(TW: Moderate self-harm in this chapter.)

Let You Down, Seether

If I could speak, I'd tell you all my fears and deprivations
If I could feel, I'd take away your pain
If I could breathe, I'd show you all my scars and imperfections
If I could bleed, I'd hold you in my veins

You've got me feeling like an animal
Beat down in fear and paralyzed
You've got me feeling like I have no other hand to hold in this assisted suicide

Harry wanted his wand back. Preferably before classes, but he didn't see a way to shake his now paranoid friends off before breakfast. It would have to wait. He got changed out of his robes as though he were a robot, his actions mechanical. His heart had thundered in his ears since well before Malfoy stunned him. Though certainly worse afterwards.

He couldn't bring himself to feel the full scope of his emotions. There was too much in his head. The full picture escaped him, and his mind was numb with the size of it. He tried to bring himself solace with the fact that he had at least protected the students of Hogwarts. But it was at a cost he didn't understand. So it felt, at best, laced with poison.

He could feel the thing in his head. Every thought Harry had ran through it's metaphorical fingers.

He'd been changing his shirt but sat down on the bed as it finally, truly dawned on him that the thing in his head was not some random, separate entity. He couldn't pretend it was, anymore. It was Voldemort's. His magic, his memories. His voice. For whatever reason, he had a piece of Voldemort's power in him.

'The one with power to rival the Dark Lord's own approaches,'

Harry didn't even have a warning when he slapped himself in the face. He stood up, shook his whole body, and put on a shirt. He stared straight ahead and said nothing as Ginny, Ron, and Hermione walked with him to the Great Hall. Ron had handed him the map, and Harry nodded thanks.

He was roused slightly from his numbness when he laid eyes on the Slytherin table. Harry found Malfoy, who had already spotted him. Colour drained from the blonde's face, and one by one his friends stopped talking as they followed Draco's haunted gaze to the Boy Who Lived. Harry didn't take his eyes off Malfoy as he sat down, made it so he was facing the Slytherin as he reached for toast.

Harry noticed Hermione following his laser-focused glare to the Slytherin table, but she wisely saved it for later. The Chosen One bit his toast and chewed it with force. The blonde looked like he wanted to run. Or vomit. Parkinson was flicking her eyes between Harry and Draco, whispering rapidly in his ear. He didn't seem to be hearing her. When Malfoy stood up, Harry did too.

Draco Malfoy rushed from the hall, followed by his friends and the Chosen One.

Harry had muttered to Hermione and Ron that he'd see them later. It was obvious he was following the blonde, but they didn't move to join or stop him. Ron put his hand on Hermione's shoulder, and she scowled, tearing her eyes away from Harry as he bolted from the feast.

"Hey, git!" Harry snapped at the retreating Slytherin once outside the hall, and all five of them turned as though they were shocked he'd followed.

"Potter," Zabini said as Harry rapidly approached, stepping in front of Malfoy like a bodyguard, wand raised. The Chosen One disarmed the Slytherin with a wave of his hand then shoved him to the side as he grabbed Malfoy by the front of his robes.

"My wand." Harry spat.

"It's- It's… Not here," Malfoy was distraught. The Slytherins were paused with their wands raised, warned by Harry's wandless display of magic.

"Where."

"Dun- dungeons."

"Good. We're walking." Harry said, pushing the Slytherin away, satisfied when he lost his footing. Pansy tried to help him up, but he shook her off, disgusted.

The Boy Who Lived took the invisibility cloak out of his bag and made pointed eye contact with the now upright Malfoy while he threw it over his head. He didn't want to be seen with them; he'd been lucky enough that the altercation thus far had no witnesses. Questions weren't welcome. He also felt the need to prove a point and give a warning. He wanted to curse the blonde to within an inch of his life but scaring him would do.

"You've got to be joking," Zabini said, mouth open as Harry vanished. Crabbe reached out as though he expected it to go through the Boy Who Lived.

