Carve Open My Heart

\Oh I see your scars

I know where they're from

So sensually carved and

Bleeding until you're dead and gone\

"Harry, please don't," my voice breaks as I see him. My best friend. He's shivering and crying and bleeding. There is a razor in his hand and it's glistening with crimson. The once deep, wild green eyes are blank and dull as he stares at me. He doesn't think I understand what he's doing. I walk to his bed where he sits, a broken mess merely existing in the world of chaos that surrounds us.

"Ron, just leave me alone." His cold, distant voice chills my soul. Now I know how my mother must have felt when I spoke to her in that way.

"It makes the numbness go away, doesn't it, Harry?" I say, in a weary voice. I know the feeling only too well.

\I've been there before

Knocking on the same door

It's when hate turns to love

And love to hate

Faith to doubt

and doubt to faith\

Harry stares at me in confusion. He says nothing, but expects me to continue. It's evident he wants to ask me a million questions. Harry will receive my answers.

"This, it makes you feel. Takes away the vacant space that's festering inside you. I know it does," I whisper to the boy who has caused me to experience this emotional roller coaster. I reach forward and take the bloody razor from his hand. I examine it closely. Mine is identical.

His silence is heavy in the space. He knows nothing about me. My morbid mind is starting to creep into my thoughts. Things that I've done that would be considered twisted and sick come to my memory. Harry's blood is so dark; I'm amazed by it. My eyes never leave the thick scarlet on his blade.

"Blood is a fascinating thing, wouldn't you say, Harry?" I ask, my voice deadly calm.

"What are you getting at, Ron?" Harry spoke with trepidation.

"It's so dense and heavy looking. But it's warm and delicate when it flows over your skin. The feel of it pouring from the veins is cause for relief. Do you feel that way, Harry?" I continue as though Harry had not interrupted me. Silence again.

"I've always wondered if Voldemort had blood like this. Does the blood of a hero appear identical to that of a villain?" I wonder aloud. I'm beginning to feel this maniacal pull on my body.

"I don't know," is Harry's response.

"Does all blood taste the same?" I ask Harry.

"Ron, you're scaring me." Harry's fearful tone is quiet.

"My blood tastes like metal. Let's see if yours does too," I say, smirking at Harry. Before I allow him to react to my statement, I bring his razor to my tongue and lick the warm blood off the blade. I hear Harry gasp.

"Ron, what is the matter with you?" Harry is now on his feet, with his crimson hands staining my shoulders.

\I've seen it all before

Beauty and Splendor torn

It's when Heaven turns to black

And Hell to white

Right so wrong

And wrong so right\

I want Harry to taste my blood. I smile at him lightly. His eyes open wide, frightened and nervous.

"Don't be afraid of me Harry. I'm not going to hurt you. Remember I'm on your side," I say, gently stroking his cheek.

"You aren't acting like yourself, Ron. Why are you behaving like this?" Harry's vexed tone is soothing my soul.

"Have you never tasted your own blood after cutting?"

A strange flicker passes through Harry's eyes. He knows I know. I laugh softly. I believe that it's time for me to explain myself to him. I take my hand away from his cheek and take my school robes from my shoulders. I strip off the tie and white shirt and expose my skin. Scarred and wounded is my flesh. My body is* littered with deep abrasions that form words. His still red, wet fingers trace the word 'sidekick' that was cut just under my belly button.

"I swore that I'd cut a line through it once I was no longer the sidekick. When I became the object of his affection. The love of his life. The love of your life, Harry." My voice is very quiet, as though I'm afraid of scaring off a small animal.

\Feel it turning your heart into stone

Feel it piercing your courageous soul

You're beyond redemption

And no one's going to catch you when you fall\

"The love of my life," Harry mutters. I can practically hear the gears turning under that ebony black hair of his.

"You pierce my heart, Harry," I say placidly. My finger traces the open wound on his arm that leaves blood trickling down to his fragile hands. The blood envelops my fingers. I can smell it. I form an “X” over my heart with his blood. And he understands.

Harry's graceful digits swiftly take the razorblade from my grasp. And I understand, too. Carefully, he lowers the sharp edge to my stomach. The pain is fierce and welcoming. He cuts the line through my old title of “sidekick” and lets the blood fill up the scars and spill down my body, staining my pants. The burning hurt now binds our adolescent monstrosity into a delicate balance of pleasure and agony. The cutters vision of a bloody valentine.

Our eyes meet and our bodies come closer together. I can feel heat radiating from the shattered boy in front of me. His hands that are now mingling with my blood and his own are placed onto my cheeks. The crimson liquid is smeared across my skin and my heart skips from excitement and love. I bridge the gap between our 17 year old forms and kiss his lips. For a moment the kiss is still and rigid. I relax though, and wrap my arms around his neck. I am becoming angry because I do not want to be gentle with Harry. I want to be rough and brutal. Harry can sense my impatience. He begins kissing me hard. His tongue is thrust into my mouth and I eagerly massage his with my own. Our tongues are fighting, each tasting the other. I take his lip into my mouth and suck on it ferociously. His hands are roaming across my bare back. I'm bloodthirsty now. I bite down on Harry's lip and the blood slowly drips onto my tongue. At the bite, his fingernails dig into my back, causing me to growl in pleasure and pain. I can taste the hard metal of Harry's blood and I smile. Harry is now licking my cheeks of the blood that was smeared there by his hands. His mouth moves to my neck, biting and sucking at it.

"Harry," I moan, "I think I'm a masochist."

"And that's okay with me," Harry manages to breathe. My neck throbs as I feel his teeth biting the flesh there. Our lust is mingling and my blood is on his lips. My hands travel down his stomach, my fingers grazing the light muscles. His body shivers when he feels my touch. I dip my hand down the waistband of his sweats and feel the pressure of him, hard and throbbing. Carefully, yet strongly, I wrap my hand around his penis and caress it. I'm fierce yet calm at the same time. Harry is groaning in my neck as my hand moves faster, ripping the orgasm from his body. My hand is wet now, as Harry shouts my name into the oblivion. Wet with semen and blood. Harry's weight is pressing on me and I know he's getting weak. So much blood gone from both of us. It's leaking across the floor. He's breathing heavily from the pleasurable hand job he just received. I support him though, because I need him. I love Harry.

\Oh I see you crawl

You can barely walk

Arms wide open

You keep on beggin' for more\

We stagger to my bed because it's closest. Harry apologizes over and over to me for 'not returning the favor.' I say that sexual favors and masochism can wait. All that matters is that we rest now. I place kisses across his bare chest and lightly lick some streaks of blood from his skin. We're bleeding and happy and in love. Maybe we're sinners and way beyond redemption, but all that can lie at the bottom of the killing jar for now. I'll keep Harry in a place where Voldemort can't hurt him, Hermione can't pester him, Draco can't taunt him, and where I can pleasure him, even if it is only temporary.

\Feel it turning your heart into stone

Feel it piercing your courageous soul

You're beyond redemption\