TW: Self harm
Grantaire let out a sob, his fists tightly clenched, gripping onto the end of his sleeves. This just wasn't good enough, he wasn't good enough; he'd failed everybody. Everything he'd ever said or done was just a failure to him, to his parents and to his friends. Words streamed out of his mouth before he could stop them, telling everyone he was fine, deflecting their questions with his sarcasm and sharp tongue.
The blood was warm and wet, slowly soaking through his thin school shirt. If he'd have known how tonight was going to end, he'd have taken a few more shots of Firewhiskey at the Hogs Head. But he hadn't, and here he was. Of course he hadn't known how to fix it; he was numb inside.
A low moan reached his ears, so full of pain and desperation it made him jolt, only to realise that the moan was his. He was the one that was crying out for help, terror and panic seeping in through the groan.
But no-one would come to his aid, no matter how much he screamed. He was in the Room of Requirement, a soundproofed, locked room which was decorated sparsely; perfect. The way he felt was a deep hole inside of him, slowly expanding, keeping him taught and stressed, constantly on edge. No-one understood quite how much he hated himself. It wasn't the regular I'm-a-teenage-girl-and-I-think-I'm-fat hate, it was a complete head-to-toe, every single word, all characteristics self-loathing. Since he was fourteen, he'd started taking it out on himself. At first it was just flicking an elastic band on his wrist, causing it to smart, but not scar or show for long. Then, he progressed to drinking and marking his skin a little more vigorously at around fifteen.
He hadn't been able to pinpoint the day that he'd turned to serious self-harm, but it had been some time near the end of fourth year, and it had changed his life forever. Éponine had been helpful, more than helpful – a saint, but even she hadn't been enough. Nobody had been.
When he met Enjolras just before he turned fifteen, he'd felt a stir of hope in his chest. It was like a shining light had been thrown onto his life, and it had warmed him from the inside out. Did he know about all this? Did anyone?
Did anyone even care?
A sob escaped his lips, and he tugged his sleeves further down his arms, and sank to his knees. The blood started to run down his arms and drip off his fingers, and he watched it, watched the rich liquid pool together on his lap, his legs- the floor.
It was where he should be; on the floor, beneath everyone else.
The group had tried to make him feel better, tried so hard to make everyone feel equal. But no-one had known his dirty secret, his unknown add-on.
But so what if he was bisexual? It wasn't like he was the only one on the planet.
But the wizarding society was backward in so many ways. If he'd come out to his parents, he'd have been banished and cut off from the family completely. As much as he hated the culture he'd been brought up in, he was too much of a coward to tell people. The only person that knew was Éponine, and she knew all about Enjolras too. Together, they'd brooded over the guys they couldn't have, wallowing in self-pity and despair.
That was the good thing about her; she understood the pain of not being able to have the person you wanted.
When they'd first gone to these 'house unity' meetings, it had been more of a joke than a serious visit, but they ended up going to almost all the meetings there were. It had a friendly feel, a happy atmosphere, and most of the visits didn't even concern the unity issues. Mostly, it was just for a laugh, and there wasn't must planning involved, but sometimes it was serious. Posters were put up and events were proposed, but that was only once a fortnight or so. Every other session was merely a way to let off steam and stop stressing about revision and exams.
But all of that was a pointless part of this stupid life. Why bother with exams? All they tested was memory. So what if Grantaire didn't know how to turn an armchair into a china statue? It was one of the most pointless spells in existence.
Another moan dragged Grantaire to the present, a sharp shot of pain ripping through his arm. After a few seconds of gasping, Grantaire let himself fall to the floor, a whimper escaping him as his face made contact with the hard surface, slick with blood.
What was the point?
He felt his heart lift, and he realised it was the feeling of completely giving up - in an odd way, it felt really good. He felt- pure?
"G-Grantaire?"
The small, shocked voice rang in the vast room, empty of all furniture. A small blade, slick with blood, lay on the floor a metre or so away from him, but Grantaire's eyesight wasn't focusing properly, and his arms refused to move. Tauntingly, the metal glinted at him.
But even in that state, he recognised that voice.
"We need to get you to Madam Pomfrey."
Light creeped its way in through his eyelids, peeling them open with soft warm colours and the temptation of sight. Slowly, the image started to bleed in, focusing and blurring rapidly but for longer periods each time. For a while, Grantaire had a hard time remembering where he was and how he got there, but then, he heard that voice again.
"Don't you need to change his bandages or something?"
