowled at her – which made her laugh. 'You can't scare me.'
'Damn.' He replied, grimacing as his stomach growled in protest of the lack of food for the last few days. 'Mm, I should really eat.'
Hermione gave him a sharp look. 'Still not ready to tell us what's wrong then?'
'No, not really.' He replied shortly, getting up stiffly.
She nodded, frowning. 'Well, are you coming?'
'Yes, Yeah I am Hermione.' He replied, feigning as much cheerfulness as possible.
She put her arm around him, leading him carefully out of the common-room and slowly down to the Great Hall, Harry wary the whole time of her seeing or feeling the scars on his arms.
He walked silently beside her, Hermione's endless rambling washing over him in a confused jumble of words, solely because he wasn't listening. He yawned, wincing as pain shot through his shoulder blades, punishment for the way he'd slept.
The Great Hall was practically empty, save for a few Ravenclaw girls arguing over Quidditch; one of them, Harry noticed – was in Ravenclaw practice robes. The new seeker?
'I don't fucking give a shit Amy.' She snapped, snatching the newspaper away from a girl with frizzy blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Amy stared at her friend, shocked at the tone and language.
'You're such a snob you know.' Amy retorted, watching her friend read the paper. 'And you're bloody spoilt.'
'Yes, I know. I'm spoilt. So what if my mother sent me a new broom because I'm seeker!' she hissed.
'So! The point is- Luna, can I have your copy of the Daily Prophet? Miss mardy-boots here won't share.
Luna smiled at Amy, handing it over. The girl in the middle, the one in the robes, scowled darkly at her two friends, then smiled – one that seemed to brighten up an otherwise sad face.
Harry stared at her for a second, looking away sharply as she turned his way. I'm fucked. He thought, sitting down heavily at the Gryffindor table. Hearing her arguing brightly with her friends over breakfast, he stared at the jug of Orange juice – sulking even more until someone waved a hand in his face.
'Now what's wrong with you?' muttered Hermione, buttering a slice of toast for Harry. He took it from her, eating it slowly. 'Is she the new seeker Ron was talking about?' she added, watching the girl on the Ravenclaw table with faint interest.
'Must be.' He replied, glancing briefly at her; she was extremely fair, with dark green; almost brown eyes and very dark hair. Her fringe fell into her eyes and the rest was pulled back messily. She brushed the hair from her eyes and smirked, glancing at her friend. She wasn't perfectly beautiful, but she was pretty. And Harry knew it, why he hadn't seen her before in his life he didn't know, but he didn't care.
'Harry? Do you want another slice of toast?' asked Hermione, concerned.
'No, I'm alright.' He replied, sneezing- and taking the tissue Hermione handed him.
'You shouldn't have gone out with no cloak yesterday.' She chided.
'Yes I know.' He replied sharply, shaking the stuffiness out of his head. 'Herm, I'm going to go for a walk and try to clear my head okay?'
'Yes okay then, don't forget you have Quidditch Practise.'
'I won't.' he replied, standing up and climbing free of the bench, smiling briefly at Hermione and walking along the length of the table, taking one last glance at the Ravenclaw seeker; feeling a jolt in his stomach as she caught his eye.
