Another voice inside his head argued back. Because I have to!
"I'd like to think I know you," said Remus, his voice compassion itself. "I do know you, Harry. You're a kind, wonderful, loving boy. You must be feeling tremendously guilty about what you did to Malfoy. But, please, please believe me when I say that you didn't do anything wrong. It's not your fault that your magic is so strong. You can't help being who you are. I know that Severus is your father now, but you'll always be James' son, too, do you understand? I love you, Harry, just the same as before."
All at once, Harry felt like he couldn't breathe. He'd been all right before, when Remus had mentioned his mother, but now, thinking of his father too, thinking of them both together, he thought he might sick up. I never even thought once of what my mum and dad would think of what I've done. Would my mum have given up her life to save me, if she'd known in advance how I'd turn out?
"Harry? Are you all right? You look a little ill."
Only a little? Harry almost asked. Everyone expects me to feel horrible about what I did. They think it must be eating me alive. What would they think if they knew just the opposite was true? Would they really still love me then?
"It's all right, you know, You can tell me, Harry," urged Remus, so sincerely that Harry suddenly just wanted to kick him. "There's no shame in being upset."
But Harry wasn't upset, and that was the whole problem, wasn't it? Instead of the regret everyone thought he should feel, he was just cold all over, like he was somewhere far away. Or like he was someone else, maybe, watching himself talking to his parents' friend. And there was really only one thing to say, wasn't there? He couldn't admit how much of a monster he was. He had to pretend he still was what they thought he was.
"You're right, Remus," Harry said slowly. "I-- I do feel just awful about what I did. What I had to do, I mean. But I didn't want to say anything and worry everyone."
Remus nodded as though he understood, when really, he didn't understand anything. Nobody did. Harry was all alone.
"I mean . . ." Harry gulped, trying to think what else Remus would expect to hear. "I know I have to, uh, kill Voldemort and I didn't want the Order to think I wasn't up to it. It's a war, and I just wanted everyone to know that I know that. But really, I feel just rotten about what I did to Malfoy. Oh, not so much that he's dead, but what it means about me, like you said. The uh . . . " Harry thought too much of Remus to say out loud the monster within. "But anyway, I do know that killing Malfoy was an accident. I don't exactly blame myself. I . . . uh, just need a little time. All right?"
"Time will help," Remus said, smiling kindly. "And about the war, Harry. You shouldn't even be thinking about that, not yet. Not until you're much, much older. Of course, you should never have had to deal with any of this. I wish there was somehow we could just take it all away. At least know that you're not in this fight alone. We're all in this with you."
Harry nodded jerkily. He wanted to get out of the room as soon as possible. He itched all over and he knew that only one thing would make these awful feelings go away. He needed to practice. He needed to practice fighting his fear because when it came down to it, he ought to be in this alone. Just him and Voldemort and no one else because he didn't want anyone else dragged down with him. And that's precisely what I'm allowing to happen, letting Remus masquerade as Lucius, right there in the man's own house. Remus'll be dragged down so deep, it'll probably kill him one way or another.
Harry closed his eyes in an effort to make the sudden dark thought go away.
"Harry?"
The boy snapped his eyes back open and tried to look and act like everything was fine. "Thanks for coming to talk to me, Remus, but really, I need to get going. I've got a class starting soon . . ." He reached for the books at his feet.
"There's a good lad. We wouldn't want Gryffindor to lose points for tardiness."
"I'm in Slytherin too."
Remus smiled again. "Of course you are, yes." Reaching into an inner pocket of his elegant robes, Remus drew out a vellum envelope. "Take this, Harry. For my own peace of mind, if for no other reason. If you need to talk about anything, anything at all, you can floo me at Grimmauld Place, right up until my new mission begins."
Nodding, Harry took the envelope and stuffed it into a book. He couldn't meet Remus' eyes as he thanked him. How could he face someone who believed in him so blindly? Who thought he was a kind, loving boy, when in fact he wasn't even the slightest bit sorry that he'd killed?
Harry was just glad that he knew what to do. He fled directly to the nearest empty loo and spelled it for privacy before he got out his match and transfigured it, applying just a touch of wanded magic to make the change solid and permanent. Best to keep it as a needle from now on out, he decided. He had to be ready to use it at a moment's notice.
This time when Harry positioned the needle against his forearm, he made sure to find the spots that hurt the worst.
All of them.
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Three times over the course of the next few days, Draco tried to get Harry alone to talk to him, but Harry kept putting it off. Draco didn't know anything. He couldn't. Nobody had seen Harry using the needle, not even a ghost. Harry'd been careful about that. But still, Draco obviously thought that something was wrong with Harry, or else why would he want to talk to him so urgently?
Harry started avoiding Draco as much as he could, and tried not to let it bother him when Ron obviously approved.
The following Thursday as Defence was winding to a close, Harry rushed to pack up his things and leave. Draco was faster still, though, placing himself in front of Harry before Harry could make it to the classroom door. "Let's go have dinner with Severus," he said.
Harry shook his head. "Sorry. I'm still trying to catch up on work from that little holiday we took."
Draco made an exasperated noise. "Harry, I know how much work we missed. You can't still be bogged down in it. Come on, all right? I really need to talk to you about something." His gaze swept over the Gryffindors milling about. "And I'd rather we have some privacy, all right? It's a bit of a . . . sensitive subject."
If anything, that overture only panicked Harry worse. He wasn't going to get within a mile of a Draco who needed to talk to him about a sensitive subject, not if he could help it.
"Can't it wait?"
"I've been waiting," Draco exclaimed.
"Yeah. Um, well, I'll try to find some time." Harry knew he was being a bit of a git, but he didn't know what else to do. "See you later!"
He tried not to let it bother him that Draco whirled away and headed straight for their father, who was up at the front loudly taking Aran to task for ineffective teaching techniques.
Harry didn't know exactly what Draco might have said to Snape, but the next day, Snape stopped by the Gryffindor table at lunch and asked Harry to join him in his quarters for dinner that night. Harry tried to beg off, but his father was implacable.
Oh God, what if Draco had somehow realised exactly what Harry was doing? And when Harry had refused to discuss it over and over, he'd gone to Snape with his suspicions? Of course, it was difficult for Harry to believe that was what had happened. Surely, if his father knew what Harry was doing to his arms, he'd have dealt with it right away, and not waited until dinner! Then again maybe Snape could understand the training for what it was and approved.