A/N: This story was my first chaptered one, and can be found on the HPFanFiction site found on my Bio. But like my other stories, I'm updating it here as well. However, I'm going to space out these chapters as I upload them, even though they're already all written, and there's even a sequel to it. If you can't wait, like I said, check out my other FanFiction page. But if you'd like to wait for each chapter as I upload it, feel free to do so. Also, as I mentioned in the summary, this story has scenes of cutting, some of which get pretty graphic in the chapters to come, so if you're not into that stuff, I'd advise you to stop now.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Harry Potter series. However, J. K. Rowling does, so if you'd like to buy purchasing rights to them, talk to her.

More Pain Than I Can Bear

Written by SiriusBlack4Ever

Chapter 1

Harry was lying on the cold, hard floor of his room in Number 12, Grimmauld Place. He had a book propped open in front of him, but he hadn't even read one word out of it for the past hour. He wasn't even looking at it anymore. He was just staring at the wooden boards on the floor in front of him, deep in thought.

He was thinking about nothing and something. He was thinking about happy things and sad things. He was plainly just thinking about anything and everything, all at once, and his mind was quite full of thoughts. He was remembering things from as far back as to when he was a toddler, to things that had happened just recently, like what he had had for breakfast that morning. Or rather, what he didn't have for breakfast that morning.

-o-

Even as he sat at the kitchen table at seven o'clock in the morning, he couldn't help but think. His mind had been working constantly since he had returned to school after the incident at the Department of Mysteries, and it just never seemed to stop. He was constantly thinking, and this left little time for things such as meals.

"Harry," Mrs. Weasley had asked him that morning, her voice etched with worry. "You haven't eaten much since you arrived here a few nights ago, and you're looking rather peaky."

"What?" Harry asked, a bit confused. "Oh, sorry, Mrs. Weasley, I wasn't paying attention. What were you saying?"

"Harry, is there something wrong?" she asked him, the worry becoming stitched deeper into her voice now.

"No, Mrs. Weasley," he told her absentmindedly. "I'm just thinking."

"It's impossible to do so much thinking on an empty stomach," she told him.

"Quite frankly, Mrs. Weasley, that isn't true," Harry told her, his eyes staring off into space. "For there are six impossible things before breakfast, and thinking does not happen to be one of them."

Mrs. Weasley looked very confused by this, and wasn't exactly sure what to say. Harry wasn't sure where he had got that from – he thought that it was from some muggle book, but he couldn't remember. He hadn't read books for so long, it was hard to recall. Of course, he couldn't really expect much more; lately, he hadn't remembered anything except for the thoughts that were constantly running through his mind. He had even forgotten Ron's name once, calling him Percy, which caused Ron to create an uproar.

Harry didn't feel like eating anything, and he certainly didn't feel like having to sit under the stare of Mrs. Weasley for so long, so he just stood up and attempted to leave.

"Thanks for breakfast, Mrs. Weasley, it was wonderful," he told her as he grabbed the door handle to leave the kitchen.

"But, Harry dear, you didn't eat anything," she told him, her voice becoming almost ecstatic. "Are you sure you're feeling well? You really should eat someth-"

But Harry was out of the door before she could finish. He didn't need to hear what she was going to say; he already knew what it was anyway, so he thought he'd save himself a few extra minutes to think.

He slowly made his way up the stairs to his bedroom, one that he didn't share with Ron anymore. In fact, Harry was now staying in Sirius' old room. Whether this was helping him or hurting him, he wasn't sure, since he didn't think much about where he was staying.

He was so deep in thought as he walked up the stairs, that he didn't notice the other person walking down them. He collided with them, and painfully flew back down the last few steps that he had just climbed, landing smack dab with his back on the floor.

"Potter!" the person said, their voice unnaturally silky and arrogant. Before he even looked up, Harry knew who was speaking to him.

Looking up into his Potion Master's face, he confirmed his assumption. Severus Snape was standing right in front of him, his eyes alight with malice, his teeth practically seething.

"Sorry, Professor," Harry said absentmindedly, trying to ignore the pain that was now shooting up and down his spine. "I wasn't watching where I was going."

"That," Snape said, "is obvious."

Harry looked into his cold, onyx black eyes. How could he stand there and talk to him like that, knowing exactly what had happened to him just a few weeks before? Harry suddenly felt almost as much hatred towards him as he did towards Bellatrix the night that she killed Sirius – the hate that had been growing inside of him ever since.

