Chapter Five

"I'm sorry." Harry said.

Ron just stared at him. "They said you hit me." He said. "Sure you didn't, like, jinx me or something?"

"No. I punched you." Harry said. "I am sorry. I just didn't want you to hit Draco."

"Malfoy's a total prat, why would you want to defend him?" Ron asked.

"He can be a jerk." Harry concurred. "But he's still my friend. I shouldn't have hit you, though, and I shouldn't have hit you where you did. Sorry you have to sit here now."

"That's fine." Ron brushed it off. "I'm over it, to be honest. You've got detention, don't you, with Snape?" Harry nodded. "Good enough for me. Just dealing with him for class is suffering enough. But, you know, next time you punch me I'll hit you back."

Harry nodded. "Okay." He said. "Here, I brought you Chocolate Frogs." Crabbe and Goyle had stolen them from a Hufflepuff (a House full of victims, it was beginning to seem, the poor fools instead tried to stick up for themselves instead of telling a professor that they were being attacked) so Harry had taken a few for Ron, as part of his apology.

He placed the packages on Ron's lap. The boy picked one up. "The professors didn't tell you to do this." He said.

"If I didn't feel sorry, I wouldn't have apologized, even if they had told me." Harry said. "I thought this would help show you that I am sorry. My mum once told me when you break a plate and you say sorry to it, it won't fix itself. You have to use glue or cast a spell to fix it. So, just saying sorry wouldn't make up for hitting you." He explained, completely truthful.

Ron nodded, already opening one of the packages. "No one's come to see me." He said. "Except for you. It's lonely."

Harry frowned. He had thought Ron was friends with a few of the Gryffindors. He knew Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle would all come to see him if he was in Ron's place. "What about the two who were backing you up?" He asked.

"Seamus and Dean are closer to each other, and they just like the opportunity to fight with Slytherins." Ron said. "Well, Neville said good morning to me when he left today, but he's awfully skittish and never says much."

He stared at Ron, biting off the head of a Chocolate Frog. Harry couldn't explain the strange emotion that ticked in his chest. He had never felt it before, but he knew he wanted to somehow help Ron Weasley. He just didn't know how. Harry thought about his own friendships. He thought he could be friends with the other Slytherins, if he actually bothered to talk to them, but he simply never did. They didn't seem very interesting and he got all he wanted socially from the three he was always around.

"You should try talking to Longbottom more." Harry decided. "He could just be shy. Maybe he really wants to be your friend, but he doesn't know how."

Ron shrugged. "I'll try." He said.

Harry smiled and stood up. "I'm off to class. I'll bring you more Chocolate Frogs later." He said, then left.

He did bring Ron more Chocolate Frogs later that day, only that time Ron had a visitor. He was laying in the bed, at that time, groaning at his headache. Granger, a Gryffindor in their year who had also got on Draco's bad side earlier that day in potions, was sitting by his side and telling him about homework.

"Tell her to shut up. All she's talking about is bloody school." Ron groaned.

Granger huffed. "I'm trying to help you!" She said, cheeks flushing red. Harry set the Chocolate Frogs on Ron's lap.

"Your apology is candy? Great, now you're going to give him cavities." Granger scolded.

"Cavities are extremely rare in magical children." Harry told her. "No one knows why, though."

"What's a cavity?" Ron asked.

"It's something what happens when you eat too much sweets." Harry explained. "Bacterial growth that causes tooth decay."

Granger sighed. "I guess." Then, "What are you doing here?" She questioned, suddenly harsh.

"Just to give Ron some candy I promised him." Harry said. "Goodbye." He then walked out of the Hospital Wing. He felt their confused stares as he left.

Detention with Professor Snape consisted of cleaning cauldrons and vials, or sitting at a desk in complete silence. On the third Saturday, Snape had him write endless lines of 'I won't cause harm to any of my peers' on many feet of parchment, his hand pained and cramping. But very simply, every detention left Harry on edge. He punched the wall as he left and saw blood pouring down of people's eyes, swore he heard screams echoing. He had stabbed the desk repeatedly with his quill until the tip snapped and some ink stained his hand, after he had done the lines. Snape simply stared at him, obviously pleased he was getting to Harry.

He had gotten two letters of scolding; one from Remus, another from his mum and dad. Remus had told him he shouldn't ever resort to violence unless he had no choice, as had his parents in a slightly different way. Sirius, however, had told him 'If you thought he needed to be punched, he probably deserved it. Next time punch someone when there are no witnesses and deny all accusations!'. Harry didn't think Ron had deserved it, though. He could've been nicer about preventing Draco from being hit.

