Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Everythingyou recognise belongsto JKR.
Pain.
Pain cut through everything. The feelings of worthlessness, self hate and loathing. Blood represented those feelings, flowing in rivulets down his arm. The feelings of calm only lasted a few seconds before the pain came raging back through the blissful haze.
Harry sighed, raking his hands through his unkempt hair. Untidy as it had been before, it now fell around his face in a mess of dirty strands. He barely recognised himself in the mirror anymore. Green eyes that had once sparkled with intensity and life were now clouded with hurt, and shrouded with pain. His whole face had a gaunt, haunted look, for he could not remember the last time he had eaten a proper meal.
The pain overwhelmed everything. At one time, Harry had been able to push away dark thoughts and think of the good times. There wasn't any good times anymore. Not since the end of life as they had known it. Harry couldn't even summon up any anger for Voldemort anymore. What threat could a dead man pose to the world? But he had left so many legacies of pain and hurt behind that it was impossible to forget and move on. Everything that Harry had built his life upon had come crashing down around him on that fateful day.
He'd seen a lot of pain throughout the years. But nothing…nothing…could compare to that day. So many had fallen. A battlefield, strewn with bodies. Harry would never forget the stench of death, pain and fear. People he had known…people he had loved like family…he could still see them lying there. Blood running down their faces, empty glassy eyes staring, looks of pain on the faces. Looks that would remain there forever. Their cries would haunt him forever. When he did sleep, their faces looked accusingly at him. Taunting him about his failure. Reminding him that whatever the prophecies might have said, he was still useless. That his aunt and uncle had been right. He was supposed to save everyone…the saviour of the wizarding world. But in the end…he was just a boy. He had killed Voldemort, sure. But at what price? His friends, his home, everything that he had once counted important…it had all been stripped away. Memories that he had once held dear where now worthless. There was no longer anything to hold dear.
The pain and guilt he felt at losing them was still fresh and raw. The mental scars had become intertwined with the physical ones. The only thing he could now rely on was pain. Pain was real. It reminded him of what he had done…what he had to pay for. He was a murderer. He had killed. Harry felt the blood of all Voldemort's victims of that day on his hands. If he had been quicker, smarter…it could have all been so different. But he hadn't. It had taken the death of so many innocents to unlock Harry's true potential. But with that unlocking, Harry had lost his very essence and core. He had lost his innocence and what had made him Harry. Unleashing his anger and pain on the one who had caused it all, he had ended it. But at a cost. He had lost all reason to live. He didn't feel anything anymore, except the pain. The pain was what kept him from going insane.
He lifted the knife and slashed his arm again. Blood trickled down, the knife representing his torment. It would be so easy to end it. But he didn't deserve that. He deserved this life full of pain, hurt and brutality. It reminded him that there was no longer anyone to care. No one cared, and no one noticed. Harry survived each day in a cloud of pain, with no silver lining, but instead a lining that hung in tatters. His life was a spiral of self loathing and retribution.
Cruel steel met soft skin and sliced through it, cutting through the morass that he called life. This wasn't life…this was merely existence. His body may be alive, but the soul…the soul was dead. Lost forever in the intricate folds of existence and pain.