Hey guys! Okay this chapter gets very angsty, and there is direct descriptions of cutting. You don't have to read this chapter! Next chapter I publish, i will explain what happened in this chapter so it still makes sense. Don't feel you have to read this chapter, if you think it will trigger you, don't read it. Stay safe please 3. I will also mention when the descriptions stop so you if you want to read the action parts you can.
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Every since the war, and even before, Harry had been depressed. Every single death felt like an elephant on his chest. Imagine you had like 20+ elephants standing on top of you, and thats what Harry felt constantly; it was a wonder he got up in the morning. At first, Harry had just felt guilty, guilty and mad. Why did life have to screw him over? Because he deserved it? And then he would have crowds of people surrounding him, thanking him, asking him for a photo or a signature, and he wouldn't feel proud or annoyed, he would feel nothing. He would feel empty.
Harry wanted to feel something, he wanted to feel something so desperately that he hurt himself. First he went to muggle fights. He find gang fights or street fights and he would join. A little known fact about Harry: He loved to get punched.
Harry would lose on purpose. He would let them throw their pathetic little fists at his face, barely giving him a bruise. Every once in a while there would be someone, usually a sharp sarcastic little blond, that would give him a little fire, and he'd pummel them. He nearly killed someone at those fights:
"Little faggot aren't you," Mocked the blond he was supposed to be fighting. He looked up, not feeling a thing, "Can't even fight," A fist connected with his face. It wasn't enough, it was never enough. The blond backed him up against a wall, a dirty grimy wall, he could feel it on his bare back. The blond stroked his stomach, running a calloused finger between the lines of his muscles, and then he punched him there. Hard. And Harry felt it. As he doubled over in pain, Harry felt that fire.
The nameless blond jerked Harry's head up by his hair, and pushed his entire body on to Harry's. The crowd watching wolf whistled, and the blond encouraged by this, kissed Harry roughly. Harry reacted immediately, punching the blond in the face. He grabbed the other boy by his waist and switched positions with him. Lifting the blonds hands above his head with one hand, he pummelled the other boys stomach with his other. Each punch caused the muggle to gasp in pain. His pale lips were open in shock. This wasn't the right boy, this wasn't the person.
Harry punched and punched, until the blond boys pale stomach was black and blue. The crowd wasn't cheering anymore, they were watching with sick fascination. The Gryffindor decided to give them a show, and he pushed the blond to the ground, He punched the muggle in the face, the dirty little muggle (The wrong boy), "Who's the faggot now?" he asked. The blond's nose was dripping blood, his mouth red and wrong. Harry couldn't stop, he punched and punched and punched. The crowd was screaming for him to stop, but he couldn't. He felt hands tugging and pulling at his sweaty back and chest. It was no use, he wasn't stopping. He couldn't stop.
Sirens.
Harry looked up and there was the muggle police, and they were pointing a gun at him. The cocky little blond was gasping for breath. BOOM!
He had never heard a gunshot before, except when Dudley watched TV. It was a lot louder then you'd expect, Harry's ears near burst. And his arm, his arm was in so much fucking pain. He looked down to see a red bubbling hole.
"RAISE YOUR HANDS!" The muggle police shouted. Harry looked down at the near dead blond, kissed him harshly, and apparated away, arm still dripping blood.
He looked at the mirror in his bathroom, looked at the gunshot in his arm. It had gone clean through, and it hurt so fucking much. He didn't go to the hospital, no he took a hot shower. After all, he was covered in sweat and dirt. The entire time, his arm screamed in pain.
Harry smiled.
He didn't have to go to fights anymore; no. He could make himself feel things. First, he needed another razor.
Cutting, thats what he did. He knew it was bad, he knew it was a horrible, depressing thing to do. He didn't care, because when he cut, he felt something. When he pressed that blade deep into his skin, he felt it, it was the only thing he could feel. Those not so little red lines were his salvation. Those mountains of skin were his freedom.
But the thing is, once the pain stopped, he would feel more empty, and he would hate himself for going to such measures. So he cut himself more, to make it go away.
He became addicted.
One summer was all it took for nearly his entire body to be covered with little red lines.
Harry stopped smiling, there was nothing to smile about. Harry stopped laughing, people were dead, why should he laugh? Harry stopped eating, food made him sick.
Harry started drinking, drank the emptiness away (it wasn't as good as cutting, but he'd be in pain the next morning). One night he had a drink too many, and when he woke up, he was in an unfamiliar bed with a random blond. A boy. A boy who kissed his cuts, and told him they were sexy; he apparated away. His cuts were not sexy, they were disgusting.
