Work Text:
Mad-Eye Moody was standing in the middle of the Dursleys’ living room, addressing the small crowd gathered there. He explained the importance of keeping Harry’s identity secret before revealing exactly how they planned to do so.
“We’re all going to polyjuice into you, Harry, so he won’t know which one of us is the real you.
As the realisation dawned on Harry, his mind flooded with panic, and his stomach twisted violently, oh god, they were all going to turn into him, all it would take would be for any one of them to glance down at their arms- his arms, while they were transformed, and he would be found out. Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh God. He had to come up with an excuse and fast.
“NO! I won’t let you risk your lives for me,” he found himself yelling. He was defensive now, his guard already up, the panic thrumming in his veins as his heart thumped out of his chest so fast he thought he might pass out right there on the floor. He glanced over at Ron and Hermione, who were giving him a funny look. He must have gone pale; his hands were cold and clammy as he tried to argue, but Moody was having none of it.
“Everyone here has already agreed, Harry, and now is not the time to be noble. “We need the cover of darkness, and we need to be transformed and gone before the neighbours hear the commotion and call someone.”
“But-” Harry started, but Moody cut him off immediately.
“It is decided,” he growled as he sauntered over and plucked a hair from the top of Harry’s head and placed it inside the polyjuice potion.
Harry thought he might be sick, but it was too late now. Already, they were passing the flask between them, one by one raising the potion to their lips, scowling and grimacing at its foul and bitter taste. He watched as their skin began to warp, melt and morph as the room full of people turned into him. He couldn’t do this, he couldn’t, it was too much, too many people were here, and he was about to be exposed. It was only a matter of time before any one of them glanced down and saw. Moody had dumped a pile of matching clothes in the middle of the floor, and they all hurried to grab an outfit and undress.
It was Hermione who noticed first, of course, as she shook off her denim jacket and her eyes fell across her wrists. He watched in horror as she registered what she was seeing, the shock evident behind her eyes as she let out a soft “oh…Harry.” She was seeing his wrists, mottled with scars and scabs as recent as two days old. There were deep purple scars and older, silvery white and paper-thin ones criss-crossing all the way to his elbows. Worst of all was the long and deep vertical slash down his left wrist, accompanied by small circular scars on either side, from the muggle stitches, evidence of his moment of weakness after Sirius’ death.
Before they could all catch on, he turned and fled back up the stairs and into his bedroom, locking the door behind him as his knees gave way, and he sank to the floor, curling into foetal position. His mind roared, and his vision tunnelled as he began to hyperventilate, choking for air, his heart slammed against his chest as the panic took over. After what felt like hours but was probably only minutes, he vaguely registered a soft muttering of “alohamora”, and his bedroom door swung open. Professor Lupin entered, closing the door behind him before crossing the floor to Harry and taking him gently by the shoulders and pulling him upright.
“Hey Harry, Harry, breathe with me, ok, it’s all going to be ok, just breathe… for a count of three, ready? In 1…2…3… and out 1…2…3…that’s good, Harry and again, keep breathing, that’s it, 1…2…3. Once more, with me, Harry 1…2…3”
Slowly, his vision cleared, and his heart began to thump more slowly; he could make out the expression of immense concern written across the kindly professor's face. Without realising it, Harry had begun to sob quietly, and Remus’ arms wrapped around him in a protective embrace, Harry’s head pressed into his shoulder. Remus said nothing, just held him tightly for a while until Harry pulled away.
“Did everyone see- do they all know?” Harry asked quietly, and Remus just nodded softly.
“I’m so sorry, Harry, that I didn’t notice you were struggling so much. That none of us noticed.” When Harry said nothing, he pressed on, “How long has it been going on for Harry?” he asked, his voice still low and gentle, cracking slightly with emotion. “You're not in any trouble, Harry, I just want to help, we all want to help you, Harry,” “But I need you to be honest with me now, ok?” The fear beneath his calm demeanour was evident, and Harry considered the man standing before him. He had always been nothing but kind to Harry, and he felt he could trust him with almost anything. His father had too, he supposed, and at that thought, he felt his walls break down slightly as he began to speak.
“Since the summer after fourth year, after he…yunno, came back,” Harry replied, as his mind flooded with the memory of sitting on the bathroom floor of the Dursley’s, the cold from the tiles seeping through his pyjama bottoms as he shivered, melting the plastic casing of his disposable razor with a zippo lighter and prying the blades out with Petunia’s metal tweezers. The way his hand shook slightly as he pressed the sharp edge into the soft flesh of his wrist, the sting and then burn as he drew sharply across, quick but shallow, breath catching in his chest. Then the flood of relief, his mind zeroing in on the pain he could feel, the sensation of calm so indescribable, and yet so fleeting. Trapped in the Muggle world without access to magic, he had sat and watched it bleed, the blood filling the wounds and then running across his skin, dripping onto the tile. He had enjoyed the way his skin took days to knit back together, rather than healing instantly with the flick of his wand. And after that, he couldn’t stop longing for that moment of calm, craving it until he inevitably gave it again.
He was snapped out of the memory as Remus continued asking gentle questions.
“Anywhere else, apart from your wrists?” Remus asked him, still barely speaking above a whisper, and when Harry shook his head, he hesitated before asking, “Harry, will you show me?” That flare of panic threatened to rise again, but he quashed it down as he considered. Everyone knew, everyone had seen at this point, what more harm could it do?
