Keep on keeping on

Harry began to realise that running away from uncomfortable conversations was fast becoming his trademark. But in the rush of fast breath and his pounding heart as he ran through the halls of Hogwarts once again, this revelation was the last thing on his mind. Instead, he was focused only on putting as much distance between him and Snape as possible.

How dare he! How dare he! Harry thought as tears streamed down his face. He was getting fed up with crying, so he swallowed deeply, trying to regain some control. Anger coursed through him. Snape knew nothing. He had no right to tell Harry that he was safe here. Harry didn’t feel safe anywhere anymore. Yes, he now considered Hogwarts home but that was because he didn’t have anywhere else to call home. A small, rational part of Harry told him that maybe Snape truly did care. He did try to get Harry away from the Dursley’s – it was Dumbledore that said he had to stay. But Harry was still overwhelmed. He couldn’t trust anyone anymore. He couldn’t rely on anyone anymore. In his mess of thoughts, Harry didn’t even realise where he was going. It was nearing dinner now and students were beginning to roam around the castle again. Harry didn’t want anyone to see him like this, so he ran to the nearest toilets, breathing a sigh of relief when he found them empty. Locking a cubicle door behind him, Harry collapsed and fell to the floor. It was like a dam had burst and all the tears he had been trying to hold back escaped and flowed freely, like a river that had been forcefully contained. He felt his body begin to shake, his hands trembling. To try and stop that, Harry clasped his hands together, squeezing so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

“They can’t find out.” Harry whispered to himself. “They c-can’t. I’ll b-be the freak they always thought I-I was.” Harry was getting tired and felt pathetic. He felt weak and he hated that. He knew Hermione and Draco would come looking for him soon. They couldn’t see him like this. Taking a deep, wavering breath, Harry pulled out his knife from his pocket and rolled his sleeve up. For a second, Harry stared intently at the marks that lay there already. Starting at his thick scar on his wrist, his forearm was a criss-cross of pale white lines, some raised and noticeable, others smaller and shallower. Those were his first. Steadying his still shaking hand, Harry pressed his cold knife to his arm and pulled it across it deeply.

After Harry stormed from his office, Snape considered following the boy. He knew something was going on, something serious. There was something that Harry was not revealing – but what that was, Snape was not sure. He knew that Harry would not be about to tell him, and Snape thought that any further attempts to push the boy into talking would only cause him to stray further away. Leaning heavily against his desk, Snape rubbed his hands over his face and sighed.

“What am I going to do?” Snape murmured, his voice dejected and exhausted. Even as he asked himself that question, he knew the answer. He was just going to have to watch and wait. Eventually, carrying the burden of whatever was going on, would catch up to Harry and he would fall and Snape would just have to be there to catch him when he did.

The Great Hall was buzzing with excited chatter and the sound of cutlery against plates rang clear. Harry walked shakily into the hall and scanned for his friends. He caught sight of Hermione sat alone and rushed over to slip in beside her.

“Where have you been!” She exclaimed as she noticed Harry.

“S-Sorry. Snape took ages.” Harry shrugged. Hermione eyed him nervously and Harry sensed that she didn’t believe him. “What have I-I missed?” He said quickly, trying to distract her from the impending question he saw lingering behind her eyes.

“Oh. Um. Nothing much. Common room was quite quiet tonight.” She replied, still looking at Harry curiously. Her eyes drifted to his plate which was still empty. “Eat something.” Harry nodded and began to place food gently on his plate, eating slowly and silently.

The next few weeks passed in a blur of solitude and cutting for Harry. Snape largely left him alone and Harry avoided him anyway. Harry spent time with Draco and Hermione when he needed to, sitting quietly and listening the bickering between the two that mostly consisted of who was smarter. Harry would laugh at those, which would earn him a disapproving glare from Hermione. When he wasn’t with his friends, he was roaming the castle alone, often late at night with his invisibility cloak. He couldn’t seem to turn his brain off. Thoughts whirled around inside him continuously and it was tiring. Harry didn’t sleep much anymore.

As September bled into October and the leaves turned to a rusty brown, the evenings grew colder. One night, Harry found himself, once again, wandering the castle. He’d woken in a cold sweat, his sheets clinging to him and a scream caught in his throat. He had felt like he couldn’t breathe so Harry rushed from the dorm before his brain could register where his feet were carrying him. As a result, he’d forgotten shoes and his invisibility cloak. It was only when Harry was on the other side of the castle that he realised this of course, and he was feeling too shaky and unsure of himself to try and make it all the way back to the tower just to grab it. Instead, Harry made his way into an alcove and curled up, protecting himself from the cold. He leant his head against the stone, feeling the beads of sweat drip down his neck. Finally, now still, Harry felt sleep take him once more and his vision faded to black.

