Title: Dying Young
Author: Silmarwen Nénmacil, or Deborah in real life
Summary: Where will you go with no-one left to save you from yourself…When Harry Potter starts his sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry things aren’t going really well, and as the year passes by things only get worse. Weird girls, an insufferable Snape who is forced to teach him Dark Arts and a barmy old fool called Dumbledore don’t make things easy for him. And then there is Malfoy, Draco effing Malfoy, who always puts his finger exactly on the wound.
Timeline: 6th year
Warnings: Slash, strong violence, strong language, scenes of a sexual nature, attempts to commit suicide
Ships: Harry/Draco (and Hermione/Ron but that’s not really important)
Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize, please don’t sue me. I’m poor.
The title ‘Dying Young’ is also the title of a movie I once saw, it has got nothing to do with the movie whatsoever though. Harry or any other of the main characters are NOT going to die, not physically anyway.
The sentence ‘Where will you go with no-one left to save you from yourself…’ is a part of some lyrics by Evanescence. The song is called ‘Where will you go’.
I don’t want to copy anybody else’s work, please believe me.
bold: stressed words
italics: Harry’s thoughts
“…”: normal speech
‘…’: certain expressions
Reviews are most welcome! But please, don’t flame me.
A huge thanks to my beta's Kas, Vicky and Misthy. I absolutely love them!
Where will you go with no-one left to save you from yourself…
CHAPTER ONE – BEING HARRY POTTER, THE BOY WHO WISHED TO DIE
The razorblade touched the skin of my underarms softly. Closing my eyes and breathing hard, I pushed the blade further into my fragile and tanned skin. The vertical line of blood lengthened as I moved the sharp edge towards my elbow. Not too far though, a few inches were long enough.
Pain was rushing through me, together with some odd sort of adrenaline. I removed the blade. The cut was bleeding quite heavily, but I had not touched any arteries. Luckily.
Even though it sounds incredibly odd, this was the only method to convince myself of the fact that I was alive: cutting my forearms and watching me bleed. I licked the wound, it ached and prickled. But I deserved the pain; I deserved all hurting I ever suffered.
My vivid green eyes were watering. Nothing I did to myself could ever make me feel any better. I was still alive, while there were others who had died because of me.
Why did I deserve to live while my parents were assassinated? Why did I deserve to live while Cedric Diggory, ‘the spare’ like Voldemort had called him, needed to be killed off in front of my very eyes? Why, for God’s sake why, did I deserve to live while Sirius was murdered?
It was all because of me they had died…
I dug the razorblade in my skin a second time, about half an inch to the right from the other cut. I felt my own tears rolling down over my cheeks, falling on my naked chest and rolling southwards to vanish as they touched the brim of my black boxer shorts.
Yes, I am Harry Potter: The Boy Who censoreding Lived, but wishes to be dead at this very moment. I am the so-called ‘saviour’ of the world, weeping on his bed in the Leaky Cauldron two days before the start of a new term at Hogwarts. I am the one person doomed to face Voldemort and conquer him once and for all. But you know what? I don’t think I am in the mood right now.
A knock on the door of my hotel room startled me from my musing.
“Harry, are you all right?” I heard the rather high-pitched voice of Hermione shout.
censored. I hurriedly searched some plasters to cover the two cuts in my left arm and rubbed the tears from my face.
“Harry...?” She was still knocking on the door.
“Yeah, Hermione. I’m OK.” I called, trying to keep my voice even.
Those cuts really are aching.
“Can I come in, Harry?” She asked in a worried sort of way.
“Yes, of course.” I said, while rapidly grasping a blanket to pretend I only just awoke. Hermione opened the door tensely to, sit down on the end of my bed.
“Are you sure everything is okay though?” She asked anxiously while observing my swollen and bloodshot emerald green eyes.
“I’m fine, Hermione.” I answered, managing to make a feeble smile cross my lips. “I just didn’t sleep too well, that’s all.”
Hermione didn’t seem to be completely convinced, but didn’t make any comments.
Why does she always need to act so motherly, there is nothing wrong with me.
‘Right…’ Another part of my mind retorted.
In a way I really appreciated the anxiety of Hermione, Ron and hell, every person who cared about me, but they wouldn’t understand anyway if I would tell them what was bothering me.
Ron came running into my room as well, but stopped dead as he saw my face.
“You look like hell!” He exclaimed.
I saw Hermione giving Ron a ‘really subtle’-look and grinned.
“Oh… eh… sorry, mate. I didn’t want to…” He was swinging his arms nervously, clearly not knowing what to do or say from the glance Hermione had given him.
“It’s OK, Ron.” I said jovially, “I know I look terrible, but how will I ever manage to make myself presentable if Hermione hampers me to get out of bed.”
She cast me a questioning look.
“I am stark naked under these covers, you know.” I lied swiftly; I couldn’t allow them to see the cuts in my arms.
Hermione blushed and mumbled an apology before leaving the room. Ron grinned at me, before exiting my chamber as well.
Do they really believe anything I say? I thought desperately, before getting out of bed and searching some clean clothes to wear.
