A/N: Hey Everyone! This story is actually a different and, in my opinion, much better version of the story I had posted before, "Untitled". I finally got a title! Yay for me. There is more detail and depth and it doesn't move as fast. Those of you that have read the other version will recognize some things but there are also a lot of new things too. Like the whole plot lol. Well I hope you enjoy this new and improved story.
Room of Fallen Angels
Chapter One
He watched, mesmerized, as the blade slid smoothly across his arm for a fifth or sixth time, trailing a long beautiful line of crimson. He smiled sadly at the result. His arms were a mix of old scars and new blood smeared cuts. They were his way of showing his inner pain, his scars of pan and sorrow. The shallow cuts were quickly becoming less and less satisfying.
As he put his prized blade back in its place under his pillow, he put on his softest long sleeved shirt, not bothering to clean or bandage his wounds. He wanted them to scar. He couldn't care less if they got infected. Harry Potter left his dormitories with his true emotions hidden behind a mask of emerald green.
"Harry what took you? I'm starving let's go!" Ron said impatiently as Harry entered the common room.
Harry dragged himself slowly behind his two friend. Once in the Great Hall, Ron helped himself to a couple plates full of food. Harry stared longingly at his untouched food as he poked it around his plate. He was starving but he knew that eating now would only make him sick. He had to get away from the smell of food. Quickly making an excuse, Harry left to go explore the halls.
He walked idly toward the dungeons. Harry loved wondering the dungeons; it was large and empty and there were many secret and unused rooms all over the place. You could probably get way with anything down here. Harry stopped in front of a painting of a very depressed looking fallen angel. Stroking the angels shiny tears, Harry entered a large room. He'd been here many times, it was his own secret escape. The room was large and circular. The walls were made of shiny black onyx stone. Bookshelves of a dark red wood were on either side of a large fire opposite the entrance. A table between two large chairs in front of the fire held a bottle of Fire whiskey and two wine glasses. Harry had only just taken a sip when he heard the bell announcing the end of lunch.
"Damn. I'll come back later." Harry left for his last class of the day, Potions. He met up ith Ron and Hermione just as they were entering the room.
"What were you doing in the dungeons Harry? I thought you were getting your potions book? I think we need it for class today." Hermione asked.
"I got it but there wasn't enough time to get back to the entrance hall so I just came down here." Harry lied, he'd had the book the whole time.
"You will be producing a Sobriety potion today. The instructions are on the board, I want a sample on my desk by the end of class. You may begin."
Since Harry had killed Voldemort at the end of his sixth year, he'd stopped caring about everything. When he came back to school he was failing all of his classes but for some reason he was doing wonderfully in Potions. He'd only ever done badly in Potions before because Snape was always screwing him up and failing him on purpose. Since Harry had killed Voldemort, Snape had developed a kind of respect for him. They didn't get along, per se, but past grudges had finally become just that. Past.
Harry worked quickly and diligently on his potion; he had become quite familiar with the potion in the last couple of months since he had discovered the secret room. After getting drunk a couple of times from the Fire whiskey, Harry had thought it a good idea to teach himself the potion. As he finished the potion, Harry snuck himself some samples before putting one on Snapes' desk. Not only was he the first person finished but it was only mid-way through class and the only other person that was half done was Hermione and she was just that, half done. Snape eyed Harry suspiciously before snatching the sample and disappearing behind his bookshelf, into his personal lab, to test the sample. After class ended, Snape told Harry to stay behind.
"Potter, you've been doing quite well in Potions. Better, in fact, than all of your other classes. You seem to have a belated natural talent."
"It's really quite easy, it's like muggle cooking." Harry replied.
Snape ignored what to him was an insult. "We are going to extend your Occlumency lessons by one hour tonight due to the fact that I will not be here for our next scheduled session."
"Why do we need to continue these lessons if Voldemort is dead? Sir."
"Because Dumbledore feels it necessary and don't ask me why. I understand the old mans mind about as well as you do Potter if not a little less because of my lack of a Gryffindor mindset."
"Yes sir. When do we start?"
"One hour."
"Thank you, sir." Harry mumbled as he left for his secret room.
Upon entering the big round room again, Harry found the bottle of Fire whiskey right where he had left it, but this time there was a shiny, sharp knife next to the bottle and glasses. This room always seemed to have just what Harry wanted. He picked up the knife, welcoming it's weight and sliding it across his wrists a couple of times.
"This isn't good enough. It's not enough." Harry thought.
He placed the blade directly over the main vein in his arm and pulled, his eyes widening as blood pooled out of his arm after the shiny blade. Harry failed to notice the flames in the fire tunr a bright red just as he lost consciousness.
End Chapter One
Chapter Two: What's going to happen? Will Harry die? Will he be discovered? If so, by whom? And why did the flames turn bright red?