Keep on keeping on

“Potter! Get out! You’ve been in there hours!” A loud knocking woke Harry from his fitful sleep. Shivering and realising he’d fallen asleep slumped on the floor of the shower, Harry pushed himself up and turned off the steady flow of water. Ignoring the frantic knocking, Harry waved his wand over and dried himself and then shrugged his robes back on. He flinched when he realised that they were the same robes that he’d been wearing the night before, but he didn’t have time to change now, not with the way Ron was practically forcing him out of the bathroom. The feeling of his robes made his skin crawl and made Harry want to be sick. He swallowed it down and made his way out of the room, not looking at Ron who had an angry look on his face.

“Fucking finally.” The red head muttered, shoving Harry’s shoulder as he passed the boy.

Harry met Hermione in the common room and the pair walked down to breakfast. Hermione was chatting away and Harry stayed silent, following absently beside her, only focusing on where his feet were taking him.

“Harry?” Hermione asked. Harry’s head snapped up and he looked at her. Her face was inquisitive, and her brown eyes were eyeing him curiously. Harry got the impression that she’d been trying to get his attention for a while.

“Hmm?” Harry hummed in response.

“Are you ok? How was detention last night? Malfoy and I waited for you, but you didn’t show up.”

“O-Oh um yeah. Sorry. L-Lockhart kept me late. H-Had me helping him with his fanmail. Took forever!” Harry scratched at his arm, not making eye contact with Hermione.

“You look tired. How late did he keep you?” Hermione demanded, her voice sounding outraged.

“I-I don’t know okay! Late, I-I guess.” Harry exclaimed, his anger rising.

“Fine. If you’re going to be like that.” Hermione snapped. She turned and stormed away towards the Great Hall.

“H-Hermione. I’m sorry.” Harry called after her, but she didn’t turn back. The boy was left alone in the corridor with his stomach twisting with guilt. He’d have to find her and apologise so Harry set off after her.

When he reached the Great Hall, Harry took a seat beside Hermione. His friend didn’t acknowledge his presence so Harry sat in an awkward silence for a few seconds.

“M-Mione, I’m sorry. I-I didn’t mean to snap. I-I’m just tired and…” Harry trailed off, not even sure of what he was feeling.

“Tired and what, Harry?” Hermione replied, her eyes narrowing.

“Exhausted?”

“That’s just another word for tired, Harry.” Hermione pointed out, sighing loudly. Harry nodded.

“Y-Yes it is. I’m sorry. I-I don’t know w-what I’m feeling. B-But I shouldn’t h-have snapped at you.” Harry said sadly, hanging his head in shame. Hermione thought for a moment and then sighed again.

“It’s okay. I shouldn’t have pushed you. If your struggling why don’t you go and talk to Snape, see if he can help you at all?” Harry shook his head at her suggestion.

“N-No. It’s fine. I’ll be fine. Let’s just go to lessons.”

“If you’re sure? We have Lockhart first.” At Hermione’s information, Harry felt his whole body freeze. Hermione had stood up to leave but stalled when she noticed that Harry hadn’t moved. “Harry?” She asked, worriedly.

“Yes, y-yes. I’m coming.”

Walking into the defence against the dark arts classroom, Harry’s hands were shaking by his side. Trying to still the tremors, he clasped his hand around his wrist and ran his finger over his scar. Taking his seat, Harry tried to tune out everything, focusing only on his breathing that had suddenly begun to speed up. Most of the lesson passed in a haze. Hermione had been watching her friend closely and knew that he wasn’t present today so she made sure to take plenty of notes for him. It was ten minutes before the end though that Harry’s lack of focus was noticed.

“Mr Potter!” Lockhart shouted. Harry jumped at the noise and knocked his ink bottle onto the floor, flinching violently at the sharp clatter that resulted.

“My, my Mr Potter. Not focusing is one thing but causing a mess in my classroom? Well, we will ignore your behaviour if you can answer me this question? What defensive charm is the only spell that can protect against dementors?” Lockhart’s eyes were sparkling and his brilliant white teeth flashed as his mouth split into a wide toothy grin. Harry sat stunned, his mouth opening uselessly but no sound coming out. He wracked his brain for the answer but he came up with nothing. This wasn’t fair. No one had mentioned this spell, let alone what dementors were.

“Professor. We haven’t been taught that.” Hermione protested. Harry was shocked that she’d spoken out against a teacher, especially Lockhart, whom she adored.

“That shouldn’t matter. If Harry had done the reading, ahead of this year’s syllabus, he should know. After all, Mr Potter here is the saviour of the wizarding world. People look up to him. You’d think he’d want to continue that legacy by trying a little bit harder.” Lockhart explained sweetly. His tone of voice was overwhelmingly sickly but the words he said told a different story. Hermione blushed but anger flickered across her face. The professor turned away from Hermione and looked at Harry.

“I-I’m not sure professor.” The small boy murmured. Lockhart shook his head and sighed disappointedly.