All summer, he found himself in random people's beds, sometimes girl's, sometimes boy's. He hated himself for it. (The boys were all pale and blond. The girls were always red heads.) He began to want to die, because those people were never enough. Everything was never enough. Not even cutting, because the things he felt were only temporary.
The one thing that stopped him from cutting the wrong way was his friends. He couldn't do that to them, they had already lost so much. Ron and Hermione tried to help, they'd come over nearly every day, but there was nothing to be done.
Harry was too fucked up.
Harry was a junkie.
And he was too far gone.
triggering stuff mostly stops here
But here he was, in the middle of the woods with Draco fucking Malfoy, feeling things. Good things. His depression, or whatever you wanted to call it, hadn't disappeared, it was still there looming over him. But he only had 15 elephants now, he felt lighter. It was also heavier, because he might have been falling in love with Draco fucking Malfoy.
Malfoy was a sarcastic bastard, who was snobby as hell. He was prejudiced and mean and a generally horrible person. But he was always there for Harry, usually in a Negative way. When everyone was treating Harry like glass, Malfoy had been there to insult him, to make him feel normal.
Malfoy made him feel fire, the fire he was so desperate for. Malfoy made him feel things nobody else could make him feel, not even Ginny or Voldemort. Harry had hated Malfoy a billion times more then he hated Voldemort, to the point where he shot an unknown curse at him (Harry wouldn't even shoot a killing curse at Voldemort).
Perhaps it was expected that Harry was falling in love with the git. Life seemed to hate Harry like that.
"Pen for your thoughts?" he heard Malfoy - Draco - ask.
"You mean penny?"
Draco blushed, "Muggle saying make no sense anyway."
Harry laughed (HE FUCKING LAUGHED IT WAS A MIRACLE), "They don't unless you grow up with them."
"So why were you so quiet?" Draco inquired again.
Looking back at the other boy, Harry replied, "Thinking about this summer."
Draco's face darkened, last summer was not kind to him apparently, "About the trial?"
Oh, the trial. Harry had tried to push that out of his mind. He hated it because of how pathetic Draco had looked. Draco was supposed to look elegant and strong and snobby, not like he had.
"Next speaking on behalf of Draco Malfoy; Harry Potter." Gasps of shock echoed throughout the trial hall. It was a well known fact that the two boys hated each other. Harry stepped behind the platform, and quickly swallowed his veritaserum. "Once again, Malfoy's charges are:" the judge coughed, "Aiding he who shall not be named, torture and murder of muggles, trying to assassinate Dumbledore, and simply being a Death Eater."
"Harry James Potter, do you believe this man to be guilty?"
Harry looked down at Malfoy, at his dirty face and his pathetic eyes. He looked so defeated, but he guessed a month in Azkaban can do that to you. Was Malfoy innocent? Probably not, but was he guilty? No, he wasn't guilty. He was forced to do those things because if not, he would be killed.
"No." He said, looking away from the Slytherin.
"Why do you think he isn't guilty?"
"Because if he didn't do these things, he and his family would be killed, besides, when he did these things he was underaged."
They were all biased against the blond, Harry knew this, he would try to be more convincing. "So you admit he did these things?"
"I would have done the same had I been in his situation."
"He is a Death Eater though, he has a dark mark-"
"He was forced-"
"Forced? Please continue."
Harry looked down at the blond again, not wanting to admit he saw Malfoy receive the dark mark through his and Voldemort's connection. "I saw it." Immediately havoc began, almost everyone in the court began talking and whispering to each other. The judge banged on the desk, which did nothing to quiet people down. Finally, he whistled loudly. The talking ceased.
"Please explain, Potter."
"Voldemort," everyone flinched, "Was in my mind you know, so I saw him receiving the mark through a vision. He was forced, if he hadn't gotten it, both him and his family would have been killed."
The judge turned to Malfoy, "Is this true?"
Malfoy was staring at Harry, shocked at this revelation. Looking back up to the judge, he rasped, "Yes." Harry near slapped someone, Malfoy was not allowed to sound like this, so empty and defeated. Malfoy was supposed to be icy and sarcastic and snobby, not depressed and done.
"You also say you were there when he tried to kill Dumbledore, is this true?"
"Yes."
"What did you see?"
Harry's mind went back to that horrible night, "He disarmed Dumbledore, but didn't kill him. Dumbledore talked to him, asked him to join his side. Malfoy said that he couldn't, because if he didn't kill Dumbledore, Voldemort would kill him and his family. Dumbledore kept talking, and Malfoy lowered his wand. Snape then appeared and killed Dumbledore. Malfoy had lowered his wand." Harry tried to speak in such a matter that it seemed factual.
