DISCLAIMER: Considering this was rejected the first time I submitted it on MNFF (though the second time worked, haha), I really am not JK Rowling and nothing you recognise belongs to me.

Warnings: Non-consensual sex, mental disorders, self-injury, strong profanity

Author's Chapter Notes:

I would like to thank my two wonderful Betas- Alice/TheBlackSister and Ari/Royarifor taking out time to go through this fic and make it the way it is. They have been really, really helpful with their views and opinions regarding this fic, which deals with situations that are far beyond my comfort bubble.

I would also like to thank Alex/welshdevondragon for her advice on the topic that this fic deals with. Without that e-mail from her, I was just a very discouraged mess with half a mind to give up on this.

Next, I'd like to huggle Carole/Equinox Chick for her own set of opinions over AIM andNadia/majestic_ginny for her encouragement and viewpoints over FB chat.

Last, but definitely not the least, I'd like to thank Jess/ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor for taking out a considerable amount of her time to answer all my questions (my server ditched me and I didn't get the rejection letter, so this WAS really nice of her) and pointing out my mistakes the first time I'd submitted this piece, and helping me out a lot in the process.

Thank you, all you guys! I so needed all the opinions, inputs and encouragements to take this on! This is like… the heaviest topic I've ever written about. All of you are amazing!

To the readers: This fic is not graphic, but it deals with very sensitive topics, all of which have been indicated by the warnings. If you're not comfortable with those topics, I'd suggest you don't read this. I really wouldn't want you to read something you're not prepared for. :)

The Maimed Reflection

Today is very special to the world: it's the thirty-first of July. It's a special day for my family too. In fact, this day is more special to us than it is for most others because, while everyone else celebrates the birthday of a well-known Wizarding hero, we're celebrating Dad's forty-seventh birthday. Yes, I mean what you think I do: my father is the aforementioned Wizarding hero, Harry Potter.

My name is Albus Severus Potter, and I sit at my desk, with my journal- an inanimate object with which I have developed an extraordinary friendship in the last year- lying on the table-top uselessly. I hold a quill in one hand as I contemplate writing on a piece of parchment. Beside the parchment sits a knife. I have decided that today is going to be the last day of my life.

You may wonder what went wrong. Am I really so selfish that I am considering killing myself on my own father's birthday? Do I care about no one? Suicide is evil and cowardly; it is a selfish thing to do, right? Well, yes, I know that. But to be blunt, I don't think I have a family anymore. I stopped talking to all of them last year and have isolated myself completely. It's not like they haven't tried to get me back: Mum and Dad tried to pay me several visits; James and Lily tried to contact me too; Aunt Hermione was especially persistent in trying to get me to talk, even though Uncle Ron told her not to force me too much; and Rosie and Hugo also tried to coax me into talking to them. I have been very sure, though that I can't face any of them again. When they catch me at the Ministry, they still try to talk, but I avoid them. I have distanced myself from my friends too and have not had a girlfriend in a while. Anyway, ever since I cut myself away from everyone, my only family, partner, friend, and companion has been my journal.

At the present moment, I get up from my desk and move to the window. It's twilight; a cool breeze blows at my face, pushing back my black fringe and revealing my scar-less forehead- the only noticeable physical difference between me and my father. Besides that one difference, many people think I'm very much like my father, but I can't disagree more. I am not like him. For starters, my father would never think of committing suicide. He has already faced so many things so bravely that nothing in this world could prompt him to take this ultimate step. And the other reason I'm not like Harry Potter is that he would never have been the victim of what happened to me.

An alarm goes off from my bedside cabinet, and I realise that it is time for my daily ritual. Should I go on with it today, on the last day of my life? It is necessary, I realise. It might be the last day of my life, but I have to do it. Besides, though it's unpleasant, I am quite used to it by now, and this will be the last time, anyway.

