Author's Notes: Please excuse the first chappie, I wrote it at 2 AM with two hours of sleep, thus I hope I can make it up with this chappie. Warning: Cutting! Enjoy and don't be afraid to review, flames however, will be used to cook my chicken tonight. Thanks. :)
Sometimes he dreamed he was back in hell, back in that cupboard, locked away from the world, the only thing he had was his blanket and the spiders who also occupied the cupboard with him.
Sometimes he dreamed he couldn't open the latch, only he wasn't little anymore, he was sixteen stuck in the hellhole once more.
"Uncle Vernon!" he hollered, but received no reply.
'Great, I'm stuck here,' he thought to himself.
'Only in your mind, Potter,' replied the voice.
'That is a bunch of dragon shit and you know it,' he replied back.
"Harry, Harry!" an urgent voice shook him awake.
He sat straight up, panting heavily. "What? What's wrong?"
Ron gave him a calculating look. "You were thrashing in your sleep, was it another vision?"
Harry looked around and was thankful he woke nobody else. He must've forgotten to set the charms upon his bed after his ritual cutting—
Damn it. He didn't need to look to see, he could feel the dried blood on his skin.
"No, just a dream," he wheezed, telling his pounding heart to calm down and subconsciously making sure he kept his hand under the blankets, hoping the blood had not seeped through so it was not noticeable.
Ron gave him a wary look and sighed. "I know you don't want to talk, but we will talk in the morning, all right?"
He nodded, not trusting his voice.
After he made sure Ron was make in his bed, he quickly cast the charms and examined the damage or in his opinion, the masterpiece.
He couldn't help but cringe at how deep and uncoordinated they were; usually he liked to make perfectly straight lines…
'Ah, can't even be perfect in cutting yourself, can you?' laughed the voice.
'Shut up,' he growled back, touching the wound, his whole sleeve soaked.
He made his way to the restroom and scrubbed his wrist clean, watching his blood mix with the clear water, washing away the evidence as he did every night, only this night he got careless.
'Must not let that happen again,' he vowed to himself.
He couldn't afford to lose this dear friend, the one who helped him get through all these years; he would surely die without him.
His hands clenched into fists and his breathing became heavy.
"No, I will never let that happen," he spoke out loud to convince himself.
'Talking to yourself is a sign of insanity, Potter,' the voice said.
'What else is new?' he shot back, closing the bathroom door behind him.
He told Professor McGonagall she had gone bonkers when she handed him Captaincy. She shook her head and her eyes twinkled, much like that annoying old man who liked lemon drops.
"I only pick the best, Mister Potter, and you certainlyare the best," she said, a glimmer of pride evident in her tone.
He held himself back from rolling his eyes and merely smiled. "Well then, thank you, Professor."
"I'm depending on you, Mister Potter, I like everything to be top-notch, I only accept 1st place," she warned, and with that, walked off.
He smirked. McGonagall should have been in Slytherin when it came to competition he thought.
He started walking and was nearing the corner when something—or rather someone bumped into him, head on.
"Sorry," he said, untangling himself from the girl and helped her up when it dawned on him who she was.
"Cho," he said in a strain voice. "Err—nice to see you."
He hardly recognized her with all the dark make-up and how short she cut her hair; she looked nothing like the girl he knew last year.
"Hi Harry," she replied, "It's good to see you."
Ever since last year Harry knew Cho and him were doomed from the start, as to what he saw in her in the first place he couldn't remember.
'Her looks, perhaps? I don't blame you,' said the voice.
'I've learned to aim for personality over looks now,' he responded back.
'Bravo, you learned the hardest lesson that all teenage boys face,' the voice congratulated him.
He grimaced, wishing he had never bumped into her but he knew it was inevitable at some point. "I must go; I have to go to the library."
And with that he continued on, never looking back.
'You should make her pay,'insisted the voice.
'But why? It is said and done with,' he replied.
'Ah, but what if her friend never told? Then Dumbledore would've never left and Umbridge would have never been in charge, and the whole mess at the Department of Mysteries would have never happened…after all, had Dumbledore been there none of that would have never—'
'Shut up, shut up, shut up!' he screamed back.
He picked up his dear old friend and admired its beauty, its perfection.
'Face it, Potter, you need help, how long do you plan to keep up this façade?' the voice asked him.
The first cut pierced his skin and he welcomed the pain, bringing him back to reality.
'I'm good at hiding, I've done it my whole life, after all,' he replied back smartly.
He closed his eyes, remembering all the times he hid as he shook with fear in his cupboard, wondering how long it would be before his Uncle—
'Mustn't think about that,' he told himself firmly. 'It's all in the past.'
'So you tell yourself, the past always comes back to haunt the present, afraid of what they would think if they knew how tainted you were, Potter?' the voice gloated. 'Have a field day the press would.'
The second cut was deeper than the first, but not deep enough…
'Perhaps nobody will find out, like you said,' the voice continued on, drawling, 'after all, you're the Great Harry Potter, surely heroes don't have problems, right? Like cutting their arms and thinking of death—'
'I'm not planning on death,' he bit back.
The third sweeter than the last and he sighed in pleasure…
'They say this is how all insane people start out, convincing themselves they aren't trying to kill themselves—"
The fourth much much deeper…
He laughed bitterly at the voice. "Perhaps you are the reason I am insane. Perhaps I should cut you out."
'You can't because I am you, Potter,' the voice responded.
'Damn you, I don't want you anymore! Leave me be!'
The fifth cut made him cry out; too deep.
'Oh dear, we have a problem, don't we?' said the voice sarcastically.
He wrapped his wrist with his towel, applying pressure, the towel becoming moister by the second—
'Tick tock, and this is how the life of the Great Harry Potter ends,' laughed the voice. 'By his own hand. Sure saved old Voldy the problem.'
'Shut up, it's nothing,' he shot back, his heart hammering when the flow was not slowing.
'Fuck fuck fuck,' he cursed.
'If I were you I would start writing a letter, explaining why you choose to end your life so abruptly,' the voice sneered. 'Perhaps you will explain to them why, what they have done to you, what they have reduced you to, how they neglected and used you as some toy, or maybe how he touched you, and a part of you welcomed it, what a slut you truly are, Potter. You begged for it, didn't you?'
He sighed in relief when the flow stopped. He peeled back the towel to reveal five angry marks, still red, still angry.
'Shame, this really shows what a coward you are, Potter,' the voice said mockingly.