Even before he saw her, he pictured her pacing up and down the small area to the side of his bed, a small, fierce frown etched onto her striking face. She will have tried to read, or concentrate on something else, Grantaire knew, but she wouldn't have been able to do anything for more than five minutes. Once you were drawn onto that girl's heart, there was no amount of scrubbing that could get you off.
"I changed them thirty minutes ago, Miss Thénardier. Please, try to stay calm."
"I am calm." Muttering followed this statement, but Grantaire guessed that the Nurse wouldn't want to know exactly what it translated to. "God damn it, Grantaire."
Blinking furiously, Grantaire struggled to sit up. However his arms, caked in bandages, chose to shake weakly instead of haul him into a sitting position. The movement caught Éponine's eye straight away, and she was over in a shot.
A loud smack rang out through the Hospital Wing.
"GRANTAIRE, YOU SON OF A BITCH!" She yelled, causing all the other patients to look up in shock at this sudden display of anger. Grantaire barely noticed – he was too busy nursing the cheek she had just slapped. "HOW COULD YOU? HOW COULD YOU EVEN THINK ABOUT DOING THAT TO YOURSELF? AND NOT JUST YOU, GOD DAMN IT, TO EVERYBODY THAT-"
Suddenly, her mouth kept moving, but the sounds stopped coming out. Pure outrage spilled over her features, but she didn't stop silently yelling at Grantaire.
"Phew."
The boy opposite Grantaire let out a sigh, grinning when Grantaire noticed him. He looked like he'd been in a Quidditch injury, but not too severe – a broken leg, perhaps. His wand was out, and he looked immensely relieved that his silencing charm had worked. Curly brown hair adorned his head, and he had piercing blue eyes that looked vaguely like a bird of prey's. He was definitely older than Grantaire; a seventh year.
"Merlin girl, you can really shout."
At that, the 'girl' turned on him, her eyes burning with anger, but, before she could run in and break his other leg, Madam Pomfrey came rushing in.
"My goodness, Miss Thénardier, was that you?"
The Matron didn't stop talking until she reached the brunette who was still glaring daggers at the broken-leg boy, probably cursing him seven ways to Sunday in her head. Finally taking pity, and realising that the Nurse would make him do it anyway, the boy lifted the charm, shooting her an apologetic grin afterwards.
"Miss Thénardier, I'm afraid I simply cannot allow you to stay here if you're going to upset my patients." The tone was stern, but Grantaire knew the nurse had a soft spot for Éponine, ever since she'd been a third year defending a fifth year Muggleborn, and had come into the wing under all sorts of hexes and charms, not too happy about the healing arrangements. Even back then, she'd had a mouth on her.
"I won't do it again, Madam Pomfrey." Éponine replied, sighing, rubbing her temples, looking like she just wanted to cave in and collapse on the floor even then. "Blame the son of a bitch over there. He's the one that tried to fucking do himself."
Sighing, Madam Pomfrey walked over to the bed, politely choosing to ignore Éponine's choice of words, and placed a potion carefully on Grantaire's bedside table.
"This is to help speed up the healing process, and this for replenishing the blood you lost." She pulled another one out of her pocket, this one much smaller. "And this- well, this is a potion with a specific purpose."
She hesitated, before asking Éponine to draw the curtains around the bed, beckoning her to sit beside Grantaire.
"This potion is for the depression-"
Grantaire opened his mouth to interrupt her, but a stern look shut him up instantly.
"-as I presumed that's what you're suffering from, after a short assessment. After I cleaned up your cuts, I noticed that they weren't the only ones."
Slowly, she sank down into the chair next to the bed, still not quite meeting Grantaire's eye.
"From the look of them, this has been going on for a few years, I expect?" She didn't wait for an answer, "I know that in situations like these, most people don't want to go for help, but it's too big of a burden to carry alone."
Grantaire barely noticed Éponine's hand sneak into his, but when he did he was grateful. Whilst she was probably doing it for her own comfort, it helped him too. She was real, and she wanted to help. What more could a best friend be?
"We need to contact your parents."
That sentence jolted Grantaire out of his relatively calm state, as the consequences that followed that sentence were not ones he wanted to think about.
"Please-" His hand shot out of Éponine's and gripped the bed sheets as he tried to mentally plead with Madam Pomfrey as well as verbally. "I swear to Merlin, I'll do anything. Whatever mumbo-jumbo shit, honestly - like therapy, pills, even fucking meditation, just please- don't tell my parents."