Harry stepped out of the way of his hand and repeated "We're walking," while pushing Malfoy's shoulder.

"That's just not possible. Is it?" Pansy said behind him as they started moving toward the dungeon. No one responded to her.

He followed them to their Common Room in uneasy silence. Malfoy spoke the password in a hushed whisper, and the great snake on the wall revealed the door. The grand spiral staircase that descended into the expansive, hall-like Common Room was familiar. The green haze of the light filtered through the lake; the copper fixtures turned blue over time. The fountain that poured from overhead at the base of the stairs, heavy like a waterfall. A good place for private conversations. Several Slytherins milled about, some looking up at the group entering. The thing in his head felt very present as he took in the lake from the windows before he trailed after Malfoy and Zabini to their dormitory. The other Slytherins remained in the Common Room, looking nervous.

"In your trunk? That's a good hiding spot Malfoy," Harry said, stripping the robe as the copper, vault-like door closed.

Malfoy turned and passed Harry his wand, sweat visible on his forehead. Zabini had his raised, stepping foot to foot, ready for a fight. Harry looked over the pair of them, wondering if they'd have anything to say. Malfoy looked white as a sheet.

"I'll see you around," Harry spat, throwing the cloak back over his head before pushing the heavy door open and slipping out.

"Well, no wonder we bloody couldn't find him," he heard Zabini say.

Harry resisted the urge to look out the windows at the lake as he exited. To stay and watch the Grindylows taunt first years through the glass.

He managed to avoid Hermione's inquisition proper until lunchtime. She and Ginny forced him into the library, but only because he'd silently allowed it.

Hermione sat him down as he looked right through her. He didn't know where Ron was.

"Harry, last night…" Hermione wasted no time, talking before she sat down. Harry took a deep breath in.

"What happened? I was going to ask you… About Sirius. I know you don't want to talk, Harry, but that night- at the Ministry," Hermione looked to Ginny for support, but she gave her none, opting to watch the Boy Who Lived silently.

"That night at the Ministry, something happened, didn't it?" Hermione said with more confidence.

"What do you mean?" Harry could barely recognize the sound of his own voice.

"Something… Something happened, I'm certain of it. You've been acting strangely, you've been sick, the obsession with the Slytherins… And last night it seemed like you might-" Hermione pressed, pausing before she could say he looked like he had been about to curse her before he ran from the tower.

Harry's eyes flicked to Ginny, and he raised an eyebrow.

"Sirius died," the Boy Who Lived moved his gaze back to her, "Sirius died, Hermione, that's what happened."

"I've been… I haven't been coping. Fine. I know. It was- my fault. That he was there. That anyone was there." Harry said when Hermione's face didn't change.

"That's not true." Ginny snapped, "Nothing that happened there was your fault." She scowled at him, pursing her lips.

"I mean, I'm glad you feel that strongly, Ginny. I can't say I agree with you." Harry meant that more than she knew. If he hadn't chased Bellatrix…

"Look. I'll do better, I promise," Harry said, standing. He could feel it all trying to catch up to him as he steadied himself on the arm of the chair.

"Harry that's not… That's not what this is about. We don't want to think you have to 'do better'. We want to help you." Ginny said while Hermione crossed her arms.

"I know. I know you do. I'll see you both at lunch," Harry said, leaning toward the door and waiting for them to let him go. They did, seemingly keen to talk about him in his absence.

It became clear throughout that day and the day following that the Slytherins expected repercussions. It was obvious to him now that Malfoy thought he was sending Harry to his death, and that he had not planned in any capacity for the Boy Who Lived to return to the castle. It was also clear he hadn't been told that Harry had been returned by his mother on the order of the Dark Lord, and so, the Slytherins appeared to be waiting for their doom, waiting for Harry to drop the other boot on their heads and take it to the headmaster. Presumably, while the Slytherin's parents told them all nothing.

