Picking Up the Pieces

"Hey Harry!" Emerson called as he skipped into the common room.

"Hey" I sighed. But I didn't turn to face him, my gaze still fixed out the large picture window I sat in front of.

The window seat was my favorite place to go whenever I felt like getting away. There I could stare at the streets below and people watch for hours, the facade on the front of the building allowing me to do so in private. I would watch all the witches and wizards below, busying themselves with everyday mundane tasks; shopping, sending owls, walking their dogs. Things I so desperately wished I could do. Things that I had once taken for granted.

Sometimes I would pick one person and concoct an entire story about them. Their name, what they did for a living, what chain of events brought them to that particular street at that particular time. As crazy as it was, it helped me feel like a part of the outside world again.

"Can I join you?" Emerson asked. I reluctantly turned to look at him, abandoning my amusement for the time being.

"Sure." I did the best I could to look welcoming and patted the cushion beside me. A cloud of dust escaped the ratty bolster and sparkled in the sunlight like a thousand tiny diamonds.

"You ready for group?" he asked cheerily.

"I guess--about as ready as I always am."

“Yea, same here.” He too turned his attention on the street below us, his fingers nervously picking at the threadbare cushion. Despite having been there for six months, he still wasn't completely comfortable around me. As laughable as it was, everyone said he was still star-struck.

“Boys, group in five,” a voice called, cutting through the awkward silence. I looked up to see Wadsworth standing in the hallway. “Best not be late again.”

“Be right there sir.” Emerson hopped up and headed towards the hall. “You coming Harry?” he called over his shoulder.

“Yea, I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Alright, it’s your ass if you’re late,” he chided as he disappeared around the corner.

I slowly unfolded my body from the onerous fetal position I was holding. I had been in the window seat, sedentary, for hours, my muscles stiffening to the point of rigor mortis. I stood up and stretched each part of my body, my arms, my legs, my back, until it finally felt like my muscles had returned to their original size and state. I looked up at the clock; 2:58. With two minutes to spare, I dashed down the hall to room 213.

I kept my eyes down as I entered the dreaded room, desperate to not make eye contact with Draco, or anyone else for that matter. I quietly made my way over to my usual desk, but stopped short. My desk was already occupied, and it was occupied by Draco Malfoy.

The surprise and abhorrence must have read clearly on my face because Wadsworth was by my side in seconds.

“Harry, is everything okay?” the doctor asked.

“He’s in my seat,” I whispered, inclining my head towards the blonde wizard.

“It’s okay, Harry. There are plenty of other seats.”

“But that’s my desk.” Don’t these people understand? I am Harry Potter for God's sake! Aren't I at least entitled to sit in whatever goddamn seat I want?

“Harry, we don’t have assigned seats here, remember? And Draco got here first, so he’s allowed to sit there. Come on, come sit next to me.”

The doctor began walking back towards his desk, grabbing my hand to make me follow—but I couldn’t move. I stood there frozen, anger augmenting itself inside me. My face flushed a deep crimson and my body began to shake. I could feel the familiar pressure starting to swell inside me. It was coming in undulating waves, building in strength with each lap to the surface.

If I didn’t release some of the pressure soon I knew I would explode. I could picture Healer Wadsworth scraping little pieces of Harry off the walls, group member picking bits of me out of their hair. I had to do something.

I pulled my hand out of Wadsworth’s grip and made a B-line to the door. I turned with the intent of giving the Slytherin prat one last menacing look before storming out, but I was taken aback. The quiet, unassuming Draco I knew from therapy was no longer. He was replaced by the Draco I remembered from school--smug and haughty, his perfect mouth twisted into a menacious sneer. I stalked out without another look back.

I ran through the maze of corridors, my slippers clopping on the tile floor with each stride. After that dislplay, I knew someone would be sent to check on me soon, so I had to hurry. I got to my room, slammed the door behind and threw myself to the side of my bed. After digging between the mattress and the box-spring for what seemed like an eternity, I felt my fingers wrap around the cold piece of steel I was looking for.

