A/N This chapter was a little harder to get down on paper so I'm sorry for the wait. Umm I also had strep throat for a week and couldn't write anything I'm so sorry about that, but this will be in Scorpius's POV.

Warning: Self-harm, Depression, and Anxiety are big parts of this story and it may trigger a relapse.

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry I would not need to write this on , and I'd be rich:) which I am not.

Scorpius:

After descending the long staircase, I now stand in front of the doors to the formal dining awaiting my fate. Okay, its not like I'm gonna die or anything, but my anxiety is screaming in my face all the possible solutions, and most are not very pleasant. I can feel the pit of dread build up in my stomach, and for a second I think I might throw up.

Breath

How will they act? Hopefully not like when they found out about my sorting, if that happens again I might actually run away this time. I just need to calm down, they are my family I should trust that it won't be too bad. Yeah, but when has that ever counted for anything.

Breath

Okay, I feel like I have some sort of grip on my stomach so I open the door. The image that meets me is a very practiced calm on the face of Lucius Malfoy. My father standing with an agitated air of indifference. My grandmother, going senile from old age and bad experiences, is sitting on a chair looking slightly lost, and my mother, having a very finicky feel about her.

"You wanted me?" I say, breaking the very tense silence.

"Whats in you hand, Scorpius?" My father's cold, drawling voice cuts out any attempt at small talk. Only short and to the point.

I look at my slender hand and see that its still holding my Hogwarts letter. Dammit. In my panicky state I totally forgot I was still carrying the thing my parents should not see."My Hogwarts letter, Im Head Boy." Might as well get this over with.

A sneer appears on both my grandfather and fathers faces. But grandfather beats my daad to the scolding, "Oh, and how did you get that my dear boy, with you Gryffindor courage? Or was it the kindness you show to those who are beneath you that brought this on?"

"You are once again acting like a stain on the House of Malfoy. Everything I taught you has gone down the drain with all these new ideas filling your useless head." My father adds.

I can't take the abuse anymore, so I try and fight back, "If I'm so useless then why did I even get head Boy!"

"Do not use that tone with us, Scorpius." my mother squeaks from the corner.

"You got it because your Headmistress values all the wrong and unnatural things." Grandfather booms back a me.

"Yeah, like being a death eater and killing countless innocent victims, sounds like the right way of thinking." I mutter under my breath sarcastically.

"Speak up, boy.'

"Nothing." I say slightly louder than before.

"Can't even say it to my face, worthless Gryffindor scum. We had high hopes for you, now those are crushed." My Grandfather practically spits back at me.

I can feel my stomach in my throat again, and it feels like the walls are closing in. My brain is screaming one thing.

And one thing only.

Get out!

I am an utterly disappointing son, everything my parents taught me I did the opposite (even if it feels wrong). They all hate you, your useless and a layabout.

All these thoughts were filling my head and pushing the air out of my lungs as ran from the formal dining, to my bedroom. Who was I kidding, no one cares about you. Once I got to my bedroom I slammed the the door behind me shut and started ruffling through my drawers.

Where is it?! I need the nicotine to fill my lungs and calm me from this panic.

This overwhelming disappointment thats soon to consume me.

As I find my pack of American Spirit Menthols, I soon remember that I smoked the last cigarette the night prior on my balcony to help sooth my nerves, much like tonight.

Since I don't have any cigarettes left, I'm down to my last resort. Something that helps me feel the pain and suffering I deserve. Much like the burning sensation in my lungs after I take a drag.

I find the razor in my bedside table hidden under one of my notebooks, and by the time I'm done I've reopen four scars and added a few more to my portrait of pain, hidden behind pant legs, and long sleeved shirts, and button ups. In the end though, I know that I deserve what I've done. I am a fuck-up, a screw-up. I deserve this.

Don't I?

I am once again laying in my bed, just staring at my old ceiling, the varying lines of decay are reminding me of my own depression, slowly crawling into my soul. Yes I know, kinda creepy but what am I supposed to do when I can still feel the stinging in my ankles and forearms. I should probably get up and fly to muggle London for new fags, but my body feels like iron and my legs jelly.

Get up.

After about 20 minutes I feel almost put together so I throw on a trench coat for the wind and grab my nimbus 3000 from my closet. Hopping out my large floor to ceiling window is no trouble since I've done this so many times before, the only thing I can't seem to get used to is my stomach dropping right when I push off. When I first did this I was so terrified of my family noticing that I left the premise from the wards, but since I've been doing it so long and no repercussion I think they just don't care .

The countryside where I live is about a 40 min broom ride to London. It's almost dusk and the stars are lighting everything like a protective blanket, making it have a nice glow. Riding through here like this is one my favorite things to do at home, no expectations just flying like a leaf being carried by the wind.

It's almost too soon when I land on the outskirts of the city hidden by smog and darkness. I hide my broom under fake grass inside a bush I placed there when I first started doing these nightly endeavors a year ago. The gas station I usually go to is a little down the way but gives me a pack without an id so I can't complain.

"American spirit 12 packs, please." I gruffly say to the cashier. I need a lot for when I'm at school.

"71 pounds is your total." Yes I know what muggle money is. Yes I have some, don't ask how I got it.

" That's over our agreed payment!" I harshly whisper back. We agreed she only got 3 pounds more than my original total so I don't have to show id.

"Well I've changed my mind, do I make myself clear or do I need to get the manager to manage you." The gangly old women haughtily replies, she's quickly raising my temper. I clench my fists piercing my finger nails against my skin, soon it will draw blood. She is not helping my already irritated/upset/sad mood.

"Alright, here." I slam my fist filled with money on the desk and take my fags. Right before I walk out the door though, I cast a small and quick stinging hex at her. I don't stay long enough to see the effect.

As I head back and crawl into my bed I remember that I'm leaving here tonight for Hogwarts.

And that I am underage for such magic.

Damnit.