Harry's laboured breathing echoed ominously through the empty bathroom. The sound reverberated off the tall stone walls, but Harry remained oblivious to the acoustics around him. His gaze was unfocused, his eyes unblinking, as he tried to inspect the damage wrought by that night's events.
Trembling, Harry clutched his left forearm with his other hand, trying to steady himself. He leaned against the cold wooden door, barring anyone from entering the facilities. His knees were pulled up to his chest, and every muscle in his body was tensed, trying to stop the shaking. It helped, but only a little.
Finally managing to focus his foggy eyesight, Harry squinted at the smeared red colour bathing his left wrist. It could have been worse, he thought. The stinging pain from three shallow cuts was hard to ignore, but the overall injury wasn't so bad. There wasn't even that much blood; it just coated a large portion of his skin.
Once Harry felt calm enough and in control, he slowly stood up and stumbled to the nearest sink to wash himself. Cold water soothed the sore slashes, and after cleaning up, his injury hardly looked intimidating. Just three skewed cuts near each other.
Given how furiously Harry inflicted them himself, he did a good job holding back. His mind was all but clear when he grasped the sharp fragment of mirror his godfather had given him and pushed it against his skin.
He was frustrated, so fucking frustrated, and didn't know any other way to cope.
Voldemort wriggling inside his mind like an ugly worm halted all of a sudden after the first slash, and that was everything Harry needed as encouragement. He didn't even feel the pain back then, but it must have been working, since not long after, all traces of the Dark Lord were gone. Harry could finally breathe.
It was the first time Harry managed to chase that monster out of his mind on his own, not by Occlumency, which he miserably failed to learn.
So what if he needed to feel a little pain in return? It was worth it. It was the first time he felt as if he could stand a chance against him, weapon firmly in hand. Harry didn't feel pangs of panic in his chest as he laid down to sleep the following evening.
It worked.
Sometimes better, sometimes worse, but it worked.
Harry wanted to sing from all the joy that bloomed inside him. To hell with Occlumency, to hell with his lectures, and most importantly, to hell with Snape! Harry was no longer a vulnerable little boy having his mind read every time he closed his eyes.
The rapidly growing number of injuries on both his forearms was a small price to pay for this victory. Harry wasn't scared, nor was he incapable of tolerating physical pain. Voldemort, on the other hand, seemed not to handle it so well. It only showed how much of a coward that creature was.
Harry felt a flicker of hope that he could defeat him one day for good.
Chasing Voldemort out of his mind had been a terrible ordeal, but it was not the end of Harry's struggles. A more weighting matter Harry adamantly ignored thus far was making itself known again.
Sirius.
Fighting the guilt eating him up inside was a losing battle. The memories of Sirius's death haunted him day and night, lurking behind his eyelids every time Harry blinked. It was maddening. Harry would rather have Voldemort shred his mind into pieces than continue living with the regret that crushed his soul.
He couldn't even say goodbye. He couldn't even hear Sirius' last words. They didn't have a chance to talk. One moment he was there and the other he was gone and Harry couldn't do anything to stop it.
He couldn't stop it but he could've prevented it if he only just... stood still. Didn't do anything.
Staying still. It was such a weird concept for the celebrated and supposed Chosen One, whose role was to save the wizarding and human world. It was as if saying "Save us, but don't do anything out of line, or the consequences will be dire." But then nobody bothered to give him the instruction manual on what he should and shouldn't do.
Yet, Harry tried. He listened and tried to save everyone who crossed his path and he tried to save those who were dear to him. The efforts were futile. What followed was only death. It lingered in the air and hung around Harry like a dark fog. Death. Death. Death. Cedric died. Sirius died. Lily and James died.
Harry's best wasn't enough to save them but it was all he had. And since it wasn't enough, he suddenly had nothing. Sirius was gone forever and with him, the very last strand of hope for Harry to have a family vanished. The chance to have someone care for him, someone Harry could lean on and just simply be loved... it was all gone.
Harry was left alone on the freezing bathroom floor, sharp edge pressed against his skin, slicing quietly. A fleeting thought crossed his mind, making him wonder that if he truly was to bring salvation to the world, would the world save him in return?
