Author note: Well, heres chapter 2! Please know, this is my first fanfiction, so Im not a very experienced writer yet. Overall I didn't have much time for this story, so it is a little rushed. However, I hope you enjoy it, as I did put effort into it! Thank you
During the rest of the term, Harry scarcely spoke to Draco. The Slytherins continued to shout insults over at Harry and the rest of the Gryffindors every day, but Harry no longer noticed, no longer cared. He saw Draco in most of his lessons, but made no effort to converse with him. Harry didn't really make an effort to converse with anybody. He did go on walks with Ginny like he did in his 6th year, but very rarely, and the walks were barely enjoyable. Ginny was silent for most of the time, and when they did talk their conversations were brief and boring.
She's tired of me, Harry thought, they all are.
Ginny had started to spend a lot of time with Dean, and Harry often saw her laughing with him, and talking like she used to talk with him. Harry did feel a little jealous, after all Ginny was still his girlfriend, but most of him didn't care anymore. He hardly cared about anything any more.
Harry spent most of his free time during the day wandering the grounds at Hogwarts, or absently sitting with Ron and Hermione who tried to rope him into conversation, but often failed.
Harry's nights however, were torture to him. The dreams hadn't, wouldn't stop, as if Harry was under some curse which he couldn't get rid of. He woke up screaming at least 3 nights a week, usually shaking heavily afterwards. As he couldn't get to sleep once he had woken up, he would get dressed and wander around Hogwarts, trying very hard to forget the dream, but often failing. At breakfast he would rarely eat anything, although sometimes Hermione practically force fed him (much to Ron's amusement). Harry would find it hard to concentrate in lessons, his mind often becoming empty and elsewhere. And still, nobody (other than Draco, but Harry tried not to think about that) noticed.
However, though Harry didn't know it yet, his dreams were currently mild compared to what was coming. And it was at the beginning of November that things started to get worse.
Harry was alone in a room. It was a fairly big room, with white walls and one, shiny black door. Harry tried the door, but it was locked.
Harry patted the walls, trying to find some way out of the room. But every time he touched a wall, his fingers would make a dent in it. Harry stepped back into the middle, and looked around.
Suddenly, Harry's heart missed a beat.
A dark, crimson substance was oozing out of the dents in the walls. It started off slowly, then sped up, like a tap put on to full blast.
Harry tried to cry out, but his voice failed him. The blood started to flow towards him. Harry tried to step backwards, but it surrounded him.
"What's happening?" Harry whispered, terrified, as the blood finally reached him, and started to fill up the room, like a jug into which water was pouring.
Now Harry was up to his knees, now up to his waist, now up to his chest. Harry started screaming, but that didn't help, it never helped.
"Help me! Please, somebody help me!" Harry yelled, as the blood came up to his shoulders. Harry wasn't a fairly decent swimmer; in fact, he could barely swim at all. And the prospect of drowning in blood terrified Harry.
Suddenly, Harry was immersed in the blood. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't move, and all he could see was red. Harry thrashed around in the water, screaming inaudibly.
"Help me!" bubbles of air came out of Harry's mouth, as he desperately tried to swim up, but something was holding him back.
I'm going to suffocate, Harry thought, desperately trying to swim, I'm going to drown, I'm going to die.
Suddenly he felt something brush against his arm. He spun round, but there was nothing there. Something then brushed against his back. When he turned around, he yelled out in shock.
The body of Fred Weasley was so close to him, their noses were practically touching. Harry screamed again, and tried to spin round, only to be greeted with the body of Lupin.
"I have a son Harry," Lupin said quietly, and Harry froze, "You took me away from my son, Harry."
Harry whimpered and tried to swim away, but a hand was holding his shoulder. He turned around, to be greeted by Cedric.
"You caused my father pain Harry," Cedric whispered, "I was his only son Harry."
"Please...stop it." Harry screamed, and as he did the door opened, and all the contents of the room came spilling out, like a plug had just been taken out of a bath tub. Harry found himself tumbling into another room, screaming and trying desperately to grab onto something, but everything he touched disintegrated underneath his fingers...
"You should have known Harry Potter." Came a familiar, cold, cruel voice. Harry looked up.
