No Inhibitions

Professor Snape's voluble, cavernous voice echoed in the silent potions classroom. "Today, we will be brewing the Nullus Timor, or No Inhibitions draught. It strips a person of all reserve and allows them to express their inner most desires… stop snickering! Desires that the person would have otherwise have been too embarrassed or influenced not to express. It was used during the crusades to give soldiers a fiercer desire to destroy the enemy. It backfired, however, when they discovered that many of the soldier's true desires were to flee the army and return to their homes. Now, I will presume that at least one among you will complete this potion correctly before the end of class, at which point I will select who will demonstrate it's effects." Not surprisingly, his dark eyes immediately landed on Harry Potter.

Harry had expected this. Almost every class he was chosen to demonstrate a potion, especially if the potion was brewed incorrectly. Of course, that was the story of his life… taking on another's possible misfortune, sparring everyone else at the cost of his own pride, his life, or his sanity. Since learning of the prophecy, Harry had remained cold. He was literally empty, void of all thought and feeling. It seemed, however, that he accepted despair as a constant part of his being. After all, Sirius was his last hope at a happy life, in a loving home. No, he had no more dreams, no hope. It's ironic that the wizarding world's last hope had no hope of his own. He remained only to serve his purpose in the war. He had an obligation, and the future of the wizarding world rested on this poor boy's slumped shoulders. At the moment, Harry was rather interested in what this potion he knew he would be consuming shortly would do to him. He had no current love interest, nor any hidden desires to name (save for defeating Voldemort). The only thing he ever really wanted was to be with his family, but a potion couldn't make that happen!

"Potter, have you even begun your potion? Or were you too busy napping?"

Harry hadn't even realized that the professor had been talking to him, so his logical response was "Huh?"

"Well, luckily for you, Ms. Granger has completed the draught first, and entirely without your help. Naturally, you will be failing this lesson for your lack of effort, and for your non-existent attention span. Also, twenty points from Gryffindor for using this class to daydream."

A collective groan could be heard from the Gryffindor student, but none dared to protest. As for Harry, it didn't much matter. It wasn't as if he would be around much longer anyway… house points were irrelevant.

"Potter, drink it."

Harry didn't object, he shot the vile potion down his throat, but made no outward expression of its fowl taste. The class waited for his reaction. All eyes were focused intently on him. After all, everyone wondered what Harry Potter would do if he had no inhibitions, nothing to hold him back, and most importantly, no responsibility.

Harry waited patiently as the potion began to settle. He felt a slight cloudy feeling in his head, just behind the eyelids, but nothing painful. Well… that was ineffective.

The class watched in horror as he suddenly went ridged. He stared blankly ahead, with no emotion crossing his face. He blindly reached for a small razor that he was supposed to have been chopping dragon's liver with. In one swift motion, and without flinching, he touched the razor to the inner part of his wrist and pressed down, hard. Blood was f'lowing from the open vein freely. Dark crimson liquid flowed down his arm and onto the desk. As the realization of what he had done suddenly dawned on him, he stared half horrified and half disgusted at the wound with the rest of the class. He glanced around the room quickly, noting that some looked as if they were going to be sick, but most only gawked at him in shock.

His mind was reeling with questions.

'This is my innermost desire?'

'This is what I want?'

'This is the only way to be with my family?'

'What will Ron and Hermione think?'

'Why don't I care?'

'Why do I feel happy?'

'Why can't I feel my arm?'

He had been so absorbed in trying to sort things out that he had forgotten about the still heavily bleeding cut.

Snape's shell-shocked expression soon turned serious. He cast a binding charm on the wound. Harry watched in fascination as bandages shot out form the professor's wand and tightly wound themselves around Harry's wrist.

"Potter, get up! You need to go to the hospital wing! Foolish boy…"

Harry braced himself on the desk with his left hand, but found himself sinking to the floor almost immediately after attempting to stand. His mind was so devoid of blood that he hardly registered that Snape had wrapped an arm around his waste and was slowly helping him to exit the classroom.

"Finish your potions, clean up this mess, and dismiss yourselves when the potions are labeled and on my desk for when I return."

Harry still hadn't said anything. He was too dizzy and too confused to form a statement that could possibly verify his actions.

Meanwhile, Snape was internally berating himself for being so stupid. How could he have allowed Potter to drink that? He should have known it would bring some sort of disaster! He knew that the boy was emotionally an absolute mess, but he had no idea how severe it was. Harry Potter, the boy who live, son of his childhood rival, attempted suicide right in front of him. The boy's life was ruined. The Prophet would get a hold of this knowledge, as would Voldemort, and his classmates… well... whatever their reaction he doubted it would help the boy's fragile condition. That's exactly what he is at the moment, the professor mused. 'He's absolutely fragile. He would fall and die of blood loss if I didn't support him.' The thought should have been pleasing, amusing, but it only unnerved the already guilty potion's master. Potter's silence wasn't helping matters.

"Potter, say something!"

"I… I want to go."

Snape stopped their slow walk to the hospital wing and stared at him questioningly.

"What are you talking about?"

"Let me go. Please… I just want to go."

Snape lost hold of the boy as Harry turned his body and sunk down the corridor's wall. He lay on the cold stone floor and gazed up at him with the most desperate, pleading, lonely eyes that he had ever seen. Eye's that didn't belong on Potter's face, a look that didn't belong in Lily's eyes.

"I want to be with my family… I don't want… to stay… please… don't…"

Harry's eyes fluttered shut and he lost consciousness. The blood was clearly seeping through the bandages. Snape was at a loss for words. His mind couldn't fathom the situation. He cast a locomotor spell on the boy's body traveled to the hospital wing, with Harry Potter floating in his path.

TBC