Disclaimer - I do not own Harry Potter, all characters belong to JK Rowling :)

Chapter warnings: talk about self harm, blood, suicidal thoughts and attempt

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Harry slept in the next morning. The sun was already shining through the thin curtains when he woke, 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 faded t-shirt from the laundry, brought the memories of last night's events crashing back. 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 all by now. But still - he had become so used to long sleeves, he 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 his 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, then go back up.

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 finally 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 present 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 gulped 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, the tea 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.

~~

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 rickety hand made hoops. Predictably, Hermione was sat at 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. "There you are, 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 worry melt away. It was just him and the broom. Compared to the sleek, sharp feel of his Firebolt, the Cleansweep felt sluggish and unresponsive - but still, it was better than being stuck in his 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, too quick for him to register every time he tried to block it, and he always 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.

~~

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 them back to the house, cutting in between him and Ron and linking arms with them. They chatted as they walked, and Harry found himself genuinely smiling, 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 over here for a second?"

Harry felt like he was walking towards his own execution. In fact, he would have preferred to be walking to his death. Sirius gestured for him to sit, and a chair pulled 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 instant 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. That would be nice.

Sometimes Harry 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 sharper 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, Harry, but it should come from you." Remus somehow managed to maintain his calm demeanour, despite Harry's bitter tone.

Harry did not talk, and instead busied himself fiddling with the hem of his sleeve, picking at a loose thread.

"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 Harry flinch violently. This did not go unnoticed by Remus, who shot Sirius a warning look; or by Sirius, who instantly lowered his voice.

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

"FOR THE LAST TIME, I DON'T NEED HELP! I'M 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 rarely yelled at anyone - and definitely never at Remus or Sirius. And he had certainly never sworn in front of them either.

He 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 intensity of the pain making him feel physically 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 as white as a sheet. Remus stood up quickly and gently took Harry's bleeding arm in his hands. He helped Harry shrug 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 at 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, and it wasn't long before 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 to clean his bloody hand with. 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 in 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 cleaned up 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 had 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.

~~

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.

It was then that Harry made a choice. Voldemort had been trying to kill him for years, but had never managed. Harry decided to do him a favour.

He took his time running the bath, but didn't bother with bubble bath or scented 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 one thing Harry hated, it was a cold bath.

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

Slash. For his mum.

Slash. For his dad.

Slash. For Cedric.

The 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 swirling in crimson spirals.

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 the heavy bleeding, but he could tell they were deep. Good.

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

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

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