Cuts and Lilies

Chapter 3

Harry broke the agreement the very same day.

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The mirror, still safely secured in his pocket, grew steadily heavy with anticipation as the day progressed. The cool metal pressed against Harry's thigh was a constant reminder of its presence. His palms itched to touch it, to run his fingertips along the sharp edge, to cut the tender skin lightly, seeking the familiar release that only the mirror could provide.

He entertained the idea as he slipped away to the lavatories, locking himself in the nearest stall. In the dim light, Harry reached into his robe, grasping the small shard. But when the edges did not bite into Harry's flesh as he expected, a frown creased his brows.

It wasn't that he forgot the morning séance with Snape; rather, he willingly chose to ignore it, hence the bewilderment. Harry recalled the professor's warning about confiscating the mirror for good if he ever indulged in his special habit again, and a bitter taste filled his mouth.

Wisely, he decided to hide the mirror. It was too much of a risk. Though it gave Harry fulfilment no other sharp object could, it was still better putting it away than being hazardous and losing it completely to Snape's clutches.

Even if Harry couldn't imagine a scenario where Snape would find him harming himself again, he wouldn't dare to risk it. After all, he never thought the professor would catch him the first time either. The memory of Snape's cold grip on his wrist still lingered, leaving an imprint like a fading bruise.

Swallowing the unease that clenched his throat, Harry left the toilets with his skin untouched. It still tingled, itched, and the lack of proper atoning for a prolonged time made him relentless. The sensation was akin to tiny needles prickling at his conscience.

That day, Harry snapped at everything and everyone who came his way. He wasn't trying to be subtle about it anymore, telling Ron and Hermione off when they started their meaningless banter again. He was fed up.

Dinner time came, offering Harry a solution to fill in the absence of a sharp object. He pocketed a cutlery knife at an opportune moment, being completely on the edge. The storm brewing in his chest threatened to surface, and Harry felt it; he felt that if he didn't experience the familiar pain in the following hours, he would implode.

Stealthily, he slid the knife into the long sleeve of his robe, securing the blunt object with the impulsiveness he was known for. Harry made sure nobody was paying attention to him - but given how unpleasant it was to be around him the whole day, his friends decided to avoid him and give him peace.

Peace. That's exactly what Harry wanted. Fucking peace. But no matter what he did, he couldn't achieve it.

Snape was, as always, seated at the teacher's table, enjoying his meal as much as someone of his stature could enjoy things. Still, Harry kept an eye on him when he stole the knife, ensuring the git wasn't looking his way. Because Snape kept looking at him every spare moment they were within twenty feet distance. The scrutinizing dark eyes felt like hot coals on his body, so damn uncomfortable, so damn invasive.

As soon as Harry had his sharp object secured, he stood up. No mind he barely touched his dinner; nobody noticed. Nobody cared, the least of them Harry himself. He left the Gryffindor table and then the Great Hall, not one person stopping him.

A tiny part of Harry wished at least one of his friends would've asked about him. Asked if he was alright. Nobody ever asked anymore. Nobody ever checked. And Hermione's "Are you okay?" was like an obligatory phrase to his ears. He could feel the concern behind the words, but he also felt a sense of duty and exhaustion. Hermione asked because they were friends, not because she really cared; that was the impression Harry was getting.