“That’s a shame. That’ll be another detention. Tonight, 6pm, my office. Class dismissed.” Lockhart announced, making sure that everyone in the room could hear Harry’s punishment. Harry’s stomach turned again, and bile rose in his throat. He felt the blood drain from his face, and he suddenly felt very light-headed.

“Harry. I’m so sorry. That was really unfair.” Hermione sympathised, placing a hand gently on Harry’s arm. He flinched away from the contact and just shrugged. He couldn’t even find the words to express the anxiety that was filling him up. Harry couldn’t face the rest of his day, but he knew he had to so Harry followed Hermione as she headed to their next lesson.

When lunch finally arrived, Harry still couldn’t stomach the thought of entering a loud, busy hall. His whole body was still shaking and Harry couldn’t stop his hands from trembling. Hermione had definitely noticed his unease; she’d been eyeing Harry warily and sadly all morning and Harry couldn’t take it anymore.

“I-I’ve got a headache. I’m going to go and lie down.” Harry murmured hurriedly before walking away and leaving Hermione standing open mouthed and shocked. Harry didn’t even let her protest or ask him if he was okay – all he needed now was to run away as fast as possible.

Harry ran into his room, slammed the door behind him and collapsed against the door, sliding down to the floor. He felt hot tears stream from his eyes and carve streaks into his face.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid.” The boy shouted angrily, slamming his head against the door repeatedly. He hated what he’d become. He hated the stupid stammering and the weakness that it showed. He hated what Lockhart – his professor! – had done to him. Harry was supposed to be able to trust the adults in his life and now he was angry at everything. He felt his arms begin to itch and Harry sobbed loudly.

“Pathetic.” He whimpered. Harry crawled along the floor to the bathroom and locked the door behind him. Pulling out his knife, Harry rolled his sleeve up and attacked his arm furiously. Harry felt every slice and relished the pain. He let his anger out. Every time he felt pathetic and used, and angry and violated. As Harry sat, watching his crimson blood flow from the cuts, Harry realised that he was always going to be pathetic if he couldn’t stop that damn stammering. He was glad he got his speech back, and he had Snape to thank for that, but he was always going to be used and treated like a piece of dirt if he didn’t stop. Harry breathed a sigh of relief as the stinging reverberated through his arm. He pulled his sleeve down and rubbed his face to wipe away the tears before leaving the bathroom and heading to his afternoon lessons.

Just before 6pm, Harry walked slowly to Lockhart’s office. His steps were hesitant and wary, and Harry couldn’t stop the bile from rising in his throat. Harry doubled over and vomited on the floor, his throat burning as his empty stomach forced its acidic bile up. He groaned in pain and wiped at his mouth before vanishing his vomit with a wave of his wand. Harry stood still and took a deep breath before knocking on the door of the defence classroom.

“Come in, Harry.” Came the silky voice of his professor. Harry entered carefully and fidgeted nervously.

“Oh Harry,” Lockhart cooed, his eyes predatory, “I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”

“Professor. Will I be doing lines tonight?” Harry asked, hoping that he had imagined everything that happened before and that his professor would just present him with some parchment and ink and tell him to write something inane and stupid like ‘I will pay attention in class’.

“Mmm, no.” Lockhart cocked his head, “I had something a little different in mind.” The golden haired man grinned menacingly and adjusted his robes, his hand rubbing hungrily over his crotch.

“P-Professor. I’m not comfortable with this.” Harry protested, deciding to stand his ground this time.

“No need to be nervous Harry. I will make sure your comfortable.” Lockhart strode across the classroom and grasped Harry by the arms and pushed him against the wall.

“No, please.” Harry whined, struggling under the mans grasp.

“Shh. I’m fixing you. Let me help you. Good boy. Pretty boy. Perfect…”

Harry walked through the halls, hands trembling by his side. The events of what just happened ran through his mind. The feeling of Lockhart’s hot breath against his neck, the wet, open-mouthed kisses trailing down his skin. Harry could feel his skin prickling as he recalled his professor’s touch, the feeling of his hands on Harry. Harry wanted to be sick. His stomach churned and twisted in knots.

It was dark now; the only light coming from the torches that lined the hallway. Harry wasn’t sure where he was going. He could feel his entire body shaking, his arms itched painfully, begging to be cut. Begging for Harry to take that shiny knife and drag it across it. Harry began to run, his feet pounding against the stone floor. His breath was fast, and his heart was racing. Harry’s feet carried him to a small alcove, in which Harry fell against the wall heavily. Lockhart’s words echoed in his mind.

“Good boy, pretty boy. Perfect. Just perfect.”

Harry’s sobs broke through and the small boy began to shake uncontrollably. He wrapped his arms around his knees and squeezed tightly. Harry couldn’t breathe so instead; he took out the only thing that gave him breath. He pulled his knife from his pocket and dragged against is pale, scarred skin. Once, twice, three times. The blood bubbled up from the cuts and dripped down his arm. Harry breathed a sigh of relief and shook his head, the fog that obscured his mind lifting. Harry felt calm again. Too calm. It scared him. Harry needed to do something. Harry stood up shakily and ran from where he was hiding. He ran through the halls again and didn’t stop until he found himself at the potions classroom. Harry pushed his way inside, fully aware that he was breaking some rules, and set to work.

