Harry Potter, Harry Potter.

His name taunted him. It slithered in like a dark whisper and repeated itself until his brain wanted to deny ownership. The repetition pushed him to the brink of insanity. Where had the blissful moments gone? Where had Harry Potter, savior of the wizarding world, gone off too? The pressure was too much. It was all too much.

He didn't want to be The-Boy-Who-Lived. He wanted to be normal.

Vanquish Voldemort. Vanquish Voldemort.

Couldn't someone else kill him? Couldn't anyone? Why did it just have to be him?

The room was stifling. It was almost as if someone had turned the heat up to scald with the intent of melting his brain.

He felt like he rollerblading down a mountain and he didn't know how to brake.

There was a potion on the table in front of him. It was labeled simply, "Maestus Tenebrae" and it was the bane of his existence.

"Why did I even accept you?" Harry murmured with his face pressed harshly against the table. The glistening vial mocked him with its freedom. It knew that he wanted it.

He couldn't help it. He really couldn't. He touched the vial gently. It made it all go away, but it was much worse than any muggle drug. He would have never taken it, he told himself over and over. He had been desperate.

Desperate for someone to care about Harry, the child,not Harry Potter The Boy-Who-Lived.

Desperate for someone to pull him out of his nightmares.

Desperate for anyone.

He had Hermione and Ron, he loved them, but he was in need of something else, something newer that scared away the ghosts.

Maestus Tenebrae had appeared like a present with a ribbon wrapped daintily around its neck. It was placed on the ledge, a few feet in front of him, as though it was made just for him, and he knew it was. The note that accompanied it seemed innocuous, for a few moments. He knew it was dark, the smell of evil rolled off of it in soft waves. He should have banished it. He should have left it alone. He should have done a lot of things.

"For your troubles. – A Friend." The handwriting was neat. It looked perfect. Everything about it screamed with the perfection he so desperately needed. He ignored the evil and reveled in the refinement.

He took a small swig to begin with. It was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted. He drank it so quickly. It was so amazing, a brilliant high, and the world would always disappear in a gorgeous array of colors. But it wasn't enough.

It was never enough.

His tiny room filled itself with blood, daily. He never escaped the images that had burned so far into his retina. Ghosts danced around the room, mocking him, with their dead smiles. He was starting to fear Voldemort less and less.

Maestus Tenebrae showed up in his room every day at exactly four fifteen P.M. He didn't know who gave it to him or where it came from, and honestly, he didn't care. His Aunt, Uncle, and Cousin, who had dibbed him mental, opted to ignore him entirely. Not that he was complaining. His friend's letters became infrequent because of is lack of response.

You're pathetic. The crows mocked shrilly from somewhere deep in the confines of his brain. Their words never left, all they did was repeat the phrases that drove him unhappier with each uttered syllable. They knew all of his problems. They were deliciously correct with their blood filled beaks, talons that still held remnants of flesh, and their black feathers that seemed to reflect his emotional state. Yes.

They continued their horrific chirping as he closed his eyelids tightly. He wished they would glue themselves together so he would never have to wake up.

Sleep, feel safe for a few moments, but we'll be back.

"Potter." A firm hand was on his shoulder, shaking him back and forth. Who would be bothering him? The ghosts couldn't touch him. The birds couldn't touch him. Had he gone outside? He could feel the grass underneath him.

"Potter, wake up, you idiotic child." The voice spoke again, urgent, unhappy, and impatient. He knew that voice. He always knew that voice.

"Professor Snape?" His voice came out in a choked whisper. Had the crows nestled themselves in his throat to keep him from speaking? He opened his eyes slowly. His eyelids felt like they had been ripped off and then rubbed with salt. His Professor loomed over him. With his eyes narrowed, Snape gripped him by the upper arm and yanked him onto his feet. Harry swayed uneasily at the unexpected change in position. He knew he was going to fall. He could practically feel the ground coming closer, but he stayed upright. Oh, he thought looking at his arm. Snape still had a hold of him.

"Forget how to stand, Potter?" Snape sneered as he let go of Harry's arm, but he kept a bit closer to Harry, just incase Harry had actually forgotten the basic concepts of standing.

Harry still didn't fall, and he was proud of himself. That would show Snape that he could stand without help. A new feeling blossomed in his chest, one that suggested maybe he shouldn't be proud. Tons of muggles, Wizards, and Squibs all knew how to stand. He realized the feeling then, it was embarrassment. Had the potion really messed him up that badly? He was being stupid.

Why were his thoughts so jumbled?

"What do you want?" His voice sounded like it had been dragged through a blender. There was cool breeze on his face, it pulled an uneasy calm through him, causing his flushed face and tangled emotions to merge together into an eerie moment of apathy.

"What I would like to know, Mr. Potter, is why you are currently mingling outside of the forbidden forest?" Snape loomed over him with a foreboding look on his face.

