Cicatrices- Marks That Remain

An Empty Cup

Happy Christmas, dear readers! My present to you is an early chapter (and, if I make enough progress writing before Sunday, maybe a chapter on our usual Sunday as well). In other news, our Alpha reader is beginning to recover! Yay! We all love our alpha reader.

Minor warnings for discussions of self-injurious behavior and depictions of death. Yeah... this isn't a very Christmas-y chapter... But it is the next chapter!

Well, let me know what you all think, and, as always....Enjoy!

Ron leaned back in his chair, letting out a huff of air, scrubbing a hand over his chin in some odd disbelief.

"...He didn't even notice that he was bleeding all over his icebox?"

"I swear it was like he didn't," Harry said, feeling the weight of it threaten to drown him again. "I mean, I yelled. I didn't mean to," Harry added quickly, feeling the need to defend himself. "But imagine if you just woke up and the first thing you saw was Hermione bleeding all over the fridge, not even reacting to you!"

"Nobody is doubting you, Harry. That's a terrible thing to wake up to," Hermione consoled.

"I don't want to leave him alone," he continued, "I swear, I don't, but what was I supposed to do?! How was I supposed to continue with that?!" Harry smacked his face into his hands, worrying his hair to release the anxious energy that had built up in him.

"Mate, have you rescheduled your therapy yet?"

Harry looked incredulously at Ron, as though his question were absurd. He had not responded to Dr Sereno's owl, too embarrassed by his absenteeism and his subsequent refusal to write back.

"I'm not the one making myself bleed over countertops, Ron," he bit, feeling only a bit guilty by Ron's reaction.

No," Hermione tried, "But you are the one who walked out to avoid having a panic attack in front of someone you say you love-"

"So this is my fault, now?!" Harry retorted, knowing very well that he was being unfair to his friends, but too overwhelmed to consider what they were trying to say.

"Nobody said that," Ron shot back, making himself larger. "Come off it. Don't yell at Hermione. You might not be so sick as Malfoy but you're still pretty fucked up, mate. We all are. It'd be bloody stupid of you to pretend we aren't."

Harry blinked away tears of frustration, determined not to cry again, given how hellish the week had been. Crying might be one of his least favourite things in the world right now. Right next to seeing blood and death. He never wanted to see either again. He'd seen enough for ten lifetimes, he suspected.

And I had thought that being an Auror was my calling... idiot.

"...He was bleeding," Harry said again, a bit stuck on the image and unsure of what else to say. "And he just kept going- I... He didn't even react when I finally made him stop. He just..." Harry sucked in a sharp breath, his hand clenching into a fist.

"...I'm sorry, Harry. I can't imagine what that must have been like," said Hermione, putting a gentle, comforting hand over his clenched one. "He needs help, undoubtedly. But you can't be there for him if you aren't even there for yourself."

"I have too much shite for Dr. Sereno, anyway," he tried weakly, knowing the argument was futile.

"Look at it this way," began Ron. "You and Malfoy have both got cups that need water, right? And you both need to drink water, but he's thirstier than you, so you try to pour some water from your cup into his cup. Trouble is, your cup is empty just like his.... You can't pour water from an empty cup, mate."