"Language. And it's a legal requirement, I'm sorry." Madam Pomfrey had paled significantly, but was standing her ground.
"They'll kick me out." Grantaire said, not really to the nurse but more to himself, steeling himself. "They'll- Oh shit. Oh- Merlin, shit I-"
"Language." Madam Pomfrey muttered, but took a deep breath. "I- I will discuss with the Headmistress what we are to do next. If you really do not want to tell your parents, I think we could make an exception. After all, you're 17 in a few months, technically an adult, in the wizarding world."
Suddenly, the black hole in Grantaire's stomach made a reappearance. It had been lingering the entire time, it always had, and always would, but the thought of his parents had dragged it back into the present, into the centre of his attention. Everything felt useless.
Fuck it, he thought, why not tell the parents? He was going to get kicked out anyway. Once they sorted out a pre-arranged marriage, he was done for. At some point, he was going to have to turn around and look the bastards in the eye, but he hadn't the courage. Had anyone?
"Madam Pomfrey," Éponine's voice was soft but closed off, something Grantaire rarely heard. "Could you give us a minute?"
"Of course." The nurse looked grave, but rose from her seat and exited, leaving the two in silence, Éponine's hand somehow finding its way back into Grantaire's.
Silence settled over them both for a few seconds, and Grantaire could have sworn the whole Hospital Wing had hushed to hear their conversation.
"I- Éponine, I'm sorry-"
"Don't." She sounded tired; drained. "Please, don't say you're sorry. I know you're not."
Swallowing, Grantaire shut his eyes, hearing the disappointment in her tone and letting it stab him senseless.
"Grantaire, God damn it, open your eyes."
Unwillingly, his eyes fluttered open again, only to see her pained, fierce ones staring back at him.
"Look," Her serious tone was back, but he didn't want to hear it. He tried to block her out, but her voice was like his conscience – it felt more familiar to him than his own, "I love you Grantaire and it's killing me that you're doing this to yourself. You're my best fucking friend, and I am the most selfish person on the planet - I am not gonna give you up easy. That git has been trying to get in to see you for hours now, but I won't let him. You're going to think of a cover story, you're going to stop this-this-"
He watched her eyes fill up with more tears as she spoke, but he heard the passion in her tone. This time, it stirred a little hope. If one person wasn't worth fighting to stay alive for, what was?
"-this torture. This thing you're doing to yourself. It's going to stop, and I'm going to help you."
Her fierce voice lifted Grantaire – he could do this. He could stop this self-loathing thing, right? But it all came crashing down again almost instantly.
"I've tried. Trust me, I've tried," He managed to get out, his tone flat and emotionless, "But she follows me everywhere. No matter how sure I am that I've shaken her off, she comes back. She always comes back."
Vivid images of depression hunting Grantaire spiked up in his brain, dragging him down again; like she always did. She was his dark side – a part of him; his very own slither of depression.
"No. You will beat this shit, Grantaire. God damn it, if I have to shackle myself to you and start popping you happy pills every hour, you will beat it. You hear me?"
Slowly, the male nodded, before yawning and trying to shake himself awake, desperate not to lose himself to the darkness again.
"No, no – you rest." Éponine stood to leave, her hand slowly dropping out of his, "I'll be back to check on you in a few hours."
But Grantaire swore he could feel her presence, her piercing eyes, as he drifted off to sleep, like a guardian angel. Oddly, it was a comforting thought.
"Oi, wakey-wakey."
Grantaire managed a groan and a half-hearted attempt at pushing himself into a sitting position before he flopped back again, the amount of effort needed to face the day far too high for the amount he had. Light was piercing his eyelids, not being nearly as gentle as it had been the previous days.
But it always was that way when something had to be done – time was all the more precious.
"You coming or what, mate?"
It was Scorpius.
"Piss off, Malfoy."
"Get up, bitch, you've slept long enough."
"Never too much sleep." Grantaire managed to mumble out, "Sleep's good."
"Nuh-uh," Scorpius leant on the end of the bed, causing it to creak, "Sleep is for the weak."
"Shut up, Malfoy."
"Get up, Labelle." The blonde mimicked back, eyebrows raised, impatiently.
Grantaire finally let out a strangled moan and threw himself out of bed, eyes blurring and clouding within milliseconds, but he was upright, so theoretically Scorpius should shut up.
"Right," Scorpius said, happily, "Now, it's food-time!"
There was a pause.
Grantaire threw himself back into bed, causing Scorpius to yelp in protest.
