chapter II

Pulchraria falssisa: [spell] made from the latin words Pulcher, -chra, -chrum, which means beauty and Falsa, -us, um, meaning false (latin dictionary)

Hermione would have been proud if she knew. She would also be very, very, very angry. Harry partly understood that. He'd be angry too if he knew that one of his two best friends would do self-harm and uses spells to cover it up. But that would be for them, it was a different case for him. Harry wasn't important, his mental state was not worth caring for or worrying about. As long as he smiled and laughed, as long as he was the perfect image of the golden boy, the propaganda against Voldemort, his mental state didn't matter at all. If he was unable to do that simple task, he might as well die.

He looked at the ugly, bruised face that stared back at him in the mirror. He looked like a junkie, he had to admit. There were dark circles under his eyes and the paleness of his skin not only gave him a sick vibe, but also made the bruises stand out more. It looked like all fat had left his body, even his face seemed thin and bony. He started thinking he maybe should have eaten a bit more.

"Pulchraria falssisa" His lips formed the words, which moved like a whispering wind around him. He felt the soft tingling of a brush going over his skin. He was used to the feeling and instead of focussing on it, he stared straight at the mirror, where he could see his reflection change from a shallow drug dealer to what was seen as the ultimate beauty standard for a society's hero. Sometimes, he wanted to undo it, to let people see in which state he really was, how he really felt. Sometimes, he wanted to cry and scream, to ask, no, beg, for help. But he knew that was impossible. He had to keep up his act, after all, his act was all he lived for.

Not a single day passed by, or he thought about suicide. Sometimes, the urge was there, and his heart was aching for the sweet relief of death, but he couldn't comply to it. He had to go on... He had to do the right thing... at least one right thing in his life. Even when he felt he didn't have the right to stay alive, even when he longed for death to release him from this pain, he knew that his death would have consequences. He knew that he couldn't flee from pain at the cost of others. So he stayed alive. He kept up the act. Golden boy.

He smiled at his image in the mirror. It seemed fake. How could people not notice that his smiles were fake? That his laughs were fake? That he was one big lie? "People only see what they wanna see", said a voice in the back of his head. And he knew that, but still... He had started his fifth year almost a month ago, and still no one had noticed anything. Due to him almost always being surrounded, he didn't have much time to cut properly either. He also had to watch out where he cut, so that if the spell failed, no one would notice the cuts at least. Things were getting harder for him and he missed the cutting terribly. Just... 9 more months, he tried to tell himself. 9 more... hold on.

With those thoughts in mind, he equipped his smile and changed his posture. He was late for breakfast, he knew, but it was the only moment it was calm enough in the bathrooms to lift and recast his spell. He had to cast it at least once a day, or people would start to be able to see through it.

He opened the door, breathed in, and started running. Out of the lavatories, past the doorway where the fat lady was cursing "the reckless youth nowadays", down the first pair of stairs. When those stairs started moving, he made a jump for it and lost his balance. He awkwardly stumbled down the second pair of stairs and slammed into another student. It hurt. That thought made Harry smile. It hurt.

He heard a familiar voice cursing behind him. 'What was that for, Potter? Is your death wish so great that you need to drag others in to it?'

If only he knew how close he was to the truth, thought Harry. He stood up and brushed the dust of his robes, as collected as he could.

'Malfoy.' Was all he could say in his regular cold tone. He wasn't sure why he did. He knew this accident was his fault, and honestly, he was too empty to feel any kind of hatred or anger for the blonde. He guessed his reaction to him was nothing more than automatism, an act he was too used to. Harry shrugged mentally, his whole life was one act anyway. 'I'd say sorry, but what are you doing here? This is not the way from the dungeons to the dining hall. And you didn't even bring your gorilla's along I see. What are you up to this time?'

Malfoy sneered in response. 'Why don't you mind your own business, Potter?' Harry saw something sparkle in Malfoy's eyes, a flash of what? Anger? Mischief? He wasn't sure. What he was sure of, was that Malfoy had pulled his wand out in a few seconds. 'I'll gladly help nosy brats like you further down the staircase. Expulso!' With a wave of Malfoy's wand Harry was pushed backwards and continued his journey tumbling down the stairs at a speed higher than before. He reached the ground floor quickly and dizzy, and, to his excitement, with his whole body aching. He looked up the stairs, but of course Malfoy was long gone.

He felt a soft breeze go along his limbs and recognised it as the spell covering up possible bruises. He ignored it and stayed put for a couple of minutes, inwardly smiling at the pain he had missed so badly.

The sound of approaching students made him jump up and go to get some breakfast. He wouldn't tell Hermione and Ron about his encounter with Malfoy, something in him was against it. With his body still hurting, he felt like the encounter was something private, something personal Harry That didn't want to share.

So he wouldn't share it.