Harry lashed out when he was afraid.
And that's not right! Harry thought, the words frantic inside his own mind. I'm meant to be a Gryffindor. I can't be afraid all the time. Look at Draco, he faced his worst fear and came out of it looking for a way to help me. Every horrible thing he's been through this year has just made him stronger. From Pansy's death to Venetimorica to the snake pit and finally defying his father to his face, all of it has made him more committed to the Light.
And Dumbledore just said that they need me to be strong as well. I have to stop being so afraid.
Scooting back to lean against the headboard, Harry closed his eyes. The longer he thought about it, the better he understood what he had to do. The key to stop being afraid was to face his fears, the way Draco had done.
But how? Lucius was dead and challenging Voldemort wasn't exactly prudent. Not to mention, his father would kill him. So how could he possibly face down his fears and overcome them?
Needles, that was it. That was what he'd been afraid of the longest. That was what had started all of this, anyway. Needles during the transplant, needles at Samhain. If not for needles, he'd never have lost his light magic at all.
It was time to stop being afraid of them.
Snapping his eyes open, Harry darted his gaze about the room. No needles here, of course, but there on the bedstand stood a candle. There were matches for it in the drawer below. Or used to be, anyway, from back when Harry couldn't do Incendio.
Harry summoned them, not even bothering to pretend to use of his wand.
He drew out a single match, remembering first year, when he'd learned the spell. Such a simple incantation. It wasn't in his spell lexicon, as he'd never thought he'd actually want to conjure needles, but the Parseltongue shouldn't be too hard to figure out.
Even if there wasn't any word for needles.
Glancing through his glasses at the snake etched into the lens, Harry held the match and hissed what that particular spell had always meant to him. "Turn yourself into my sharp, metal fear . . ."
And just like that, he held a gleaming silver needle in his hand.
Poking it into himself was a whole lot more difficult than he would have expected. And since he'd expected it to be pretty damned hard . . . Harry shuddered. It hadn't bothered him so very much to handle the needles he'd transfigured back in first year. But of course he'd known that those weren't going to be stabbed into him.
Nothing for it though, right? He had to face his fears.
Sucking in a huge, bracing breath, Harry adjusted his hold on the needle and pressed its sharp end to the palm of his left hand. Even that was enough to make him feel a bit woozy, but he clenched his teeth together and told himself to stop being such a baby. It was just a needle! He'd suffered them before, and a lot worse than this. Wincing in anticipation, he pushed a little. Then harder.
The needle poked into his skin, making a depression, but didn't pierce it.
Instead of shoving harder and trying to break through, Harry thought strategy. The skin of his palm was awfully thick, really. Maybe he should start with someplace easier.
With another shudder, Harry pushed up his left sleeve and turned his forearm over. A pinch to the flesh on the underside told him that this skin was softer. More tender. Easier to prick. Of course, that probably meant it would hurt more here. A lot more. But what did that matter? At least he'd be able to shove the needle in.
Careful to avoid the blue veins that were visible here and there, Harry bit his lip, steeled himself further, and began to push again.
When the needle broke through his skin, it really stung. Harry almost yelped.
Instead, he held his breath and pushed again, harder, angling the needle to pass beneath his skin and parallel to his arm. The gleaming metal began to sink beneath his skin, bit by bit, the sight of it absolutely sickening, but somehow hypnotic at the same time.
There was hardly any blood at all. Noting that helped Harry feel a little more detached. Once he got over the first, worst part, it was almost like watching this happen to someone else.
Harry pushed farther still, watching as the needle made a white furrow in his skin.
Finally, it broke through the other side.
Blowing out his breath, Harry stared at the needle pierced through the skin of his forearm. What had he been so afraid of? This wasn't such a big deal, after all. Children get shots, he told himself. A lot of girls in Surrey have pierced ears. Muggles even get stitches, and think nothing of it.
Still feeling detached, Harry took a moment to think about the pain as he continued to look down at the needle. It wasn't overwhelming, not at all. Just a nagging hurt. Easily ignored.
Pulling the needle out was easier. Harry blinked as twin beads of blood welled up. Scarlet, like Voldemort's eyes. But that was all right. That was why he was doing this, so he wouldn't be afraid any longer. So he wouldn't unleash any more wild, dark magic. So when the war was over, he'd be just Harry still, not another Dark Lord.
This was a good start to all that. He'd proven he could do it. He was stronger than needles, and going to get stronger still. Because one wasn't enough, was it? He knew he'd still be afraid if he was faced with the likes of Samhain again. So he needed more, a lot more. And he needed to do it faster, instead of dithering.
Harry tried again, this time jabbing himself with more force. It hurt more, but at the same time, it was somehow more satisfying. Wiping away the blood Harry tried again. And then again.
And again.
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Coming Soon in A Year Like None Other:
Chapter Ninety-Four: A River in Egypt
Comments very welcome,
Aspen in the Sunlight and Mercredi
Chapter 94: A River in Egypt
http://archive.skyehawke.com/story.php?no=5036&chapter=94
Warning --- This chapter contains material that some readers may find disturbing.
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A Year Like None Other
by Aspen in the Sunlight
and Mercredi
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Chapter Ninety-Four: A River in Egypt
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For a while, as he pierced himself over and over, Harry almost felt like he was suspended in a world where there was nothing but his arm, and the needle, and the pain of one pinprick after another. He wasn't aware of time passing. He couldn't have said if he kept it up for one minute or ten. Or twenty.
Eventually, though, a series of noises roused him from his daze. Footsteps on the stairs. Voices calling his name. Severus . . . no, Severus and Draco both.
"Harry?"
"Where have you got to, Harry?"
"Oh, come on, Harry! Severus says he'll take us out for trifle!"
Like a drowning man suddenly breaking through the water's surface, Harry's trance abruptly shattered. He grimaced when he looked down at his arm, covered in pinpricks, some of them still welling blood. No time to heal them, not that his self-healing spells were very good to begin with. No matter, though. The injuries weren't that serious. Harry yanked down his sleeve and buttoned his cuff, then swept his cloak back on for good measure.
There. Now nobody would see his arm and grow alarmed. Which was all well and good, since there was nothing to be concerned about. He was just getting over his fear of needles. And it was kind of personal, that was all, so there was no need for his father and brother to know about it.