I head to the kitchen and heat up some water for myself. I then pull out the salt jar from a cabinet and wait for the water to reach the correct temperature. When it does, I pour it into a tall glass and add a few spoons of salt into it. The salt dissolves rather quickly and, picking up the glass with one hand, I pinch my nose with the other and drink up all the water in one go. When I have finished drinking from the glass, I'm a little uncomfortable, but not nauseous as yet. So I wash the glass and wait for the effects of the salt water kick in. I return to my room and, when I do so, I catch a glimpse of myself in my mirror.

I look sick and pale-maimed, even. At twenty-one, I'm supposed to look fuller, younger and better but I don't. My black hair lies limp and lustreless, and my eyes are sunken and gaunt. My cheeks are hollow and I look too thin to be allowed. I remember two weeks ago, when I brushed into Mum at the Ministry. She had tears in her eyes when she saw me like this, and she asked what was wrong. I couldn't talk to her. Anyway, I don't expect to look better than this considering I've stopped eating or sleeping properly. I have no strength to revisit nightmares in the time that I sleep- hence, I try to stay awake as much as possible. As for food… I prefer hunger to anything else. The thought of a loaded stomach and the subsequent use of the bathroom scares me, which is why I have my daily ritual of getting my food out the other way. Well, now you have the reason for my ritual. Bet you thought I was some weird-arse bulimic bloke. Well, I'm not, thank you very much. Bulimia is a disorder of womankind and I'm no woman.

I am no woman.

Then why did this happen to me…?

The induced nausea suddenly makes itself evident and, as I run to the toilet, my mind automatically takes me back to this very day a year ago, when my life took a turn for the worst.

31st July, 2026.

The evening of the thirty-first of July, the sky is filled with a display of fireworks. Pubs are overflowing with people who have come in for free Firewhiskey. There are small parties everywhere. The Wizarding world celebrates the birthday of their hero with great pomp and cheer.

On this very evening, there is a small gathering at a house in Godric's Hollow. Harry Potter celebrates his forty-sixth birthday in a small, private ceremony with the people whose company he prefers the most. The gigantic Weasley family luncheon with Molly Weasley's exquisite cooking has already filled everybody to the brim, so this time the menu is small and light. It's time for the other yearly family gathering.

Albus chats animatedly with Rose Weasley, the cousin he is closest to, as James introduces his fiancée to everyone and Lily cuddles up in a corner with her long-term boyfriend, Scorpius Malfoy. Hugo is listening to the WWN, which is featuring his favourite wizard band. Harry and Ron sit on the couch, talking and holding goblets of Firewhiskey in their hands, while Ginny and Hermione laugh about in the kitchen. It is a rather cheerful gathering, and everyone is having fun.

Eventually, dinner is served, a gigantic cake is cut, gifts are unwrapped, and a few family games are played. Then all the members of the gathering decide to part, for it is quite late already. Albus, James, Lily, Hugo, and Rose all live in flats of their own, now that they work. They leave the house with Ron and Hermione and Apparate to their respective places. Albus turns on one heel and materialises almost immediately in a secluded lane close to his apartment building. It is a five-minute walk from here, but he cannot Apparate any closer to his place for fear of being noticed by Muggles. Nevertheless, he strides towards his apartment building, his desire to curl up in bed overcoming his usual caution.

He has walked a few paces when he realises that he is being followed. His hand goes into his coat and clutches at his wand. He takes a deep breath and continues to walk as the footsteps get louder and louder. By now, Albus has realised that he is being followed by more than one person-maybe three or four of them. He thinks they're probably those Muggle muggers, and he will not use his wand unless and until absolutely necessary. And then he hears a voice.

"Looong live 'Arry Potter!"

Wizard muggers. Excellent. But the voice sounds drunk to Albus, and he is sure he can tackle them. However, he isn't the kind to start a duel without reason- not when he is outnumbered. And then the drunk voice speaks again.

"Don' you know 'Arry Potter, pretty?"

