A Wave of Nausea

Warning: Not for the light-hearted, fluff lovers out there. This is me writing late at night, in what you may call a bad mood. Consider yourself warned; do not read if you can't handle bad situations and self-affliction.

This is a one-shot.

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. The lyrics is from a song called `Bother' by Stone Sour.

-

A WAVE OF NAUSEA

A wave of nausea washed into his mouth and it tasted awfully like blood. Perhaps he had bitten himself; he didn't know and frankly he didn't care either.

He would sit there, a book in his lap like his beloved friend, but not really reading it. Sometimes he would look up and pray that she would finally notice him and love him, but he knew that it wouldn't happen simply because of a look... he snorted to himself and chuckled sadly.

Tapping his fingers on the book cover, the minutes went by and still no love miracle. Curling his toes in exasperation, he fished up a quill from his bag and began to write in his text book.

Now that might look weird for an outsider, but for anyone else looking they would not think much of it. They would simply think he was writing comments he could use in an essay later.

Oh, would they love to see what those comments said!

-

Wish I was too dead to cry

My self-affliction fades

Stones to throw at my creator

Masochist to which I cater

-

Six months had passed since the Department of Mysteries incident. Six months and still the days seem to darken.

She had been his light. She had been his hope, his everything... but she didn't want him... no, she was too busy getting high scores and keeping things safe.

He supposed she was scared... scared for what would happen to their friendship if it didn't work. Perhaps she was afraid to chase him into depression.

If only she knew what a real depression was; how deep it could go and how it would dig into your soul and eat it piece by piece. Day by day he isolated himself a little more, and day by day he would bleed a little bit more.

-

You don't need to bother;

I don't need to be

I'll keep slipping farther

But once I hold on, I won't let go `til it bleeds

-

He never wore sleeveless shirts or jumpers anymore, terrified that someone might catch him one day. All his life he had been bossed around, bullied around, chased around... never once had he had the possibility to voice his opinion, to be heard.

He had been feared, loved, hated, ignored... he didn't know what was worst; people hating him or being ignored by the one he loved, the one he would ever love... because she did ignore his love for her and pretended she didn't see, that she didn't notice.

At first, he had began carrying a blade to know that he was still alive, to make sure that his blood was still red and not green or black venom from when the Dark Lord had possessed his body. Just the knowledge that they would be connected forever was enough for him to have a fit and hide in a bathroom.

Moaning Myrtle was a good company, she never tried to cheer him up or telling him what to do... no, she didn't mind sharing a toilet with him. Though he did wish that someone could find him one day and stop him. To tell him they loved him, and would do anything for him.

He had stopped hoping.

-

Wish I was too dead to care

If indeed I cared at all

Never had a voice to protest

So you fed me shit to digest

I wish I had a reason;

My flaws are open season

For this I gave up trying

One good term deserved my dying

-

Clapping the book together, he stood up shakily.

It was time, time to do what he should've done ages ago. To do what should've happened on Halloween when he was one.

Conjuring a knife, he totally forgot about the other students in the room; he had became so familiar to the whispers, stares and rumors that he didn't bother anymore.

His eyes locked with Hermione's, and for a moment he could've sworn she understood everything; how much he needed her to stop him, to save him from himself... but then she averted her gaze and looked down at the book in her lap instead, pretending to read, even though he could easily tell that her eyes didn't move.

Anger and disappointment swallowed him and his feet felt like iron.

She didn't need to bother anymore.

-

You don't need to bother;

I don't need to be

I'll keep slipping farther

But once I hold on, I won't let go `til it bleeds

-

The way to the bathroom was easy; he had walked it many times. To sit down on the floor and feel the knife was easy.

There was no need to talk, the red river said more than words ever could.

-

Wish I died instead of lived

A zombie hides my face

Shell forgotten with its memories

Diaries left with cryptic entries

-

Little did he know, that back in the common room the love of his life got up from the chair she had been sitting on and silently went to pack his things down. Her eyes rested upon the brown leather book which said: `When Life Doesn't Go Your Way.' Curious and scared her fingers touched the cover, squirming from how sticky it felt. Frowning, she withdraw her hand and was surprised by the red, dust-like color that was left on her fingers.

Blood?

Forcing bad thoughts away, she opened the book to where the bookmark was and saw Harry's handwriting all over the place. The color drained from her face when she saw what he had written:

-

And you don't need to bother;

I don't need to be, don't need to be

I'll keep slipping farther

But once I hold on, I won't let go `til it bleeds

-

Thinking fast, she ran up to the boys dormitory where Ron slept soundly and emptied Harry's trunk, hoping to find the Marauders Map.

She had almost given up when she saw a piece of parchment inside a red sweater. A sweater she later realized had been white once.

She didn't pause to think; only one word was in her mind and that word was a name: Harry...

The map told her he was hiding at Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, where they had spent a good part of their second year before she had been attacked...

She ran as fast as she could and found him in a pool of blood, Myrtle standing above him.

“He's not coming,” said the ghost sadly. “He's not afraid of death.”

Fighting a wave of nausea Hermione lifted Harry's fragile and thin body up from the floor. He was so cold, so white...

She didn't dare to use magic.

Her eyes fell on the knife that had been beside him and she understood. She understood everything and hated herself for not realizing it sooner.

Dumbledore had said the best thing she could do was to be there as a friend and only as a friend, so The-Boy-Who lived could begin to practice for the most important fight since Grindelwald.

How had it came to this? Why had she listened to the old wizard's advice instead of following her own instincts, her heart?

Somehow, sense caught up with her and she checked his pulse, waiting. And waited some more. It was hard to tell, he had lost so much blood and he wasn't breathing.

Casting a freezing charm on his open wound, she clutched the quickly cooling skin between her hands and cried out for help at the top of her lungs.

“Don't leave me, Harry... don't leave me!”

-

Later, he would look back at that day, the day where his wish came true. He had been saved and he had been found... the love of his life had finally given in to what had been there all along.

However, the wounds were still there, only white instead of red. Sometimes, he would get cold and the scars would turn purple. Each time he undressed and took off his still long-sleeved t-shirt or jumper, the scars were there to remind him, to haunt him.

He would never forget, and neither would she. Sometimes at night, the same words would come back to him, and he would feel a wave of nausea. Sometimes she was there to make him feel warm and loved, but when she wasn't he would dream of a blade that was always around to comfort him, to make him feel alive.

-

You, you don't need to bother;

I don't need to be, don't need to be

I'll keep slipping farther

But once I hold on, once I hold on...

I'll never let down my deceit.

-

-

So, was it dark enough? Please leave a review.

-->