Harry nodded slightly, and slowly, he unzipped his jacket, shrugging it off his shoulders and peeling it away from his arms, tossing it on the bed behind him. His arms were bandaged tightly with gauze and white crepe held down with paper tape as he extended them out to Remus. He simply drew out his wand and vanished them, taking a gentle hold of Harry’s right wrist first, inspecting it carefully.
“Can I heal them, Harry?” He asked, and Harry again nodded slowly, so Remus proceeded. First, he traced his wand tip lightly across the scabs, healing them instantly. He then performed a tight spiralling motion on the raised purple ones. Harry felt them flatten and draw together, fading to white before his eyes.
Content with his work, he lowered his right wrist and picked up the left, again tracing his eyes over it carefully before glancing up at Harry.
“And when did you do that?” He questioned, still gentle, but his voice had a kind of desperate edge to it, tinged with emotion. Harry knew he meant the long vertical one, the remnant of his attempt.
“The summer after Sirius…” he trailed off, but Remus knew.
“Muggles worked on it then?” he asked, referencing the marks left over from the stitches.
“Mmh”, Harry muttered, recalling that fateful night in which Dudley- of all people had found him as he slipped unconscious. Harry had begged him to just let him go, but Dudley had picked him up and carried him down the stairs, stealing his parents' car in the middle of the night to drive him to A&E. They had told some bullshit story about a wire fence and a drunk accident, which the young night shift nurse was happy enough to oblige. Harry had made Dudley swear on his life, and maybe threatened him with magic he wasn’t allowed to perform outside of school, that he wouldn’t tell his parents as they drove back home, and to his credit, he never did. Harry didn’t suppose the Dursleys would have cared very much either way; in fact, they probably would have been relieved to be free of the burden of raising him.
Picking up that Harry wasn’t willing to share much more, Remus began performing the same healing incantations across Harry’s left arm until he came across a few that wouldn’t budge.
“Magical wounds,” Harry provided with a slight shrug, “Did those ones at school, Diffindo, they won’t fade like the others”
“I know, Harry, I know,” Remus replied carefully, but Harry caught the look in his eyes. Though the man was clearly emotional, Harry suddenly recognised it as understanding, rather than sympathy, that the older man was showing him. It all fell into place as he considered his careful touches and experienced hand as he cast the healing incantations.
Remus seemed to lament it for a moment before rolling up his own sleeves, revealing his arms covered in viscous claw marks from the wolf, but there, on the inside of his wrist, Harry spotted a small collection of much finer and more uniform scars.
“I get it, ok Harry. I understand how you feel. I’ve been there; we were even around the same age when we started. But I want you to listen to me very carefully now, and believe me when I say this, even though I know you won’t. Everything is going to be ok. It’s going to be hard, fuck, I know it’s already incredibly difficult, and you must feel as if the entire fate of the Wizarding world rests upon your shoulders-“
“Because it does,” Harry replied, forlornly.
“Despite what you may have been told, Harry, that was never your burden to bear, and never should have been put on you at such a young age”
“But the prophecy, it has to be me, neither can live while the other survives-“
“Fuck the prophecy, Harry, your happiness is worth so much more than that.”
Harry was unconvinced, but he had questions for Remus, so he swiftly changed the subject.
“Did anyone ever find out about your, you know, cutting?” he asked curiously.
“Yes”, he paused, before continuing, “It was your dad, Harry. James was always so observant in that way, so in tune with others' emotions. He was the only one who could get Sirius out of one of his moods, the one who never made Peter feel stupid or excluded. So, of course, it was him who noticed. Pulled me aside one evening, and had a similar chat to the one we’re having now.”
Harry had started to cry again softly, sniffling as he asked Remus, “D’you think he’d be disappointed with me?
“No, Harry- he’d be proud- so incredibly proud of you that you’re still here, still fighting after everything that you’ve been through.
“But I’m so weak, I can’t stop,” Harry replied, “I’m not even sure that I want to- nobody was ever supposed to know, and now they do, and I can’t face them. Can’t face their pity, or their disgust…”
“It’s not weak to survive the only way you know how, Harry; that’s strength. You are so strong, I know that you can overcome this. And you’ll always have my support,” Remus encouraged. “Everyone out there is here because they believe in you, Harry. Ron and Hermione and everyone else, they’ll be there for you, Harry, you just have to let us in, let us support you.” Remus pulled Harry back into his arms and held him tightly for a moment before speaking again. “Cmon Harry, we have to go tonight- this conversation is far from over, but- do you think you can come downstairs?”
Harry’s heart started pounding again, but he knew they were running out of time, “Stay with me?” he asked Remus, who nodded forcefully,
“Of course, Harry, whatever you need.”
And so they made their way downstairs together, Harry tucked into the taller man for support as they re-entered the lounge room. All eyes fell on Harry, but a sharp look from Remus made sure no one said anything. In the meantime, Moody had paired up all the ‘Harrys’ with an older witch or wizard, and they quickly jumped into action, splitting off into various modes of transportation: floo, apparition, portkey, broomsticks and even the flying motorbike were being utilised. Remus guided Harry outside to the awaiting bike, and they mounted it, flying off into the sky towards Hogwarts.
Harry felt raw, exposed and emotionally drained, but also seen and supported by Remus, safe in his presence. Tonight, he would be ok, and from there it was just one day at a time. He had many difficult conversations in front of him, but tonight- he would be ok.