Disclaimer: I do not own any of Harry Potter or JK's fabulous work. Pretty dark stuff following about self-harm and probably suicide in the future. Love a bit of hurt/comfort. But don't read if that affects you.

Harry sat in the window of his dormitory next to his bed, staring across the lake. He used to love doing this, but he was unable to let his mind wonder these days. That was dangerous and he knew it. It must have been after 2 am, the only sound was coming from his friends, lightly breathing as they enjoyed a restful sleep. Jealousy swam through Harry, why couldn't he do that. It started to make him angry. The noise of breathing seemed to be getting louder, mocking him. He grabbed his wand, marauders map, invisibility cloak and headed out the door. He couldn't stand to listen to it anymore.

Harry headed towards the portrait to leave the Gryffindor tower "I solemnly swear I am up to no good" he muttered under his breath. A quick scan of the map showed Filch was far away on the third floor, dealing with Peeves by the looks of things. Only McGonagall was patrolling tonight from what Harry could see and she was hovering near the great hall.

Harry turn left out of the common room and started walking. He wasn't quite sure where he was going, but he wanted to go in the opposite direction to the professors. Perhaps a trip to see Hedwig in the owlery, but then it was December and freezing outside so he dismissed this. He was only wearing his pyjamas. He eventually decided to go to the astronomy tower, at least there is some shelter from the cold wind there.

Harry did not know why or what he felt. He almost felt empty but restless. The seconds appeared to tick quickly but yet still felt like years. He seemed to always feel sick, like his heart was racing, completely unable to control it. He wanted to feel better but nothing helped. Harry was conflicted all the time, he craved to be around people but preferred to be able to sit and think about how he felt. Guilt was a prominent feeling. Perhaps stemming back to Cedric.

He had no worries any more. Everyone he loved had survive the battle, coming out as heroes and the stuff of legend. Voldemort would never return now. He knew he was being stupid, what did he have to be miserable about! Even his Godfathers name was cleared and he received the Order of Merlin First Class when Pettigrew's was stripped. He lived with Sirius now, in the holidays. He couldn't help but wish he had died in the battle, it was a thought that often came to him but didn't trouble him as much as it should.

It was Harrys last official year at Hogwarts, he could technically stay an extra year to catch up on the work his missed during the dark years, as it was now called. Hermione was of course staying on, and Mrs Weasley was trying to convince him and Ron to join her. He wanted nothing more to enjoy his now normal life, and actually have a quiet year at Hogwarts. But he felt anything normal.

He walked up the long staircase to the astronomy Tower. He felt pretty safe, no one would decide to look here. He perched against the wall and sat looking out across the mountains. It was very chilly out here.

An overwhelming feeling came over him. It was swallowing him whole, he couldn't escape it. He sobbed, so much he could hardly catch his breath in between cries. He had never felt so lost, so pathetic. It hurt so much, too much too bare. He couldn't work out how to help the emotional pain he was suffering.

Something shiny hidden in the shadows caught Harry's eye to the left of where he sat. He shuffled across to it and picked it up carefully. It was an old pocket knife. Although it was rusting in places, clearly been left out here for a long time open to the elements, it was in pretty good condition. There were no markings to indicate its owner.

He lay the pocket knife down next to him. But then he was hit with an idea. Physical pain was much easier to deal with. Something you can see and comprehend why it hurts. He knew, of course, about people who cut themselves but never met anyone who did, at least that he knew.

There was no reason not to try it in Harrys mind. What if it helped? What if he felt better? With his hands shaking, he picked the knife back up. Maybe it was sign that it was here. He convinced himself further. He slowly pushed the lever which revealed the knife. He felt nervous, but hopeful.

Unhurriedly he pulled up his sleeve of his pyjama top and stared at his pale, undamaged forearm. He lifted the sharp edge of the knife and placed it gingerly against his skin. He was shaking terribly now, but his mind was made up. He dragged the knife across his wrist and watched his skin part. Red droplets were forming quickly along the scratch. He raised the knife and bought it down, harder this time just above his first cut. This once bleed straight away. Blood dripping down his hand, he felt an instant realise.

His nerves had calmed, and he was able to close his eyes and let the pain from his wrist distract from his emotions. He was taken back with how much that had helped. He inflicted one more cut on his opposite wrist. Breathing deeply, he let his head fall back against the wall again.

After 20 minutes or so, he suddenly felt an enormous wave of guilt for what he had just done. What would Sirius think if he found out, or Hermione. The thought upset him, and he had a sudden wave of impulse to hurt himself again. So, he did. Before he could think he had sliced his skin so deeply that blood was dripping all over himself. But he liked it. Once he had revelled in this once more, he took up his wand which was next to him and pointed it at his wrist. The cuts clotted but didn't vanish and it was obvious what had happened. At least it was December, he had an excuse to wear long sleeves. He magicked the blood off of his clothes and the floor and made to stand up. He felt as if he were floating, a weight lifted from him. Perhaps he could sleep now. With this thought in his head he chucked his invisibility clock over his head and walked quickly back to his dormitory.

He didn't pass anyone in the hallways on his journey back. He muttered the password to the fat lady and climbed the stairs to his bed.

"Where have you been?!" Ron was looking exasperated. He had been worried about Harry for a while. As had Hermione.

"I went for a walk, couldn't sleep" Harry tried to sound as casual as he could

"You scared me. I was about to go and look for you"

"There is nothing roaming around to hurt me anymore Ron!" Apart from himself, he thought

"I know but …" Ron paused choosing his words carefully "I am worried about you. You just aren't yourself mate"

"I am fine Ron. I just don't sleep well. Makes you exhausted after a while, you know"

"Yeah, I get it. Sorry, I just worry that's all"

"S'ok" A huge feeling of guilt passed through him. He never lied to Ron. But Harry knew how to stop that feeling now "I am just going to the toilet, don't send out a search party" Harry gave a small laugh and grinned at Ron to try an put his unrest to bed. Ron just gave him a small smile back but Harry didn't think he was buying his excuses.

Harry wondered to the bathroom. He still had the knife and it was burning a hole in his pocket. He cut a couple more slashes and felt relieved. He compared it to holding his breath under water. The feeling when you finally pop your head up into the air and your lungs relax. Using magic to clot his forearm again, he went back to his bed and to Harrys surprise felt his eye lids grow heavy.

That's it for now, more to come! I hope you liked it, very dark I know, but I like story's like that, so I am trying it for myself. But I never want it to come across like self-harming is the right choice and I hope that becomes obvious as the story goes on. Even more so at the moment mental health is a huge issue that people are still scared to talk about. Be kind to everyone, they all have their own battles going on.