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A loud splat pulled Harry out of his thoughts.
He had set his wand to the side and just watched as he bled. The red began to drip into the sink with a constant and steady beat. On his forearm, sat many scars–Although many were not self-inflicted. Some slashes were months old, others only days. And, a few brand-new, still bleeding, masterpieces.
He wasn’t sure why he did it. Well, he was, but he wasn’t sure it made any sense.
He had been fine the summer after Sirius’ death. He had spent those three months distracting his brain with impulsive and spontaneous actions. He would spend every second of his days, and most nights, out of the house. Harry would sit in the train station, pushing his feelings as deep down as they would go.
The Dursleys hadn’t minded his absence. They were most likely ecstatic that he was always gone. When he came back from his third year at Hogwarts, his family began to fear him. They left him alone. They did what he wanted.
However, in his sixth year–during the parts where he wasn’t fighting to protect the wizarding world–he began to miss the pain. He missed the familiar feeling of being hurt whenever he screwed up. He knew he didn’t need to be punished, but he always was. And of course, he wished he never had to feel the pain in the first place, but it was odd when his nerves had a chance to relax. Also, in a way, it helped distract him.
He looked at his face in the mirror. The bathroom was covered in a soft moonlight, streaming through the open window.
Also streaming through the window, was a frigid breeze. It was abnormally cold for February. Although, it was always freezing in Scotland.
It was his sixth year. He looked much too old to be in his year though. He also looked much too old to be bringing a blade to his wrist, but that won't stop him. His face was filled with a look of constant dread. His under-eyes dark, and his eyes dropping. His hair was shaggy, as always. Harry’s cheeks were wet with tears and sweet.
Lifting his bangs with his hand not covered in blood, he took a look at the scar on his forehead. It was shaped like lightning and was the bane of his existence. It was ugly and reminded him of just how unfortunate his life was going.
However, his attention drifted as his vision began to blur. He looked down at his wrist and grabbed his wand to cast a cleaning and healing charm. Pulling his sleeve down, he stormed out of the bathroom.
—-
“Mate, could you walk any slower?” Ron complained, rolling his eyes.
He and Hermione were a few feet ahead of Harry, who had been dragging his feet. Harry’s two friends had been sort of fighting at the beginning of the school year, although after an accidental breaking up with Lavender Brown, they were back on good terms. He glared at the two of them and stopped in his tracks.
“Wow. Sorry, I didn't know you were in such a rush to get to potions.” Harry dead-panned.
Ron and Hermione both stopped and turned around. The ginger crossed his arms, “Do you want another detention?”
Harry didn’t have a chance to bark a snarky response, as Hermione cut in, “Honestly, you two. Let's just go.
She grabbed Harry’s wrist sharply and began to turn, although she stopped when Harry let out a hiss.
“Agh!” Harry couldn’t help but yelp. He yanked his wrist back and covered his mouth. Hermione looked at him oddly. Ron took a step towards Harry, afraid he was hurt.
Hermione spoke, “Is your wrist hurt, Harry?”
“Uhm… No.” Harry stuttered, shoving his arms away from his face and swiftly back down to his sides, “You caught me by surprise, that’s all.”
Hermione looked him up and down, silent. She opened her mouth to question him but was interrupted by the ringing of a bell.
“Ugh! Come on!” Ron complained, sprinting down the hall.
—-
Harry, and most of Gryffindor, were absolutely boiling.
He and his classmates were currently elbow-deep in some odd plant they were meant to re-pot. Professor Sprout hadn’t given much instructions before assigning them to this task. The plants were ghastly, but not dangerous.
He was standing in front of a plant bed with Hermione at his right and Ron at his left. Ron had smudges of dirt covering his cheeks, and his forearms were exposed with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Hermione also looked positively exhausted. Although, she did her task, and she did it well. She had also lost her sweater, just like most of Gryffindor and Harry.
Hermione almost shouted over the noise of the greenhouse, “Harry, your sleeves!”
Harry looked at his curly-haired friend in confusion, although when he took a look down, he understood what she meant.