“Well, well, well. Mr Potter.”

Harry’s eyes snapped open, and he jumped to his feet. Professor Lockhart stood before him, his mouth cracked into a wide smile, showing off his brilliantly white teeth.

“P-Professor.” Harry said uncertainly, hanging his head in shame.

“I’m sure you’re aware that it is well past curfew.” Lockhart whispered, winking at Harry.

“O-Oh yes. Sorry Professor. I-I went for a walk before curfew a-and I must have f-fallen asleep.” Harry replied, lying through his teeth. Lockhart nodded.

“Yes. I often must take a walk to clear my head. Pains of fame.” He tutted, gesturing to Harry. “You and I are a lot alike, Harry. I too am very famous. It is a heavy burden to carry.”

Harry wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but it made him feel uncomfortable. Him and the professor were nowhere near the same. Harry had fame thrust upon him because of a terrible tragedy. Lockhart – Lockhart was an egotistical, self-centred fame hunter. Harry couldn’t say this so instead he just shrugged.

“Now, Harry. Not matter your fame, you cannot be out after curfew. I do not make allowances for anybody. So, detention I’m afraid.” Harry’s face fell. “Not to worry. Not to worry though. You can serve your detention with me. I have some fan mail to address. You can help me! It will be excellent practice for you.”

“Yes professor.” Harry nodded, his gut twisting in pain. Something about this conversation made Harry uncomfortable but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

“Brilliant. Tomorrow evening. 7pm. My office. Now, off to bed with you.” Lockhart announces, waving his hand in dismissal and Harry trudged off back to the tower.

The next evening, Harry, Hermione and Draco were sat together in the common room, piles of parchment and textbooks scattered around them.

“Draco! It’s levi-O-sa not levio-SAR. This is first year basics!” Hermione sighed, exasperated. Draco glared at Hermione.

“Merlin’s balls, Hermione. It’s a wonder you have any friends at all with an attitude like that!” Draco teased, though his face was stony. Harry listened and let out a small laugh.

“Harry! You’re meant to be on my side.” She admonished, looking at Harry.

“I-I am ‘Mione. But he’s g-got a point. H-He’s not stupid.” Harry laughed, rubbing Hermione’s arm reassuringly.

“Aw, thanks Har. You’re too sweet.” Draco joked, blowing a kiss at Harry.

“A-Anything for you, O’ Slytherin Prince.” Harry replied, catching the kiss in the air that Draco’d blown to him.

At ten to seven, Harry stood up from the floor he’d been sat cross-legged on.

“Where are off to?” Hermione asked, looking up at Harry.

“Detention with Lockhart.” Harry replied simply.

“What’d you do?” Draco asked, casting a teasing smile at his friend.

“Caught me out after curfew. Said he couldn’t let me off just because I’m famous!” Harry laughed.

“That pretentious slimeball.”

“Oi. He’s a professor. He’s had every right to give Harry a detention for being out after curfew.” Hermione cried defensively. She hated hearing a bad word against the man.

“Yes Hermione. Of course, he does but the fame comment was unnecessary.” Draco replied, looking at Hermione seriously. Hermione nodded in defeat. They both waved goodbye to Harry as he walked out the common room and headed to Lockhart’s office.

“Harry! Do come in lad!” Lockhart called sweetly. Harry walked in feeling uncomfortable. His professor’s voice set him on edge; the sickly sweetness was strong and overwhelming.

“Please! Sit. Sit.” Lockhart gestured to the seat beside him. Harry nodded silently and sat down. He realised that the seats were very close to each other and each time Lockhart moved Harry could feel his professor’s robes brush against him. Lockhart placed some envelopes in front of him.

“This is what you can expect, Harry. So many adoring fans that always want a reply from me. It’s lovely, of course, makes me feel very good about myself but it’s never ending!” The blonde man chuckled. Harry hummed in response and began addressing the envelopes in front of him, following the list of names that Lockhart had provided him with. Harry tried to tune out Lockhart’s rambling after that, after all it was just nonsensical chattering about how amazing he was. Harry nodded when he needed to and hummed when required.

“You’re awfully quiet, Harry.” Lockhart mused after a while of silence. The boy looked up from the paper in front of him and jumped slightly when he was met with the blue eyes of the man staring at him intently.

“Um. Yes. S-Sorry professor. It’s late and I’m very tired.” Harry mumbled, hoping that it would be the signal the Lockhart needed to let him leave. It was now 9pm and nearing curfew.