No one in the audience said a thing, they were seemingly shocked into silence.
Finally, the judge looked out at the audience, "Does anyone else have questions?"
A person called out to Harry, "Why are you defending him?"
Looking down at the limp thing he was defending, Harry thought about his answer. The truth wasn't something he wanted to say. So he lied, "Because it's the right thing to do." Everyone thought this was the truth, because no-one knew he could overthrow veritaserum, and he had been lying through his teeth nearly the entire time. He had never seen Malfoy receive the mark, but he knew Malfoy had been forced.
"Next witness, Minerva Mcgnagall..."
"Why did you defend me?" Draco asked, breaking a stick off a near tree.
"Because it was the right thing to do," lied Harry, looking away from the blond walking next to him.
Draco punched him in the shoulder, "Liar! You forget I've known you for seven years."
"How could I be lying, I was on veritaserum when I said the same thing."
"You must be able to overthrow it!" In his excitement, he snapped a branch right in half, "Like you can with imperio!"
How did Draco guess this? Not even Hermione and Ron could. "No," replied Harry, scratching the back of his neck.
"You're lying right now, you prat."
"And how would you know?"
"Because you're scratching the back of your neck."
Harry immediately removes his hand from the back of his neck. "Maybe I just have an itch."
Draco snorted, "Doubtful..."
"At least I'm not like you! I only lie when I need to, you just do it for fun!"
Suddenly Draco was at his neck again, "Say that again," his breath was somehow minty after two days in the woods.
"That again," Harry mocked.
Draco screamed in frustration, "You're bloody horrible!"
The Gryffindor smirked triumphantly, "Better than you at least."
The two continue walking, and Harry estimates they have about a mile before they reach the village, "How can we go from civilised conversation to this?" The Slytherin asked grumpily, "Oh right, because you're a fucking prat who can't help but be annoying!"
"Better then being a Slytherin git like you."
"What's wrong with Slytherin?!"
"Nothing, there's something wrong with you."
"Then why'd you bring Slytherin into it?"
"Well..." Harry really didn't know, internalised hate of Slytherins maybe?
"Everyone hates Slytherins for no reason!"
"You guys are nasty and mean to everyone," defended Harry.
"Because we have to be! Imagine if you got booed at when you were sorted as an eleven year old. Or if almost every teacher stared at you in distrust as you did your work!" Harry liked this side of Draco, this Draco was passionate and strong. He was raising his arms as he argued, sweeping them back and forth to emphasise his points. "That's why we all liked Snape, because he was the only teacher that didn't treat us like trash."
"Treated every other house like trash though," Harry hated Snape, he was a fucking bastard who bullied Hermione about her teeth.
"Kinda deserved it, don't you think," Draco muttered.
"Did Hermione deserve to get made fun of by a teacher about her teeth?" asked Harry, raising his eyebrows.
Draco grumbled, "No..."
"I was nearly a Slytherin..." Harry changed the subject, "The hat said i'd do great things there."
The blond looked over at him in shock, "Seriously?"
"I choose Gryffindor instead, because you were in Slytherin."
Draco punched him in the stomach, hard, "Prat."
"Git."
(Draco totally wan't imagining what would have happened had Harry been in Slytherin. They would have been bunk mates and friends. They would have broken the rules together, pranking stupid Gryffindors like the weasel. Fallen in lo- stop it Draco, he's never going to love a Death Eater like you)
"I see the village!" Draco shouted, pointing at the buildings barely visible through the trees. Suddenly, Harry took off in a sprint. "No!" Draco yelled, "I am not running, Malfoy's are made for looking good, NOT RUNNING!"
Harry turned back, smirking that horrible smirk he knew bothered Malfoy the most, "Your loss!"
Nether the less, Draco ran after the other boy. Harry turned back to see the blond running after him, practically growling. Another little known fact about Harry: he loved running. He loved being breathless, he loved the wind against his face and the exhilaration. He even loved the sting in his throat and how he felt lightheaded. Looking back at the Slytherin running after him, it was blatantly obvious that the other did not like running.
The village was so close, Harry could smell the smoke and the other people. "Come on Malfoy!" he shouted gleefully.
"Fuck... you... Potter..." Panted the blond from a distance.
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Malfoy was gone too, and Hermione was extremely worried. By this point, she had realised this wasn't some romantic adventure the two idiots had gotten themselves into. She was in the astronomy tower now, looking at the Slytherin's name on the wall. "Where are you?" she muttered to herself, and to the two boys, as if somehow they could hear her. Casting a quick spell to detect recent bursts of magic, Hermione looked around the room that Harry spent so much time in.
