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seventy, again

harry

"I think I'm ready to tell you something I've told no one." I declared as I sat down.

Etheria raised a brow. "Which is?"

"I've mentioned coping mechanisms, yes?"

"Mhm."

"Self-harm." I said bluntly. "I get blades and cut myself, sometimes to the point I black out. And I get matches and lighters, and I burn my skin to the point you can see white. Over and over again. It was repetitive, and constant. I used to hurt myself whenever my mood got just slightly bad."

"When did it begin?"

"I think the thoughts began when Peter Pettigrew cut my arm in fourth year, in the graveyard. It hurt so bad, especially because my blood was used to revive a dark lord, but it felt so good. The blood pouring out was satisfying, so I tried it alone, the night Sirius died.

I quite enjoyed it.

It wasn't too frequent, but every time someone died for me, I did it more. The night of the war, I cut myself fifty times, for the Fallen Fifty, and I quite literally almost died. Had it not been for Myrtle screaming at me before fading out of consciousness, I would've never quickly healed myself.

But that day, I discovered the fun of being burnt. In the Fiendfyre, whilst trying to save Draco, my hand got burnt. I expected pain and a gruesome scar, but not a mark and not an ounce of hurt.

It was heavenly hellish. So, after the war, I began to burn myself too. It became a much more frequent habit. Almost every day, I think, especially when I had bad days. But recently I've felt better." I added at the end, quickly, so I wouldn't get sectioned again.

"When was the last time you did it?" Etheria questioned.

Instead of trying to remember, I checked the app, I Am Sober, to figure out when I last did it. "Two weeks ago."

"You told me you got, erm, a bit, intimate, with Draco." She began awkwardly. "Did he see- did you tell him?"

I shook my head. "No, no, I wore glamours. I've been wearing them constantly."

"Why not do that with the bruises your uncle left on you? I know you didn't want people to find out."

Rather than replying straight away, because I knew why, I chewed on my lip. My reason was messed up, probably mental.

"Harry, I think we're past the overthinking-anxiety-she's-gonna-judge-me part of our conversations." She picked up on my fear. She's very good at her job.

"I, erm, I feel like people should see. Like they should know, without me saying. It makes me feel valid." I fidgeted with my hands. "I know, it's messed-up but-"

"It's not." She reassured me. "Besides, glamours can be quite draining if too much is used, right? It's good you're not exerting yourself too much."

"I guess."

"Would you mind showing me?"

A tad bit aggressively, I shook my head. I wasn't quite ready for that. The talking bit was hard enough. If anyone was to see first, honestly, I'd be more comfortable with Draco seeing.

After all, we met the real side of each other a year and a half ago, and got more intimate and close than I'd ever expected to get with anyone.