“Oh of course. Of course. It is very late. Time flies when you’re having fun I suppose!” Lockhart replied. The man winked at Harry and Harry shifted uncomfortably, edging to the edge of his seat and trying to escape his professor’s predatory gaze.

“Umm, yes.” Harry nodded, uncertainly.

“You’re ever so sweet Harry. So caring, so clever. You know, I shouldn’t say it, but you are definitely my favourite student.” Lockhart whispered. Harry felt Lockhart’s hand grace his leg and Harry flinched in response.

“P-Professor! I r-really should l-leave. I-It’s getting late a-and I-I don’t want to m-miss curfew.” Harry stumbled, his voice shaking. He stood up to leave but Lockhart’s hand grabbed Harry’s.

“Oh, Harry. There’s no need to rush away. I’m a professor so I’m sure I can forgive a little tardiness.” Lockhart said. His voice had turned to caramel, each word dripping off the end of his tongue. It wasn’t smooth and gentle to Harry though. It felt venomous and scary. Fear gripped Harry and he felt like he couldn’t move.

“I’ve been watching you all term.” The man drawled, his grip tightening on Harry’s arm. “I’ve been waiting to get you alone. You are just brilliant Harry. Your reputation precedes you and you and me – you and me we could be great together. I can teach you so much. We can be amazing. Your fame and mine. Everyone would worship us!”

“P-P-Professor. I-I really need to l-leave!” Harry insisted, trying to pull his arm away.

“Oh no. I need you, Harry.” Lockhart whispered. He leant in and Harry felt his hot breath on his neck. Harry struggled against his grasp, but Lockhart grabbed both of Harry’s arms and pinned him against the desk.

“Harry.” The professor moaned into the student’s ear. Harry’s body went rigid. His stomach rolled and vomit rose in his throat. Harry needed to escape but he was trapped. He felt Lockhart’s hands leave his arms and travel down to his waist. Harry tried to move but Lockhart looked into his eyes.

“Harry. Don’t leave. I’m so happy. You make me so happy.” The man purred. One hand lifted again and began unbuttoning Harry’s shirt, the other pushing Harry’s robe off. Harry still stood frozen. He watched on in horror as Lockhart’s eyes roamed hungrily over the boy’s bare chest. Harry suddenly felt the urge to cover himself up. Harry felt his arms shaking by his side and Lockhart’s eyes trailed everywhere. The blue eyes stalled when they saw the lines on Harry’s arms and faded scars on his chest from Uncle Vernon’s belt.

“Oh Harry. Someone’s broken you, haven’t they. They’ve marred your perfect skin. You’ve been broken.” Lockhart whispered, sympathy lacing his frightening words. He leant forward and brushed Harry’s hair from his forehead and trailed one finger down Harry’s chest, lingering on each and every scar. “It’s okay. I can fix you.”

Harry felt Lockhart’s hands move to the waistband of his trousers and pull at the zipper. His professor’s warm, clammy hands spread an uncomfortable heat through Harry’s stomach. His hand reached into Harry’s trousers and grasped.

“N-No. P-Please. S-S-Stop.” Harry stammered.

“Shh. I’m fixing you, babe. I care about you, love. Let me help you.”

After that, Harry’s memory was fuzzy. He remembers the feelings of pain and shame. Of terror and anxiety. He didn't remember it ending. He didn't remember leaving. He just remembered getting back to the tower. It was late and everyone was asleep, and Harry had run straight to the showers. He turned the water to the hottest temperature and stood under the scalding spray. Tears dripped down his face as he scrubbed ferociously at his skin, watching as it turned an angry red. Lockhart’s words reverberated in his head.

Someone broke you.

You’ve been broken.

Broken.

Harry’s body shook and he fell to his knees, not bothering to turn the shower off. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t survive. He felt dirty and ashamed. He felt violated. Lockhart was a professor. He was an adult. No one would believe Harry if he spoke about what had happened to him. No one did when he talked about his relatives. It just made it worse. Snape had tried to help him but ultimately Harry was still trapped. Harry couldn’t get the thoughts and images and feelings and sensations out of his head. He could feel Lockhart’s hands on him, his hot breath against the neck, the tight grip he had on Harry’s…

Harry could feel it all. He could hear it all. Suddenly, Harry’s stomach dropped even further as he remembered the last thing Lockhart had said.

“Until next time my pretty boy.” Harry’s stomach did a somersault, and he turned quickly and vomited onto the floor of the shower. At the movement, Harry caught sight of the silver glint of his blade peeking from the pocket of his discarded robes. Harry grabbed it and clung to it in the shower. His thoughts overwhelmed him, and Harry did the only thing that ever gave him any relief. The shower water turned red, and Harry leant against the wall, breathing a sigh of anxious relief.