Either way, seven weeks (seven Saturdays of detention) had passed surprisingly fast. It helped that, three to four times a week, Draco dragged their small group to the library to do homework or study. Typically, Harry got into paper battles with Crabbe and Goyle, until the librarian had gotten angry at them and banned them from the library for two days. Harry always finished his homework on time regardless, but he started to finish it long before anything was due. Draco had him read ahead and, sometimes, when a lesson began in class, he already knew what the teacher was talking about.

Of course, in Transfiguration, he still had to take notes to avoid McGonagall's disapproval.

Harry enjoyed Herbology more than his other classes, and he thought Potions was alright. Most of his dislike towards his schoolwork came from the fact it mostly consisted of notes and reading- purely theoretical. Sometimes, in Transfiguration, they'd get to learn a spell, which they'd work over and over on for multiple lessons. Such as the spell to turn the matchstick into a needle, it was something they went over for five straight lessons. He'd learn a spell by reading with Draco and want to actually cast it, but there was little opportunity to even try.

He thought Defense Against the Dark Arts could be his favorite class, if it wasn't for Professor Quirrell stuttering three times with every other word. Harry could enjoy reading for that class, as most of it involved with learning gruesome facts about magical creatures or Dark magic. It filled his imagination and his dreams, but Quirrell's rambling and stumbling and goddamn stuttering made Harry want to smack the man's head on the stone floor until it was half-mush and a delightfully bloody mess.

Harry had accidentally mentioned wanting to jam a book down Quirrell's throat to see if he could swallow it, and his friends had laughed. Not even Sirius had ever laughed at anything that came out of the abnormality of his mind. It was nice and, though the thoughts certainly didn't go away, it was easier to push them off knowing he could say them out loud to his friends and they wouldn't care.

Walking out the Great Hall on Halloween night, Harry smiled at Ron and waved. The red haired boy, after being released from the Hospital Wing, took to hanging around Neville Longbottom and Hermione Granger. It had removed the strange feeling Harry had ever since he had visited Ron that first time after hitting him. They never did talk, though, and most of their contact was long distance.

"The bloodtraitor hangs around a mudblood and the Longbottom buffoon, it fits." Draco said.

Harry looked at his friend and smiled. Crabbe and Goyle were battling over the pastries they'd taken from the table before leaving, and it made Harry smile wider.

He looked long enough away from in front of him, that he walked into the back of someone tall and hard like stone. For a second, Harry had thought he'd walked straight into a wall.

"Watch where you're going, Potter." Harry blinked and stared at older boy in front of him, a seventh year Slytherin he half-recognized from the common room.

"Sorry." Harry immediately apologized.

The boy had raised his hand but, Harry, hadn't thought much of it. In quicker than a flash (far quicker than Ron had been), the hand had shoved itself forward and slammed into Harry's chest. Harry hadn't any time to brace himself and he fell backwards, falling straight onto the ground, hard. A shock raced from his butt up to his back.

Annoyance, simmering, exploded into anger when the older boy sneered and walked away.

Harry wanted to stand up and rip out the boy's internal organs with his bare hands.

"Are you alright?" Draco was there, concerned. He grabbed his hands and helped him stand up.

"I'm fine." Harry lied, trying to not grit his teeth. He shoved his hands into his pockets and clenched them, digging his nails into his palms.

Draco didn't look as though he believed him, but he nodded. Crabbe and Goyle were both glaring at the older boy's back.

"That's Terrence Higgs." Draco told him. "He's the House Seeker, not the first time he's pushed people around. I can tell my Father-"

"Draco." Harry cut him off.

"I'm going to tell Father." Draco hissed. "Higgs should know better, you're with me! We do have to get him back, in some way."

Harry shook his head. How he wanted to get back at the Slytherin teen involved sharp blades and a room that created an echo. "Let's get back to the dormitory." He said.

He hadn't been able to sleep. Harry laid in his bed and, about five minutes before minute, he decided he had to unleash the simmering feeling in his chest. It had calmed down from seething anger, fairly quicker, but the annoyance wouldn't go away. All the techniques Dr. Bates had taught him did nothing. He only knew one way to release it.

It might've been impulsive of him, but Harry left his bed and opened his truck. On top of some assorted items, sat his wooden box. He picked up the box and sat it on his bed, pulling up the top, and examining the shiny mental instruments inside.

Dr. Bates would tell him to count until he didn't feel annoyed anymore. He'd already counted to 5,281. He'd suggest closing his eyes and simply imagining it, but just imagining didn't feel enough. He had the desperate urge to feel blood on his fingers, warm intestines between them waiting to be stretched in a game of cat's cradle. Dr. Bates would tell him just dealing with what he felt would be better than what he was thinking of doing.

