Disclaimer: I don't ownHarry Potter!!!

AN: This chapter contains suicidal ideation and a suicide attempt - if this is triggering to you, please don't read! Take care of yourself 3

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Harry woke with a start, bolting upright in bed. He camped a hand over his mouth in an attempt to muffle his screams - he knew from experience how people, especially his uncle, tended to react when they were woken up in the middle of the night. His flimsy pyjama top was soaked through with sweat, and his hair was plastered to his forehead in damp strands. It took a moment for Harry to remember where he was, and to realise that he wasn't in any danger there - yet his racing heart still pounded in his chest, and it was a struggle to get any air into his lungs. Harry tried desperately to slow his breathing, taking deep, shuddering breaths, in and out, but the sense of panic he had woken up with still didn't subside.

Moving as quietly - but also as quickly - as possible, Harry reached under his pillow, the feeling of the sharp metal in his clammy hand a massive comfort in itself, and padded across the floor to the doorway, wincing at every creak and groan from the ancient wooden floorboards. Ron, however, remained fast asleep, still snoring loudly. Opening the door as little as possible to avoid the squeaking hinges waking anyone up, Harry slipped out into the dimly lit corridor, closing the door gently. He tip toed across the corridor, only relaxing when he was in the bathroom with the door locked behind him, and let out a long sigh of relief - he hadn't realised he had been holding his breath.

His eyes still adjusting to the light, Harry sat down on the closed toilet seat, finally letting tears he had been fighting ever since he woke up spill over. He pulled up his sleeve roughly, and swiped the metal across his arm without hesitation. Again and again, his vision blurred by the tears streaming down his cheeks, he kept dragging the blade across, relishing the stinging pain that came with each swipe. Blood was pouring down his arm in little rivulets, pooling in the crook of his elbow and dripping onto the tiled floor, but Harry didn't care. He needed this feeling to be gone. The pressure, the guilt, the grief… it was all just too much. A sob wrenched free from his body as he slashed diagonally across his arm, before throwing the razor across the room. It pinged off of the sink, and fell onto the tile, the blood that coated it's surface dripping off of the blade, surrounding it in a tiny pool of red. Harry just sat there, sobbing uncontrollably, making no attempt to staunch the blood that was flowing freely from a deep gash in his arm. He just sat there, shaking uncontrollably, unable to stop the tears from flowing.

A knock on the door nearly made Harry fall off of the toilet seat in fright. "Is everything okay in there?" Remus's voice floated through the door, causing Harry's panic to increase tenfold.

"I'm fine," he said, fighting to keep his voice even, and immediately curses himself for speaking. Now Remus knew it was him.

"Harry, could you open the door please?" Then, when Harry didn't respond, a muttered "alohamora,"

Shit. Harry quickly yanked down his sleeve and brought his knees to his chest, hiding his arms behind them just as the door swung open, and a very concerned looking Remus entered the bathroom. His eyes first went to Harry, perched on top of the toilet seat, his face blotchy and tear-streaked. But then his gaze shifted to the blood on the floor, at the base of the toilet, and on the sink where the blade had hit when he'd thrown it. "You're injured," he said, more of a statement than a question. His eyes then settled on Harry's badly hidden arm, and on the blood-soaked sleeve covering it. He was crouched next to Harry and pulling up his sleeve before Harry could even register what was happening. He tried to yank his arm back, but Lupin held it firmly - but gently. Carefully, he peeled back the shirt, his face betraying no emotion as he stared at Harry's arm. The gash was still bleeding, but had slowed considerably, the blood already clotting. The rest of the cuts had stopped completely, and Harry couldn't help wincing as he realised just how deep some of them were. He hadn't noticed at the time - hadn't cared.

