He looked around to make sure there was nobody else there; the dormitory was quite empty. He looked back at the mirror, raised it in front of his face with trembling hands and said, loudly and clearly, "Sirius."

His breath misted the surface of the glass. He held the mirror even closer, excitement flooding through him, but the eyes blinking back at him through the fog were definitely his own.

He wiped the mirror again and said, so that every syllable rang clearly through the room, "Sirius Black."

Nothing happened. The frustrated face looking back out of the mirror was still, definitely, his own...

Sirius didn't have his mirror on him when he went through the archway, said a small voice in Harry's head. That's why it's not working...

Harry remained quite still for a moment, then hurled the mirror back into the trunk where it shattered.

Pg. 858, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

Harry felt his insides burning with disappointment, and a sharp pain stabbed his stomach with a cruel truth. He wasn't coming back...

He turned his head towards the trunk and the shattered pieces of the mirror that lay at the bottom, and with a grim humor he couldn't help but think, "That's seven years of bad luck right there."

Harry sighed and knelt down in front of the trunk staring at the shards of glass that were pointing at dangerous angles. He couldn't leave a mess like that; he was supposed to be packing wasn't he? Harry reached down and started to carefully collect the stray pieces of the mirror, each one carefully laid next to him on the floor. He kept up an increasingly fast pace, ready just to get the hell out of that dormitory, when felt a slash of pain on his right wrist.

Two glass pieces had fallen innocently into full view from their hiding place in between the folds of a robe.

"Damn it!" Harry hissed, hastily wiping at two slits on his wrist.

He grabbed the offending pieces, which now had a stain of red on one side and barely noticed when one nicked his finger.

Fifteen shards of glass, and three more slits later (this time on his left wrist because his hand loosing the grip,) Harry stood up and did a quick Reparo, and the mirror was whole again. He pulled his white shirtsleeves down over the accidental cuts and carefully put the mirror on his bedside table.

Ron and Hermione would be wondering where he was, Harry thought, and headed down the stairs of the common room and out the portrait hole. The Fat Lady yelled after him to hurry and that the feast was half done. Harry walked by a few abandoned classrooms, spotting Luna in one of them, putting up a sign asking about lost items. He was lost in his thoughts about Dumbledore and the upcoming summer with the Dursleys when he walked straight into someone with dark robes. Cold black eyes and a hooked nose sneered down at him.

"Potter." Snape spat, not forgetting their earlier meeting in the Entrance Hall that morning.

Harry felt a far too familiar anger rise up in him when he looked at his most loathed teacher. Harry would always feel responsible for Sirius's death, but there was no doubt that Snape had helped it along.

"Excuse me, sir." Harry said, surprisingly with not as much fire as he usually would, "I'm late for the feast."

Snape eyed him suspiciously. Why wasn't the boy spitting at him? Something was wrong.

"Well Potter, do we think that our hero should be able to attend the feast on time, is that it? Wanted to ---"

Harry, who had been staring blankly at his shoes, jerked his head up when Snape tirade came to an abrupt halt. Snape was staring in shock at Harry's arm sleeves, his eyes calculating at a fast speed. Harry looked down and saw, with a bit of embarrassment that the cuts on his arms had bled through his sleeves and a bright red stain had been steadily increasing.

"Oh, that's just- hey!"

Snape darted forward and, dare Harry say it, gently tugged up the sleeves of Harry's dress shirt. He had a grim expression on his face when he saw the five slits on Harry's wrists, and then he carefully rolled the fabric down again.

"You'll be coming with me, Mister Potter." Snape said, and then latched one hand firmly on Harry's upper arm and led him towards the dungeons.

Harry stumbled over his feet as Snape walked at a brisk pace and stated his protests.

"Professor! Professor, sir... please, it was just-"

"Hush," Snape said, taking an even firmer grip and slowing his pace just the tinniest bit so that Harry could keep up. "Don't talk, we'll sort this out." Dumbledore or Pomfrey, Dumbledore or Pomfrey. Bloody Merlin! Why the hell does this always happen to me?

Sort it out? What the bloody hell was going on?! Harry started to voice his protests again but Snape gave him a glare with a strange grimness in his eyes and sped up his pace again.

They finally reached a large oak door a few down from the Potions classroom. Snape muttered something and the door clicked open. Harry was steered into a dark hall with torches on the wall and then a sharp right into what appeared to be a sitting room. Snape lead Harry to a leather couch in the center of the room by a coffee table. Snape tapped the couch once with his wand and then his eyes darted around the room, he flicked his wand again and an ornate dagger that had been sitting in a place setting, disappeared from the mantle as well as a brass letter opener from the table.

Snape turned back to Harry, "Don't move. I'll be back."

Harry watched in bewilderment as a Snape left the room. What the hell was going on? Harry looked around and saw that a small fire had sprung up in a large fireplace grate to the left of the couch and was now crackling merrily. It looked very out of place in the dungeons. The room was made of stone and shelves of books lined the walls, a large oriental rug was on the ground.