His workbench was piled with ingredients. Powdered root of asphodel, eel eyes, newt eyes, frog hearts, troll bogeys and about twenty other things that Harry knew wouldn’t actually make a real potion and would most likely cause an explosion, but he didn’t care. He just needed to do something. Make something. Do something good. He didn’t have any of his potion’s kit or his textbooks. So, taking out his own knife, and pushing up the sleeves of his jumper, Harry began dicing everything – even things that couldn’t be diced. He just attacked everything with his knife. He watched as his own blood that still coated the blade, mingled with the ingredients before him. His mind was a blur of thoughts, thoughts that made no sense, thoughts that he couldn’t piece together and was too afraid to even try. So, the noise in his head was loud which meant Harry didn’t hear a door creak open and the disapproving grunt of his potion’s professor.

“Potter. What do you think you are doing?” Snape asked sternly. He’d entered his classroom after an alarm alerted him to someone being in there. Severus has groaned as he stood up from his couch in his quarters. He was angry that there was a student out of bed, that there was a student that even dared enter the classroom without his permission. Snape had stormed through the adjoining door and stopped instantly when he saw a small, dark haired boy crouched over a steaming cauldron. Harry looked frantic, his hands were moving fast and without direction. His green eyes were empty and dull, staring intently at whatever he was cutting. Harry made no noise and didn’t even seem to have heard Snape.

“Harry. What are you doing here!” Snape said again, his voice rising slightly. At that, Harry flinched and looked up, blinking quickly as he registered the tall, dark figure before him.

“Professor. Hello. How are you? I’m fine. Sorry that I’m in here. Couldn’t sleep, or rather never even tried, and my feet seemed to take me here. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. But I also don’t quite know what I’m doing. I just grabbed what I saw and went with it. I think I’m doing it wrong. I didn’t have my kit, so I found a knife and started using that. It wasn’t clean though so I’m probably introducing a whole host of problems, and you would not be pleased. If I did this in class you would shout at me” Harry scoffed at that comment “probably go on to tell me my parents were dead and that I was showing off because I’m some poor, abused orphan. Because I am and if you said that, you’d be right of course. An orphan. The boy who lived. The boy who should have died.” Harry spoke fast, incoherently and his words made Severus’ head spin. For a moment, Snape stood fixed to the spot, his mouth open in shock. Harry was rambling and struggling with something, that much was clear. Snape’s expression softened and he approached the boy slowly.

“Harry. It’s 2am. You should be in bed.”

Harry nodded and hummed.

“Yes. You’re right once again. I should be in bed. But I had detention and that was a problem in itself and I didn’t want to go back to the tower, so I came here. Let me just finish this and I’ll leave.” Harry blurted out, still not looking up.

“Harry?” Snape asked. He’d noticed something with all the talking that Harry was doing right now. There was no stammer. No stuttering. No uncertainty in the words. Harry hummed again, answering his professor non-verbally.

“You’re speech? There’s no stammer.”

“Oh. Yeah. You are correct again. I stopped doing that. It was making me sound pathetic and the boy who lived-” Harry chuckled at that. The boy who lived twice now, he thought. “-can’t afford to be pathetic.” Snape stepped closer to the bench, wary of Harry. He seemed frantic and more panicked than normal, and Snape knew that he was most likely a flight risk. As he stepped closer, his eyes widened as he saw the mess on Harry’s bench. Mixed into the ruined potion’s ingredients was blood. It was not obvious at first, but Snape could smell the coppery, iron smell. Snape searched frantically, his eyes scanning Harry’s hands, trying to see which finger he had cut off that had produced so much blood. But there wasn’t one. No cuts, no missing fingers, no nothing. It was then that he saw Harry’s wrist. His sleeves were pushed up just far enough that Snape could see an angry, red scar on his left wrist. It was jagged and poorly healed, the edges not crisp. It looked painfully sewn together. Snape’s breath caught in his throat.

“Harry? What’s that?” Snape asked carefully, his voice cracking. He pointed at the scar and Harry’s hands stilled. He looked up and saw Snape’s shaking finger pointed at his wrist. Harry’s eyes flicked down and landed on the scar. Bile rose in his throat as he recalled that night. The feeling of Aunt Petunia’s sewing thread pulling through his skin. Harry swallowed down the vomit now in his mouth and he shrugged. He looked up at Snape with soft eyes, his face neutral.

“Oh that? That’s just a symbol of just how fucking great my life is – but don’t worry. Aunt Petunia made sure I lived to hurt just a little bit more.”

Snape’s heart broke and silence enveloped them as Harry went back to his potion.

“Harry, stop.” Snape whispered, placing his hands on Harry’s arms, stilling his hands. Snape gently removed the knife from Harry’s hands and placed it on the bench behind him. Harry protested at first but eventually gave in and then he dropped to the floor, his knees crashing against the stone. It was then that Harry began to sob; great, heart-wrenching sobs that wracked his entire body.