Great. They think Albus is a woman. It's dark, and they are of the idea that they have a woman to pervert about with. Well, he thinks to himself, that's really their problem. Albus takes long strides to reach his place soon enough lest one of these perverts try to touch him, thinking he's a woman. He manages only to take a step before the footsteps become fast and a hand catches his free hand. "I'm talking to you, pretty."

Albus turns around immediately with his wand in hand. He lights it up to see three drunk-looking men, one of whom is catching his hand. He smiles to reveal yellow teeth. "You're prettier than we thought you were. Let's go have a fuck. What d'yeh say?"

Albus opens his mouth to hex the bloke when, suddenly, his whole body freezes and he falls to the ground. And, to his utter shock, a fourth man emerges and chuckles. "Looks like we're all having some fun today."

Albus wonders if he's asleep and stuck in some kind of a horrible nightmare but a terrible voice in his head tells him that it's real. He wants to scream, or cry out. Maybe a non-verbal spell would work… But he's terrible at non-verbal spells and there is no way he can call out to anyone while under a Total Body Bind. His heart races as he is dragged against the wall and searched. His wand is taken away from him; then one of the men clutches him tightly around the waist before turning on one heel.

They emerge outside a seedy-looking apartment building and Albus is taken up to a tiny, dirty flat on the third floor. The men come into the light and Albus tries to see if any of the faces are familiar, but they aren't. Through his fear, he feels bitter relief: just an inkling of it. He doesn't know these men- they are strangers, not people he knows and respects. But they seem to have no idea that they're attacking Albus Potter. Then the man with yellow teeth bends over and turns Albus around, so he is lying face-down.

Albus wants to scream again… please… no… he thinks, hoping against hope that something will stop these people from what they're about to do. Please, someone… get me out of here, save me! Do something! Anything! Help! But he knows that his silent pleading will never reach anyone. Albus's eyes are filling up with tears as his pants are pulled down slowly. And then follows terrible, terrible pain.

I am shaking on the cold bathroom floor. My stomach and throat burn from repeated vomiting, and cold sweat dribbles down my face. I am weak and useless, I realise for the umpteenth time. I couldn't even fend for myself. I let those men rape me. I let them render me completely powerless, and they enjoyed every moment of it.

It turns out they did recognise me the next morning. When I awoke from my unconsciousness, they were discussing how badly they had fucked up by raping me. And then they left me in the same alley where I was attacked and scarpered. I can't forget how I felt that day. My whole body was in agony. I couldn't sit, but I couldn't stand for too long, either. I didn't want to lie down because I couldn't sleep and just lying down, doing nothing, made my mind wander to thoughts of the previous night.

I didn't know if I should report what had happened or not. But where would I report it anyway? Women report rape to the Auror department, and if I reported it to the Auror department, Dad would find out about it. What would he think of me, then?

The first few days after the incident were characterised by numbness. I couldn't feel anything; I was void of all emotion. And my mind refused to believe that I had been raped. It is impossible for men to be raped. We are the physically strong gender. We can put up fights, we can defend ourselves. Society has always thought and still maintains that men cannot be raped. But I was. Against all impossibilities, I was somehow raped.

I still went to work and maintained a calm, composed exterior. I even dated some women for the first few months, maintaining sexual relations with them to convince myself that I was fine and that I could lead a normal life again. But I really wasn't okay. I was marred beyond recognition.

I couldn't trust anyone- not strangers, not friends. I moved into a new flat, far away from the first one, and slowly pulled myself away from everyone. It was easy to pull back from family, but not from friends, whom I saw at work every day. But I managed to get them off my back. I needed to be alone. No one deserves a total coward like me in their life.

I often fantasised about getting back at my assailants. I went to the alley a month after the incident- once my sense of vulnerability had receded- and waited there for hours so I could have my revenge. But I never saw the men again. The fact that I wasn't able to get my revenge often made me angry, causing me to lose control of my carefully shepherded emotions, and I'd hate myself for a while.