Harry thought a dead familiar wouldn't be noticed very much. There had to be someone's cat or rat or toad running about the corridors. If he didn't find anything, then he'd just come back. It'd be a sign! But if he did find something, then it'd be another sign- one telling him to continue on with what he was thinking. Harry smiled and pulled out a scalpel and small bone saw. He'd like to dissect, but if he did, his family would likely guess it was him. He'd be messy, so messy that people would believe the familiar had been attacked by something inhuman. He hadn't been messy in years. (everything was so neat, in dissections, which was pleasing but Harry didn't want neatness even if there was a chance no one could guess it was time. he wanted blood and more blood)

He crept out of his dorm room unnoticed and exited out of the common room unseen, there was no one awake. The fireplace wasn't even lit. It had been very cold and Harry, still in his sleeping robes, felt the burn of the cold October air.

Out in the castle, Harry crept out of the dungeons and into the higher corridors. Whenever he heard a footstep, he glided in the opposite direction. He walked through shadows and merged with stone walls. Filch himself had passed by a hall where he was hiding. Harry felt accomplished, and he continued on.

He heard barn owls hooting and the noise of a rodent scuttling, but he saw nothing. His annoyance was still there. He continued. "Just a little while more," He said. "Then I'll go back."

Harry hoped it wouldn't come to that. He needed this. (He needed it, like he's never needed something before and he didn't know why) If he was in a better state of mind, he'd be wondering why the event earlier had bothered him so much. He should be able to brush off such things, he swore he has of similar things in the past. He wasn't thinking the way he should be, logically and calmly, he let the urges that always ticked in his horribly abnormal head simply takeover, limiting his control.

He saw a tail brush against the corner of a wall, disappearing to the right. Harry slowly walked up the stairway and moved forward, ears carefully paying attention to the rich silence for any hint of another living creature. When he peaked over the corner, he saw Mrs. Norris slowly walking forward.

Harry pushed himself into a sprint, bare feet soundless on the stone floor. He swiped up the cat before it had time to realize him as a threat.

He remembered when he was a child, when he'd catch a stray cat. They'd struggle some, but never make a noise and always let him have his way. He never understood it. He only half-expected for Mrs. Norris to do the same. It did.

The cat scratched angrily at the back of his hands, but Harry just pushed her onto her back. He shoved his hand into his front pocket and pulled out the scalpel.

Harry jammed it repeatedly into the cat's stomach. Blood spurted out and dyed her food, delicious warmth seeped over his fingers and under his nails. He pulled out the scalpel and swiped it, over and over again, vertically, on the cat's neck.

All of it, together, lasted barely a minute. Yet, Harry found he was absolutely calm.

"Shit." Harry cursed. "I'm so stupid." He insulted, hissing. He stood up, examining himself. He had blood soaking his hands up to an inch past his wrists. Not too bad, there was a bathroom nearby, he remembered, he could clean up.

Harry looked down at Mrs. Norris, whose head was nearly severed off and laying in a pool of its own blood. He was briefly surprised he had managed such damage with only a scalpel, then he sighed. There'd certainly be some investigation into the death of this cat, but the crime would be blamed on a student who had a proper motive. Someone always caught doing something they weren't supposed to do because of the cat. Doubtful it could be linked to him. His family hadn't known any of his messiness, only the neatness of his dissections. He'd be fine.

He had to repeat it multiple times in his head.

There was a girls' bathroom further down the corridor, though no one used it. Harry knew a ghost lurked inside, but he had no care for that. He used one of the sinks to clean his hands, and the scalpel. He held up the bone saw he had taken with and wondered why he had chosen it. He sighed and placed it, with the scalpel he reminded himself to disinfect later, into his front pocket.

Harry quickly returned to the Slytherin dormitories, none of the wiser of his temporary disappearance.

Poor Mrs. Norris! And poor Filch, his cat's dead! FYI I was gonna have Harry kill somebody but I decided against it lmao

So, did I write that last portion of this chapter well? I feel like it's total shit tbh, but, as usual, here's to hope! This chapter is 2.7k words, too!

Harry does suffer from intrusive thoughts, however, he's also suffering a few other mental problems that are beginning to mature and show their ways as he grows older. Consider this! He's 11 years old, nearing puberty. Most mental illnesses don't begin to show until adulthood. Harry has had hints since childhood, as a result he was put into therapy with a muggle psychologist. He also was heavily influenced by lessons at St. Mungo's that taught him much about the human body. He dissected animals regularly with his godfather and, before that, he captured and killed stray pets for reasons he didn't even understand. There's going to be sudden, rapid developments of his mind that are influenced by what occurs around him. He also holds care/love for certain people around him- his family and people he consider his friend. There's also a good number of things that you'll realize as the story progresses.

He understands that he isn't 'right', but how much does he truly care about being abnormal? How long will he care about being normal?

ALSO! I might not be able to update as often as I have for a few weeks! We're getting ready to move about 1500 miles, so I'm packing and helping my mom get shit together.

p.s. review plz i want love