Secrets and Surprises. Chapter Three: Release
Disclaimer: Does a little dance I own NOTHING! JK Rowling is a Goddess and I am nothing but a lowlife.
Warnings: Teenage angst to the max. Slash, eventually. I am a whore for hurt and comfort. Potentially triggering material.
The serpent was pleased as Harry fled to Gryffindor tower. She'd have made you stop, anyways. Harry nearly growled, battling such thoughts from his mind. He should have told her, he should tell anyone, so that he could be shipped off the St. Mungo's and not have to worry anymore, not have to be worried about anymore.
Close to collapsing as he reached the lady in the pink dress, gasping for air as he choked out "Avis", stumbling through the hole into the dimly lit room. A few people lounging in cushioned seats waved, he waved back without really seeing who or understanding why. Only one thing mattered now. He forced himself not to run up the stairs in urgency, not to speed to his goal that lay behind the mirror covered cabinet. Hands shook as he splashed cold water over his pale face, barely noticing the dark circles under half-crazed eyes, the gaunt look about his once healthy appearance. White knuckles gripped at the porcelain sink as he panted, one final, futile attempt to keep the snake at bay. I don't need you. I don't need this! He wanted to yell, scream over and over again, but he couldn't. Eyes were fixed on a point behind the reflective surface where he knew his cure lay.
Don't kid yourself, Harry. Trembling hand reached for the edge of the mirrored door. You don't want to stop. Fingers pulled the small cabinet open, found the object he couldn't resist. You're weak. You're a burden to others. They don't even want to know about this. Harry gasped for air as the razor touched his skin, anticipation sending a shiver down his back. That's right. I understand. This is all that matters. It will be okay. He pressed, pulled, and then there was the release, fresh, clean, and Harry could breathe again.
Good…The beast breathed as well, finally uncoiling and letting loose Harry's insides.
Harry stumbled as knees went weak, sweet relief from life soon followed by a spell of panic. Running to the toilet and grabbing paper, he wadded it clumsily over the wound as he wiped the stained sink down before anyone came in. Once all suspiciousness was erased, he almost smiled. God, that felt good. He sighed to himself, ever-present knot in his chest loosening. He held the mass of bloody tissue tight to his arm for a few minutes, then walked slowly to his bed. The surge of adrenaline made him feel good and then exhausted as it left. He sank into bed covers gladly, sliding underneath and falling into a soft sleep, hand still clamped over fresh cut.
In the Great Hall, Ron checked his watch nervously. It was fifteen minutes until dinner was over and his best mate, save Hermione, hadn't made an appearance yet. Hermione's face was a mirror of his own, laced with worry and confusion.
"Hermione, what is going on with him, anyways?" Ron sighed, setting his fork down with a little more force than what was needed.
I don't...know, Ron." She looked like she was going to cry. "He just hasn't been himself lately, has he? I worry that…" She let her voice trail off, consumed by her thoughts.
"What, Hermione? 'Cause if there's anything we can do…"
"Harry's always dealt with—everything," she made a gesture with her hands to emphasize, brown curly hair shaking on her shoulders, "so well. I worry that he can't do that anymore."
"The hell he can't. He's the toughest guy I know." Ron poked his potatoes, chewing a lip thoughtfully.
"That's just it though, Ron. He won't talk about it because he feels that way, too." She gave him a pointed look.
Ron blinked, realization taking a moment. "Oh! I see. Well, I think I do, at least. How'd you figure that out, anyways?"
"Well," Hermione began, picking at a dinner roll, "women's intuition, maybe? Or maybe I get it because people always expect me to be the smartest, to have the right answers. No, don't look at me like that, I'm not the one in any distress about it."
Ron sat for a moment longer, then stood up with bravado. "Right! Well, I think we should talk to him. You know?"
Hermione hesitated, then nodded. "I guess the worst that could happen is that he, uh, stops talking to us, and in which case, nothing would have really changed, hm?"