Harry started reaching for the mirror shard every time Sirius appeared in his nightmares. The first time, it was out of the despairing need to feel something, anything other than the crushing guilt piling up in his heart. He felt like he was going to combust if he stood still.
The pain was more than sufficient to make him breathe again. Before Harry knew it, visiting the familiar bathroom with the mirror in hand became a habit.
But it was not helping as much as Harry needed it to. He found comfort in the stinging sensation as it occupied his senses and mind, but the moment the pain subsided, the mental load became too severe again.
Harry felt like drowning in a sea of anguish and remorse. The self-hate was at an all-time high, and there was little Harry could do to stop that itchy feeling which crawled on his skin like million ants.
The hollow eyes. That empty look. Lips hanging open, him breathing out his last breath...
Slice.
Harry made a long slash across his forearm, hardly flinching from the sting when his skin ripped open. Some older cuts were exposed again as Harry destroyed the scabs.
That laugh. The chant she kept repeating. Harry's failure of casting the Crutiatus.
Slice.
The mirror in his hand got tainted with red, but to Harry, it was more than just a reflection of his own pain. In a twisted way, he viewed it as his atonement and a path to liberation. He was slowly paying back for Sirius's life with his own flesh, doing it with the last thing his godfather had left him. Sometimes, Harry believed Sirius knew what was coming and left him the sharp object for this purpose.
Harry was powerless against the severe grief consuming him alive piece by piece.
His whole summer had been a living hell, but coming back to Hogwarts didn't ease him as much as he had hoped it would. His friends were fighting each other, caught up in their little love triangle, and nobody paid attention to Harry.
It was for the best, Harry concluded grimly. The looks Hermione showered him with right after the incident with Sirius happened were horrible enough. Harry didn't need to talk, and he didn't need the pity either. He just needed to be left alone, and that, he achieved. Just him and that mirror fragment, it was sufficient.
The quality of Harry's life improved.
He slept well – omitting the regular nightmares – as Voldemort was no longer invading and plaguing his mind. His emotional state evened out since Harry started to reach for the shard when anything bothered him.
His schedule changed from one session a night to multiple short sessions during the day.
It was truly magical how much physical pain was helping him to stop thinking about all his worries. With his blood, every troubling thought flowed out of Harry too. All the expectations placed on his shoulders, all the grief and blame he felt, all the injustice that has ever happened to him. A blissful numbness settled right in the middle of Harry's chest, leaving him strangely empty but also full.
Nobody noticed.
Or, nobody cared enough to notice something was different about this new Harry. This new Harry, who started to resemble a shell, void of all emotions and feelings.
Harry was glad.
The mirror tightly squeezed in one hand.
Harry's other arm bathed in blood.
And Snape barging in to spectate the scene.
It was not meant to happen, Harry became more cautious after Ron almost caught him several nights ago in the common room. Now, he only went to that small bathroom he found during one of his night ventures, a door that wasn't even marked on the map. It was almost as if Hogwarts created the space just for him. He used the cloak and he waited until everyone was asleep before he left. Moreover, nobody patrolled this part of the castle.
So what was Snape doing there?!
Harry didn't have the luxury of answering that question.
The blood on his arm and the mirror shard in his hand were damning evidence of Harry's action. Coming back to his senses from the initial shock, Harry hid both hands behind his back, stumbling backwards until he hit the cold bathroom wall. His heart was in his throat, beating madly.
Maybe he hadn't seen anything, Harry coddled himself weakly. Maybe he could wriggle his way out of this.
The silence enveloping them was unbearable and stretched on endlessly while Harry's mind raced with excuses and explanations, all of them scarcely adequate.
Don't say anything first. Maybe he didn't see. Stay calm. You've prepared for this.
Harry did think about scenarios if someone found out about his new hobby, but Snape was never part of that image. Hermione and Ron, yes, maybe someone else from Gryffindor... but Snape?!
It's hard to deceive him but he also doesn't care about me. He might as well let this go. Harry deluded himself, trying to read the Potions Master's expression.
Snape stood there, unmoving and with his eyes wide open, staring at Harry as if he saw a ghost. Harry remained still too, forcing himself to breathe steadily. He felt like he was facing a predator, with no escape in sight.
Both were as if waiting for the pin to drop.
Finally, Snape's sudden movements shattered the strained stillness. He stepped forward, his wand at ready.