Harry glanced around in horror. How had he managed to get to Hogwarts?

"I don't know, sir." He mumbled. "I just... fell asleep and woke up here."

"That's hard to believe, Mr. Potter." He snarled, his nostrils flaring in a show of anger.

It was all happening too quickly, Harry knew. The world didn't seem quite right. Everything seemed flipped, like he had spent hours spinning in circles with his arms spread out like wings. Even though he knew his arms weren't wings, he imagined they were. In his head, he soared away in a great flap of his wings leaving Snape flabbergasted. He knew it would never happen because Harry Potter had his feet nailed to the ground.

The sky was not for him.

The sky was never for him.

He had even lost his interest in Quidditch, for the time being.

Flying reminded him of Quidditch, Quidditch reminded him of the Triwizard Tournament, and the Triwizard Tournament reminded him that Cedric Diggory was no longer living because of him.

Snape glanced at him, eyebrow raised in question. He was waiting, waiting for Harry Potter to respond, waiting for the boy-who-fucking-lived to yell in rebuttal, but Harry didn't say a word. He wouldn't give the bastard the satisfaction. He wouldn't give that awful man anything.

The birds in his brain cackled selfishly. They fed off the negative emotions. The emotions that ate up his brain like a gas fed fire.

He stared at Snape, with a dead look in his eyes. He turned slowly on his heels, hoping to stay standing, to face the monstrous trees in front of him. The trees of the forbidden forest hovered over them with malice intent. The wind whipped through their limbs causing them to let out long wailing moans of agony. Were they in pain? No, normal trees didn't have normal feelings. It was dark out, with only the moon shinning brightly. Why was Snape out so late? What time was it anyways?

"Potter." Snape's voice drifted up into his brain and mixed in with the miserable thoughts crouching there. "How did you get here?"

"I told you, sir." He snapped. His breath felt like fire. What was Snape's problem? "I fell asleep and ended up here. It's not my bloody fault you're deaf."

He could practically feel the waves of bone shattering anger coming off of his Professor.

His anger was equally matched, because anger in the form of liquid fire churned in his stomach. He turned back to face Snape. The look in his Professor's eyes whispered the ways he wanted to destroy him. There was such an unaltered hate between them, he knew. There was a small part of him, lying exhausted and malnourished in the pit of his stomach that wanted him to get along with Snape. Then again, that part of him was never going to see the light of day, because it was idiotic.

"Potter." Snape's voice sounded too much like a snake that slivered up his spine and nestled in his brain.

"Snape." He suddenly felt defeated as the energy he had been trying to keep a hold of disappeared.

__________ 

Something was going on, Severus knew. The little dunderhead in front of him seemed so detached from the world. Normally, he only seemed distracted by the normal things that left his green eyes bright and mischievous. This child in front of him was alien, at best. His eyes were glazed over with that tinge only the mentally insane could carry.

He had appeared at Hogwarts, out of the blue. He seemed distraught. He avoided eye contact, was obviously uncomfortable in his own skin, dressed in oversized clothes, and he couldn't keep still. He was twitching, his eyes glanced everywhere but nowhere, and he seemed to be losing his mind.

Severus knew something was wrong, but that didn't stop the anger welling up inside of him at the pertinent and ill-mannered responses he received from the boy. Severus took a deep breath and felt himself calm slowly. He would simply deliver Potter to Dumbledore. He'd let the twinkling old fool take care of the boy. Then, he would be left to head home for the summer, just as he wished to do originally.

"Come, Potter." He said in a boorish manner, hoping that the idiot would understand that his dislike was still very much intact. He started off towards the castle. He hoped Potter didn't forget how to follow simple orders.

Severus had simple needs. He hoped for a quiet night, finishing up a few potions, before retiring quietly. He was due to head home the next day. The school term had ended a few days ago. All of the students had gone home and so had most of the professors, which left only a few professors who lived at Hogwarts or had unfinished business. Leave it to Harry Potter to ruin his plans.

"Professor," Potter spoke up hoarsely behind him. "I think I've missed a few classes today…"

Severus froze mid-step causing one very confused Gryffindor to slam into his back. Why had he not thought this before? He turned swiftly, and stepped a few feet back with his wand pointed at the 'boy'. Why had he not thought that this person might not be Harry Potter? It was all too convenient.

"P-professor?" Potter stood in front of him, staring at him with those large green eyes that taunted him with every look.

_________ 

Harry Potter was holding hands with the devil. He couldn't move. His blood had been exchanged for cement.

Everything was taunting him.

Everyone knew how much of a freak he was. Now Snape knew, more than everyone else.

Snape was going to kill him. It was such a delicious feeling. The feeling that in the next few moments his life would just be gone. There wouldn't be a Harry Potter anymore.

