Disclaimer - I do not own Harry Potter, all characters belong to JK Rowling :)
Chapter warnings: talk about suicide, mild self harm (non-graphic)
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Harry awoke to bright light and hushed voices. He opened his eyes slowly, trying to let them adjust to the light. He tried to sit up, but only managed a few millimetres before his body protested. His head spun horribly, and he groaned as his stomach churned. The voices stopped at the sound, and Harry was vaguely aware of someone coming over and crouching next to him. Next to the bed - he was on a bed. When did he move to a bed? "Hey, kiddo - welcome back." Harry opened his eyes fully, and turned his head to see who was speaking. He regretted the movement even as it was happening. His stomach lurched, and it was all he could to lean over the side of the bed in time before he was horribly sick, his stomach contents - which, arguably, wasn't much more than orange juice and bile - spilling onto the cream carpet. He felt a cool hand on his back, rubbing soothing circles, and on his head, holding his sweaty hair back from his forehead and allowing the air to cool him down. He was still retching long after anything had stopped coming up, struggling to breathe between bouts of dry heaving. He could hear someone talking to him, telling him to breathe, but his ears were ringing, and everything sounded weirdly muffled, like he was listening underwater.
When the nausea had finally eased, Harry lay back against the pillows, breathing heavily. The smell of vomit next to him was enough to make him feel like throwing up again, but he heard a muttered incantation, and the smell disappeared. Harry assumed that meant the vomit had disappeared, too.
His senses were slowly coming back to him. His eyes had adjusted to the light, though everything was slightly blurry, and the voices were less muffled.
"Are you sure he's okay? He's so pale," someone spoke in a worried, tense voice - it sounded like Sirius. He must be the one crouching next to Harry.
"He's likely in shock, and almost certainly suffering from blood loss as well. We'll give him another blood replenisher when he's properly awake." Lupin - calm and collected, as per usual.
Slowly, carefully, Harry began to sit up - with help from a hand on his back, propping him up as he scooted back to lean against the headboard. Someone placed his glasses in his clammy hand and he quickly shoved them on, rubbing his eyes to try to shift some of the blurriness. When he opened them again, he found himself able to clearly make out the situation.
He was in one of the bedrooms at Grimmauld Place, on a double bed in the middle of the room. He was covered by a thick duvet and a soft, woollen throw, and was wearing different clothes - another baggy t-shirt, and some thin pyjama trousers. His arm was tightly bandaged, yet again. The blinding light was coming from the window, just across the room, where the sun had been shining directly into his eyes. Sirius was crouched next to him, worry - coupled with relief - etched onto his face. It seemed to be a recurring pattern around the room, with Sirius and Remus both sharing the exact same expression.
Sirius threw his arms around Harry, holding him in a tight embrace. "Thank Merlin you're okay. I thought I'd lost you." Harry could have sworn his godfather's voice broke on those last words. He was still here. He had almost died, but he was still here. And Harry couldn't decide whether he was glad or not. When Sirius finally released him from the bone-breaking embrace, Lupin came over and leant against the wall.
"How are you feeling?" He asked softly. Harry though for a moment.
"Tired. My brain feels dry." He said hoarsely, earning a chuckle from Remus.
"Yes, well - you lost a lot of blood. You'll need plenty of fluids, and a few more blood replenishers."
At the mention of the replenishers, Remus picked up a couple of vials from the nightstand. Harry's gaze shifted towards the array of potion vials, spread out rather unceremoniously on the side table. "Do you feel dizzy at all, nauseous or feverish?" Remus asked, as he picked up a glass of water from beside the vials and handed it to Harry.
"I'm kind of light headed, but I don't feel sick anymore," Harry replied, his voice still croaky.
He sipped the water carefully, not wanting to drink it too fast and get sick again. The cool drink helped to rid his mouth of the foul, acrid taste, and when he thanked Lupin, his voice sounded much less hoarse.
"A blood replenisher and a couple of nutritional balancers," he clarified, handing Harry the vials.
"Nutritional balancers?" Harry questioned, eyeing the milky-white vials.
"Remus had to cast a diagnostic charm on you to assess the… damage," Sirius began carefully, "and it came back with malnourishment, as well as all the preempted issues." Harry's heart skipped a beat. Did that mean they knew?
"It's unsurprising, seeing as - until about a week ago - you were living with the Dursleys, who, as I take it, aren't very… hospitable. I doubt you were getting enough food there; but since you're living here now, the issue should start to rectify itself. The potions are just to speed it along a bit." Remus smiled at Harry. From what he had said, Harry doubted they knew the real reason why he was 'malnourished'. Though there was some truth in it - the Dursleys certainly weren't all that keen to feed him.
Remus nodded towards one of the vials in Harry's hand. "Drink - it will help."
Harry eyed the blood-red potion dubiously, but complied nonetheless. He popped out the cork and sniffed it cautiously. It smelled slightly metallic, but relatively inoffensive. Trying not to think about it too much, he poured the contents of the vial into his mouth, instantly making a face at the tangy, rusty taste, which was, unlike the scent, extremely strong. It was an effort to swallow it without gagging, but somehow he managed, and took a long drink of of water to try and cleanse his palette of the horrible taste.
"One of those every hour, on the hour, until you've got some colour back in your cheeks," Remus instructed, taking the empty vial from Harry. Harry thought with vague amusement how much like Madam Pomfrey Remus sounded, and turned his attention to the milky-white nutritional potion in his hand. He held it at arms length, as if it might grow fangs and bite him. It wasn't so much the smell, which was pretty neutral - more the fear of what it would do to him. Or, more specifically, what it would do to his body.