Remus closed his eyes and sighed heavily, letting go of Harry's arm. Without a single word, he stood up, and walked over to the sink, where he opened the above cupboard and began digging around. He returned with some medical supplies and a faded t-shirt from the laundry basket. He crouched back down next to Harry, and this time, instead of grabbing him, he extended a hand, and waited for Harry to hesitantly offer out his arm. Lupin worked in silence, carefully cleaning the wounds, being as gentle as possible. He waved his wand over Harry's arm, and the deeper cuts instantly closed up, the sides knitting together, leaving nothing more than a thin red line. Another flick, and a bandage wrapped itself around his arm, securing itself with a safety pin. Remus held out his hand again, wordlessly requesting Harry's other arm. Although clean and not bleeding, it still wasn't a pretty sight - angry red lines cross-crossed up his wrist, all the way to his elbow, covering every inch of skin. Yet again, a bandage snaked its way up his arm, covering every single cut. Once he was fully bandaged, Remus stood and offered Harry his hand. Harry took it tentatively, and stood up. His eyes remained fixed on the floor, his gaze shifting to the blood covering the white tiles. Another flick of Remus's wand, and it was gone. He gave Harry the shirt, clean from having been in the magically-enhanced laundry basket, and turned his back to allow Harry some privacy whilst he peeled off his blood-soaked shirt, and pulled on the baggy t-shirt. It came down to about his thighs, and the short sleeves somewhat bothered him, but it was better than his bloody pyjama top. He chucked it in the laundry basket, and the blood stains instantly started to recede.

Remus walked out into the corridor, silently gesturing for Harry to follow, and lead him downstairs to the kitchen. Harry sat at the small table, still trembling slightly, and watched Lupin as he prepare two steaming mugs of hot chocolate, and set one down in front of him. He sat down in the adjacent seat, and took a long sip of his drink before speaking. "Why, Harry?" The man's voice sounded more pained than Harry had ever heard it, and it caused him a pang of guilt. He fixed his gaze on the mug in front of him, watching the steam rise off of the top in swirling tendrils.

"I'm sorry." Harry's voice broke, and a single tear trickled down his cheek. He didn't mean to cry, but once he started, he just couldn't stop. His shoulders shook with silent sobs, tears yet again spilling over. Remus inched his chair closer, and leaned over to embrace Harry tightly. Harry cried into his shoulder, leaving an embarrassingly damp patch on his shirt. After a few minutes, Harry pulled away, sniffing and wiping away the traitorous tears with the back of his hand. He was about to apologise again, when he saw the look of Remus's face. He had never seen that look on Lupin' face before, and never wanted to again. He looked… sad. Harry had never seen Remus look sad before - not like this.

"You don't need to be sorry, Harry. It's me who should be apologising, not you. I should have realised something was wrong - I should have helped you. I knew you were struggling after what happened during the tournament, but I didn't realise how bad it was." He spoke softly, running a hand through his hair. "How long?" He asked quietly.

"After the tournament, I started having nightmares - every night. Always the same one." Harry's voice was barely more than a whisper. It felt strange, being honest after so many months of constant lying - strange, but good. "One night, I went to the kitchen for a glass of water, and I saw the knife on the counter-" he paused, but Remus nodded in encouragement. "I don't know what I was thinking - I just wanted it all to stop. And it did; for a while. So the next time I felt crappy, I did it again. And again. And I guess it just became a habit." Harry held his breath, anxiously waiting for Lupin's reply. Remus seemed to word his response carefully, mulling over each word before he said it.

"When you were in the bathroom, after dinner… was that- were you…?" He trailed off, but Harry knew what he was getting at,

"No, I just- wasn't feeling well. I think maybe I had a big or something." Harry didn't want to lie to him - but he wasn't quite willing to share everything just yet. And anyway - what he didn't know couldn't hurt him. Indeed, Remus breathed out a sigh of relief.

"Are you- do you have to tell everyone?" Harry asked, fear creeping back in at the thought of everyone finding out.

"Not everyone. But yes, Harry- I'm afraid certain people will have to know."

"Who?"

"Molly should know, so she can help keep an eye on your wounds - she is much more knowledgable about healing than me, despite my personal experience with injuries." A small smile crossed his scarred face. "And if Molly knows, then I have no doubt Arthur will too - but I don't think that's too unreasonable, do you?" Harry shook his head, and Remus took another drink from his mug and sighed heavily before continuing. "And Dumbledore will have to be notified - for your safety, when you go back to school," he added, seeing the look of terror that clouded Harry's features.