The past few days had been difficult for Grantaire - the Matron had been checking up on him every half an hour, making sure he wasn't doing anything stupid or dangerous. So many times, Grantaire had let the medication take over and pull him into a dark state of unconsciousness. It was so easy to do, and required no effort on his part whatsoever. All he had to do was take the drugs and succumb.
"Oh come on," Scorpius whined, "Madam Poncey gave me permission to get you the hell out of here, why aren't you taking it?"
"Don't call her that," Grantaire mumbled, and slowly reached for his potions, checking the right amounts with the handwritten instructions, courtesy of Madam Pomfrey, "Could you just give me one damn minute?"
Taking Scorpius' hesitation as an affirmative, Grantaire took a hold of his ridiculously neat uniform and started to find the correct bits to put on first.
"Great. I'll see you outside in five."
Sighing, Scorpius spun on his heel, calling behind him, "Fine, but be quick. I told Éponine we'd meet her ten minutes ago."
"Then why didn't you wake me ten minutes ago?" Grantaire mumbled, not intending for Scorpius to actually hear him.
"I was busy." His voice carried across the hall, and Grantaire presumed he was waiting by the doors at that point.
"Doing what?" Grantaire said, trying to hide his surprise. Sometimes, it slipped his mind that Scorpius did indeed have other friends. "Watching me fucking sleep?"
"No!" Scorpius suddenly turned indignant. It seemed, to Grantaire, that he was a little too indignant.
"Jees," He let a snort escape him, "Scorpius, you need a bloody hobby mate."
"I was not watching you sleep!" Scorpius yelled, probably on the verge of running right back across the hall to give Grantaire a good smack, but then something stopped him.
Something that he spoke words to.
"-oh, er, sorry. Hi."
There was muffled laughter and a heavy sigh, the latter Grantaire presumed was from Scorpius. But from the sound of the laughter, Scorpius appeared to be talking to a girl.
"Well, that's an interesting hobby." The girl's sarcastic voice drifted across the hall as Grantaire tried to pull his shoes on as fast as he could - he just had to see who this girl was. "How d'ya get into that then?"
Unfortunately, Scorpius was only halfway through his excuse when Grantaire stuck his head of the curtain, a fake troubled look on his face.
"It used to just be a one-off thing, but then, alas, he discovered the invisibility cloak. Everything went downhill from there, but now the nice people in white coats are trying to solve the issue. Therapy twice a week and mediation three times a day. You'll get used to it."
During the time it had taken for his brain to rattle off some babble about being a creeper, he'd manage to assess the girl and found out her identity.
It was Rose fucking Weasley.
It was an advancement that Grantaire wasn't willing to respond to, so he ducked his head back into the small area and tried to adjust his, now almost useless, bandages so that they didn't bunch up his robes; whilst he wasn't ashamed of his scars, he didn't want extra attention drawn to him when it could have been avoided. However, there was also a small part of him that wanted to see how Scorpius reacted to that without him around and how he was going to dig himself out, if he could.
"That- that was bullshit, right?" The redheaded girl asked, sounded curious but not exactly worried. Grantaire decided he approved.
"Of course it was!" There was a hint of panic in Scorpius' voice that was carefully smoothed over, but still there. As Scorpius regained his regular cool, Grantaire started to tune out, disinterested.
The only thought left in his head was that Éponine has his alcohol, and they were late.
He only just managed to drag Scorpius away from the girl, although it took several minutes and a lot of whining on Grantaire's part. When they finally escaped from the Hospital Wing, Grantaire slowed his pace, grimacing at the Christmas decorations that's had started to appear.
"That bitch has my alcohol." He stated, not really asking Scorpius, but more looking for confirmation. He got it, "God damn it. Couldn't keep her bloody hands off it for two seconds-"
"Mate, you've been in there for almost three weeks."
That made Grantaire stop in his tracks.
"W-what?"
"Well, how long did you think it had been?"
"Like-" Grantaire waved his arm around listlessly, "A week, tops!"
Scorpius just sighed, and pulled his down the corridor by the sleeve of his robe, not thinking about the pain it would cause Grantaire.
However, Grantaire just bit his tongue and said nothing. Whilst he was a complete noob at actual relationships, he knew Scorpius was really into that Weasley girl, and he would be preoccupied and clumsy until the day he got her, or the day he forgot about her. It was just going to be something he had to get used to.
The last thing he remembered was swigging the vodka Éponine had brought him and feeling it warm his numb limbs with icy fire. It made him smile at its familiarity before he blacked out.