I grabbed the razor, hiked up my sleeve and began cutting, hesitantly at first, each cut slow and deliberate. But it wasn't working, the pressure continued pulsing inside me, begging to be set free. Pushing through my inhibitions, I gripped the razor tightly in my hand and frantically began cutting and stabbing my arms. This method started working almost instantly. Each time the razor tore open my skin I could feel pressure release. I closed my eyes and pictured the plumes of toxic gas I was sure were pouring out of each laceration--the pressure as it wept from the confines of my body.

I sliced and hacked and reveled in the sensation until I felt the last little bit of pressure seep out of my maimed body. Then, just as quickly as the episode came on, it was over.

I breathed a sigh of relief. The pressure was gone, but now I had more pressing issues. Someone would surely be coming after me soon, and I had to hide the evidence. I quickly tucked the razor back under the mattress and started doing the best I could to clean myself up--but there were just so many cuts. Most were smaller and somewhat superficial in nature, but a few were deep and didn't seem to want to stop bleeding.

I ran to my dresser and dug through the drawers until I found the old, pilling towel I was looking for. In one swift motion, I ripped it half and wrapped one piece of the cloth tightly around my arm. After applying pressure for a minute or so I pulled the towel away. It did seem to help some, but looking down I realized I was still a complete mess.

Blood streaked down my arm like dozens of dried up little rivers. On my forearm, my wrist, my hand, caked under my fingernails--I was covered. Everywhere I looked was sullied with remnants of the deep, scarlet secretion.

Running out of time, I spit on the unused half of the towel and began wiping away the crusted bits of blood.

"Need some help with that?" Davis asked from the doorway. Shit, when did he get there?

I pointlessly yanked down my sleeve and hid the towels under my leg.

"Um, nah, I'm fine."

"You're not fine Harry," he said as stepped into the room and latched the door behind him. "We need to talk. But first things first--Accio, razor." He held his hand out, the blade landing softly in his palm before he tucked it safely into his coat pocket.

"Now let me take a look at your arm," he said. He sat down on the bed next to me, an expectant look on his face.

I opened my mouth in protest, but before I could get any words out, he grabbed my arm and gingerly pushed my sleeve up to my elbow.

"Oh Harry, you poor thing. This is awful." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wand. "Abstergo Sanguis," he muttered as he gave his wand a solid flick.

Instantly the blood started to fade away. And in literally the blink of an eye, it completely dissipated and all of the cuts healed, each one reduced to a neat coagulated line.

And even though I was thankful to get cleaned up, tears started to sting at the corners of my eyes. A flood of emotions ran through me. I was pissed off at myself for being an idiot and allowing myself to freak out like I did. I was ashamed that the only way I could cope with my feelings was to cut the pain away. But mostly, I was upset because everyone knew about these shortcomings. Everyone here knew that The Chosen One, the savior of the wizarding world had completely and utterly lost his mind.

"Look, I'm fine," I acquiesced, wiping away traiterous tears.

Davis put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me close to him.

"Harry, it's going to be okay," he whispered. His warm breath danced across my neck and sent shivers down my spine. "I promise."

I leaned in closer to him and rested my head on his shoulder in defeat. Usually I wasn't one to be coddled, but something about Davis calmed me. From the circles his thumb was tracing on my palm as he held my hand, to the slow, even heaving of his chest, to the strong way he had me pinned against him, everything about him being there soothed me, made me feel better.

And then suddenly it was perfectly clear to me what I wanted--what I needed. I needed human contact. I needed physical release. I needed to be wanted. I had been denying myself these basic creature comforts, and for what? I had no reason.

From the moment Voldemort marked me as his equal, witches and wizards alike wanted a piece of me, a piece of the boy that was the wizarding world's only hope. Many counted down the days until I would be of legal age to bed. And to be honest, age restrictions were irrelevant to some.

The first sexual proposition I received was when I was the tender age of twelve. A beautiful witch that had to have been twenty years my senior all but begged for me to let her take my virginity. At that age, such an offer was easy to refuse as sex was about the furthest thing from my mind. However, as I got older and the offers came more and more frequently, the temptation became harder to resist.

Instead, when women begged to suck my cock or pleaded for me to have my way with them, I politely obliged. Witches my age, witches 10 or 20 years older than me, it didn't matter. If they were decent looking and had someplace warm and soft for me to put my dick in, I would do it. The fact that I was so wanted by these women that they were willing to degrate themselves and act like wanton whores made me feel powerful. I craved that power so much that by the time I began my sixth year, I needed mine, Ron's and Hermoine's fingers and toes, to count all of my sexual conquests.

