Warnings: A bit of s&m. Still suicidal, still cutting issues. No explicit sexual scenes, 'cause I'm not able to write 'em. Use your , and it's short and incomplete. I want to test the waters, so to speak.

Rating: Hard R.

A bit of an explanation.

I don't know if this fits really in the whole BTL universe or not. Harry's certainly not at the stage to trust anyone enough, and , he's not communicating. I know that many of you want BTL to end up slashy. This is an experiment. If it turns out that I can do the scenes without totally ruining the story-then yes. They'll probably get course, some would hate to see this become slashy, so I may have to do two separate stories. I haven't decided on that.

Let me know? SilentTowr , my yahoo group (Addy in the prof), or leave a review. PLEASE-Hate it, love it, criticisms, witticisms, anything that will help me decide on the issue. I'd really appreciate constructive criticism-would it be believable, within the BTL universe at any point in time? Is the scene itself realistic? The emotions captured well? Can I write something like this in an acceptable way? Do you even want to see it?

Thanks in advance!

"You want pain. Very well, I shall grant you your wish. Come here."

I shivered at those words. Yes, I liked the pain, needed to see the blood, needed the release that it granted me.

"You wish .for whatever guilt you feel."

I can feel myself nodding, but I don't want to admit it. No, not to anyone. Not to myself. Especially not to him.

"Come, you mustn't keep me waiting any longer. You want the pain, but tend to far. I shall take you to the edge...but keep you from spiraling downward any further."

I slowly move closer to him. To my pain and blood and sweat and tears.

It feels good.

"Good. Closer. I wish to touch you."

One hand reaching for my face, but all I feel is the feather touch of his fingertips.

"Please."

"Begging already." A self-satisfied smirk graces his face.

I glare. "Please. You said-"

"I said to come here. And so you have."

I want to complain. I want to beg.

I won't give him the satisfaction of that.

Nearby, my blade rests on his desk.

"Ah yes. It's been many months now, hasn't it?"

I nod, almost desperate at the thought. I forget to mention the pleasant memories of glass.

"So shall I carve you? Take a whip, a cane? You want blood, most certainly. Need that release now. Yearn for it, starve for it."

A whimper escapes me.

"I haven't been able to exert my urges. Forcing you to drink potions and cleaning cauldrons only goes so far."

What to say to that?

"Stay there." He moves closer to the desk, carefully picks up my blade.

"It is beautiful, isn't it?"

Another nod. Yes, and it's mine.

"But you can't be trusted with .you cut far too deep."

He makes a slash across my arm. I close my eyes and relish the moment. The wound isn't deep, but it bleeds beautifully.