The Boy Who Lived was quite happy to leave it at that. Watching them skitter out of his presence, as though absence would make him forget, was the only amusement to come from the ordeal.

Herbology with the Slytherins meant they couldn't escape, and Harry distracted himself with prolonged, intense staring at the group responsible for his kidnapping. Malfoy refused to look at the Chosen One, focusing on the Tentacula in front of him, ghastly pale. It was clear he felt the glare. The five Slytherins worked in silence, Parkinson and Zabini staring at Harry almost as much as he was them.

Hermione and Ron were watching this exchange, and the bushy-haired teen made a very clear 'we're going to talk about this later', face when Harry finally looked her way.

The Boy Who Lived didn't want to give himself time to think about what had happened.

He kept telling himself he'd made the Vow with no other options, that if he hadn't, the war might have been over the very next day. The Order wouldn't have been victors. He would have ended the war, handing himself to Voldemort without the means to struggle. That the price of not discussing the meeting would surely be worth it, over the alternative. Surely.

He pushed the incessant thoughts away and put more venom into his glare, making Parkinson duck her head.

"Now if I catch any of you trying to steal these leaves, it's detention every Sunday for a month!" Professor Sprout called.

The thing in his mind hadn't spoken since the morning of his return, but Harry felt it. He squeezed his eyes shut, disgusted at the idea of having to cast Liquida Tenebris, regularly, to keep the Vow. If it was hungry the secret wouldn't be safe. He wouldn't be doing everything in his power. Harry felt that particular trap was probably the cruellest part of all of it.

If strong was the mandate he'd need to cast it weekly, as far as he could tell. There was a part of him, not a small part, that was pleased to have a reason to cast it. A reason not to fight it. Glad for the removal of the moral dilemma. Equal parts ill and relieved, his eyes moved to Professor Sprout.

"Professor, I have a meeting with the headmaster. I wonder if you'd excuse me?" Harry didn't have a meeting with the headmaster. He felt the Slytherins drilling their eyes into the back of his head as he was excused and left the Greenhouse.

He'd just wanted to get out.

As he crossed the grounds, he heard Malfoy call out his name. Harry spun; wand raised. The Slytherin put both of his hands up in surrender as he crossed the soggy lawn between them.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked, wand still raised.

"What are you doing?" The blonde hissed as he got close.

"You followed me out of the greenhouse, Malfoy." Harry looked over at the building where his friends were and decided they needed to move whatever this was inside.

Harry turned and continued toward the castle.

"You didn't need to," the Boy Who Lived told him as he pushed the heavy wood door open, "I'm not going to Dumbledore. Right now."

He kept walking away from Malfoy, wand in hand.

"Potter, wait,"

Harry paused but didn't turn.

"I had to. I didn't get a choice. He tells you to do something you don't get to- you don't get to say no." His tone was pleading.

He turned to the blonde and spat, "Oh, I get it, Malfoy. I get it."

They blinked at each other, the air tense.

"What… What happened? I- I haven't had… We haven't had any word." The Slytherin's face had shown true fear for a second, before he straightened, hiding it. He tore his eyes off Harry, looking disgusted.

Harry felt sympathy, somehow, above all else. He could see it from Malfoy's perspective. Ordered to kidnap the Chosen One, presumably for the Dark Lord to kill. Tilt the scales of war, then remain in the school with the enemy. Whereafter the Chosen One returned without any word from his mother, or Voldemort himself. A bit much, for a fresh Death Eater.

Harry couldn't tell him what happened. He couldn't tell him that he'd seen his mother and that she was fine. That all their Death Eater parents were likely fine. That the Slytherins were, remarkably, off the hook for kidnapping him by pure twist of fate. He could probably only say one thing.

"Malfoy. Everything's fine." Not for Harry certainly, but things were looking up for his least favourite Slytherin.

The blonde stared at him, incredulous.