And even though my need for that feeling of power did not waver, I soon became bored with what those women had to offer me. Pouty-lipped mouths and sloppy pussies all started to look alike. They blended together--I barely knew where one ended and the next began. I needed something different, something more. That was when I finally decided to take a wizard up on his offer.

The feelings that nameless, blonde wizard gave me far surpassed anything I had ever experienced. He knew exactly what to do to make me the one that was begging and pleading for more. His skill and technique seemed unparalelled.

Little did I know that it wasn't really that particular wizard's sexual prowess that had brought me to my knees, it was simply being with a man. Men offered me so much that a woman couldn't. They too begged and pleaded to suck me off. They too yearned to have my cock inside them. But unlike women, they offered me a dick to worship. And worship I did--until I got here that is.

When I arrived at this facility I thought for sure it would mean the end of my sex life, but I was wrong. The people here begged for my dick just as much as the people on the outside world did. And at first I obliged here as well, allowing whoever wanted my cock to have it. But after a while, the whole thing got kind of, well, boring. Soon I was refusing more offers than I was accepting. And about three months in, I stopped accepting them all together. Instead I chose to spend my time brooding and wallowing in my misery.

But with Davis, a man that was strong and beautiful, sitting next to me, holding me, all of my wants and needs came crashing back to me, drowning me in a sea of lust and carnal instincts. I understood the taboo nature of such relations, but I didn't care, and I was pretty sure Davis wouldn't care either. No one had resisted the great Harry Potter to this point, why would they now? I decided to go for it.

Testing his boundaries, I nuzzled myself deeper into the crook of Davis' neck. When he didn't object, I relaxed and slowly inhaled. As expected, he smelled absolutely delicious. The musky scent of his cologne and the salty bouquet of his skin were so intoxicating they made me dizzy. And slowly, that drunken feeling began to spread throughout my whole body, warming my limbs and muddling my brain.

And in my new, inebriated state, I threw caution to the wind and went for what I wanted. I pulled my hand from Davis' grip and let it come to rest on his upper leg. Slowly, I rubbed my hand up and down the smooth twill material that covered his muscled thigh, my hand climbing higher with each upward stroke. The closer I got to his cock, the faster and more irregular his breathing got. And just as I anticipated, he did nothing to stop me.

When my hand finally reached his manhood, I let my fingers lightly graze the swollen bulge, my own cock twitching in response.

"Harry, we can't do this," he breathed. "I'm your doctor."

"What, you don't want me?" I asked, my face the picture of innocence.

"I, um, I mean...you're very attractive, but you're my patient."

"But if I am a consenting adult, it shouldn't matter." I grabbed his hand and placed it on my still covered, but now throbbing member. "And I want you so bad. Can't you see what you do to me?"

He groaned incoherently in response.

"Pretty please," I pleaded.

That must have been all he needed because without warning Davis dropped to his knees in front of me and began unbuckling my pants. Once those were out of the way, he yanked my boxers down in one swift motion, allowing my swollen cock to spring free of the restricting material. It didn't remain uncovered long though.

Davis quickly took my dick in his mouth, his tongue expertly flicking the tip and massaging the underside of the head. He continued to suck and nip, his mouth soon enveloping my entire length. He thrust his head faster and harder, my dick bottoming out in the back of his throat. But despite the way it choked and gagged him, he was dilligent in his work and continued to suck and thrust until I was almost at the point of climax.

My breath began to catch and my body quivered, signalling Davis of my impending orgasm. He tightened his mouth around my shaft, increasing the suction, and began bobbing his head faster and faster on my dick. Within seconds I felt the familiar tingling in the pit of my stomach and before I knew it, I had tangled my fingers in Davis' hair and slammed into his mouth until stream after stream of warm liquid coated the back of his throat.

When I was finally able to catch my breath, I pulled my boxers and pants back on and stood up. I had gotten what I wanted, gotten what I needed--and I was in control again. I opened my door and walked out, leaving a confused Davis in my room, still on his knees.