"Go to Hell!" he yelled at Snape, standing up painfully and walking past him. But he had barely gone a foot when he felt a hand grasp his shoulder, its nails digging painfully into his skin.

Snape wheeled Harry around to face him, and his eyes looked even more menacing than they had a second ago.

"What did you just say to me, Potter?" he asked, his voice deathly quiet.

"I told you to go to Hell," Harry told him sternly, not wincing one bit, though the hand still dug into his shoulder and his back was aching from the position that he was standing in.

Snape suddenly shoved him against the wall, making the portraits on it rattle and bounce. Harry, though for a moment felt scared, felt unusually calm all of a sudden, and just glared at Snape.

"You will never speak to me that way," Snape spat. "I am your Professor, and although we are not in school, I can still punish you."

"Oh?" Harry asked sarcastically. "And what are you going to do – tell on me?"

Snape looked ready to spit venom. "You have no idea the things that I can do, Potter," he whispered dangerously.

"And you have no idea what I can do," Harry told him, to which Snape scowled. "I bet you didn't know that I've performed the Cruciatus Curse before, did you?"

Snape's eyes looked slightly shocked.

"Yup, it's true," Harry told him, still glaring. "Of course, what did you expect me to do? Bellatrix had just killed my godfather, and I wasn't just going to let her get away with that. Oh no, I had to make her realize just how much it had affected me; just how much I hated her."

Harry's eyes suddenly clouded over, and Snape became steadily more shocked.

"You used the Cruciatus Curse?" he asked him. "On Bella?"

Harry's eyes became focused all of a sudden, and he twitched as though being doused by a bucket of cold water. "What did you call her?" he asked, to which Snape looked slightly more shocked again. He seemed to realize that he had just called her Bella, something that the Dark Lord had always called her.

Harry suddenly grew very red in the face, and his eyes snapped shut, just as the hands were instantly removed from his shoulders, with Snape shrieking in pain. Harry knew exactly what had happened this time – he had done magic, and he had used it on one of his Professors. But right now, he didn't seem to care. And as Snape stopped shaking his raw, red hands, and came stalking towards him, Harry just stood there, not flinching at all.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Snape asked, this time pinning him against the wall by grabbing his lower arms instead. "Why, I ought to-"

"Kill me?" Harry asked coolly. Snape's look faltered a bit, and he opened his mouth to speak, but again Harry cut him off.

"That's what you wanted to do, isn't it?" Harry asked him, hate behind every word. "You want to kill me, don't you? Kill me and bring me to your master, so that you can be his little second-in-command, right? Well, sorry to bust you bubble, but guess what? You can't."

Harry finished with Snape looking at him with shock and interest. However, he must have realized what he was doing, for he quickly returned to glaring at Harry like normal. "I assure you that, if I wanted to, I could kill you right here, right now," he breathed.

Harry just laughed in his face, which made Snape's pale, sallow skin become a light magenta in color.

"You think you can kill me?" Harry asked, still laughing evilly. "Well, guess what – you can't! Voldemort is the only one who can kill me – the most you can do is cause pain upon me!"

Here, Harry began to laugh really hard, his eyes shutting and his body swaying as each bit of laughter escaped his mouth. He suddenly understood how Sirius felt when Peter had blown up the street and escaped – the situation was so unbelievable, and so far-fetched, that you couldn't help but laugh.

Between the laughter, Harry looked up at a surprised Snape and said, "So, if you want, go ahead. Hit me. Smack me. Punch me. Do whatever. Use the Cruciatus Curse if you want, because that's the best you can do. In fact," he added. "I would welcome all of that. A little pain to ease me right now would feel quite nice. I've felt it before, and I hated it. But now, I have so much pain in me, I think I may just welcome a little more – a little more just to make me completely fill up and explode. My, that does sound nice."

Harry had no idea where these words were coming from – he just said them. They floated into his mind and out of his mouth without a trace of thought. Snape was still looking extremely flustered and shocked, and as Harry started laughing harder, he let go of his arms and slowly backed up. Harry took this chance to taunt him some more.

"I bet you think I'm insane know, huh?" he asked, the laughter still present. "Well, maybe I am. I'm not sure, though. I have never been insane before. You'll have to tell me what it's like so that I know if this is what I'm feeling or not."

Snape seemed too shocked to say anything, so Harry, bounding over with laughter, just made his way to his room.

