A/N: I don't own Harry Potter, nope nope.

I might take this down if it sucks. It just popped into my head a few moments ago and since it's 2:30am, I ran with it. Contains mental health issues, self-injury, if you will be offended, please don't read. I don't aim to offend. This might be completely OOC but I don't care lol, this was just an idea. (PS It takes place in the beginning of Sixth Year)

The pressure was getting to be too much, even for him. He was strangely used to unyielding amounts of it, to never or rarely feeling calm or relaxed, to worrying about his life, to worrying if he had much time left to live it. But it had become too much.

He hated his life. He hated being 'The Chosen One'. He wanted to be normal and to have the lack of worries that most of the other students at Hogwarts had. He wanted to be excited about upcoming Hogsmeade trips, to stay up too late playing wizard chess with Ron and only worry about exams and homework. He had the weight of the world upon his shoulders.

This didn't feel sudden, either. It felt like something that had been building for a long time. Over the summer, before he'd gone to stay at the Burrow, he had been alone with his thoughts. The Dursleys left him to his own devices, ignoring his very existence, which left him with nothing but his mind to keep him occupied. He sank, lower and lower, until nothing mattered anymore. He would stare out at the dark night sky for hours, wishing he was where Sirius was, and his parents. His desk was swimming with old copies of the Daily Prophet and unanswered, ignored letters from his friends. Hermione had written more than Ron, becoming more insistent as Harry didn't answer.

Three nights before Dumbledore came to collect him from the home of his aunt and uncle, he had been turning the same thought over and over in his head: his death. He pictured his aunt, uncle and cousin perhaps finally wondering where he was after not seeing him for a few days; of Dumbledore arriving at the door for him, only to come upstairs and find his body. These thoughts kept clawing at his brain, and on a whim he picked up the latest of Hermione's letters. 'Please answer me, Harry. I'm so worried about you. You know you'll be with all of us as soon as possible; you can't be angry that it's been a few weeks. We want you with us-what do you want?'

Without thinking he had scrawled a few sentences on a piece of parchment.

What do I want, Hermione?

I want to die.

Then he thought of listing all the things he had learned that summer-that if your old Rememberall broke into a thousand pieces, running the sharpest piece against your skin felt good. That the sight of blood made things calm down a little. That he was too weak to go through with his plans, too weak to leave this earth.

But then Dumbledore had come and taken him to the Burrow and for a little while, things had been a bit better. Not perfect, by any means, and his depression and horrible thoughts still persisted. They were quieter, though, and not all-consuming. Surprisingly, returning to Hogwarts had not made things improve further, he was back in the place he'd been that summer. He didn't know why, and he didn't know how, but there he was again. He hadn't cut in a month, since he came to stay at the Burrows. He had avoided it since returning to Hogwarts, as well.. But his arm itched, and he wanted these thoughts to go away. He knew how to do that.

"Harry? Are you all right?" Hermione asked. Harry shook himself out of his thoughts; the three of them were sitting in the common room doing their homework. Ron was muttering to himself as he tried to complete an essay for Snape; he kept crossing things out and swearing under his breath, occasionally flipping furiously through his textbook. Hermione, apparently, had been watching Harry, who was supposed to be doing the same essay for Snape but instead had been staring into space with a weird expression on his face.

"Huh? Oh. I'm fine, Hermione." Harry muttered, slamming shut his book and throwing his papers on top of it. "I just can't do this right now."

Ron looked up, setting his own quill down. "You sure you're all right, mate?"

"Harry, you've been awfully quiet lately. I'm worried about you." Hermione said seriously, walking over to him.

"Just leave me alone, Hermione, okay? I'm going to bed."

"Don't shut us out...please." She said quietly.

"I'm not shutting you out, I just want to go to bed. I don't want to talk, I don't want to do anything except sleep. Okay? Do you think you can handle that for one night?" Harry said coldly, gathering up his books and leaving behind his best friends who had no idea what was going on.

He paced around his dormitory for a few moments, which was thankfully empty. All the things that were upsetting him kept bouncing around in his head-Sirius' death was at the front, and the next was Dumbledore's words about the prophecy. It had been a few months, but he couldn't get them out of his mind. He just kept replaying them over and over, picking them apart in his mind's eye, and the anger and stress inside of him kept mounting. After 16 years, his life had gotten to be a little much.

He heard several sets of steps coming up the stairs to the dormitory, and Harry threw himself into his bed and drew the curtains. He pretended to be asleep as he heard Seamus, Dean and Neville getting ready for bed. A bit later, after the other three were in bed, Ron came up. Harry had his eyes closed, but he could feel Ron standing next to his bed, almost as if he was contemplating saying something, but he turned away and quietly settled into his own bed.

After a little while, Harry fell into a restless sleep, tossing and turning. Sirius' face swam in front of him, repeatedly, and suddenly he bolted up in bed.