I still hate myself a little. I'm not fit for anything. I'm foolish. I'm not strong enough, or brave enough. The Sorting Hat made a mistake by putting me into Gryffindor. Sometimes, I even think I was born due to some God-forsaken mistake.

I wash my face and exit the bathroom, slumping down on my bed as I do so. I am useless, I tell myself again. I'm a burden to me and everyone else. Mum and Dad would have to worry a lot less if I weren't there. So, I need to go. I need to get out of this world and release them from the burden of caring about me.

I get up and walk up to the table. The knife is still there, its silver blade gleaming in the light from the window. I pick up my quill, dip it in ink and place it on the parchment. My hands are shaking as I start to write, distorting my handwriting.

Dear Mum and Dad,

I think for a minute, before adding more to the line.

Dear Mum and Dad, James, Lily, Aunt Hermione, Uncle Ron, Rose and Hugo,

Too long? I wonder.

No, says a voice in my head. They'll know I cared about them. They'll know I thought about them. They might even forgive me.

Tears are building up in my eyes as I dip my quill into ink again. I wipe my eyes on the back of my hand and write again.

I can only manage two sentences. There's so much more I want to say. To Mum and Dad, to Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron- who have literally been second parents to me-to Rosie, who might actually understand me. But I cannot let them know about these things. I don't want any of them to hate me more than they already must. I just hope that, when my body is taken away, this letter is handed over to them.

I pick up the knife and pull back my sleeves. On my left arm are three cut-marks, all from last year. I remember each of them. I made them all with this very knife. The first was to prove to myself that I was not weak and that I could bear the pain from the cut without complaining or screaming. The second cut was to validate the first one- to prove to myself that the fact that I had borne the pain so well was no fluke. I was strong; I had the power to do so.

The third was because physical pain seemed to divert my mind from mental agony.

But I was in a phase of self-preservation then, and that prevented me from injuring myself more. Those wounds were all inflicted just to prove to myself that I was a man. I didn't want to die.

But I want to now.

The knife shakes in my hand as I place it on the skin above my pulsating artery. Tears are filling up my eyes again. I sniff and take a deep breath. This is it. This is the moment. I have to do it now.

Gritting my teeth, I slash the knife across my wrist. Bright red blood spurts out, spraying most of my table, the journal, the letter and the walls. It hurts like crazy and I'm sobbing, but I can't stop here. My head begins to spin and I'm shaking violently as I take the knife in my other hand and slash my good wrist too.

Meanwhile,

"Dad, guess what Lily and I got you for your birthday? It's Al's new address!"

Harry can't help but grin as he, along with everyone else, prepares to visit Albus. It's been a solid year, and Harry is elated at the prospect of getting to see his younger son after so long. He has no idea why Albus has cut all contact with everyone, but they've always got through things as a family and he's anxious to have them all together again. However, he is not sure if Albus will welcome them all.

"Come on, Dad," says James, handing Harry a slip of parchment with Albus's address on it. "Let's go."

Harry follows James, Rose and Lily as Hugo, Ron, Hermione and Ginny trail after him. Then they Apparate one by one to Albus's apartment building and take the lift to his flat as a group.

There is a sinister aura around the place as Harry and the others walk to Albus's door, one that Harry is used to feeling from his work as an Auror. Ginny knocks at the door. There is no answer. The door seems to be locked from inside, which means Albus is home.

Harry and Ginny both look and each other and wonder aloud about why their son won't answer the door. James, in the meantime, knocks again and there is still no answer. After a few minutes pass, he speaks to everyone. "Stand back."

"James, no," says Ginny sadly. "Let him be…"

"I think there's something wrong, Mum," says James earnestly. "I think we should go in."

"But-"

"Trust me. Al would want us to go in."

"Okay," says Ginny reluctantly.

James aims his wand at the door and they all hear the 'click' as the lock opens. He enters the living room and proceeds into the hall, checking further in the flat. "Al?"

Harry follows his son but stops at the living room. James is right. Something is awfully wrong here. It feels like…

"AL!"

