Not a Good Boy
Boy braced his hands against the cold tiles, letting the almost too-hot water cascade down his head and back and legs as he slowly sucked in as much air as his lungs could hold. He let it back out in a just-as-slow sigh until grey spots danced on the edges of his vision.
He needed…
He needed….
Boy pressed his lips against the back of his arm, fighting with the need to hurt something.
Ron would have been preferable. Followed by any of the other Gryffindors. Maybe some Ravenclaws. The Slytherins. Their blood covering the floor and the walls in an ocean of death.
When the idea of killing Ernie flit through his mind, so tempting with his trust and lack of survival skills, Boy sank his teeth into his own arm instead. The taste of warm, fresh blood on his tongue battled with the flair of pain, driving out the thoughts of murder as his fingers clawed uselessly against the slick tiles.
Driven out for now.
Magic danced inside his mouth like pop-rocks, and Boy found himself giggling as he wondered what would happen if he added the candy to blood before lapping it up. Could be fun. Strawberry flavored maybe. Use it as a sauce for fresh strawberries. Strawberry flavored strawberries. Ha.
The blood-lust satiated in a very literal manner, Boy gently pushed it further back into his mind. He felt the faintest touch of cold tendrils as he did, the Slender Man sending his regrets in not being able to fully contain the need to hunt and bleed and kill.
Harry hissed as he finally unclamped his teeth from his arm, letting the blood trickle down to the floor and swirl towards the drain. Now he could feel how unbearably hot the shower had gotten, his skin felt tender and raw. Twisting the knobs to turn the water off, Harry gently prodded at his pink, almost sunburned shoulders.
Waterburned?
Boiled?
What-fucking-ever. He was sore. Only for about an hour or so, but having to pull clothes on was going to be a pain in the ass until then.
Literally!
Harry grumbled to himself through the entire process of putting on his pajamas and brushing his teeth. Thank god he’d chosen a shirt with long sleeves, he reaaally didn’t want to try and explain the teeth marks on his arm to his sensitive roommates.
His hair was the real mess though, no matter how much conditioner he poured on it was still a mass of tangles because fuck James Potter and his thousand cowlicks. Harry had seen enough pictures and heard enough tales of the man and his dratted hair to know this was entirely the older Potter’s fault. If he hadn’t already been dead Harry would have killed James himself for having the sheer gal in forcing his damn genetics on defenseless spawn.
….alright, it was only down to his shoulders, much less of a pain than when it had reached his waist. But still, it was the point of the matter. Wet hair tamed and braided for the moment, Harry finally decided to leave the bathroom.
Oh!
Neville!
Murderous thoughts and grumpy mood banished, Harry whooped in glee and tackled the boy right off the bed. “You’re here!”