Harry grabbed his watch. It was 1am, and he was suddenly wide awake. He could hardly hear anything over the blood rushing through his ears, and he wanted it to stop. He got out of bed as quietly as he could and tiptoed to his trunk at the end. He grabbed his invisibility cloak and a few other things, jamming them in his pockets; then he picked up his wand, tossed the cloak over his body, and disappeared down the steps.

He found himself wandering the corridors, not caring if he made too much noise, not caring if Filch or anyone else would hear him. The teachers were taking turns keeping an eye on things at night, what with what had happened at the end of last term. Harry just kept walking, his mind still running.

Twenty minutes later, he found himself in the middle of the second floor corridor. He sank to the floor, keeping the invisibility cloak tightly pulled over him. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out an old knife.

He'd used it many times in Potions, most recently the day before, and he'd given it a clean, thorough scrubbing. The knife's blade glinted, reflecting the light from the torches on the walls. It looked menacing, it looked harsh, it looked angry. He turned it over in his hands, looking at it, fascinated by it. Then, he put it to his wrist.

He took a deep, sharp breath. He was not thinking about what he was doing; he was not thinking about any kind of repercussions it might have. He was doing something impulsive, instead of analyzing it over and over with his friends. This was entirely his decision, and even though he felt slightly insane, his head felt clearer than it had in the few weeks it had been since he'd cut.

He heard footsteps. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Snape rounding the corner, clearly doing his turn of guard duty. He was walking down the corridor, taking slow even steps, keeping his lit wand out in front of him. Harry wasn't paying attention to him though, and as the man got unknowingly closer, Harry pushed hard on the knife and dragged.

His skin was on fire, the deep wound was bleeding angrily, and there was plenty of pain. But Harry didn't feel any of that at first. He felt a deep rush, an emptying, a release as the cut bled. Quickly, he made another one right below it, and he felt the same rush. It felt wonderful, although it had started to hurt just a bit. He didn't care.

Snape stopped as he saw, out of nowhere, a knife with blood on it drop ten feet in front of him, as if it had been casually tossed aside. His every nerve on the alert, he got closer, and closer. He bit his lip and reached his wand out. The tip of it touched something solid, and with a slight twitch, Snape cast Harry's invisibility cloak aside. He found Harry Potter sitting at his feet, holding his wrist.

"Potter! Do you mind telling me what exactly you are doing out of bed? Fifty points from Gryffindor! And what are you holding-," Snape said, grabbing Harry's hand away from his wrist and revealing the two deep cuts. "What the hell happened, Potter?"

Snape's eyes lit on the knife that was lying on the ground, and back at Potter. The boy wasn't acting like he'd been attacked; the cuts were on his wrist, in two straight, horizontal lines, and with a closer look he noticed they were on top of some old, faded scars; he'd been hiding under the invisibility cloak, and if the knife hadn't been dropped, no one would have known he was there.

"Potter?" Snape said quietly, waiting for the boy to look up at him. Eventually he did, and Snape asked, "Did you...do this to yourself?"

Harry didn't answer. He should have stayed in bed, he shoud have done this in his dormitory, or the common room which was definitely deserted by now. Why did he have to go out and do this? Now everyone would find out.

"Answer me, Potter!" Snape said angrily. He realized he felt bad for the boy, and that was irritating him. He didn't want to feel anything towards him, least of all pity and concern.

Harry glared up at Snape with the same loathing. "Yes! Okay? Yes, I did it. Now just leave me alone, and we can pretend this never happened." Harry got to his feet and grabbed his invisibility cloak and the discarded knife from the ground; just as he turned however, he felt his feet lock and he couldn't move. Snape had apparently jinxed him.

"You're not going anywhere," Snape said and grabbed the knife and the cloak from Harry's hands. "I'll be right back."

"Let me go!" Harry yelled, trying in vain to run down the hallway. Snape returned a few moments later with Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey in tow.

"Professor Dumbledore! Tell him to let me go, please!" Harry yelled.

"Hush, Harry." Dumbledore said, gently taking his right wrist and surveying the damage. "If you promise not to go anywhere."

"I promise," Harry murmured in a surly voice.

"Severus, if you please."

With a sigh, Snape lifted his wand and feeling came back to Harry's legs. He sighed and looked at Professor Dumbledore. Blue eyes met green, and Harry immediately saw the last thing he wanted reflected in the blue: pity. Without a second thought, Harry took off, surprising everyone, running as fast as he could through the corridor.

He heard Dumbledore calling out jinxes, things to stop Harry from running away, but he was faster and rounded a corner. With a start, he realized Dumbledore had apparated in front of Harry, even though you weren't supposed to be able to in Hogwarts. Harry just ran past him. It wasn't in his nature to disobey the headmaster when it wasn't something important or life threatening, but Harry wanted out-out of this moment, his skin, everything.

A/N: Hope it doesn't suck...might be working on another chap.