"I can't drink this," he said, staring at the vial in disgust. "I'll be sick." It wasn't entirely a lie - he was starting to feel nauseous again.
"You can try again later," Sirius said, taking the vial and placing it back on the nightstand table. "Try to get some rest," he said, his joints popping as he slowly stood up. "I'd like you to be fully rested and feeling better before we talk about this."
"There's nothing to talk about." Harry instantly felt himself getting defensive. The blood replenisher was working, and he was already beginning to feel stronger.
"You tried to kill yourself, Harry. That's not nothing." Remus spoke quietly, looking at him sadly.
"I wasn't trying to kill myself!" Lie.
"Then what were you trying to do?" Sirius retorted, his tone almost exasperated.
"It was an accident!" Another lie. "I was just-"
"Cutting yourself."
A scowl from Harry and a familiar warning look from Remus.
"It. Was. An. Accident. I don't want to die!" Huge, massive lie.
"Regardless of the intent, you still have multiple severe lacerations, one of which severed a major artery, almost causing you to bleed to death. That doesn't seem like an accident to me," Remus said, leaning forwards slightly as he spoke.
When Harry didn't respond, Sirius broke the silence. This time, there was no mistaking the sadness in his voice. "What if Remus hadn't found you, Harry? What if- what if I'd lost you? Do you really think I could ever forgive myself, knowing that whilst you were upstairs, bleeding to death, I'd been sat on my arse doing nothing?!" Sirius slumped down in an armchair across the room, holding his head in his hands. Remus placed a hand on his shoulder.
Harry felt all the anger and and frustration that had been building dissolve at those words. Sirius was right. Harry hadn't even though about how his death would affect the people around him - he'd just assumed they'd be better off with him gone. And maybe that made him a self-centred asshole, but it wasn't because he didn't care. He did care. A lot. He just hadn't realised how much it would hurt them. How much it would hurt Sirius. And he felt awful about it.
"I'm sorry." Harry began quietly, fighting to keep his voice even. "I'm sorry that I'm such a selfish prick who can't think past his own stupid feelings, and I'm sorry that I keep letting you down." His voice broke, and - much to his embarrassment - tears began streaming down his pale cheeks."
"Harry," Remus began, but Harry cut him off.
"Please, just leave me alone." Harry said, his voice trembling. His heart was pounding, and his stomach was churning with anxiety. He needed to be alone. He needed…
"We can't do that, Harry." Remus said gently. He didn't feel it was safe to leave Harry alone just yet, especially given his current state.
"JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!" Harry yelled, a sob wrenching from his chest. He jumped up out of bed, ignoring the black spots that momentarily clouded his vision, and threw himself down in front of his trunk, which someone had placed on the floor at the foot of his bed. He yanked open the lid and began rifling through his things, chucking quills, rolls of parchment and various items of clothing over his shoulder. Sirius had given him a penknife for his birthday last year - he had kept it hidden in his trunk, inside one of the pairs of socks Dobby gave him every year, just in case he ever lost his razor - or if anyone ever found it. Even after it became painfully clear that the knife was no longer there, Harry kept searching, growing frantic with desperation.
"It's not in there, Harry," Sirius sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. "We searched your trunk before we brought it up here."
It took another thirty seconds of desperately digging through his belongings before Harry finally admitted defeat and sat back on the floor. "FUCK!" He yelled, and smacked his head with his fists. Hard. Stars flashed in front of his eyes at the impact, but he didn't care. It hurt - not quite the same feeling as the razor, not quite as good - but still something. Maybe he didn't need a blade to feel the same sense of relief - maybe he could find it in other ways.
He had expected his old professor to reprimand him for his bad language; Lupin was not very tolerant of swearing, often scolding Sirius for his constant stream of profanity - not that it made any difference. Now, though, he seemed at a loss for words.
"Why are you doing this to me!?" Harry sobbed, his arms wrapping around his shaking torso.
"Harry, please- just listen," Remus began, approaching Harry cautiously, as if he were some kind of frightened animal likely to lash out. "We're not doing this to hurt you. It's the opposite - we just want you to be safe. Please, come back to bed." He extended a hand towards Harry, who did not raise his head from his drawn-up knees.
"Please, just leave me alone." Tears trickled down his cheeks as he spoke, despite his sobs having ceased. Remus sighed, retracting his outstretched arm, and - to Harry's great surprise - left the room, gesturing for Sirius to follow. As he came past, Sirius placed a hand on Harry's head. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but seemed to think better of it, and instead followed Remus into the corridor.
Now that he was alone, Harry let loose the emotions that had been bubbling up ever since he had awoken. He stood up from the floor and collapsed in a heap on the bed, curling up on top of the covers. He lay there, sobbing quietly, for what felt like hours. He just felt so… empty. It felt like he was back on the train, during his third year at Hogwarts, when the dementors had boarded and everything had gone cold. It had felt like all the joy had gone from the world - like he would never be happy again. A lot like how he felt right now. The only thing keeping him grounded was the dull, throbbing ache in his skull, the pain gave him something to focus on, other than the cavernous void in his chest.
Harry felt his eyes grow heavy and his breathing begin to even out, the stream of tears slowing to a slow trickle. With one last shuddering sigh, Harry's body relaxed into the soft duvet, and he felt his consciousness slip away, the world fading into black.
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