-o-

It had now been nearly an hour since he had ran into Snape, and his giggles had long subsided. Now, he was back to thinking. Thinking about the most random things in the whole world. His back was now seething in pain, and the marks on his shoulders from where Snape had grabbed him were oozing out tiny droplets of blood. He had attempted to clear his mind by picking up a book for the first time in a few weeks, but had not read anything in it yet.

He was still pondering what had happened; he ran into Snape, he yelled at Snape, Snape grabbed him, Harry used wandless magic, Snape had his wand on him, Harry told him to hurt him in whatever way he wanted, Snape backed off, he himself had laughed...

None of this seemed to want to register the right way in his mind. It seemed like someone was just telling him all of this and it was going in one ear and out the other. He really needed to talk, but didn't want to talk to anyone. No one understood him; not even Lupin. Yes, Lupin had lost Sirius too, but Harry had loved Sirius in a way that Lupin never could: Harry had loved Sirius like a father.

Fresh tears came to his eyes as he thought of this; he hadn't cried at all since that night in Dumbledore's office. He had restrained himself from letting anything out of him, anything at all. He didn't want to have people hugging him and holding him out of pity – he wanted them to do it only if they meant it. And he knew that if he had started crying, everyone would be all over him about it, doing just that and only pitying him.

He hated their pity; he didn't want it unless they meant it. So, he had kept everything in, and had, for the most part, ignored everyone. At first, they tried to get him to talk, to tell them what was wrong. But they had stopped that now; they knew he was stubborn, and wouldn't talk until he was ready, so they let him be. Harry personally wasn't sure that he would ever get over this, or would ever talk to anyone about it all, but decided to be thankful that they were just leaving him alone.

However, he was now feeling like he had to just spill; just let all of his feelings out. And since there wasn't anyone to talk to, he just cried. All of the things that he had been feeling for the past few weeks suddenly came pouring out of him, and he sat their, curled up in the corner of the room, crying.

His body shook with the sobs that came all the way from his stomach and out his mouth, sounding strong and guttural. His chest heaved with the emotion that came out with gasping breaths. He was scared, alone. He didn't know what to do, or who to go to. He was just there; he just existed. He felt like he had been Kissed by a Dementor; living, but without a soul.

The holes on his shoulder from where Snape had grabbed him must have been deep, because they were still slightly bleeding, and he could feel them soaking through all of his clothes. He reached up a shaking hand to touch his robes, and felt the damp, soft fabric under his fingers. Somehow, he felt comforted by this.

He wasn't sure what next possessed him to do what he did, but the point was, he did it. He had somehow taken his shaking body over to his open trunk at the foot of his bed, and had rummaged around it until he could see the bottom. There, atop old papers and a few pairs of old, worn-out socks, were pieces of gleaming, reflecting glass: the remains of the mirror that Sirius had given him.

Tears still flying freely down his cheeks, he pushed up the sleeve on his left arm, and then grabbed a piece of the shimmering glass. Then, ever so carefully, he neatly slid the sharpest edge of the glass over his wrist, carving into his own skin.

He almost screamed with pain – it had hurt like Hell - but he bit his inner lip and shut his eyes, focusing only on his wrist. He could feel the pain, and slowly, as it faded away, he realized that when he did this, the pain was the only thing that he was thinking about. Everything about Sirius and what had happened was erased from his mind, and he could be left to focus on the burning sensation on his wrist.

He quickly clasped the jagged object more tightly in his hand, and ran it over his wrist a second time, this time going even deeper into the skin. He winced at the pain, and again had to bite the inside of his lip and shut his eyes to keep himself from screaming. But still, he focused on the pain, the blood oozing out of his wrist; something he was willing to give up in order to escape from this hole in his life.

Over and over again, he ran the glass over his wrist, more blood pouring from the wound each time. His robes were soaked with the red liquid, as well as the tears that were still flowing down his cheeks. He lifted his hand to his face, trying to wipe the sweat off of it that was now mixing with his tears, and ended up smearing blood on his forehead.

As he made to "tattoo" his wrist some more, a few tears entered his mouth, filling it with a strange salty taste mixed with blood and sweat. He continued cutting his wrist, until the wound was about an inch deep into his skin, and was just about to swipe the blade over it again when his door opened.

"I can't believe you used magic on Snape, Harry! Even under the circumstances, it still-"

Then there was a scream.

Ooh...the drama! Anyway, like always, hope you enjoyed this chapter, and please let me know what you think of it! I may be updating chapters daily, so look tomorrow for the new one.

Kudos,

SiriusBlack4Ever