Utterly Broken

Chapter Nine

Hey guys!! Okay this chapter gets very angsty, and there is direct descriptions of cutting. You don't have to read this chapter!!!! Next chapter I publish, i will explain what happened in this chapter so it still makes sense. Don't feel you have to read this chapter, if you think it will trigger you, don't read it. Stay safe please <3. I will also mention when the descriptions stop so you if you want to read the action parts you can.

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Every since the war, and even before, Harry had been depressed. Every single death felt like an elephant on his chest. Imagine you had like 20+ elephants standing on top of you, and thats what Harry felt constantly; it was a wonder he got up in the morning. At first, Harry had just felt guilty, guilty and mad. Why did life have to screw him over? Because he deserved it? And then he  would have crowds of people surrounding him, thanking him, asking him for a photo or a signature, and he wouldn't feel proud or annoyed, he would feel nothing. He would feel empty.

Harry wanted to feel something, he wanted to feel something so desperately that he hurt himself. First he went to muggle fights. He find gang fights or street fights and he would join. A little known fact about Harry: He loved to get punched. 

Harry would lose on purpose. He would let them throw their pathetic little fists at his face, barely giving him a bruise. Every once in a while there would be someone, usually a sharp sarcastic little blond, that would give him a little fire, and he'd pummel them. He nearly killed someone at those fights:

"Little faggot aren't you," Mocked the blond he was supposed to be fighting. He looked up, not feeling a thing, "Can't even fight," A fist connected with his face. It wasn't enough, it was never enough. The blond backed him up against a wall, a dirty grimy wall, he could feel it on his bare back. The blond stroked his stomach, running a calloused finger between the lines of his muscles, and then he punched him there. Hard. And Harry felt it. As he doubled over in pain, Harry felt that fire. 

The nameless blond jerked Harry's head up by his hair, and pushed his entire body on to Harry's. The crowd watching wolf whistled, and the blond encouraged by this, kissed Harry roughly. Harry reacted immediately, punching the blond in the face. He grabbed the other boy by his waist and switched positions with him. Lifting the blonds hands above his head with one hand, he pummelled the other boys stomach with his other. Each punch caused the muggle to gasp in pain. His pale lips were open in shock. This wasn't the right boy, this wasn't the person.

Harry punched and punched, until the blond boys pale stomach was black and blue. The crowd wasn't cheering anymore, they were watching with sick fascination. The Gryffindor decided to give them a show, and he pushed the blond to the ground, He punched the muggle in the face, the dirty little muggle (The wrong boy), "Who's the faggot now?" he asked. The blond's nose was dripping blood, his mouth red and wrong. Harry couldn't stop, he punched and punched and punched. The crowd was screaming for him to stop, but he couldn't. He felt hands tugging and pulling at his sweaty back and chest. It was no use, he wasn't stopping. He couldn't stop. 

Sirens.

Harry looked up and there was the muggle police, and they were pointing a gun at him. The cocky little blond was gasping for breath. BOOM!

He had never heard a gunshot before, except when Dudley watched TV. It was a lot louder then you'd expect, Harry's ears near burst. And his arm, his arm was in so much fucking pain. He looked down to see a red bubbling hole.

"RAISE YOUR HANDS!" The muggle police shouted. Harry looked down at the near dead blond, kissed him harshly, and apparated away, arm still dripping blood.