Sugar-free Cut

~ Sugar-free Cut ~

My name's Harry Potter; I'm from someplace I don't know in England. I grew up on Privet Drive. During the year I'm at Hogwarts but in the summer I remain at Privet Drive, against my will, but I stay there like a good boy.

I fell down the stairs a lot this summer - it felt good to feel again.

Pain.

It's a feeling, and a feeling I strive on. Maybe one day they'll all understand, but until then, I'm not going to get anywhere. I don't know why pain is the only thing I can see, the only thing I can feel, and the only thing that I can cause.

If it's self inflicted.

Maybe Voldemort was right; we aren't so different. I kill - he kills. I feel his anger - he feels mine. Maybe they'll understand that whatever they try to teach me won't work. Occlumency doesn't work.

Oh, how I want to die.

I know I'm just going to die anyway - why not end it sooner. Better taken by myself than another. At least I'll know what's going to happen and how, unlike murder.

I looked up at the castle of Hogwarts, my shadowy green eyes blinking slowly. The window lights cast glowing hues upon the dark water of the lake. I was the only occupant of my compartment; I abandoned the others for solitude.

I felt so numb.

Maybe a little pain would help, but jumping off the train would keep me from a few days of lessons, and the only thing that I loved: magic.

It was the only thing that was safe to love. I couldn't love people because they would die. They all would die and I would be left. Voldemort knows that it kills me that I can't get attached and have anyone to look to, slowly it kills me, but it kills me all the same. A part of me dies every year - what will die this year?

Who will die this year?

Leaving the compartment as the train stopped, I walked through the train until I reached the end. I didn't want to see anyone; they worried enough about me. They shouldn't - they should be worried for themselves more than me. I just have a prophecy to fill. They should worry about being dragged into it. Although, they shouldn't even be dragged into it - it's just Him and me. I would never forgive myself if anything happened to ruin their lives - it's one thing if my own life is fucked up, but it would be another thing if I decided to drag others down with me.

I felt responsible - it's what causes me more pain. And I can feel it.

I took a Thestral drawn carriage to the castle. Once more, I was the only occupant. No one was off the train yet - Hagrid wasn't even collecting the first years. Prefects were just opening the doors to let the passengers off while my carriage climbed the hill up to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Uncle Vernon wasn't mean this summer - he ignored me. Aunt Petunia wasn't unpleasant - she didn't even look at me. Dudley was the only who talked - of course, he talked on the telephone.

I never went to dinner; I lived on a homemade lunch, which consisted mostly of sandwiches. That's only if Dudley didn't finish the last of the bread at breakfast.

Summer.

Pain.

Death.

I never wanted to live another summer again.

I live, but only. Sometimes I wish I were dead. Sometimes I wish I could kill. Sometimes I wish I could feel. Maybe I'll be rewarded this year. Hopefully with something that would stay with me and not just sit and rot on a shelf in the Hogwarts Trophy Room, waiting for some unruly detention-aholic kid to polish it.

Looking into the bleak darkness outside the window of the carriage, I never blinked as Hogwarts came into view. I didn't know what to do - my friends would mob me if I went to the Great Hall to eat (although I wasn't really hungry). I could go to the kitchen for some peace. Ron wouldn't find me unless he actually used his brain...

Wait, I didn't mean that as an insult. Then what did I mean with thinking that?

Maybe I'm insane.

He was my friend - no - he is my friend.

I just can't care about him.

The kitchen would do fine for my solitude (save the house elves). I could eat, sit by the fire, and wait until well after curfew when everybody was in bed before sneaking back. All I would need was the password, which Dobby could give me.

Not one person passed me as I walked to the kitchens. No teachers, house elves, or students. It was relieving to be alone. If I didn't see anyone, then they couldn't tell Hermione or Ron where I was - or where they saw me.

Finally reaching the portrait of fruit, I tickled the pear and entered the bright kitchen of Hogwarts.

House elves where at my feet. They almost carried me to the couch by the fireplace, where sat a pot of tea and a single teacup tipped upside-down on its saucer. Dobby bowed low and asked if I needed anything, to which I said that I didn't.

Either he had things to do, or he sensed my wanting to be alone because he left. He probably needed to check the last details for the welcoming feast.

That was just fine with me - I wanted to sit in peace, maybe have a cup of tea, and if I got the urge, a biscuit.

There were no windows in the room, no darkness to look into - or out of. There was a fire, if I sat close enough, I could feel.

Pain.

It burned - both the tea, as it went down my throat, and the fire. I moved closer and inhaled the hot air that almost engulfed me. I sighed and took another sip of the scorching tea. It felt good to feel pain.

Suddenly, the kitchen door burst open. "How may Dobby help miss?"

My mouth went dry; I hoped he wasn't talking to Hermione. I didn't think that she would be up to the castle this soon, what with her prefect duties. I knew she was logical enough to come find me in the kitchens, but it was too soon to be her - yet, it could be...

"No, just some hot chocolate," a girls voice replied. I didn't know who she was - hopefully she was leaving, but I felt her behind me. She sat next to me, painfully close to the fire, just as I was.

I was sure she was in pain. I looked up at her. She didn't show it.

"Afternoon, Harry," she said, her red hair almost catching fire from an ember that shot from the fireplace.

"Susan," I replied.

Susan Bones wasn't bad company; she kept quiet. She never asked anything, she never spoke anything - she just sat and basked in the painful heat with me. Both of us clutched our scorching mugs of liquid that were painful to drink. It was the only thing I could feel.

"I fell down the stairs," Susan spoke, breaking the silence that had lingered between us for an hour.

I smiled ironically. "I did too."

I looked at her to see that she was staring back at me, no expression on her face, her red hair dishevelled and her robes worn and tattered. Her nylon stockings looked as if they were melting to her legs from the fire. I sensed her pain and somehow, I knew she was going through the same feelings as me - they had to be for different reasons, but similar feelings.

Susan peered deeply into the fire, her dank blue eyes not blinking. "I count them until I reach ninety-four. I must have done that three times this summer."

"I hit three-hundred and ninety-seven in August," I said taking a sip of tea, still as hot as ever from the oven-like surroundings. "I stopped counting then."

"Life problems." Susan said moving closer to the fire - as close as she could without jumping into the flames.

"Living problems." I moved up next to her and held my teacup that kept getting hotter by the minute.

"I must have melted six pairs of stockings to my legs."

"I jumped off the roof and landed in a thorn bush twice."

"What a lovely summer," she said, raising her mug.

"It's going to be a horrible year." I, in turn, raised my glass to her and we both drank the burning liquid until it was finished.

Pain.