Lord Voldemort was standing over him, smiling pitilessly. Harry tried to scream out, but he found his throat blocked.
"You should have known, if I couldn't kill you in reality, I would kill you in your mind, Harry Potter," Voldemort sneered, and he raised a thin, white hand in which the Elder Wand Harry had broken lay, and Harry saw the cruel mouth move, and suddenly he was immersed in a jet of green light, his mouth wide open, screaming-
Harry woke up, drenched in blood. He yelled out and sat up, only to realise it wasn't blood, but sweat. His throat was stinging, and his voice was hoarse.
He was shaking. He couldn't get the blood filled room out of his head, and the words of Voldemort still rang in his head,
If I couldn't kill you in reality, I would kill you in your mind.
Harry rubbed his face with all his might, but he couldn't clear his head. His mind was in severe pain, and no matter how much he shook himself, he couldn't escape.
His breathing quickened. He needed some relief from this, something to take his mind off of it, something to stop all the pain and misery, something, anything...
Harry spotted his shaving razor on his bedside table. His shaky hand reached towards it, he barely knew what he was doing yet this felt so right to him. He brought the razor closer to his bare arm...
He didn't remember what happened next, all he felt was pain in his arm, all he saw was blood coming off his skin and dripping onto his sheets. All he knew was that his mind had relaxed slightly. All the (mental) pain had gone. He moved the razor again and again over his arms, until his sheets were wet with blood, and until his mind had completely relaxed. His breathing slowed, and he closed his eyes, then opened them again, and looked down onto his arms.
They were covered in blood. He brushed some of the blood off with his duvet, to reveal half a dozen thin but rather deep crimson cuts all over his arms, like he had run through a particularly thorny bush. His sheets looked like somebody had died on them. If anyone else from the dorm woke up now, they would realise what Harry had done. Shaking slightly Harry picked up his wand and cleaned his bed sheet. He then removed blood stains from his clothes and duvet, and hid the razor.
He left his cuts as they were (after cleaning the blood off). He had never known how to heal wounds, and if he asked Hermione, she would most definitely ask why.
What struck Harry the most was that he felt better. Of course, now his arms were throbbing horribly, but the effects of the dream had worn off slightly.
Sighing, Harry pulled on a long sleeved shirt he got from his trunk next to his bed, and put it on so that nobody could tell what he was doing. Then, for the first time in several months, Harry lay back down and fell asleep.
This became Harry's daily night routine. And nobody noticed that Harry only ever wore long sleeved tops now, often clutching the ends of his sleeves in his hands. Hardly anybody noticed that Harry had spots of blood often on his sleeves, and when they did ask, Harry would brush them off saying 'I cut myself while shaving' or 'I tripped over'. They would then swallow his lies and excuses, and not persist further.
Harry did become slightly more cheerful, and even sometimes joined in conversations with Ron and Hermione. However, not everything lasts.
It was the 14th of December, the last day of term before the winter holidays. Harry was staying over at Hogwarts, even though Ron kept insisting he come to the Burrow. Hermione was going back to her parents, and everyone else Harry knew were going home. But this didn't bother Harry; he was used to feeling alone now, and besides, he wanted to be alone.
Currently, Harry was sitting in his Transfiguration lesson, learning how to turn people into ravens. The classroom was filled with feathers and 'caws', but Harry didn't notice this. Once again, his mind was elsewhere.
if I couldn't kill you in reality, I would kill you in your mind
Harry's arms were stinging badly. Todays nightmare was, once again, worse. But the worst thing was, that Harry's self harming hadn't helped today. The dream was still bothering him, even five hours later, in Transfiguration.
This is all your fault Harry.
"Potter, are you concentrating?"
Im going to destroy you, Harry Potter
"Potter!"
You killed us all Harry. Its all your fault.
"Potter! Are you concentrating or are you daydreaming?"
Harry snapped back into reality, to see Professor McGonagall's face glaring up at him.
"Sorry P-Proffesor," Harry realised he was shaking, "I- I am. S-sorrry."
"Potter, are you alright?" McGonagall's expression changed from irritation to sympathy, "You look a little peaky."