The bat in front of him gripped the wand so tightly his bony fingers had gone white with stress. "Potter, tell me…" Snape began circling him, like a predator would circle its prey. "What is Remus Lupin?"

"What is he…?" Harry asked and his eyebrows furrowed with confusion. "He's a werewolf." Harry knew he should have grabbed his wand from his pocket, but there honestly wasn't a need. He was more than ready to die.

'Come on, Snape.' His mind chanted. 'You know you want to. Kill me.'

His head was pounding viciously. It was almost as if some little man was playing with drums in his mind. He braced himself for the blast.

But nothing came.

Weariness seemed to settle into his bones. It wasn't surprising. He was always tired.

He moved like he was covered in sludge.

Snape lowered his wand. "All right, you blundering idiot. To the castle." And without another word, his Professor started towards Hogwarts.

REALLY? The newly awakened Crows hissed. Their beaks were open in anger. We were so close to getting out of here.

They were livid. The pain in his head doubled as they tried to pick their way out, using their talons and beaks to grab bits of flesh.

Harry couldn't handle it. He started screaming. He felt his fingers grab at the skin on his face. They had to get out. They really had to get out. It hurt so much. They had to go. He pulled and scratched at his skin.

It was too much.

He slumped to the ground and as the world faded black, he saw Snape looming over him.

'Kill me, now.'

0-0-0-0

Harry dreamt he was being carried. The ghostly arms lugged him to a place he didn't know, along a path he'd never know, and with a grace his fourteen-year-old mind couldn't fathom. His sleeping mind thrummed with happiness because, he had never been carried before, even in his sleep. He knew his brain was obviously playing tricks on him to try to fend off his endless loneliness.

This dream was different from his others. He couldn't see anything; he could only hear the hard footsteps of the person, the feel of the soft breathing against his side, and the hot body heat warming him like something he'd never felt before.

He was extremely pleased that this dream was void of the normal monsters and blood. Normally, the high that came from Maestus Tenebrae kept him awake, with a hand on his wand, just in case the monsters crawled out from under his bed.

The footsteps stopped and Harry feared he would wake soon. He was soon deposited onto something soft and silkily.

Harry's eyes fluttered open. The low light in the room caused everything to be coated in shadows and he felt the intense burning in his brain of exhaustion. His eyes were tired, and the chill of the room made him shudder. He opened his mouth, another scream on his lips, when the dark silhouette of someone so unmistakable appeared in his line of vision.

Snape stood over him, glowering at him suspiciously. An unreasonable sense of relief flooded over him.

"Professor, what…?" He began with his voice sounding like sandpaper.

"Hush, Potter." Snape pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance. The man was absolutely dripping with that particular emotion, along with some others that stayed dormant in his eyes until he thought no one was looking. "Go to sleep."

He opened his mouth to say something rude, something so biting his Professor would just wither away from the scorn, but all that came out was a muted yawn.

Snape raised an eyebrow, and held out his hand.

Harry stared at it dumbly.

"Your glasses, Mr. Potter." He curled and uncurled his fingers against his palm quickly in a show of impatience.

Harry pulled his glasses off sluggishly. His joints burned with exhaustion. He handed over his glasses numbly. The day was too much.

He didn't see where Snape placed them, nor did he really care. It would be nicer not to see anyway.

He sank deeper into the silky goodness, and his heavy eyelids closed slowly.

"Goodnight, Potter."

"Mn… Night…" He mumbled, disappearing into the darkness of sleep.

And for once, the ghosts, the ghouls, the haunts, the sadness, and the crows were silent.

 _________

Harry Potter was one of the most irritating and stressful little beings that Severus had ever come in contact with, including Longbottom. He wore Severus out. Potter lead him through a maze, but he knew he was doomed to never leave. Potter's behavior was disconcerting.

 Snape knew he had to watch the boy closely. If anything, more closely than normal because it seemed the boy had drifted off his designated path. He glanced down at the idiot, buried in the covers, seeming peaceful and innocent.

"Such a lie." Severus murmured. "Innocence is easily lost and gained, it seems." But that was also a lie. Even in times of trouble, Potter still seemed to keep some semblance of innocence in his life. Now, it seemed as though the boy had lost it all in a flurry of corruption.

The sleeping Harry Potter was flushed with fever, but still having a certain ease about him in his sleep.

He exited the room quickly. There was too much thinking, not enough action. He needed to speak with the Headmaster. While casting a Tempus charm, he realized it was much too late to go calling after Dumbledore.

A self-critical battle raged within his mind concerning his sanity and feelings for one James Potter that seemed to not affect his begrudging help of one Potter-Spawn. It seemed that no matter what he did, Harry Potter never seemed to leave his radar. Severus had a miserable feeling that he wasn't going to be rid of the boy as soon as he had hoped.