Daisy Potter and the Wedding (Book 8, Harry Potter ff)

Chapter 23 - Is That a Sixsome?

"...And, I dunno, it's like they're emotionless robots or something." I stared down at my lap in Professor Wells' office. "They don't seem to care about anything anymore. Okay, well, correction: they still have SOME emotions. The positive ones. They still find things funny and they can be happy and excited and pleased, but not sad and angry and jealous..."

"Should that not be a good thing?" Professor Wells asked, in a way that sounded like she didn't think so herself, but wanted to hear my opinion.

I shook my head. "They're mean, and nasty, and sometimes downright wicked. And they see nothing wrong with it, because they can't feel any guilt... I mean, it seems like they can't feel guilt. In fact, it seems to make them happy when they're evil like that..."

"I hope this isn't reminding you of anything, Daisy." Professor Wells said gently, leaning forward. She laid a hand gently on my knee, and I felt my cheeks flush. "They aren't Riddle. They aren't Felix Malfoy. They're two incredibly traumatised boys who are trying their best to deal with what happened to them in their own way."

I looked away, biting my lip. I knew different. I'd fucked up the magic. Instead of taking away all their pain and suffering, I'd taken away every emotion that could CAUSE them pain and suffering. I'd done it too well.

"And what about you?" I jumped, turning back to the redhead. "How have you been dealing with what happened to you? Let's start with the self-harm. Have you been getting a handle on it?"

I subconsciously drew the sleeves of my school cardigan down over my hands. Memories of my wrists dripping with blood flashed across my mind and I blinked, chewing on my lip harder. I'd been going to Madam Pomfrey every time I'd had an episode and she'd healed my cuts, reassuring me that she wasn't going to tell anyone - but that I had to.

"Yeah." I said. "I've been using a rubber band instead."

Professor Wells raised an eyebrow. "A rubber band?"

I lifted a sleeve to show her the rubber band around my wrist. I pulled it back then let go, barely wincing as the snap stung on my skin.

"It gets the job done without having to spill blood. Sort of."

"Well, it's a start. I'd prefer it if you weren't hurting yourself at all, but it is a start." Professor Wells's eyes were kind as they made contact with mine. "And are your urges to self harm still solely about the torture you experienced?"

I nodded. I'd been tortured so often last year, sometimes every day for months, that sometimes I just craved the sensation of pain. Hurting myself was the only way to get rid of it. And sometimes it was the only way to forget about how it was forced upon me. At least now, I controlled the blade - or, well, the rubber band - and I was in complete control of what happened to me.

"And what about treating yourself like an object? Has that been getting any better?"

"Er..." I looked down at my lap again. My mind went straight to Luke in the cupboard at WWW, where I was treated by the twins and myself as a prize... Professor Wells's hand landed gently on my right one - I hadn't even noticed that I'd been snapping my band.

"Daisy, you just have to remember that how those two men treated you does not reflect on how you are as a person." She said, squeezing my hand. "Riddle and Malfoy were evil. You have to remember that. Never treat what they believe as truth."

I nodded, but I wasn't really taking any of what she said in. All the boys did this to me... fucking me was always seen as some sort of prize, or reward, a triumph... it was always the end goal of anybody who messed with me, or flirted with me, or kidnapped me... why was it never to date me, or be friends with me, or just to hold hands or kiss or cuddle with me? Why was it always sex? Was that all I was good for?