Scissors by MellarkandArt

Harry couldn’t ever remember crying when he cut, something about the numbness just didn’t allow for it. Right now though, his eyes were a river as he fell to pieces.

He had woken up from a nightmare of the third task, yet again, but this time Severus wasn’t there to comfort him. Not that it was likely to help, this time. Nothing could, nothing but his old friend, that was.

His old friend that he had allowed Severus to banish like the idiot he was. It was the only thing he had ever used and he wanted it now, damn it! It was gone for good now, though, so Harry would have to make do with something else.

He stumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen, extending a trembling hand to grab a knife. He tried to go back up to his room but found that he just couldn’t seem to manage it right now and collapsed at the bottom of the stairs, clutching the knife protectively.

He usually thought long and hard about relapsing before actually doing it, considering the pros and cons of it because yes, there were pros. Right now, though, he couldn’t be bothered to care about the cons. He needed this, needed it like he needed food to eat and water to drink and Severus to-

His breath hitched, thinking of Severus. He had been so proud of Harry’s progress and would be so disappointed at his failure. It couldn’t be helped, though. Harry had known from the start that he would never give this up forever and now was as good of a time as any to start again.

He pressed the knife against his skin, and this time there was no one to stop him from digging it in.

***

Severus had returned, Harry heard him coming in. Heavy footsteps echoed throughout the house, stumbling through the kitchen. Cabinets were opened and closed, a glass slammed onto the counter. A minute later the sink was turned on and off and then the footsteps came towards him.

He scooted closer against the wall, clutching the knife tightly, feeling lightheaded. Blood seemed to be everywhere, but at the same time, it seemed like he hadn’t managed to do nearly enough damage to himself in the time allotted.

The footsteps got louder before they quieted completely, and suddenly Severus was crouched down before him. “Harry…” he murmured, effortlessly taking the knife out of his grasp and tossing it aside. He slipped off his Death Eater robes and held the fabric against Harry’s arm, pressing down firmly against the wounds.

“I’m sorry,” Harry gasped. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m not mad. It’s okay.”

“I’m not… I’m not even with the Dursleys this summer, I shouldn’t be… why am I… why can’t I stop,” he sobbed, wound-free arm reaching out desperately for Severus, who in turn responded by enveloping him in a gentle embrace.

“It’s an addiction, it’s not easy…”

“I told you before I wasn’t trying to kill myself. I want to now. I want… I want it to stop. I want it to end. Why, why won’t it… I don’t want to be alive, I don’t wanna breathe, I don’t…”

“Harry,” Severus whispered, and Harry could hear the thick emotion in his voice. He said nothing more, only stroked his back comfortingly. It didn’t help. It didn’t stop the pain, the ache. Nothing possibly could.

“It hurts so bad,” Harry moaned. “Everything… hurts…”

“I don’t know what to do,” Snape said softly. He had said it several times over the past few months, choosing to be completely honest with Harry rather than offer meaningless platitudes. He had never sounded quite this lost when he had said it before, however.

Harry wanted to tell him it would be fine, everything would be okay, but he no longer believed that himself. He needed something, and he was sure that the answers lay with the cool metal that had been tossed aside. He made a reach for it.

“Harry,” Severus said, quickly catching his movement and grabbing his hand, holding it firmly but gently.

“Please,” Harry whined desperately, long past caring how he sounded.

“I can’t. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

Harry would have felt bad for making Severus feel bad if he could have managed to sort his emotions out past the painful haze clouding his mind. He simply bawled, clinging to Severus as though his life depended on it because quite frankly, it did. As much as he didn’t want to breathe, he was breathing, and Severus was his lungs, his air, his oxygen...

At some point he was aware of Severus picking him up, carrying him somewhere. It was pathetic that Harry was small enough to be picked up and carried so easily, and Harry only wept more at the thought of his neglected childhood.

Severus never let go of him, setting him down on his bed only once he had retrieved whatever he had needed from his own room.

He wet the fabric before removing it from his arm and cleaning the wounds. It looked horrible, but Harry only viewed it in a detached sort of way. The cuts were soon covered with gauze. Harry absently remembered Severus saying something about self-inflicted wounds not being able to be healed by magic. It seemed now like something that had been said in another life.

Severus fed him potion after potion, the final one obviously being Dreamless Sleep as he was familiar with the taste and his eyes slipped closed soon after ingesting it. He was semi-aware of Severus tucking him in under the duvet and brushing tear tracks away from his cheeks.

***

Severus rested his head in his right hand as he held vigil at Harry’s bedside. His left hand was encased in Harry’s, grip firm even in sleep.

He should have expected it. Should have been prepared. Harry had done well through the school year, but everything had changed after the third task. How could it not have? Still, Severus had hoped…

Unrealistically. He knew Harry’s urges could come out of nowhere when he was seemingly fine, so considering the state he was in now… he shouldn’t have had knives so accessible in the kitchen, he shouldn’t have left Harry alone, he shouldn’t have expected so much…

Severus slipped his fingers out of Harry’s hand, heart clenching as the boy whimpered a little in his sleep. He didn’t want to leave him, but he had some things to take care of. He cast a quick monitoring spell to alert him if Harry woke up before going downstairs.

He banished the bloody knife at the bottom of the stairs and cast scourgify at the blood droplets and smears littering the floor. He felt queasy, not exactly at the sight of the blood, more just knowing it had all been purposely expelled from Harry.

He banished the knives in the kitchen, not wanting the sight to tempt Harry. He would figure out something else for cooking later. He placed wards on the knives in his laboratory that he required for potions and placed them in drawers out of sight. Anything else sharp that he noticed residing throughout the house was banished on the spot.

Once he was certain as he could be that the house had been cleared, he sat down heavily on the couch. He thought of the boy lying upstairs.

Severus believed Harry before when he had said he wasn’t suicidal, but it no longer seemed to ring true. They were past the point of being able to manage alone, Harry needed professional help and Severus would endeavor to get Harry what he needed, somehow.