Hermione knew that Harry spent time up here, as she gave herself the job of keeping Harry safe. It had been her job since first year, but she had failed. Contrary to Harry's belief, also, she didn't pity Harry, simply worried about him. She couldn't help it, he was her best friend.
Finally, spell she cast gave her the results, and she found that there had been a portkey used in the last couple of days. Hermione's mind immediately raced to when this had happened before, during fourth year.
Suddenly, there was a flash of light coming from within the maze. "Did Harry win?" Ron cried, assuming the light meant he did. But Hermione knew better, as Dumbledore and the other teachers were rushing to the source of the light.
"Everyone stay calm!" Mcgnagall shouted above the ceaseless chatter, "We are figuring out what happened!" Hermione and Ron raced over to the teachers, who were entering the maze one by one.
"Is Harry okay?" She asked Dumbledore frantically.
"We're finding him right now," replied the old man.
"Finding him!?" shouted Ron, nearly punching Hermione in his shock, "What happened to him!? Where's he gone!?" And as if summoned by the thought, there appears their best friend, clutching the dead body of Cedric.
"IT WAS VOLDEMORT!" he screamed, causing panic and chaos immediately. Hermione and Ron ignored the crowds, and rushed over to their friend, who muttered to him over and over, "Kill the spare, Kill the spare."
In Hermione's opinion, portkey's were never good, and almost always led to the deaths of Harry's crushes. She sprinted out of the astronomy tower and to the headmistresses office, intent on telling her exactly what she found.
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Harry saw people, other people! Not Draco people! He never thought he'd be so happy to see people. But then he saw a woman, staring at him nervously, "Run..." he thought he saw her mouth. The other people in the village had yet to notice him, as the woman glanced around fearfully. "RUN!" she shouted this time, voice shakey and fearful. And then Harry saw it, saw that most of the people walking bore dark marks, ugly and black. They glanced up at the woman's shouting, and Harry turned around as fast as possible.
"RUN!" he screamed to Draco. When the blond saw Harry's pale face, he turned around and sprinted. Had the situation not been so dangerous, Harry would have laughed, because now that Draco was in actual peril, he was an extremely fast runner.
Harry heard footsteps behind him, chasing after the two. Suddenly, Draco cut off to his left. The brunet tried to follow, but had used up all his energy running towards the village. His breath was fast and hollow. Run, Harry, Run, he told himself, pushing himself. He kept running, trying to keep up with the blond, but he got slower and slower until he felt hands brushing against his sleeves.
One of those said hands got a firm grip on Harry and pulled him to the ground. Punching and kicking, Harry tried to fight them off. But he was out of breath, and out of strength. Two grabbed him by one arm and kept him in a tight lock. He was unable to move. Ahead, he saw Draco, who had stopped and turned around, staring helplessly at Harry. "KEEP RUNNING!" he screamed as loud as possible. One of the Death Eaters tries to cover his mouth with a hand, but Harry bites it, "GET MCGNAGAL-" he had a gag in his mouth now, but he kept struggling and screaming.
The blond looked back one panicked time, to see two more Death Eaters chasing after him, and Harry being held captive, and ran for his fucking life. Internally, Harry smiled to himself, because now at least he'll die a hero instead of a suicide victim, and because Draco would live. Harry trusted that Draco was fast enough to escape.
"Who do we have here?" asked one of the Death Eaters, removing Harry's gag.
"Your mum," he responded arrogantly, not even bothering to struggle anymore. He was ready to go down sarcastically as possible. The Death Eater punched Harry in the face, and Harry smiled through the blood. Scowling, the ragged man brushed his hand through his dark dirty hair. Then, he spotted Harry's scar.
Now gleeful, the man brushed Harry's hair out of the way, "Merlin," he gasped, "It's Harry Potter!" The two Death Eaters holding Harry cackled joyfully.
"Is it really?" one questioned, his voice as dumb as he looked.
"It is!" replied their leader (Harry assumed he was their leader because he wasn't as daft looking as the others).
"You gonna kill me now?" Harry demanded, hopeful that they would. People would love it so much more if Harry was killed by Death Eaters, rather then Harry.
"No," the Death Eater smiled, and evil and cruel smile, "We're going to have some fun first..."
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Sorry this chapter was so angsty, i just wanted to add some background to the story and to Harry. Please tell me what you think, if you have any improvements or suggestions, etc. Thank you! also i don't really know how trails work so please tell me if i did an okay job