Harry snapped his head up as Snape re-entered. He was devoid of his sweeping cloak and now only wore his trousers and a dark shirt and vest. The sleeves were rolled up. He placed a container of what looked to be honey on the low table and sat on Harry's other side. His eyes weren't the dark tunnels they had been just this morning with their customary vindictiveness; they were... concerned?

Snape carefully rolled up Harry's shirtsleeves again and Harry hissed as Snape had to tug a section that had dried to Harry's skin.

"Sorry." Snape said, making sure the fabric stayed secure at Harry's knobby elbows. He took Harry's arms and positioned them, palms upwards, on Harry's lap.

"Mister Potter..." Snape began and then struggled briefly with something internally. "Harry, I imagine that you've been through quite a lot, haven't you?"

Harry, so very lost with the entire situation, shrugged and moved his arms so that they weren't so exposed. Snape's hand snagged Harry's and kept them still.

"Don't move your arms, I need to heal them." Snape said, looking Harry directly in the eye. "Do you understand me?"

Harry nodded dumbly, in awe of Snape being so... so... compassionate? Caring? He couldn't even think of a bloody word!

Snape, one hand keeping Harry's arms immobile, opened the seal on the jar of potion and scooped out a bit with two long fingers. He quickly and steadily applied it to each slit, and Harry noticed that the cuts were actually still bleeding a bit. Snape worked quickly and on the last cut of Harry's right wrist, paused. He leaned further forward so that Harry could feel a few strands of greasy hair graze his arm, and pulled out a sliver of leftover glass.

"Glass!" Snape's eyes were bulging in horror, "You used glass?"

"Professor Snape, I--"

"Shhh," Snape hushed him, pulling in all his emotions and Harry had no doubt that he was occluding at that very moment. "We will settle this, it's alright. I won't judge you and whatever it is you are having problems with, will be settled as well."

Harry saw a glimmer of comprehension before the reality of the situation hit him full force. Snape thought that-

Oh shite...

Snape tapped Harry's wrists and white bandages sprung up around them and wound snuggly around each wrist.

"Now," Snape began, as Harry' s face turned steadily redder in his embarrassment. "I know that Black's death has been a bit much, especially so soon after Diggory--"

"Sir-"

"No, Potter!" Snape said, very worked up now. A pink flush was breaking out at the height of his cheekbones. "Those deaths were not your fault, do you understand me!? Do you know what would have happened had you actually succeeding in taking your own life? Hm? Chaos, Potter! Every person that has worked so hard to keep you alive would be wallowing in guilt. And me, Potter! Me, who has encountered suicides of countless ages and know the signs! If I hadn't found you ---"

"PROFESSOR!"

Snape snapped his mouth shut and immediately looked guilty. "I shouldn't have worked you up so much. I apologize."

"Erm... that's alright." Harry muttered, "But Professor, I wasn't doing what you thought I was."

Snape stilled and looked at Harry in bewilderment. "There's no shame in it, Potter... you were obviously crying out for help and,"

"No! I mean, I wasn't... um... trying to... off myself."

Snape was looking at Harry like he had snails growing out of his head.

"What?" Snape deadpanned.

Harry swallowed convulsively. "I well, you see... there was the mirror and..."

Snape sighed again shook his head. "Start from the beginning."

Harry noticed that Snape still hadn't let go of his wrists, and he twitched them slightly, but Snape would not let go. "I-I found a mirror, from Sirius..." he swallowed thickly. "And it turns out it was a two-way mirror. I could have talked to him anytime I wanted. I was so stupid! I should have just opened the stupid gift and then he wouldn't have gotten killed! It's all my fault!"

And to Harry's horror, his eyes stung with tears and a few dribbled down his cheeks. He bowed his head in shame until he felt a finger hook under his chin and lift up his face.

Snape, who looked pained from his mistake as well as the sign of tears, pushed Harry in the right direction. "How did you cut yourself?"

"I threw the mirror in my trunk and it broke." Harry whispered. "But I couldn't leave it that way, so I picked it all up and put it back together. I hadn't really realized I cut myself that bad..."

Snape let go of Harry's hands and pulled out a dark green handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to Harry, who immediately wiped away his tears.

"It is not your fault that Black or Mr. Diggory died. Yes, not opening the package was a mistake, but it is not only that piece of information that caused" Snape's face looked sour, "Sirius's death."

Harry nodded dumbly and looked back at Snape who seemed to be trying to regain some dignity. "Yes, sir."

"Now," Snape snapped, taking Harry by the arm, with hardly any of the gentleness that he had used earlier, and steered him towards the door. "You will go up to the Great Hall, make that revolting entrance to the feast, and never mention this to anyone ever again. Clear?"

"Perfectly, sir." Harry said, giving a small smile.

Snape glared at him, and opened the door. Harry walked out into the hall, smoothing down his sleeves, and made sure to cover the bloodstains with his dark robe. In the background Harry could just faintly hear his Professor mumbling.

"Why on earth would he be suicidal!? Insolent whelp has everyone wrapped around his bloody finger."

Harry smiled for the first time that day as he walked to the Great Hall. Who knew, maybe there was some hope for him and Snape after all...