Don't let it get me

Memories

A/N: So this story is set in 6th year. Harry is 16, plot follows everything that happens in the books up to this point, except that the Dursleys treat Harry a lot worse. I'm gonna cover suicide/self harm so please do not read if you are gonna be effected by this, I'm not sure how good or bad this is gonna be but I'm trying my best 😬 the song I attached is worth listening to, I just feel like the words fit Harry quite well in this story and it's just an amazing song in gerneral. This is probably gonna be depressing but who doesn't love stories like that? Also if you do like this I have two other Harry Potter fanfics out which are worth checking out :) please vote and comment what you think...

Oh and sorry for the rubbish chapter titles... I can't think of anything better.

Story begins: Memories

Harry sat in the shower, allowing the warm water to wash over him as he watched his blood flow down the plug hole. He felt nothing. He watched emotionless as the water turned red. Still nothing. He cursed himself and dug the razor deeper into his wrist, basking in the sweet release of pain. Harry needed to feel this, he deserved the pain, the agony, he was nothing. Nothing but a burden that caused others to die. He sliced at his other wrist and blood trickeled down his arm.

Harry cut so he could feel. Any feeling was better than the empty void inside him, that he had come to know since Sirius died. Even pain was better than not feeling anything at all. It wasn't that he didn't care for anything anymore, he did. He knew he did. Or at least, he knew he should. This made Harry's guilt intensify even more, he knew there was so much he should do, so many people he should try to help, but he couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't be the person others looked to when there was a crisis. He couldn't be the saviour everyone wanted. Hell, he couldn't even get out of bed these days.

Harry had been struggling with himself long before he even came to hogwarts. His life at the Dursley had been...well... no life at all. He never had a childhood, his uncle had seen to that. Harry shuddered at the memories that threatened to consume him,shaking his head, sinking his razor into his thigh. He remembered the first time he had self harmed. He was only eight. He had accidentally broke uncle Vernons favourite mug whilst doing the dishes and knew his Unlce would make him pay. He was so young yet he knew the pain that awaited him, he had felt it all before. Terrified, he hated himself for being such a freak, such a burden, Harry had taken a metal spoon and heated under the hob before pressing it down onto his stomach. He didn't know why he had done it, maybe he was punishing himself, maybe he was trying hurt himself so much that his Unlce no longer could, or maybe it was a bit of both.

His life changed on his eleventh birthday. For the first time in his whole life he felt hopeful, for the first time ever he thought life was worth living. He should have known better. Yes, harry had made friends and during his first few years at hogwarts, he had began to heal. He was loved, cared for and wanted. But It wasn't all good. Harry endured constant bullying, In his second year he was attacked multiple times because the whole school believed him to be the heir of Slytherin, but he got through it. He had friends to help him through it. In his third year, the dementors came. They brought back every memory Harry had tried so desperately to ignore. Harry closed his eyes for a moment as the sound of his mothers death rang in his ears. At least the dementors don't have much of an affect on him these days, Harry laughed bitterly, he felt like he was surrounded by dementors every day. Always filled with that chill emptiness.

And then his fourth year came, bringing its own set of horrors. Once again everyone hated him, not that he could blame them. He had never felt more scared before and he was all alone, even his friends had turned against him. And then Cedric... oh Cedric! Harry blinked back his tears and cut further into his thigh. He didn't deserve to greave, it was his fault, he told him to take the cup...

Despite all of this though, Hogwarts remained his safe place. The place where he longed to be when he was at the dursleys. His life at the Dursleys got progressively worse each summer he returned. He used to try and fight back, he used to shout, kick and scream but not anymore, what was the point? He knew he deserved everything he got after what he had done. The abuse he was subjected to hurt even more, he had many people who claimed to care for him in the wizarding world yet not one bothered to remove him from his situation. And that's how Harry knew. That's how he knew no one actually cared for him, they only pretended to because he was the so called 'boy who lived'. They didn't care to see that Harry was struggling, that he was literally at breaking point, because it didn't fit into the image of him being the perfect little saviour. But still Harry longed to be at hogwarts, the only place he felt remotely safe and normal, but any security he felt was shattered. It was shattered by the formidable women in pink.

Umbridge reminded him of everything he was. It was like being back at the dursleys, like being back in hell. He felt more alone than ever and nobody even noticed. The only person he felt like he could talk to was Sirius... and now he was gone forever too and it was all Harry's fault. He had killed him. He had killed his own godfather, the only person left who cared.

That's when he broke. It hurt too bad, Harry couldn't stand it. His world was falling apart around him and there was nothing he could do. He had lost everything he lived for and now he was spinning out of control. He started to cut so he at least held some power over his own life. Harry was no longer tortured by visions from Voldemort but the nightmares never ceased. Every time he closed his eyes he saw Sirius dead, Cedric dead, his parents screaming his name as they tried to fight off Voldemort, a high pitched laugh filled his head. He had seen to much, caused too much, he wanted it to end, he couldn't endure it any longer.

Harry knew no one would care if he died. Ron and Hermione would probably be affected but they would soon get over it, soon move on with the rest of their lives and would probably be glad he wasn't there getting in the way, ruining their fun. Everyone else would be furious, they would be losing their weapon. Harry scoffed; that's all he was, a weapon. The only thing about him that anyone cared for and he couldn't even do that right. Every time he tries to help he makes things worse, gets people killed. All he seems to be able to do is make everyone's life worse. He should have died with his parents, everyone else would be better off for it.

So as Harry sat staring at his many scars, haunted by the memories of his pathetic excuse for a life, he made up his mind. He would end it. He couldn't live with himself anymore, the hurt the pain, the guilt, it was too much. The least he could do was get out the way so everyone could live the rest of their life's in peace. He felt the comforting warmth of the shower water soak his skin, for one last time before dragging his body out, to find an appropriate place.