Disclaimer - I do not own Harry Potter, all characters belong to JK Rowling :)
Chapter warnings: self harm, blood, brief mention of eating disorders
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Harry woke with a start, bolting upright in bed. He clamped 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 didn't subside.
Moving as quickly and quietly as possible, Harry reached under his pillow, the feeling of the sharp metal in his clammy hand a 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, shutting the door carefully. 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 the 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. Again and again, his vision blurred by the tears streaming down his cheeks, he kept dragging the blade across his skin, 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 throat as he slashed diagonally across his arm, before throwing the razor across the room. It pinged off of the sink and fell onto the floor, the blood that coated its 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 the deep gash in his arm. He just sat there, shaking, unable to stop the tears from flowing.
A knock on the door almost caused Harry to 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 cursed 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. His eyes then settled on Harry's badly hidden arm, and on his blood-soaked sleeve. He was crouched next to Harry and pulling his sleeve up before Harry could even register what was happening. He tried to yank his arm back, but Lupin held it firmly. 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. As for the rest of the cuts, the blood had clotted, 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, walked over to the sink, opened the cupboard above and began digging around. He returned with some medical supplies and a faded old 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 him his arm. Lupin worked in silence, carefully cleaning the wounds whilst being as gentle as possible. He waved his wand over Harry's arm and the deeper cuts instantly closed up, the sides knitting together to leave nothing more than a thin red line in its wake. 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 criss-crossed up his wrist, all the way to his elbow, covering every inch of pale skin. Yet again, a bandage snaked its way up his arm, covering every single mark. 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 him 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, trembling slightly, and watched as Lupin prepared 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 guilt tied his stomach in knots. He fixed his gaze on the mug in front of him, watching the steam rise off 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 sobbed 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 the man's face before, and never wanted to see it 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; I just didn't realise how bad it was." He spoke softly, running a hand through his
greying hair.
"How long?" He asked quietly.
Harry hesitated.
"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 bad, I did it again. And again. And I guess it just became a habit." Harry held his breath, anxiously waiting for a 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 could tell what he was getting at.
"No, I just- wasn't feeling well. I think maybe I had a bug or something." Harry didn't want to lie to him, but he wasn't quite willing to share everything just yet. Besides, 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." A small smile crossed his scarred face. "And if Molly knows, then I have no doubt that Arthur will too - but I don't think that's too unreasonable, do you?" Harry shook his head. Remus took another long 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 crossed 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." 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 sore throat, warming him from the inside out as it hit his empty stomach. He had no doubt that he would regret it in the morning, but he was so achingly hungry - surely one hot chocolate wouldn't matter in the long run.
They sat in silence, sipping their drinks and warming their hands on the 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 scrubbing them clean. "Come on - off to bed," Remus smiled warmly, looking marginally 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, patching him up, 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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