Alternative epilogue (because the original was dire)

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Lingering in the room that has been mine (mine!) all summer, I wonder whether I will ever come back here again.

Logically, I tell myself as I pack the remaining few bits and pieces – socks, a quill, two chess pieces I must have left out when I packed the set Ron sent for my birthday – there is no reason why I will not. Professor Snape – Severus – has not said I can't come back, and he is still my guardian. But...Voldemort is gone – he still won't tell me how, and when I protested about the prophecy, all he would say that he'd always been very poor at divination – and so I no longer need protection. I am of age now, I don't even need a guardian any more. And the longer I think of it, the more reasons I can think of for him to...relinquish my care.

After Christmas, that Christmas that seems so long ago now but in reality was only just under a year ago, I gave up trying to trick him, trying to drive him away. I struggled through hours, days, weeks of being good. Of eating whatever was given to me, and of talking and talking and talking about everything, and of not giving in to that awful temptation to just fuck everybody, and just do whatever the hell I wanted. Not to just cut.

And although I did not (well, once or twice early on) and now I can just not...

...I still want to.

I still want to so much that it hurts, sometimes, so much that I have to get away and just stand still for a moment, until I can force down that debilitating want.

And it sickens me, inside, to know that I want this, and to know that I shouldn't want this. It feels like I am rejecting his help, rejecting everyone's help.

Which is why I don't tell anyone. Why everyone thinks they have cured me.

It turns out that I was right – everyone thinks they can cure you, but they can't.

They can help give you strong enough motivation to quash the desires a little, so you don't give in – I wouldn't do it again and I won't do it again, because of Hermione's tangible pain when she was near me and Ron's tears when he thought I was asleep and his pride in me every time during that first term after Christmas that he saw me eat a whole meal and not go running out to purge it, every day that he saw that I hadn't cut - and the weight of his disappointment every time I gave in.

This is why I hope with all my heart that Severus lets me return here next summer.

Because they all say you must give up your vices for yourself, but they are all wrong.

If you hate yourself with the force that I did, and still do, why would you make the effort to give up for yourself?

You wouldn't. You don't.

Severus interrupts my cheerful thoughts with his usual brisk knock on the door. "Harry?"

"Come in," I call.

"Ready to go?" he asks as he comes into the room.

"Yup." I jump up off the floor and grab my case.

He scans the room and looks at me curiously. "You know, you don't have to take everything with you. It would still be here when you come back at Christmas." He backtracks quickly. "If you want to come for Christmas, that is."

A rush of joy spreads through me so quick I think I could burst. "I can come back?" I check quickly, feeling as if my face will split in two from the beam I can't quite prevent.

He looks confused. "Of course."

I can't help it, I leap forward and hug him tightly. "Thank you," I whisper. For everything, I add silently.

"You will always have a room here, Harry," he reassures me, as I release him.

Huh.

Maybe everything will be okay, after all.

X

The end (for real this time)

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A/N: I hope that's marginally better than last time. It's still kindof lame, I know, and I'm not quite sure what is with the great long thing in the middle. But there you go.

I'd like to emphasise that all that stuff about cutting and everything – that's just how I feel about it. I'd by no means suggest that everyone feels that way, and that it is impossible to get over, and I'm not trying to provide any kind of justification or whatever or anything for it. Please don't do it - I really, really would hate to think of anyone starting up that kind of thing; it is self-destructive and it isn't constructive in any way. Imma stop preaching now.

Eeeee, and by the way; Snape's dad? I like to think he's getting what he deserves – stuck in St Patheus' with nurse duck for the rest of his days