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Blackest Eyes	By : CruelHero Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 5682 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do not make any money from writing this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Blackest Eyes
- 2-Two
- 3-Three
- 4-Four
- 2
- 3
- 4
A/N: Thank you to those who took a moment to rate and if anyone is willing to comment, I would greatly appreciate any criticisms you might have. I feel like the first two chapers are missing something, but I can't place what it is because I have spent too much time on them. Help in this aspect would be wonderful. Anything to help me improve. Seriously, please tell me what you all think. Also, sorry for the short chapters but I stop where I feel is a good place and it just seemed like it for these. And this will be the last fast update fot this so hang in there all. Thanks all! R and R, Please!
Next chapter features the return of Snape!
Three: Razor Keen
Harry slumped forward in the shower, face upturned to the jets of water blasting his reddened skin. His hands were shaking, fingers clenching much too tight to the smooth handle of the pilfered kitchen knife. Vibrant blood ran profusely from his thighs, mingling with the water around the drain, turning it a sickly pink. Harry ignored everything and dug another jagged line into his flesh without looking.
A rush of sweet relief filled the breath in his lungs, sending a tingle pulsing throughout his chest and down his spine. The ache was pleasure. It was punishment. It was wonderful, and painful, and...
“Goddamnit,” he cursed, pressing a palm to his eye. How the hell had he become so screwed up?
People were not supposed to get hurt because of him. Wasn't that what he had said, what he'd demanded, during the war? His friends were not supposed to get hurt because of him. And here he was standing in the shower with an erection from cutting himself, instead of worrying about the things he had done and how to fix it. He'd become nothing more than a sick, twisted, hypocrite.
Harry jerked the knife down angrily, cutting himself deeper than he meant to, opening up a wide slit just above his hip bone, lumps of yellowish fat squishing up to the top. He stared at it with his lips pursed in thought. He could fix it. He should probably fix it, he told himself, watching the bright red blood roll. But then, what would be the point of cutting for pleasure? After all, it was the wound itself that made his stomach flutter. And the scar...
A delicious shiver ran all the way down his spine. He let the knife fall to the shower floor and scrubbed hard at his face. It didn't take long before the battle of morals raging inside his head was lost and he gave in to his body's insistent urges.
With one hand braced against the tiles for support, Harry leaned further under the water's stream, eyes closed, focusing on the pain in his legs and the feeling of his own gently trailing fingertips. They grazed against new scars, sending another sudden vision of rough hands and worried black eyes playing behind his eyelids.
It was like being struck. Harry shook his head viciously and backed out of the shower.
Though it wasn't at all funny, when the initial shock wore off, he nearly laughed himself to the point of tears. Picturing wizards was one thing; he'd come to accept his preferences in lust. But Snape...whatever that was, could promptly take a long walk off a short pier.
Moving to stand in front of the mirror, he raked his wet hair back from his face and frowned down at his lower half. His most sensitive of appendages didn't appear to have been deterred one bit. A disturbing sign if there ever was one, he though, wrapping a towel around his waist. Out of sight, out of mind. He would not wank to twisted thoughts of that smarmy bastard.
Not because it disgusted him, but because it was a matter of principle.
Nodding at nothing, Harry threw another rag under his feet and busied himself with bandaging his shame.
*****
By the time Harry sat down to lunch, only a few teachers and random students were still in the main hall. He had arrived late with that very hope in mind, but also so that he would have an excuse not to eat much. His tongue felt entirely too dry inside his mouth and all the food seem to turn his stomach just from looking at it.
Faced with the return to classes, with seeing his friends for the first time since the accident, he wasn't surprised to find his appetite had taken a vacation. Still, to satisfy the pesky nurse, who eyed him knowingly from the teacher's table, he forced himself to chew and swallow bites of an overripe peach and pointedly did not bother to take note of anyone who might be staring at him with shameless curiosity. There was nothing for them to see anyway, he reminded himself bitterly, idly twisting the thick silver band on his ring-finger.
Just as he raised the peach to his lips, the sounding of the fourth period bell mercifully kept him from having to take another miserable bite. Harry eagerly threw it back on his plate, pulling himself from the bench with care. It wouldn't be good if the shoddy sutures he'd rushed through making snapped and he bled all over his robes during the middle of class.
He walked slowly through the halls to hide a slight limp. They were as empty as the lunch tables had been. He kept his head down anyway and managed to secure an empty seat closest to the classroom's door. Everyone was too busy talking to their tablemates about the crude stick-figures dancing on the chalkboard to notice him. For a time he thought it would stay that way, but when Professor Flitwick stepped in and welcomed Harry back, all eyes turned on him. He nodded politely, but inside he was groaning as loud and obnoxiously as possible.
Then, for a split second, he locked sight with Ron, the very thing he'd been wanting to avoid doing. The butterflies in his stomach went rigid and died.
Swallowing hard, he dropped his gaze to his desk to pretend that he was busy reading the assigned section of his textbook until a short time later when a wad of parchment bounced off his shoulder, landing beside his hand. He snatched it reflexively, glancing around for the person who threw it. No one in particular stood out. So, as inconspicuously as possible, he smoothed the paper out in his lap. It was blank. Harry held back an angry frown just in case the person messing with him was watching. Then as he was about to re-wad it, thousands of bumps formed in lines across it, fell away, and came back as delicate, little, inked words.
Harry,
If I know you, and I do, you're probably sulking, pretending to read your work instead of actually doing it. Cheer up. I'm fine. Ron is fine. I promise we're not mad at you. It was an accident. Remember that and don't worry so much.
We've missed you, Harry.
Love,
Hermione
P.S. I have notes for all of your missed classes. You can copy them tonight. We'll catch up then.
P.P.S Ron says you missed a wicked awesome pudding fight yesterday in the boys dorms. It was apparently the best one so far.
Not knowing weather to laugh or cry, Harry tucked the note into his pocket and went back to pretend-reading. He wanted to be happy that the two people he cared most about were not angry, but the guilt he felt was near crushing and he didn't want to face them, still.
After that, and for the rest of the day, nothing fully made through his brain.
*****
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Blackest Eyes