"No. Please, no - not Dumbledore." Harry's tone was pleading - desperate. Dumbledore couldn't find out. He relied on Harry; trusted him. If he found out… what if he abandoned Harry altogether? What if he didn't want someone as broken as him assisting him, especially in something as important as the fight against Voldemort? What if he thought Harry couldn't handle it? His breathing began to speed up, much to Remus's alarm.

"Harry, breathe. It's okay, I won't tell Dumbledore. But only if you promise that you will stop this - if you're still hurting yourself when you go back to school, Dumbledore will have to be told." At his words, Harry's breathing began to ease, and his heart rate came back down. He took some deep breaths, before nodding in agreement.

"I think- only if you are happy with it, of course- but I think Sirius ought to know. He is your godfather after all; and he cares a great deal about you. I think he would want to know." Harry just nodded weakly, too tired to fight him on it. He picked up the steaming mug, and took a few tentative sips. The hot chocolate coated his tongue and soothed his throat, warming him from the inside as it hit his empty stomach. He had no doubt he would regret it in the morning, but he was so achingly hungry - surely one hot chocolate wouldn't matter.

They sat in silence, sipping their drinks and warming their hands on the warm mugs. When they were done, Remus took the empty mugs and placed them in the sink, where a brush immediately sprang to life, and began being washing them. "Come on - off to bed," Remus smiled warmly, looking much happier than he had before their conversation. "You must be exhausted."

He was. His eyes were beginning to droop, and his limbs felt heavy. He thanked Remus - he wasn't sure if it was for the drink, the conversation, the bandages, or all three - and headed back up to his room. This time, he was asleep before his head even hit the pillow.

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Harry slept late the next morning. The sun was already shining through the thin curtains when he woke up, fumbling for his glasses. A cursory glance at the clock on the nightstand told him it was almost midday. Another glance, this time at his arms, which were still bandaged, and his shirt, the baggy t-shirt from the laundry, reminded him of last night's events. Shit. So that wasn't a dream.

Harry didn't bother getting changed - apart from a black zip-up to cover his arms, which was probably useless anyway, seeing as Remus would have told them by now. But still - he had become so used to long sleeves, felt naked without them. Exposed.

He made his way downstairs slowly, not all that willing to face everyone just yet. He had briefly considered just staying in the bedroom all day, but within five minutes of that plan, had become painfully bored, and extremely thirsty. He'd just go downstairs, find a book and a glass of water, and go back upstairs.

He could hear them from the stairs, talking in hushed tones. He knew they were talking about him, even without being able to hear the actual conversation. This just made it all the more awkward when he appeared in the kitchen. Sirius and Remus were sitting at the same table he and Lupin had sat at before. The sad, worried look on Sirius's face vanished the second he saw Harry - though it was still there in in his eyes. Mrs Weasley was making tea in the corner, and even though she smiled warmly when she spotted Harry there, he could tell she had been crying.

"Morning, kiddo," Sirius smiled at him, though it was strained. Remus just nodded at him, and Mrs Weasley came bustling over a tall glass of orange juice in her hand, which she offered to Harry. Harry took it gratefully, thanking her and gulping it down quickly. He was so thirsty - and oranges were healthy, anyway. Vitamin C or whatever.

"How about a spot of breakfast? Or," she glanced at the clock behind her, "Lunch?"

"No thank you, Mrs Weasley - I'm not hungry." The lie came easily enough. "Where are the others?" He asked, as Mrs Weasley took the empty glass from his hand, and busied herself at the sink, washing it up - the tea was seemingly forgotten

"They're just outside, dear." She smiled warmly. Harry managed a small smile in return, and quickly pulled on his trainers before heading out of the door.

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Ginny, Ron and the twins were up in the air when Harry reached them, practicing their shooting with an old, worn quaffle and a couple of hand made hoops. Hermione was sat by the side, her nose in a book. Ron saw him approach, and threw the quaffle at Ginny, who nearly fell off her broom trying to catch it - much to the amusement of Fred and George. She shot them a vulgar gesture, which Harry was glad Mrs Weasley wasn't there to see. Ron landed in front of him, a massive grin on his face. "Hey, mate - we thought you'd become nocturnal," he joked. Above him, Fred and George started hooting like owls. It wasn't difficult for Harry to join in with the laughing - even if it was at his expense. Something about being around his friends always lifted his mood. "Wanna play? We've got a spare broom. It's just a Cleansweep, nothing special - I know you're used to your Firebolt, but-"