His hands were still deep in this plant's dirt, and so were the sleeves of his white button-up. He took his hands back and grabbed the end of his arm to begin rolling his sleeves. Then he stopped.
“It’s fine, Hermione.” Harry began his task again and looked at Hermione with an eyebrow raised. He took a deep breath and attempted to appear calm, “We’re magic, right? I’ll just clean them”
Hermione furrowed her eyebrows and bumped their shoulders, she spoke, “Well there's no point in wearing them down more.” She paused and her eyes widened slightly, “Harry, roll your sleeves up.”
“No, Hermione. It’s fine.” Harry attempted to keep his voice steady and stern.
She wanted to argue, it was obvious. But she shut her mouth and worked on her assignment.
Occasionally, she looked at his wrists, watching for what she knew was there.
—-
Something was different about his school bag. Something–-although he couldn’t place what–had been moved.
Perhaps, Ron had broken his quill and dug through Harry’s bag for a new one. Or, Hermione once again went to check his assignments and notes to be sure he was focusing on school.
Or maybe–just maybe–Hermione had dug in his bag for proof of something else. “No,” Harry whispered to himself, “What am I saying?”
—-
The library was filled with the sound of pages turning and quills scratching.
He was sat to the left of Hermione, in a far corner of the room. They both needed to work on an essay for their Herbology class. Or, Harry had to do his, and Hermione insisted she’d help.
Their table was covered in books. Some were open, while some were closed and pushed to the side.
Harry and Hermione had both been silent for about 15 minutes until the boy began to hear whispering.
“I’m sorry, Hermione?” Harry turned to look at her, as she had been muttering under her breath.
“What?” Her eyes met his, and she furrowed her brows in an attempted look of confusion.
“You were saying something?” Harry prompted.
“No, it’s nothing.” Hermione denied.
The boy humbled in response and continued scanning his book, although he could have sworn Hermione he heard Hermione continue whispering while looking strangely toward his arms.
—-
“Potter, I’m glad you’re here.” Dumbledore smiled from where he sat at his desk.
Standing beside him, closer to Harry and the door, was Snape. Unlike the headmaster, Severus appeared almost angry. Although, a tilt in his eyebrows showed he was slightly concerned.
Harry had been shaking since he was pulled out of charms. He had never been asked to Dumbledores’ office for a good reason. And the very opposite moods of his professors were not helping to calm his nerves.
He hovered by the door, unsure if he should sit in the chair in front of his desk. He spoke, “Uh, yeah, Sir.”
The bearded man seemed to sense the confusion. He clarified, “Please, Harry, sit. You aren’t in trouble.”
Dumbledore gestured to the seat closest to Harry, and he sat gingerly on it. He had become quite comfortable with his headmaster, as Harry had been essentially doing his busy work all year. Although, the other man was setting him off.
Snape must have noticed he was showing a bit of emotion, as his face was back to a completely unimpressed stare.
A cup suddenly filled with tea in front of Dumbledore, and he grabbed it to place it closer to Harry. He pointed at it to signal Harry to take a sip, which he did. Although, he paused right before the cup hit his lip. He was being paranoid; this was Dumbledore.
Harry looked to the headmaster, “Um, with all due respect, sir. If I’m not in trouble, what am I doing here?”
Harry’s voice shook.
Dumbledore took a deep–albeit shaky–breath and folded his hands on his desk carefully. He spoke calmly, “A serious situation has been… brought to our attention. By one of your peers. I need you to understand we aren’t upset.”
Dumbledore fell to silence, seemingly collecting his thoughts. Harry questioned, “Sir?”
However, Snape cut in with his stern voice and answered for Dumbledore. He deadpan, “One of your classmates is worried you have been hurting yourself.”
Harry’s heart jumped to his throat, and his face paled. He had been careful; He’d kept his sleeves down, hid his knives, and put on a smile. He wanted to deny it, but something made him blurt out, “Yes. Or, wait.”
He stuttered and looked back down at his cup as a realization hit him. He whispered, “Truth serum…?”
“Yes, Harry.” Dumbledore sighed.
The boy stood swiftly, and he was suddenly filled with anger, “That’s illegal! How dare you?”
