Scarred

Author's Notes: Please note that this story does pertain to self-mutilation and should be read with caution in case of unintentional triggers. I do not in any way encourage self-harm, especially as someone who is currently recovering from an addiction to cutting.

Lily didn't know why or how it started, exactly, but she did know that this horrid ritual had been a part of her life for almost an entire year. She smiled bitterly as she made her way to the prefects' bathroom, so late at night (the only time she could ensure some peace); amid the disgust she felt for herself, she was proud that she'd kept it a secret for so long.

After reciting the password absentmindedly, she pushed her way into the room and dropped her robes off her shoulders. She liked it there; it always felt so clean. But then, she'd angrily remember that she wasn't clean. She felt so dirty every time she set foot in the room. She only came in there for one reason.

Taking a seat against the wall, she carefully retrieved a shining, silver blade from her jeans pocket. She smiled, fingering it, watching it glint in the light.

It had been twenty-two long hours since she'd used it last. Of course there was the constant scraping against her upper thigh during the day; every step she took would move the blade every so slightly, causing it to cut into her leg the slightest bit. But that... that wasn't enough.

She inhaled deeply, her heart pounding with excitement, finally taking the blade and pressing it firmly into her wrist. She bit her lip as her eyes teared from the pain, but it felt so simultaneously good. She dragged the metal downward against her arm, producing a deep cut roughly half the length of her arm.

Lily smiled at the blood. This was what she deserved. All the fury she felt toward her sister embodied itself in these cuts, making the emotional pain of the years of insults so much more tangible. But it wasn't just about punishment, it was about control.

Lily needed control in her life. Everything seemed to be utter chaos, from the war to her classes to Severus...

Not that she'd ever admit that what Severus had done still hurt her. She was thought to be so strong, she could never admit that she still hurt, over a year later.

She certainly didn't feel strong as she dug the sharp metal into her arm again, biting her lip as the sickening pain overcame her. She felt weak.

To think that this was what she resorted to, to think that she couldn't cope with the things everyone seemed to handle easily... she felt so weak, and she hated it.

She stared down at her arms. They burned from the lack of skin, the sickening feeling of bare flesh meeting dry air. At least it was winter and she could easily hide these new scars. She dreamily thought of the lies she'd tell if someone should see. Certainly she could try to heal these cuts, but they almost felt like trophies, reminders of all the hardships she'd overcome (though, she sadly reminded herself, by immortalizing them on her body, she was hardly putting them in the past).

After cleaning up, Lily pulled her robes over her head again and made her way back up to Gryffindor Tower. She wanted to sleep off the ache she was feeling and continue with the routine she hated so dearly (she knew that twenty-four hours later, she'd be making the same trip back to the tower, feeling the same soreness). She whispered the password to a half-sleeping Fat Lady, then ambled into the common room.

"Lily?"

The voice made her jump, and she whipped around, seeing James stretching and yawning from his seat on the comfiest chair in the room.

"What are you doing up?" she asked him, wishing she hadn't been noticed. She spent so many days, everyone pretending she was invisible, why did he have to see her now?

He carefully got up, approaching her. She took a step back. "Must've fallen asleep, working on that bloody Potion's essay for Slughorn. What about you?"

"Couldn't sleep," she lied, forcing a smile. Feelings of confusion burned inside her; while her head told her to run to bed where she could hide everything, her feet kept her rooted in the spot, feeling peace in this interaction with him. He always did this to her, and she hated it.

"Something bothering you?" he asked.

"No," Lily lied, reflexively rubbing her wrists. "Just thinking..."

James nodded, trying to signal that he understood.

"It was really sweet of you, by the way," she said to him, "standing up for that second year, earlier."

He smiled, stepping closer to her; Lily realised she had no place to go behind her, her legs bumping against the edge of a table.

"Mulciber's a real prat," he said, shrugging, though pleased with the compliment he earned. "It was the least I could do to defend the poor kid. I was just sorry I didn't get to hex Mulciber properly..."

Lily laughed softly, glancing at James, who was smiling broadly, his teeth gleaming in the darkness. His face was so close to hers now that she didn't breathe, feeling his own breath coolly caress her face.

"I can't blame you," she whispered.

Within a moment, the centimeters between their faces disappeared as James leaned in, covering her mouth with his.

It was sweet, Lily desperately thought, weaving her fingers through his hair, his hands positioned on her back (which she was quite thankful for, afraid that her legs would give out from under her and she'd fall to the floor). She opened her mouth slightly, under his bottom lip, longing for the feeling of his tongue against hers. She wanted him so badly, to never part with him, to feel his hands across her skin...

"James," she breathed, pulling away from him quickly, "I can't."

"Why not?" he asked her softly.

"You don't know me. If you did, you'd..." she trailed off, feeling foolish, afraid to sound weak if she continued. She turned.

"I'd never abandon you, Lily," he said, grabbing her wrist. She quickly pulled it away, wincing from pain as his fingers closed over her fresh cuts. He looked at her concernedly. He carefully took her hand (though he kept a firm grip, holding her as she tried to pull back), rolling up her sleeve to reveal the dozens of cuts on her arm, creating a scarlet spider web of sorts on her pale skin.

Lily couldn't fight the tears any more, and she began to silently sob; James quickly wrapped his arms around her, holding her body close to his.

"Why have you never said anything?" he asked, breathlessly.

She turned her face from its spot, buried in his shirt, feeling the dampness of her tears against her cheek, now. "Because," she whispered, still crying, "I don't want you to look at me and only see my scars."

He gently pulled away, cupping her chin in his hand and turning her head to face him. "I see your scars, Lily," he said to her, his hazel eyes boring into her emerald ones, "but I think they're beautiful because they've made you the person you are today." He leaned in, kissing her forehead.

Lily flung her arms around him, crying even harder than before.

He knew. He knew, and he didn't care. Even knowing how much she hated everything, how she hated herself, he still thought she was beautiful, possibly even more beautiful than before. And as she smiled through her tears, kissing him a moment later, she didn't mind her scars so much, either.