"Show me your hands," he demanded quietly, making Harry's previous hopes about him not seeing the scene shatter.
Harry didn't move, unwilling to comply. He just stared at Snape, who resembled more a dementor than a person in the dim light. A duel with Voldemort then and there was preferred over following Snape's order. When the professor saw Harry had no intention to obey, anger twisted his face.
"Potter, show me what you're hiding behind your back before. I. make. you."
Each word was carefully articulated, Snape's voice barely above a whisper. He spoke as if he was hissing, resembling a venomous snake ready to bite it's prey. It was the threat of the Potions Master using magic against Harry that untwisted Harry's tongue and gave him the courage to speak.
"Why does it matter?" he stated boldly in return.
Truly, why does it matter to him? Why can't he just let it go?! Leave it to Snape to stick his big nose into everyone's business.
"You don't need to know," Snape answered coldly. Harry saw the tip of Snape's wand poking out of his sleeve and realized he had to act fast.
"But why? What I do is hardly your concern, so just take off points and give me detention already!" he baited, hoping Snape's rage would blind him enough to forget about the matter with his hands.
"Hardly my concern?" Snape echoed, ridiculing tone glazing his voice. "I found you out of your dorm after curfew, breaking rules once again. And even if it's far from surprising seeing the praised hero acting however he pleases, it is my job to investigate it."
The praised hero remark irked Harry the wrong way. He'd been already seeing it everywhere due to Daily Prophet's articles, but hearing it from Snape was different. It burned a spot that had been hurting Harry the most, far more than those cuts on his forearms.
"Detention then," Harry spat out heatedly. "How many points will you take off this time? You took seventy at the beginning of the year for me not being in my uniform, so this should be worth at least two hundred, right?"
The truth was, something like House Cup and point score wasn't even on Harry's priority list. He truly didn't care if Gryffindor drowned in thousands of negative points, all at the cost of being left alone.
Snape frowned, considering him carefully.
"I'll make sure to note how hasty you were about losing points once we reach the Headmaster," he said after a moment. "Now, your hands."
Harry's blood froze solid, and so did his body. He was sure even the liquid coating his cuts turned into ice once Harry's heard Snape mention Dumbledore.
"No." His throat squeezed out that simple word before Harry could think better of it. He couldn't meet Dumbledore, he wouldn't. The comment about his hands went completely unnoticed.
Snape's eyebrows jumped up until they almost met his hairline.
"Ah?" he hummed, drawing a breath to say something undoubtedly berating. Harry interrupted him before Snape could speak.
"I'm not seeing Dumbledore." He stated firmly but his voice shook once he spoke the Headmaster's name. "I haven't done anything wrong."
"Professor Dumbledore," Snape's eyes flared up. "And we're going to see him right now, whether you want to or not is beyond my concern."
"No." Harry pressed again but his breath hitched when Snape raised his wand.
"Potter, I'm not here to play along with your temper tantrums!"
Harry was scared of being found out by Snape but he was outright terrified if Dumbledore saw the state he was in. He simply couldn't allow that to happen.
At that moment, Snape's patience run cold and he took action. His words, for once, weren't just empty threats.
The professor seemed to chant something but instead of finishing the spell, he abruptly stepped forward. He was so close to Harry that the black cloak brushed against Harry's pyjamas, slender fingers seizing Harry's arm in a tight grasp. Harry knew he wasn't the fittest man in the wizarding world but he also didn't consider himself weak. Yet, his muscles gave up when Snape twisted his arm and forcibly brought it out from behind Harry's back.
All of a sudden, Snape got a front-row view of Harry's several weeks' worth of struggling. There were the fresh cuts Harry did just minutes ago and then there were older wounds. There were almost healed scabs and faint scars, all coating Harry's tanned skin from the wrist up to his elbow.
There wasn't an inch of skin that was left untouched.
Harry's cheeks burned with shame and eerie hopelessness as he tried twice to yank his hand out of Snape's iron grip – in vain. He was trapped, chained to the ground by that icy touch of Snape's.
Not knowing where to look, Harry's eyes too were glued onto his tattered skin, and he tried to guess what must have been going on in Snape's head.
How would Harry feel if he found out someone that he hated harming themselves? If he found Malfoy like this? Or Voldemort...?