"I'll play," Harry cut in. He was grateful for the distraction. As soon as he was in the air, he felt all his worked melt away. It was just him and the broom. Compared to the sleek, fast feel of his Firebolt, the Cleansweep felt sluggish and unresponsive - but still, it was better than being stuck in the bedroom, worrying. He was able to lose himself in the game - and surprised himself with his shooting ability. Maybe he should have been a chaser, instead of seeker. His defending skills, however, left a lot to be desired; the quaffle kept shooting past him, to quick for him to register - every time he tried to block it, and ended up missing it by at least a foot. He would have made a shocking keeper, a fact that the twins were very quick to point out.

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Mrs Weasley called them in for lunch about an hour later. Harry would have preferred to keep playing, but he was grateful for the rest - it had been a lot of fun, but he was exhausted, and his vision was beginning to swim again. Hermione finally put down her book to walk with us back to the house, cutting in between me and Ron and linking arms with us. They chatted as they walked, and Harry found himself genuinely smiling, and even laughing. That all faded, however, when they walked inside, and Harry was faced with a massive platter of sandwiches. Whilst the others all happily munched through theirs, chatting away, Harry sat in silence, nibbling at the crust of his sandwich. He knew the adults were watching him - especially Remus - but he just couldn't bring himself to take a proper bite. The orange juice had been once thing, but… Before long, the others had finished, and were getting ready to head back out. Harry, was about to join them, when Sirius spoke, "Hey, Harry - would you mind coming here for a second?"

Harry felt like he was walking towards his own execution. In fact, he would rather have been walking to his death. Sirius gestured for him to sit, a chair pulling itself out from underneath the table. Harry complied, if only because he was beginning to get dark spots in his vision, and his stomach was lurching horribly.

"Harry, we wanted to talk to you - about what happened last night." Sirius's words rang alarm bells in Harry's mind. It was an effort not to get up and run.

"Moony- er, Remus- um-" He sighed heavily. "Remus said you had some injuries - to your arms?"

"It's nothing." Harry knew he was being unnecessarily curt, but he was in no mood to talk. He just wanted to go and lie down - maybe sleep for a while. Sometimes he wished he could sleep forever.

"It's not nothing," Remus interjected. "It's okay, Harry. You can tell him."

"What's the point? You've probably told him everything already." The words came out angrier than he had intended. He didn't know why he was being like this - they were only trying to help. He was just so sick of people worrying about him all the time.

"I know, but it should come from you, Harry." Remus maintained his calm demeanour, despite Harry's bitter tone.

"Can you at least tell me why?" Sirius's voice was beginning to sound strained.

"There is no why. I'm fine, there's nothing wrong with me!" Harry knew his volume was creeping up, but he didn't care. Why couldn't they just leave him alone.

"You're not fine! Cutting yourself is not fine!" Sirius matched Harry in volume, his tone making him flinch violently. This did not go unnoticed by Remus, who shot Sirius a warning look, or Sirius, who instantly lowered his voice.

"Please, Harry. Just talk to us - you need help." Sirius paused, tasking a breath. "We'd like you to hand over your razor, or knife or whatever it is you use." Remus nodded in agreement.

Something about it, he wasn't sure what, rubbed Harry the wrong way.

"FOR THE LAST TIME, I DON'T NEED HELP! I'M FUCKING FINE! AND WHAT THE FUCK MAKES YOU THINK I'D JUST HAND IT OVER?!" He regretted the words as soon as they had left his mouth. Harry had never yelled at anyone - definitely not at Remus or Sirius. And he certainly had never sworn in front of them either. Well, there's a first time for everything.

