Title:Scarlet Pain
Rating:NC-17 For extremely adult themes dealing with rape, abuse, cutting (not Harry) and perceptions of evil.
Summary: It has been a little over a year since Sirius' death (set in 7th year) and Harry shows up to Hogwarts acting strange. He has been through hell and back, yet refuses to tell anyone. But how long has he been falling into despair, and what is it slowly eating away at his courage. Will Severus be able to save him before it's too late?
Notes: I want to address some issues that have come up with this story. First, I know that it may seem that some characters, most specifically Harry, acting OOC (getting weepy, hysterical, easily afraid, etc.). There is a reason for this, a reason in the story, that I can't say without giving away a major plot point. But I can say that it is explained in a way that (I hope) makes sense. Also the issue of 'why would his Uncle suddenly become an (even worse) abuser?' This ties in with the reason for Harry's odd behavior. That is all I have to say on the matter.

Side Note: I am helping out a friend with her thesis on slash culture. If you are at all interested in becoming a part of the process you can email me (see profile).

Disclaimer: Don't own so please don't sue. Original character concepts, etc, are all property of J. K. Rowling. I'm not making any money off this, nor do I have any worth sueing for. If you don't like M/M relationships then don't read this. Constructive critisism welcome but please no flames.

Scarlet Pain

Chapter One

Harry looked around the Main Hall, a grin lighting up his face. All of his friends were there, happy, healthy, and alive. Everyone was smiling at him, even the Potions Master, though he had no idea why. Maybe Voldemort was dead?

'Oh, you would wish that wouldn't you?'

Harry whipped his head around at the noise, smile fading as his scar glowed an angry red. He screamed and clapped his hands to his forehead. When he looked up, everyone was still smiling, only now they were slowly crumbling before him. The Great Hall grew dark, cold, and the once happy faces that surrounded him were sneering at him through death.

"What's happening?"

'Look at your hands, child.'

Harry looked, and let out a shocked cry. They were red and dripping with blood.

'You killed them.'

"No, I – no!" Harry's eyes were wide and he looked around frantically until his gaze rested on the lifeless form of Albus Dumbledore. Even through death, the old wizard spoke to him.

"Harry, I'm sorry but you failed. You'll have to return to your Aunt's house until something can be done to…rectify this situation."

This time Harry screamed in earnest and struggled against the sudden iron grip that took him to his room in the house on Privet Drive. The hands that held him turned rough as they threw him on his bed.

"No! I'm sorry! I'm sorry. Please don't do this."

He tried to fight against the hands, but he had been stripped of his magic and had nothing to fight back with. He struggled, until the first voice spoke again; the raspy, snaky voice of the creature that had killed his parents. Then came the cold, the oily, freezing darkness that clogged his throat and drained his courage.

'You realize that you deserve this don't you? You brought this on yourself. You killed them, and now you'll suffer for it.' The voice cackled in his mind, and Harry felt himself torn apart from the inside, the body above him using him for its own pleasure…

Harry lunged out of his bed with sharp gasp, his body trembling. It took a moment for him to recognize where he was; in his dorm at Hogwarts. He glanced at his watch, and knowing that he would never get back to sleep, crept downstairs to the common room to work on homework. As the "Boy Who Lived" settled down to write a Transfigurations essay that wasn't due for another two weeks, he idly thought how glad he was that it had only been a nightmare and not a vision. Visions usually involved more lingering pain.

Back up in the seventh year dorm, Ron stared sadly after his friend. This was the third time this year, and classes had only started a week and a half ago! With a depressed sigh, the redhead burrowed back into his blanket, barely noticing the unusual chill that had permeated the room.

"Damnit Harry! What happened to you?"

Harry stared out of the window of his room, watching as rain water made tiny patterns on the glass. After a moment, he finally turned back to his two friends, Ron and Hermione, who were sitting on his bed, staring worriedly at him.

"Can't you guys just let it be?" He sighed. He didn't want to answer their questions, to explain to his friends why he jumped at shadows and flinched when brushed against in the hall. Ron looked pained, but Hermione just got angry.

"No! Something happened over the summer, and we want to know what. You've been walking around like half a person!"

Ron finally decided to add something. "Harry, you may think that I don't notice but I do. You haven't had one night yet in which you don't wake up panicked or worse." At this Harry looked up in surprise, he'd thought the silencing spells he'd put around his bed had taken care of that problem.

"Give me some credit," Ron told him when he noticed the other boy's expression. "I'm your best mate, it's my job to notice these things."

Harry huffed and turned back to the window. He knew what they were saying was true. Ever since Sirius had died, things had gone from bad to worse. That summer, the emotional violence at "home" had gotten out of hand, not that anyone knew. Or cared, a suspicious voice in the back of his head added. Harry had also been getting visions regularly, and had begun to take potions all the time to counter the pain. And that wasn't even the beginning.

His sixth year had been difficult and he had just barely begun to recover from his godfather's death, had just barely forgiven Dumbledore for manipulating him, had just barely begun to believe that maybe he wasn't at fault after all. Then, after an unusual semester, he had been called back to the Dursely's for winter break. A shudder ran down his spine at the thought of his only living relatives. Harry jumped when he felt gentle hands rest on his shoulders.

"Hermione?" His voice sounded so small, even in his own ears. Ron stood awkwardly behind her, wanting to comfort him but not knowing how.

"Harry," Ron gave his best friend's hand a short squeeze. "You can trust us, mate. We're here for you."

"Why?" His friends gave him a shocked look.

"Because we're your friends. Friends don't just give up on each other. They take care of one another, through good times and bad." Harry wanted to die, to curl up and sob his heart out to his friends. But he didn't. Instead he listened to that hurtful voice in the back of his head, the one that strangely echoed from his dreams. You're nothing! You'll end up killing them all, just like the rest. You're nothing but a tool, and when you've outlived your usefulness, you will die. It's your fault they will all die. Harry pushed his friends away and made to run out the door, but Hermione grabbed his arm.

"Harry, please!" Tears were streaming down Hermione's cheeks. Ron twisted his hands into knots, completely unsure of what to do. "Harry, please. What happened to you?"

"I," Harry stopped, tears of his own threatening to fall. "Don't you get it! You're all going to die! Just, don't touch me anymore!" He choked back a sob and fled, leaving his friends in a stunned silence.

Later that day, Ron approached his friend in the library.

"Look, Harry," He stopped when he saw the tear stains on Harry's cheeks. "You don't have to tell us what's going on with you. But you can't expect us to just leave you. Everyone else may think you're the only hope of the Wizarding world, but we know different. You're just you, Harry, and we don't want you to be anyone else." Harry looked at him. Ron took an awkward step forward and wrapped his arms around his friend. Harry stiffened slightly, and Ron pulled away, not wanting to make him uncomfortable.

"Don't you get it though," Harry whispered harshly. "I can't save you, and he'll kill you for being my friends." Ron smiled wanly. He knew that, and he sometimes feared it too. But Harry was his friend, a term no Weasely took lightly.

"I know that I haven't always been the best of friends," Ron said, remembering fourth year with regret. "But 'Mione is right, friends don't give up on friends, no matter what. And that snake-faced bastard won't stop us from being your friends." Harry gave him a sad grin and nodded. "Good, let's go get dinner."