inflicted [h.p]

01

The boy scratched at the skin on his wrist so hard it bled. He'd been doing it all summer. So much so that the skin on his left arm was nothing but scabs and irritated skin. It itched. It constantly fucking itched and it hurt. But the subtle pain was a decent daily distraction from his mind. And Harry liked that.

Ron and Hermione held light conversation across from him on the train, looking awfully too normal in their Gryffindor robes. Harry wondered how they could do it. Look normal that is. Hermione laughed slightly at a comment Ron had made and Harry found himself jealous. After everything that had happened, all the fucked up shit the three had gone through, Ron still had Hermione and Hermione still had Ron, and Harry was alone. It had been different when the feelings between the two were left unacknowledged. Harry had been close to both of them individually. He was the one who completed the friendship. He was necessary. But now Harry found himself selfishly thinking he preferred it when the two were nothing but people who tolerated each other. Because back then he didn't feel so isolated. Now he might as well have been the boy under the stairs again. 

Ron kicked his shin to get his attention, making Harry jump. He looked at Ron in annoyance, running his hands through his hair. He had grown it out that summer. Intentionally. It now brushed his browbone and curled at the nape of his neck. It was a bloody nuisance, but it at least covered the scar on his forehead that was yet to fade.

"Harry mate we're nearly here." Ron said gently, serving him a lopsided smile. Harry knew this. But he didn't want to change out of his muggle clothes. He didn't want to wear his school robes. He didn't want to go to Hogwarts. He didn't want to bloody be there.

"Harry-"

"Fuck I know Ron. I heard you." Harry snapped. He didn't mean to be so short-tempered. He didn't mean to be so angry, but he was. He was so fucking angry.

Ron stared agape at his friend. They hadn't spoken much over summer. Harry had constantly turned down the Weasley's invitations to stay the burrow. He didn't want people to see just how fucking angry and intolerant he was. Not even his best friend. He hated how isolated he felt from everyone. But it was better than being with people. When he was with people he felt like he wanted to fucking explode. Harry constantly felt like he needed to destroy something. Anything. That's why he scratched himself, in an attempt to numb that feeling.

"Harry, just go get changed in the loo. We're ten minutes away and me and Ron will meet you by the carriages okay?." Hermione spoke as if Harry could break at any moment. As if he was delicate.

Harry felt anything but delicate.

"Okay." Harry sighed. "I'm sorry Ron." A lie. "I'm just stressed mate." Another lie. " Meet you out front?" Ron nodded, leaning back against the seat, continuing his conversation with Hermione who pushed aside her concern and soon assumed the conversation also. Harry watched them for another few seconds, before grabbing his bag from the overhead area and leaving the compartment.

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Harry looked sick.

He sighed as he looked in the toilet mirror, gripping the sides of the sink as he took in his appearance. His skin was pale, nearly grey. And his once bright green eyes, his mother's eyes, had now sunken into his face, making him look just as exhausted as he felt. Harry had barely left Grimmauld place since July because he was so bloody tired. People had expected too fucking much of him.

After two months of complying with what everyone else wanted, Harry just stopped.

He didn't want to talk to Rita Skeeter about his bloody parents. He didn't want to take photos with Ron and Hermione for the Daily Prophet's cover. He didn't want to repair Hogwarts.