Harry stood up abruptly, but as he tried to walk away, Sirius reached out and grabbed his arm to stop him. Agony ripped through him as the wounds Remus had healed tore open, and he cried out in pain. Sirius let him go instantly, a look of complete horror on his face. Harry cradled his arm, the pain making him feel sick. He could already feel the blood seeping through the bandages, and even his hoodie sleeve. Mrs Weasley, who had been trying her best to remain in the background as she tidied away the lunch things during the conversation, turned white as a sheet. Remus stood up calmly, and gently took Harry's bleeding arm in his hands. Harry shrugged off his hoodie, exposing the white bandages, now with blood seeping through on one side. Sirius paled at the sight, muttering continuous apologies under his breath. Lupin, still holding Harry's injured arm, guided him carefully back to his seat. "Sirius, please could you grab a cloth and some warm water?" He asked softly, not taking his eyes off of Harry as he unwrapped the bandage, gently peeling it off of his arm and muttering apologies whenever Harry winced or gasped and the intense stinging. Harry tried to catch the falling blood with his other hand, not wanting to get any on the clean floor.

By the time Sirius returned with the flannel and a bowl of warm water, which only took a moment, Harry's cupped palm was full of blood from his dripping arm. Lupin took his wand out, and waved it over the bleeding wounds. They began to clot instantly, until they had stopped bleeding completely. Mrs Weasley came over then, with a roll of kitchen towel. She tore off a few sheets and gave them to Harry, for him to clean his bloody hand. He ended up needing a lot more than a few sheets, but Mrs Weasley didn't seem to mind. Whilst Harry tried his best to mop up the blood from his palm, Remus gently cleaned his arm, the water turning a deeper shade of crimson every time he dipped the bloodied flannel back in. Again, bandages flew from the tip of his wand, wrapping themselves around Harry's now-clean arm.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," Sirius spoke from behind him. "I didn't mean to."

"It's fine." Harry said, a little more aggressively than he meant to, and stood up. He pulled his hoodie back on, gave Remus a tight-lipped thank you, and retreated upstairs. He wasn't sure he could handle any more lecturing today. Or ever.

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Both Remus and Sirius knocked on Harry's door at some point, wanting to talk. And both times, Harry refused. He was so god damned tired. But, somehow, he knew that even if he slept for a decade, it wouldn't alleviate his exhaustion. He was tired of life. Tired of being 'The Chosen One'. Tired of losing people. Tired of everything always being his fault. Tired of failing, again and again. Tired of living.

So Harry made a choice. Voldemort had been trying to kill him for years, but never managed - Harry decided to do him a favour.

He took his time running the bath, but didn't bother with bubble bath or essential oils. He would just be wasting them. Once the tub was full, Harry stripped down to his underwear, removing the bandages and chucking them in the bin, grabbed his blade off of the counter, and stepped into the bath. The water was almost unbearably hot - but that was how Harry liked it. He lay there for a while, turning the blade over in his hand, watching the light glint off of the shiny surface and sharp edges. The water was beginning to cool down, though - and if there was thing Harry hated, it was a cold bath.

His hand was trembling slightly as he pressed the blade to his wrist. The gravity of what he was about to do was beginning to dawn on him. Paused for a moment, taking a few deep breaths. Then…

Slash. For his mum.

Slash. For his dad.

Slash. For Cedric.

Th cuts were deep - deeper than he had ever gone before. With each swipe of his blade, blood began spurting out of the wounds in pulsating bursts, eddying in the water and giving it a rose-pink hue.

Slash. For yelling at Sirius.

Slash. For making Mrs Weasley cry.

Slash. For abandoning his friends.

Black spots were beginning to appear in Harry's vision, and he felt as though he was floating - as if he were in an ocean instead of a bathtub, suspended by the rocking waves. He switched to the other arm.

Slash. For letting everyone down.

Slash. For being a failure

Slash. Slash. Slash.

The water had gone from pale pink to deep crimson, the blood flowing from Harry's arm at an alarming rate. He couldn't even see the wounds under all the blood, but he could tell they were deep. Good.

The blade fell from Harry's bloodied fingers, disappearing under the crimson water. He didn't bother trying to retrieve it. Instead, he lay back, resting his head against the cool tiles, and closes his eyes. The bathroom was spinning around him, and he could feel himself fading. The black spots grew, multiplied, taking over his vision until all her could see was black. It was… peaceful. Harry slipped into unconsciousness, a smile on his unnaturally pale face, blissfully unaware of the pounding on the bathroom door. He wasn't aware of the panicked yells, or of the strong arms lifting him out of the tub.

He just faded away into the darkness - asleep at last.

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Thanks for reading! Sorry for the cliffhanger, but I will upload again asap! :P