Even though I needed to try hard to avoid the cuts in my arms, the shower felt good. Refreshing. I rubbed my eyes; they were quite painful because of the crying. Probably they were completely red and swollen as well.
Yawning, I got out of the shower, grabbing my glasses which were lying on the lavatory stand.
Contacts would be useful.
As I looked in the mirror in front of me, I could clearly see why Ron had said I looked like hell: I was looking quite pale, I had huge grey bags under my eyes which seemed to have lost their normal emerald brilliance. I looked skinnier than ever.
I heaved a sigh and took a towel to dry my messy raven hair.
It was almost time for lunch when I finally entered the noisy bar and saw Mr. Weasley reading the Daily Prophet on a table at the back right corner. Hermione and Ron were sitting there as well, rather close to each other if you would have asked me.
I had intentionally dawdled so I didn’t need to have breakfast; I wasn’t hungry at all.
“Good morning, Harry.” Mr. Weasley said happily as he saw me approach.
Smiling, I replied: “Good morning, Mr. Weasley.”
“You look much better now,” Ron told me, somewhat apologizing.
“Thanks.” I said, taking place at the other side of the table. I scratched my left inner arm cautiously, hoping Hermione would not notice.
Luckily, she did not as she was too busy staring at Ron, who blushed crimson when he noticed. It looked as though they were finally making progress together.
I knew I needed to feel pleased for them but somehow I didn’t. It really made me feel like the third wheel.
Looking kind of awkward the other way I saw Dean Thomas standing next to Ginny, holding hands. I guess Ron hadn’t noticed yet, because if he did, he would have done about everything to get his fellow Gryffindor student away from his little sister.
Smiling at this thought, I ran my fingers through my tangled black hair. Smiling didn’t feel real anymore. Actually, it was just like someone was pushing the corners of my mouth up. It had been long since I had really laughed.
Damn, it would feel great to laugh again, to have a fit and lay on the ground howling with laughter, clutching my stomach because it hurt.
I sighed once more, trying to remember when I had last laughed. It must at least have been about what, three months? Ever since Siri- eh… ‘he’ had died. Again I felt tears burning in the corners of my eyes; I didn’t want to give in though.
“Harry, what is it?”
I blinked a couple of times before looking at Hermione.
“Nothing, really. Just-”
“OK.” She said. Why did she not go on about it? All people in their right minds could see I was not ‘all right’.
I guess nobody wants to see the supposed ‘liberator’ of the wizarding world doing really, really bad.
As soon as it was twelve o’clock, Tom put two tables together so the Weasleys (Ron, Ginny, Bill, Mr. Weasley and Mrs. Weasley), Hermione and Harry could be seated. Ron’s twin brothers were staying in their shop; it was amazing to see how many customers they actually had every day
Mrs. Weasley was talking to Hermione and Ginny about some second-hand robes she had laid hold on this morning, while Mr. Weasley was having a quite serious conversation with Bill about something Ron obviously wasn’t allowed to hear, even though he kept trying to eavesdrop on them. I was just listening to fragments of all conversations, not wanting to join any.
My mind drifted off, I didn’t seem to be able to concentrate me on one certain action anymore. And I had those complete mood swings as well. Extremely irritating, really.
One moment I wanted nothing more than to climb onto the roof of the bloody Leaky Cauldron and yell I needed help because I couldn’t handle it any longer on my own, but on the other hand there were those moments I didn’t want anybody to know anything about me.
I am a complete lunatic.
I jumped back to reality with a start when I heard someone mentioning my name. Hermione and Ron were watching me anxiously.
Not quite weird if you considered that I had this glassy look in my eyes every time I was buried in thought.
“Sorry?” I asked. They had asked me a question I could not recall hearing.
“I asked you how your stay at the Dursleys was, during the holidays. You haven’t told us anything about it yet.”
Well, maybe the reason I haven’t told you anything about it, is because I haven’t anything to say about it.
“Yes,” Ron continued, “You haven’t sent us a single owl during your stay at the Muggles and we sent you hundreds!”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Well, actually Ron.” I said, looking him in the eyes and being utterly annoyed. “You’ve sent me 12 letters and no, I didn’t bother to answer them.”
Ron’s ears turned red.
Serves you well, git. I thought, feeling bad a moment after.
“Sorry, Ron.” I mumbled, looking at my fingernails. “The Dursleys were… eh… human.”
Why the censored are you lying, Harry? They were not ‘human’! They bloody locked you up in your room for two months without being allowed to leave it except for going to the bathroom two times a day!
“So they didn’t treat you bad this year?” Hermione asked cautiously. I think she was somewhat afraid of me, or my reactions.
“No, they were OK, Hermione,” I lied, not wanting to make her even more worried, “They were just… them, if you know what I mean.”
Eating only a little, I retreated in my room soon after the others had finished, saying I would be packing my trunk early. Lunch somehow left a bitter taste in my mouth, that day.
A/N: After a huge conficts between two sides of me I have decided to post the story on hpff.com as well. Please don't make me regret this choice.
I hope you guys enjoyed reading this story, please review if you did. However, if you didn't enjoy reading this story: don't flame me. Of course you can review me telling what I did wrong.
Please don't tell me Harry is overreacting, cause I don't think he is.
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