“No, not necessarily,” Snape explained and placed his hand on Harry’s shoulder to get him to sit, although it was no use and his hands simply sat there. He continued, “With parental consent, Verutiserum may be used if one is suspected of harming themselves or others.”
Harry barked out a rude laugh, “Parental consent? What, you went to the Dursleys? You and your 1800’s wizarding robes?”
Severus took a step back and crossed his arms. He corrected sternly, “Black. He signed the paperwork.”
Harry’s shoulders dropped and he looked around then to the floor.
“Right.” He grunted.
Dumbledore sighed once more, and gestured to Harry, “Please, Harry. Sit. We need to continue our conversation.”
Harry threw his arms out and continued standing, “No! We don’t! There’s noth-”
He shut his mouth suddenly. He couldn’t talk. He couldn’t lie.
Harry rubbed his hands down his face and tried to walk towards the door. A quick flick of Snape's wand stopped him in his tracks. Although, he was able to stomp back and fall into the seat dramatically, throwing his arms into the air.
“Talk, Potter,” Snape grumbled, although softer than typical.
Harry sighed and leaned his elbows on his knees.
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“Why do you do it, Harry?” Dumbledore calmly questioned.
He grimaced as he revealed, “I missed the pain. I mean-... Ugh”
He fell back into the seat. There was no use. He couldn’t lie like he always did. Harry would have to tell them. Although perhaps, the truth serum would help him say things he hadn’t yet figured out. Maybe this was good. In a way.
The room fell silent. Both Dumbledore and Snape sighed. The headmaster took a few moments to think about what his next question would be. He simply had so many.
Dumbledore asked the first that came to mind, furrowing his brows, “The pain you experienced from... Battling Voldemort?”
“No.” Harry sighed.
“Then what?” Snape asked. Although when Harry didn’t answer he questioned again, “Who hurt you, Potter?”
“My Aunt and Uncle.” Harry spat, “But it’s not like you care.”
“Pardon?” Dumbledore questioned, looking shocked.
Harry stood once more, “I told you! I told you they hated me! And you didn’t believe me.”
Dumbledore followed and tried to walk around his desk to place a hand on his shoulder, although Harry turned and walked a few feet away. He put much distance between himself and the two professors, who were both standing in shock.
“Harry. I simply didn’t know.” Dumbledore’s voice stayed calm, although the hand he still had raised between the two of them began to shake.
“But if you had–AND YOU COULD HAVE– would you have changed a thing? You knew all along I could only die at the hands of Voldemort!” Harry began to pace, out of breath, “SO, you decided to just.. Dump me with the first relatives you could find!?”
“Harry, trust me there was much more thought put into it!” Dumbledore exclaimed. Snape stayed silent, looking between the two of them.
“THEN WHY DIDN’T YOU CHECK ON ME?” Harry shouted, and the whole world fell silent.
Harry dropped his arms and caught his breath. He looked towards the floor, the anger leaving him. He racked his brain for an explanation–a lie to get him out of this. Although, he couldn’t think of one. Not one that would make any proper sense. But he would try.
“I’m fine.” He sighed. “We have much bigger things to worry about. Really.”
Harry didn’t meet the eyes of the two men and was surprised when a hand reached out to him. Severus grabbed his wrist, and Harry’s eyes widened.
“Wait!” He protested.
Snape grabbed his sleeve and roughly tugged it up towards his elbow, despite Harry’s thrashing.
The sight of his forearm was sickening. Most scars were only surface level, although few were deep and perhaps infected. Snape’s stomach lurched. He had been so rude to this child; this child who was going through so much. He took a deep breath and kneeled in front of Harry.
He took a look at Dumbledore, who had his head bowed in shame. He decided he would deal with him later, and looked Harry in the eyes.
“No, obviously you aren’t,” He spoke calmly and attempted to comfort him. “We want to help you.”
Tears threatened to fall from Harry’s eyes, and he sucked a big breath of air into his lungs. This was terrifying. Not the current situation, but the thought of what was going to happen next.
“I don’t know if you can.” He whispered
“Well, I know we can try.”