Ron's grin looked a little bit wicked as he summoned the game board and watched the pieces hop into their places. "Just think how I could lord it over him if I won!"
"He might be the one to win, you know."
Ron actually laughed, then. "Yeah, but if he does, so what? He's got twenty years' experience on me, something like that. But if I win, that'd really be something!"
Harry couldn't argue with that. For the rest of the evening, he spent time with his friends, making sure they knew that he was all right. That really, everything was perfectly fine.
But the whole time, his gaze kept straying toward the yarn basket across the room.
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Just how long could it take the other boys to go to sleep? Harry rolled over--again--and punched his pillow a little for good measure. Every time he thought it would be safe to sneak out, some small noise or other would prove that Dean or Seamus or Neville was still awake. At least Ron was snoring. The noise usually irritated Harry slightly, but not tonight. He wished they'd all snore, because at least then he would know that nobody would notice when he slipped out of bed and padded over to the door.
More minutes passed. And then still more. It must be past one by now, Harry thought, exasperated. He was on the verge of casting some kind of sleepiness spell, no matter that he didn't really know one, when finally, the room lapsed into a lasting calm and quiet.
Well, except for Ron, who was muttering in his dreams, now. Something about Hermione. Harry didn't stay to listen.
Quietly sliding his feet into the slippers he'd laid out earlier, he scooped up the pile of books on his night table. As he tiptoed to the door, every small noise he made seemed deafening. Worse, the door creaked when he opened it. Harry froze, barely breathing, but nobody seemed to react to the sound.
Stepping over the threshold, he carefully edged the door closed again, holding his breath the whole time.
Once he was down in the common room, privacy spells surrounding him, he felt a lot better. Or maybe he felt better because now, he was just moments away from getting what he needed. His arms were itching something awful by then, but the yarn basket was only a few steps away. Thank God for S.P.E.W.
Now there was a thought he'd never expected to have.
It only took a minute's digging through the basket to find a thick, stout yarn needle. This one was even metal. Perfect . . .
It really was, too. The sight of it threw him straight back to Samhain, since it looked so similar to the needles Lucius Malfoy had used on him then. When Harry tentatively poked it against his palm, he found out that it was dull, though.
Become my sharp metal fear took care of that.
Once the needle was ready, Harry found a seat and spent a moment arranging his books and such so it would look like he was studying if anyone stumbled across him. Hmm, too bad he hadn't thought to grab his invisibility cloak from his trunk. It would have come in handy . . . but since Harry didn't want to risk waking his mates, he decided he'd better not go back upstairs for it, let alone risk an Accio. Summoning charms could be awfully noisy.
His back facing the staircases, then, Harry angled the razor-sharp yarn needle against the skin of his left forearm. The skin was bruised purple in places, at some points pierced raw. But that made sense. Harry had given up on healing charms by then, since they'd stopped working at all. He thought that must have to do with the way he kept on attacking his own flesh, day in and day out.
Healing magic obviously didn't care to be mocked.
The scabs and bruises didn't bother Harry, though. The more times he had to look at them, the more normal they appeared. Not to mention, they were proof of his bravery. Something to be proud of, though of course he couldn't show them to anyone, ever.
When the needle touched his arm, Harry flinched. Huh. He'd thought he was getting over his fear, but it seemed like that only really applied to the tiny needle he'd been using up until now. This new huge one was something else entirely. Harry stopped breathing, his thumb and forefinger trembling, his hands going slick with sweat.
How could he stab himself with such a big needle? It was too much, too fast--
No, he told himself sternly. I've come so far. I can't let fear stop me, not now. I can't let fear be stronger than I am, I just can't.
The strong will vanquish the weak, Harry heard his father's voice saying. Always.
He wasn't going to be weak, he decided, nodding in resolution. Drawing in a deep breath, Harry clenched his eyes shut and plunged the needle downward, straight beneath his skin and into his arm.
Not watching turned out to be a mistake. Or maybe the problem was that his motion had been so sudden. So vicious in intent. At any rate, he'd been holding the needle at a far steeper angle than he'd intended. Instead of skimming beneath the surface of his skin, a sensation he'd more-or-less gotten used to, this big needle had stabbed through skin and into muscle.
Harry had braced himself for the pain, though, so he did manage not to scream. Severus would be proud of him; nothing more than a whimper escaped his lips, pressed tightly together. As whimpers went, though, that was an awfully loud one.
Bloody Hell, that hurt, Harry thought, his arm still throbbing with pain. It was like Samhain all over again. But that was good, right? Harry kept his eyes closed, riding the wave of pain out until it began to fade away. Some, at least.
He could handle this, he told himself, nodding. The first time with the little needle had been the worst, after all. This was bound to be the same.
It wasn't, though. When Harry opened his eyes and saw the needle sticking out of his flesh, that was when the real shock of what he'd done hit him. The thing was enormous. The room seemed to swim around him as he stared at the horrible sight. He went dizzy. For a moment, he actually thought he might pass out. Or sick up. One thing was sure. If he kept pushing on this needle, the way he had on the other one, he'd end up shoving it straight through his arm. And that just wasn't on.
Or at least, not yet.
Clenching his teeth against the pain, Harry pressed his fingers to the needle to pull it out. Twice, his sweaty fingers slipped on the slick metal. The jolt of pain that produced was absolutely sickening. His arm was throbbing again now, worse than before. In fact, it hurt so much that Harry started wondering if he'd stuck the needle into a bone.
Grimacing, he wiggled the needle about a bit to loosen it. Shite, that really hurt! For a moment his vision darkened, but then he managed to blink his way back to full consciousness. For a while he sat there, shaking slightly, trying to recover. And then, trying to figure out what he was going to do. Perhaps a numbing charm . . . he hadn't intended to sink the needle this deeply, after all.
But no, a numbing charm was no good at all! This was supposed to hurt, right. If it didn't hurt, what was there to be afraid of? And the whole idea was to conquer his fears.
And anyway, so what if it hurt? So what if it was excruciating? It wasn't like Voldemort was going to go easy on him, was it? Besides, just how much pain could one needle cause? This probably doesn't hurt any more than those snake bites Draco had to deal with. He didn't only suffer fangs, he had to put up with poison as well.
Harry gave the needle one last twist, whimpering again as he did so. Remembering Draco had really helped him focus. Because those things he'd said downstairs--that had been his dark, evil side coming out, right? He had to squelch it, he just had to! With a final, agonized gasp, Harry yanked the needle free.