It was a ridiculous thought but Harry's panicking mind needed a distraction while Snape's eyes bore holes into his forearm.
Harry didn't know how deeply Snape hated him. Was it that kind of sheer hate Harry had for the man who killed his parents? Or the kind of rivalry hate Harry and Malfoy shared? Harry was neither Snape's rival nor a murderer of Snape's parents. If Malfoy had a child, would Harry hate them as well?
The spiral of Harry's thoughts got progressively out of control while Harry still anticipated Snape's reaction. Then, Snape finally let go of his wrist and stepped back.
"It seems like our hero found a new way to seek attention from others."
The words were sharper than the blade Harry used before.
It cut deep, reaching deeper than just the outer layer of skin on Harry's hands. Harry's muscles and bones were penetrated mercilessly, the sentence pierced through Harry's very skull until it got to the grey matter of his brain.
Our hero... seeking attention...
Harry dumbly looked up at Snape, expecting all but that vicious sneer plastered on his face. Snape's eyes had a faint glow in them and Harry realized with a sinking dismay that the professor was ridiculing him.
"What...?" The word slipped out of Harry's mouth quietly.
Hero... attention... hero... hero...
"Is it not what you're trying to achieve? Even more attention from the wizarding world?" Snape continued cruelly, the smirk still firmly in place.
Attention... Hero... Attention... Attention... Attention...??
"Attention?" Harry whispered. The pure disbelief washing over him prevented any coherent thoughts from forming in his mind. He simply couldn't understand a word Snape was spouting.
"It's either that or you're trying to do the Dark Lord a favour. Surely, the Chosen One would not stoop so low and let us all down."
There was a veil covering Harry's ears, making Snape's voice muffled.
Hero... The Chosen One... Attention... Let us all down...
If Harry's back wasn't leaning against a solid wall, his legs would probably give up under the full weight of his body.
Was this the conclusion Snape drew from seeing him in this state? Harry's insides were laid raw, all his feelings and emotions on display... Snape was shown everything, and this... this was the result? Harry was perceived as attention seeking hero?
It hit him like a well-aimed punch in the stomach, twisting his guts in a dull ache. Harry had a vague thought that if he ate dinner that evening, it would already be splattered on the floor.
It was inhuman. Snape's reaction was somehow what Harry hoped for – that he'd let the issue go – but now they hit that point, now that Harry had become so vulnerable and was being blatantly humiliated for it... it was too brutal, even for Snape.
Harry couldn't tell what exactly he expected either... it was Snape after all, right? A man full of venom and hatred, of course, he wasn't capable of any other reaction than a malicious one. Right? This was all... according to Harry's expectations. He wanted to be left alone. He wanted it, no? Yes. Yes, he did.
I wanted him to care.
"Yes. Surely, the Chosen One would not stoop so low," Harry barked out Snape's words back at him, getting aggravated with each breath.
The thought that he wanted this... this being to care was absolutely atrocious. It was unacceptable, and it enraged Harry to heights he'd never visited before. Snape wasn't a person, not one capable of feelings anyway. And the last thing Harry ever needed was his compassion.
"How could I dare to disappoint the wizarding world? All the expectations were placed on me only since I was one year old!"
Laugh that resembled more a choked cough draped out of Harry's throat. It was all so funny.
"Attention? You're right, that's exactly what I want!" Harry yelled, his lips twisted up into a wide smile. "Now go and wake everyone up. Assemble in the corridors and I'll march down the halls, showing off my slit wrists! What a good idea!"
Harry was losing it, he knew, but he was past the point of caring. The sudden rush of emotions took over his rational mind. He was at his lowest and the only thing Snape decided to do was to kick him even lower. Too bad there wasn't any further Harry could fall. He already reached the pits of hell.
"Stop being hysterical or you'll indeed wake up the whole castle," Snape snapped, hissing through gritted teeth. If Harry wasn't so out of it, he would notice the distraught expression on the professor's face.
"What are you talking about? That's WHAT I WANT!! You said so yourself, no? EVERYONE, GIVE ME THE ATTENTION I CRAVE!!" Harry screamed from the top of his lungs, his last thread of rationality snapping.
If Snape didn't place a silencing charm on the room, Harry would definitely succeed in attracting at least Filch to the bathroom.
