Who: Hannah, Harry, and Zach
What: Self Loathing in Hogwarts
When: A day or two after drinks at the Three Broomsticks
Harry snuck through the halls trying not to make any noise as he moved through the silent corridors. He was aching all over. He’d gone too far, again. He was lucky that the Host was looking out for him otherwise he’d be in worse shape than he already was. He knew better than to get into a situation where he couldn’t give a safe word or mutter an unbinding spell.
Voices coming from further down the corridor made him hurry every excruciating step. He had to get into his rooms before he was seen. He highly doubted that anyone with in the confines of the castle would understand this side of him; the side that donned black leather, ebony silk and kohl eyeliner, the side of Hero, Harry Potter that relished the feel of rough hands on his body, nails and teeth biting into his skin bringing him over and over to the edge of pleasure and pain. No, Hogwarts would be shocked at the depths of his deviancy.
As he turned the corner, just a few feet from his rooms, he could see the shadows of the other night owls lengthening in the dim light. He rushed the short distance across the stone floors and fell heavily against his door as the damage of his night’s activities flared with renewed fire once again.
He whispered his password in one pain filled breath and let the door fall open as he swung his body limply inside. The door shut heavily under his weight and his legs finally gave way underneath him. He slumped against the door breathing heavily from the effort of his flight. It was some time before he could summon the strength to fish his wand from his pocket and accio a vial of healing draught to where he lifelessly sat against the door.