"D-do I?" Harry stammered, and realised he was sweating heavily, and as he looked around he caught sight of his reflection in a mirror. His face was deathly white, and he was shaking noticeably.
if I couldn't kill you in reality, I would kill you in your mind
"Potter, I think you should go to the nurse," McGonagall said, kindly, "We don't want you passing out on the floor here, do we?"
Anything to get away from here, Harry thought, Just please, anything to make this stop.
Harry nodded feebly, and, ignoring the sympathetic and concerned looks from his classmates, a "What's wrong Harry?" from Ron and a "Do you need any help Harry?" from Hermione, he packed his bag up and walked off.
Instead of heading to the nurse however, Harry made his way to the seventh floor. All he wanted right now was to be left alone.
When he had reached a familiar looking wall, Harry stopped. He turned to face it, shut his eyes and concentrated.
I need somewhere to hide, he though, I need somewhere to hide myself.
When he opened his eyes, he was greeted by a tall, handsome door which had grown from the wall. Still shaking and uncertain, he reached for the handle, opened the door and stepped into the Room of Requirement.
It was nearly exactly as it had been the very last time he had left it. Some of the objects were still charred and blackened by the fire, while others remained intact.
Harry numbly walked for what seemed like an hour, until he eventually stopped by a pile of discarded books.
if I couldn't kill you in reality, I would kill you in your mind
Harry realised he was sweating and shaking heavily. He tugged off his hoodie to reveal a short sleeved green shirt, which was partially drenched in sweat. His scars and fresh cuts were highly visible on his pale arms, and bruises had started to form over them, like Harry had splashed paint over himself. Harry angrily kicked a book ('Dangerous and banned curses, by Imelda Frankenfold) into an old mirror, then caught sight of his reflection.
His face was thinner than he remembered, his glasses now looked too big for his face, and his hair was longer than ever, and messier than ever. He looked sick, ill and awful, and in his eyes there was a terrible emptiness, anger and guilt which scared him.
All your fault, Harry Potter
Harry cried out and hit the mirror with all his might. It shattered under his fist, and the broken pieces of glass fell soundlessly, surrounding Harry.
Seven years bad luck, here I come, Harry laughed bitterly to himself, then sank down onto his knees.
Draco Malfoy was bored. He had (once again) a free period, but he had nothing to do. He had done all of his homework, written to his mother, bullied several first years. Now he had nothing to do. He was walking along the 7th corridor, thinking of something to do when suddenly, he stopped. He turned around and raised his eyebrows.
A tall, handsome door had appeared out of nowhere. Draco recognized the door very well, having spent a majority of his time in his 6th year in the room behind it.
But why, Draco thought, has it appeared here for me? I hardly think being bored is a good enough reason to use the Room of Requirement.
However, glad of something to do, Draco entered the room. There were piles of blackened furniture and other objects nearly as tall as the ceiling everywhere, and bits of ash all over the floor.
The room had turned into the way it was when Crabbe had managed to set it on fire. Draco remembered as if it was only yesterday, the way he was forced to climb one of the furniture mountains in order to escape the flames, then suddenly Potter had flown in and grabbed him and saved him from a certain death.
Another reason to be grateful to Potter, Malfoy thought bitterly.
Suddenly, he heard a distant noise. It sounded like someone crying, and Draco became curious. He wove in and out between the furniture mountains, but he couldn't trace the source. He was about to give up, when he turned a corner and gasped.
It was like being taken back in time, back to Draco's sixth year, when Draco had been given the difficult task of mending the Vanishing Cabinet. Draco had spent half of his time crying back then, whether it had been in the girl's toilet, or in the Room of Requirement
For Draco, it was like he was standing there, watching a younger him crying all over again. Except it wasn't him crying this time.
Harry Potter was kneeling, his face in his hands, crying loudly.
Draco Malfoy was shocked. Never had he imagined that Harry Potter could lose himself and cry like this, he had always thought that Potter had swallowed everything that had come his way, and gotten on with his life.
Then, Malfoy's eyes flickered towards Potter's arms. He nearly cried out in shock. Potter's arms looked like he had been the victim of a violent stabbing attack. They were bruised and cut, and not a single inch of his arms was unharmed. What had happened?
Then it dawned to Draco. Shocked, he took a step forward.
"What have you done?" Draco said hoarsely, and Harry stopped crying and spun round, "What the hell have you done?"