Harry's heart jolts as James comes back. "Dad! A-AL…!"

Harry runs into the bedroom with James just to see Albus slumped over his desk. There's blood everywhere. "Oh Merlin, Al!"

He is by Albus's side, his fingers on Al's carotid pulse, hoping against hope…

There is a weak twitch.

"James, he is alive! Help me lift him!"

He and James lift Albus-blood spattering everywhere-and turn around to see Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Lily, Hugo and Rose make their way to the room. Ginny goes white and her eyes widen at the sight of Albus. Rose and Lily break into tears, and Hermione staggers dangerously, but Ron and Hugo catch her and help her to the living room. Meanwhile, James checks his brother's pulse again. "D-Dad?"

Harry thinks he knows what James has to say, but he won't listen to it. "Come on, the more we delay, the worse-"

"He's dead, Dad. We can't-"

"The hospital, James!"

"Dad!" James has tears in his eyes. "It's useless…"

Harry takes a deep breath, and he and James lower Albus onto the living room floor. James goes and hugs Lily and Hugo, and Ron holds both Rose and Hermione. Harry leans against a wall and slowly slides down to the floor, a buzz of thoughts circling in his head, none of which are clear. Homicide or suicide? Clues? Evidence…?

"He killed himself," says Ginny's unnaturally calm voice as she enters the room with a blood-stained diary and a piece of parchment in her hand. "He l-left a note," she says, and her voice shakes.

"What is it?" Harry askes her.

Ginny clears her throat, but her voice still sounds hoarse as she reads from the piece of parchment:

"Dear Mum, Dad, James, Lily, Aunt Hermione, Uncle Ron, Rose and Hugo,"

She tries to read the rest out once, twice, but her voice catches in her throat each time, and she finally hands over the parchment to Harry. He looks at the letter. It has just one line. Just one.

I'm sorry. I love you.

Al

Harry bites his lip to keep his emotions from pouring out all at once. He can feel pain and grief searing through his chest all at once, threatening to overwhelm him… break him apart and shatter him. What had compelled Albus to take this step? What had tormented him so much?

"I think the answer is in this," Ginny whispers, handing the diary over to Harry as she sits next to him on the floor. Even through her tears, she looks up at Harry with the same blazing look that he has admired for years and years. "We'll s-sort this out together. We will f-find out whatever was upsetting him so m-much that he couldn't even t-talk to us about it," she sniffs. "Promise me that you'll help."

"I will," he says, hugging Ginny before breaking down from the agony.

31st July, 2028.

Harry Potter exits Azkaban prison, having just turned four men in there. He has arrested several people for several crimes, but this is the arrest that feels the best, even more so than arresting Death Eaters after the end of the war. For the first time in a year, Harry feels something close to good.

When he arrives back at his office, Ginny is waiting for him there. She has white lilies in her hand. "Done?"

Harry nods. He and Ginny leave the office together and Apparate to Godric's Hollow. They appear in the graveyard where Harry's parents, and now his son, have been buried. After placing flowers on his parents' graves, Harry kneels down beside Albus's grave and places the lilies next to the headstone. There is a lump in his throat, but Ginny takes his hand and speaks for them both.

"They're in prison, Al. They'll never harm anyone again. You can sleep peacefully now, my baby. We miss you a lot. We love you too, angel. Sleep tight, now…"

The End

Chapter End Notes:

I am indebted to Wikipedia for the extensive amount of information it holds, Google for the number of websites it provided me with so I could read up articles, cases, etc and my previous semester's textbook of Forensic Medicine and Jurisprudence by S.K Singhal, so I could collect information about rape.

Just as a general bit of information: from what I found out, male rape has existed in the eyes of the UK law since 1994.

That said, I hope my story has touched you and if it has (or hasn't), I'd love some comments about what was good, or could be better, or was not working at all. I may not notice the review at once but I will definitely respond to it.

Thank you for reading this!