Why Should It Matter?

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Chapter Three: The Illness

The ceiling was beginning to become boring. No decorations to lighten the mood and no window to let sun shine through. This room differed greatly from the one on Privet Drive. Harry shivered when he thought about those two words. The things that occurred in that house brought him only misery. The beatings, the pushing and shoving, and the abuse. It was enough to make him sleepless at night and it did. He didn't want to remember the things that happened to him. He didn't even want to be alive. Regardless of how many people told him that things would be all right, he knew in his heart that they wouldn't. He heard a gentle rapping at his door. The person on the other side of the door opened it and entered.

"I figured that you might want some company." Hermione said as she closed the door behind her. She smiled widely as she walked over to his bed. She was the only one that Harry didn't mind seeing once in a while. She sat down in a chair that was beside his bed.

"Yeah, staring at the ceiling was becoming quite dull." Hermione laughed softly. It was a gentle laugh that could calm Harry even in the most dangerous situations. "You don't expect me to tell you anything about what happened, do you?" Harry asked after they had sat in silence for about five minutes. It seemed like Hermione was waiting for him to explode.

"No, I'm not going to make you talk about anything that you're not ready to talk about." She pushed her bushy hair out of her eyes. Harry stared at her gratefully; he didn't want to talk about the Dursleys' or Privet Drive.

"What should we talk about then?"

"I don't know." For a reason she couldn't explain, Hermione was feeling sort of shy or even embarrassed talking to Harry. She couldn't really explain her feelings or emotions at that point in time.

Harry smirked in her direction, knowing that Hermione really wanted to talk about what happened earlier in that summer, but Harry couldn't push himself to doing it. What he told her before was purely from stress, not from actually wanting to tell her. However, it made him feel better. "I know that you want to talk about what happened this summer."

"But, as I said, I won't talk about something that's going to hurt you." Harry smiled at Hermione once again; he loved how she understood him. He got a closer look at his best friend. He saw subtle changes in her face that made her more beautiful and mature looking than previously. No longer was Hermione that young girl that came to Hogwarts, she was now officially a young woman, nearing womanhood. He smirked as he looked away, knowing that she noticed him staring. Harry felt odd. He wanted to die, but didn't want to. He wanted to give up, but something was making him stay there.

"It was really bad. My uncle really didn't take kindly to Moody and the rest of the order saying those things to him. He doesn't like to get threatened by our people. This, in the end, made my situation worse." Harry paused, pushing back the lump that was beginning to form in his throat. "He would hit and beat me, or anything else that would inflict pain upon me. But I didn't care anymore. My uncle could beat me and I would continue on believing I deserved my punishment. Anytime he slugged me, I deserved it only because I've caused everyone, including myself, a great deal of pain." He grimaced, placing his right hand upon his aching scar. With his eyes closed tightly, Harry laid back on the bed. "And this damn thing has been hurting more and more lately. With everything that has been going on, my scar has to be the cherry on top."

"Is that why you didn't message any of us?" Harry nodded.

"I didn't care what I was happening, so I just let everything happen. I had several opportunities to write everyone and get help, but I couldn't force myself to do it. I just wanted to die, so his punishments were helping me get there." The whole story that was unraveling was highly depressing. Hermione couldn't begin to understand the hurt that was circulating through Harry.

"Do you still want to die, Harry?" Hermione asked her best friend. It felt as if he was on the edge of a cliff, getting ready to jump.

"Yes."

Hermione laid in her bed, staring up at the darkening ceiling. The lights outside of the house shone very little at night, making each room gloomy without candlelight. Hermione listened to Ginny's easy breathing, trying to lull herself to sleep. However, it wasn't working. The noises the old house made seemed louder than usual and so did the rampageous wind. Even the temperature in the house seemed wrong. Maybe the world stopped spinning or maybe the world was going to end. All Hermione knew was that Harry was going to do something that she didn't want him to do. The worst thing about it was she couldn't say anything to anyone about it. She promised Harry that she wouldn't tell anyone about his suicidal thoughts, but know she was beginning to wish that she didn't. The burden of knowing that Harry wanted to die was becoming too large upon the female Gryffindor. She cared for Harry and didn't want him to take his own life. 'What am I going to do? Should I tell someone or should I try to help him by myself?' Her thoughts ran scrambled, like eggs in a bowl. How would she feel if Harry did kill himself? Would she blame herself if she didn't help? 'Of course, I would.' Everything continued in a long, drawn out battle until Hermione finally was succumbed into a nightmarish dreamland.
'Maybe, I shouldn't have told Hermione those things. I mean, after all, she could tell someone everything. But I doubt she would betray me. On the other hand, I could see how worried she was.' Harry laid in his bed, filled with uncertainties. He knew that he could trust Hermione with his secrets; however, there was a part of him that was now nagging at him. Hermione seemed like she had enough on her mind without worrying about what he was going to do with his life.

The guilt built up to the point where Harry crept over to his trunk. He opened it quietly, making sure that no one heard him. And there is was, gleaming in the candlelight. It yelled to him, 'Use me Harry! You'll feel better!' Harry listened, he always did. Harry quickly grabbed the blade and walked back over to his bed. Rolling his sleeve up, Harry stared at the numerous scars and cuts. He pressed the blade to his flesh, feeling the coolness that could only be described as pure bliss for the Boy Wonder. The crimson red flowed from the freshly made cut. The air stung the wound, giving Harry the urge to make more cuts. He repeated the motion several times, letting the blood dribble down upon his pants.

The warmth made him lively, being able to feel everything that once existed. He carefully wiped the blade in his bloodstained pants. Walking back over to the trunk, Harry wrapped the blade in a sock and put it far down in the trunk. He walked back over to the bed, glaring at his freshly cut forearm. The blood continued to ooze until it eventually slowed and stopped. All the while, Harry stared at his life slowly escaping his body. The Gryffindor pulled down his sleeve and laid down his bed. He closed his eyes, ignoring everything around him.

AN: Sry about the long wait between updates.. read and review.. thanks

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