"Just write to your mother, yeah?" Harry bit out and walked away, not willing to skirt the Vow any further, and done with the conversation overall.

"What's going on with the Slytherins? Why did Dumbledore want to see you?" Hermione wasted no time that night at dinner when Harry caught up with his friends. His second interrogation of the day. He wasn't in the mood for it.

He could feel the Slytherins watching him from their table, but all the fun of glaring back had been sucked out by the look on Malfoy's face.

"Uhh, just more of the lesson stuff, nothing groundbreaking. I don't know what's going on with the Slytherins." He'd stirred his soup instead of looking at her.

"You've been staring at them since yesterday." Hermione deadpanned. "You chased Malfoy out of the hall this morning."

"Yep," Harry said, popping the p.

"They're all staring at you, right now," Ginny added.

Harry shot her a look then returned his eyes to his bowl.

"Probably because they're up to something." He bit out. Hermione scoffed and shook her head, immediately letting the argument go. Ginny still watched him though, eyes questioning.

Harry hadn't really slept. He was on the second night of sitting in his bed and staring at the curtain when he decided he'd had enough. He didn't want to sit with Ginny, didn't want her to ask a question he was too raw to withstand. Didn't want to not answer. Already the weight of not telling them, not being able to, was like a brick in his stomach. Before, he'd felt like he was protecting them. Now, he felt like a planted bomb.

He'd taken the cloak and slipped out into the halls, aiming to just walk. He didn't need to cast the spell, the thing in his head was content and bleeding raw energy out of his ears. Though the numbing it bought was tempting, he felt like he'd earned the way he was feeling.

As he wandered the corridors he came across Parkinson, walking with another sixth-year Ravenclaw girl he hadn't met. Harry hadn't been able to resist and crept up behind the Slytherin.

"Careful," he whispered in her ear.

Pansy screamed, already running. The Ravenclaw followed confused and startled. Harry had grinned at this, but it was fleeting. He'd watched the Slytherins on the map, though he knew what they'd been planning had already come to fruition. Malfoy hadn't left the dungeons save for classes since that night.

Voldemort knew Harry would take the Vow. That much had become clear. There seemed to be no plan for the event of Harry refusing. At least, not for refusing and returning to Hogwarts.

'He knew you would martyr yourself without hesitation.' The voice said.

"Shut up," Harry hissed.

It wasn't wrong. Of course, he'd put himself in the place of the students. For starters, he'd been presented with one option. But if he were honest if he'd been offered it in a situation where he'd be free to walk away and refuse… He likely would have still done it. The students of Hogwarts were safer than they'd been since the beginning of the war.

Or… Maybe they weren't. The likelihood that the Vows had a purpose that would sway things in the Dark Lord's favour was uncomfortably high. Harry just didn't understand how. He'd slid down a wall, staring at his hands under the cloak. If he imagined hard enough, he could see the gold thread binding his left arm.

He threw his head back into the stone to tear his eyes away, satisfied when pain spiked in his skull.

'Stop it.'

Harry hadn't been planning to, but he did it again.

'Enough,'

He still felt it wasn't enough, though. He could still hear the thing and see his hands and hear his thoughts so he slammed it back a third time, making his vision swim.

'Enough!'

The Boy Who Lived looked back down at his hands, and without any warning opened a deep gash across his left forearm into the palm of his hand—a nonverbal, wandless Diffindo. Blood spilled instantly, and the pain came readily after, making Harry gasp and sit up. Blood was quickly pooling in his robes and overflowing onto the floor.

"Shit," He hissed, standing, brain fuzzy in alarm. He looked down to heal it, to try and remember how, when it began to stitch itself back together with no input from him.

'You are an idiot.' The voice hissed, as the blood and pain vanished from Harry's robes, arm, and head.

"Stop doing that," Harry muttered, dazed at what he'd just done, "Stop using my magic."

There was a pause.

'What makes you think it's yours? Who's to say it isn't you, using mine.'