"Give me that," Snape ordered sharply, nodding towards Harry's right hand. The one that was squeezing Sirius' mirror shard. The one that was supposed to still be hidden behind his back, not hanging lifelessly in the air.
Harry grinned.
"No."
He then placed it on his abused left forearm and cut the skin open in one smooth motion.
"Potter!!!" Snape launched forward but he was too late. He only got a hold of Harry after he made the first wound.
Harry heard Snape curse.
"Stop it!!" Snape demanded, his voice audibly panicked. "Your state is terrible as it is!"
"But I want more attention, professor," Harry plead sarcastically. Seeing Snape so distressed felt like a victory to him, he finally wiped that smug attitude off his face.
"You've made your point!" Snape seethed, forcing the sharp object out of Harry's hand.
"My point...?" Harry pondered aloud, teasing the man. "What do you mean, professor? My point is to get attention, you said so yourself," he reminded him once again.
"You've made your point about my assumption being wrong," Snape drawled angrily, admitting his wrongdoing surprisingly fast. Snape's eyes jumped around, scanning Harry's newest cut. It wasn't deep but the wet blood gushing out was making it look terrible. Snape drew his wand, placing it near the wound.
"Don't heal it!" Harry bit out when he realized what Snape was about to do. He successfully yanked his hand away, cradling it tightly to his chest. "Don't you dare heal it," he whispered.
"Potter, have you gone completely crazy?!" Snape roared.
Have I gone crazy? From an attention-seeking hero to a madman, what an improvement.
"So what if I did? What's it to you?" Harry challenged, his voice cold enough to send chills down one's spine.
"To me?" Snape's lips narrowed into a thin line. Harry waited for a response he didn't get. At last, Snape shook his head, refusing to elaborate. His expression became blank once again.
"This is not for me to handle. Dumbledore will take over," he finally said, closing the subject abruptly. He started to head towards the exit when Harry stopped him.
"Give me back my mirror," he demanded, prioritizing Sirius' gift. Snape wasn't the only one with selective hearing in the room.
"Potter, Dumbledore's office. Now!" Snape continued his own conversation firmly.
"No. I told you already, I'm not seeing him," Harry retorted angrily. "The mirror."
"Potter!"
"Snape!!" Harry yelled back. He extended one of his hands out facing palm up, awaiting his possession. "Give. It. Back."
Harry should have hidden it more carefully, he shouldn't have ever let Snape take it from him. What was he thinking?! Snape wrestled the precious object out of his hand far too easily, Harry should have put up a fight.
"Detention!" Snape roared. Harry only smirked in return, as if that was going to phase him. The one thing that truly terrified him was losing that shard.
"Gladly, just give it back to me," Harry demanded once again. It was clear to both of them that they were going in circles.
"I'm confiscating it, and all other sharp objects within your possessions!" Snape finally argued back. At least they were on the same topic now.
"You can't." Harry breathed out, willing the panic to stop bubbling inside his chest. The thought of losing Sirius' last memento was unnerving at best and absolutely bone-chilling at worst. He couldn't allow that. "It's mine."
"I can and I will," Snape pressed, clearly unmoved by Harry's protests and firm commands. Harry was just eyeing the professor's build, wondering if he could fight him for the mirror when Snape continued. "It is within my competence and duty to assure the well-being of students, including you."
Harry didn't know why it sounded like an insult when Snape said those last two words - as if he wanted anything but to cater to Harry's health. His claims and actions weren't adding up no matter from which angle Harry looked at it.
Stop with the pretentious care, you hypocrite. Harry was fed up with the situation, Snape's duality was making him nauseous.
"Wow, I'm truly touched. My well-being is none of your concern, it never has been. Return my mirror before I fight you for it, Snape. You know I will," Harry stated coldheartedly, already calculating how to wrestle the professor's frame. If only he didn't leave his wand on his bedside table he'd stand more of a chance.
Snape looked him up and down closely, frown never leaving his face. He seemed to consider something.
"I've had enough," Harry heard him say before Snape drew his wand. "Headmaster will deal with you and your punishment."
There was a dark expression cast on Snape's face and Harry knew what was coming, and yet, the stunning spell hit him before he could as much as attempt to dodge it.