This was the stupidest thing Snape had ever come up with. Harry had no idea what to say to Dumbledore and he was heartily embarrassed. Being made to apologize on paper just felt beyond awkward. He wasn't even sure what Snape wanted him to apologize for.

After a dozen false starts, Harry decided that it didn't need to be a saga, and he'd just stick to the basics. That one sentence had taken him over an hour to write.

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

I am very sorry that my magic got away from me last night and that I shouted at you.

Harry

Of course, it made him sound about five years old.

Every time Harry set quill to parchment, he heard Mrs. Weasley railing at Dumbledore, about how it had been him that sent him to the Dursley's. His skin crawled when he thought of the Minister jovially telling Vernon, the night he'd blown up Marge, that, "It's not unusual for this sort of thing to happen. He doesn't know his own strength. The boy just needs a firm hand. A little discipline usually sorts it out."

Marge had certainly let Vernon know that all Harry needed was a good hiding. She'd also reminded Vernon that it still wasn't against the law to smack your own child (or the one you were guardian of), no matter what any of those namby-pamby, anti-corporal punishment, liberal sorts had to say.

For all that Snape was much scarier than Uncle Vernon, he seemed to be one of those namby pamby, liberal sorts. That thought made Harry snort.

It was so weird the way Snape kept saying that Harry had been abused. Harry wished he'd stop saying that. It was a horrible word that made Harry feel somehow dirty. The only thing the Dursleys ever did that seemed outside the norm to Harry was the cupboard. That was only because they didn't know how to cope with Harry's accidental magic, when he was younger.

A little voice in the back of his head mentioned that he'd never heard of anyone else going for days without food.

There had been two kids at Harry's primary school who'd been taken away from their parents. It was whispered that they'd been abused. When Petunia had heard about these children, she told Dudley not to go near those "little hooligans"; that they were sure to be dangerous, "Coming from a family like that."

She'd remarked darkly to Vernon that evening, that she'd known those kind of families where she grew up, "Surprising to find them in such a good neighborhood." she'd said.

Harry had never thought them dangerous. In fact he'd almost made friends with one, before Dudley had threatened the other boy with a thrashing if he didn't stop being nice to Harry.

From what Mrs. Cook had been saying, Snape came from one of those families.

Shaking his head, he stuck the bit of parchment into an envelope. He didn't seal it, because he assumed Snape wanted to look at it.

A noise from downstairs made him jump. He was so deeply in thought, it took him a second to realize that it was the phone ringing.

He crept to the top of the stairs, sat on the second step down. One of the steps further down creaked and he wasn't sure which one. He could hear just fine from here, though.

"Yes, we're fine." Snape was speaking with some irritation, but he seemed to be attempting to rein it in, "No. Thank you." Snape paused, "That's very kind." pause, "Yes, I do...Of course." another pause, "Yes, he is." Snape said, then shouted "Potter!"

Harry started again, he hadn't thought Snape would know he was up here. He jumped to his feet, "Yes, sir?" he tried to sound innocent, as if he hadn't been eavesdropping for the second time that morning.

"Potter, get down here!"

He jumped up and ran down the stairs. Snape sounded really hacked off.

Snape stood with the phone in hand. He held it out to Harry, "Talk to Granger and assure her that I have not buried you in the back garden." he growled.

Harry realized he'd promised to call the Grangers, "Oh, er, okay." He put the phone up to his ear and Snape swept out of the room, looking ominous even in his dressing gown.

"Hello?" Harry said into the phone.

"Harry?" Hermione said breathlessly, her voice higher pitched than usual, "Are you all right? I don't have an owl, and I was so worried. Then Mum told me she had Professor Snape's phone number. She though it would be all right if we called. I'm not getting you into trouble, am I?"

"No, it's fine." Harry twisted his hands in the phone cord, listening to the Professor's footsteps as he climbed the stairs, "What do you want?" he asked, wincing at how cold he sounded to his own ears, "I mean..." he trailed off. He never used the phone much at the Dursley's, except to take messages.

"I wanted to see how you were." Hermione replied in a small voice, sounding near tears.

Harry cleared his throat in an attempt to sound more normal, "I think I'm okay." he said softly. He remembered that the last time he'd seen Hermione, he'd collapsed into a pathetic heap on the ground. She must think he was mental, "Have you heard from Ron?" he asked, casting about for something to say.

"Yes. He sent me an owl." She said, sounding a little braver, "He says that Ginny is supposed to be well enough to be moved at the weekend."

"That-that's good." Harry said hesitantly. He did not want to talk about Ginny.

Unfortunately Hermione did, "He said that she's breathing on her own, but she still can't speak. We still don't know what happened. Everyone's saying it was an accident, but remember what she said just before she collapsed? She wondered if she brewed it right. Ron reckons that proves it was accidental, but she didn't want anyone to get Madame Pomfrey."

Hermione took a breath. Harry reckoned she'd been wanting to talk about this for days, "I don't know...Mum says that its not uncommon after someone's died for a teenager to do something stupid. I didn't tell her about Ginny and the diary stuff last year. And I certainly didn't tell her about getting petrified." her voice dropped, as though she were afraid of being overheard, "I told her I was in the infirmary with a bad flu, last year. I was afraid she wouldn't let me go back to school."

"Uh-huh." said Harry, when she seemed to be pausing to make sure he was still there. He felt speared through with guilt. He'd been so wrapped up in his own troubles that he hadn't thought once of Ginny since he'd been here. He pulled one of the kitchen chairs over to him so he could sit down.

"She reckons I need to see someone, only she knows I can't see a Muggle. I'd end up locked up." Hermione almost laughed, "She's written to Professor Dumbledore to find one."

"See someone?" asked Harry, confused.

"Yes, like a wizard psychologist or something." Hermione said, far too lightly for Harry's taste.

"Why...why would she want you to see someone like that?" Harry asked cautiously. Perhaps Hermione had been losing it. Maybe that potionGinny had puked all over her had made her a bit mad? Harry didn't think he knew anyone who'd needed to see a psychologist. Harry had heard Petunia talk in hushed tones on the phone, from time to time, about a neighbor who needed to see a psychologist, because she'd "gone 'round the bend".

"Oh, you know." Harry heard his friend sigh, "She says that its a good idea after something traumatic's happened." She made it sound like her mum thought it was normal.

"Oh." On the other hand, the only Muggles he knew well were the Dursleys. Maybe their opinions of psychologists (and the sort of people who saw them) were as reliable as their opinions on wizards.

"So, are you all right?" asked Hermione.

"Yeah. Fine." Harry lied, not knowing what else to say.

"Harry?" Hermione's voice was tentative, as though she wasn't sure how Harry was going to take what she had to say next, "Ron told me...he said that Snuffles...died...saving everyone in the Tower from Sirius Black."

Harry really didn't want to talk about Snuffles, "Listen," Harry said, hurredly, "I don't think Snape wants me talking on the phone. I've got Hedwig, I can just send you a letter, okay?" His voice was thick. It would be easier to talk to Hermione through letters; she wouldn't hear how pathetic he was.

"Oh...all right." Harry knew by the tone of her voice, that she'd be biting her lip.

Harry heard a woman's voice in the background.

"Mum says to have Professor Snape bring you with him, when he comes round her office." Hermione said, her voice bright and forced.

"Oh, erm, okay then." Harry hesitated, "Listen, I have to go. I'll send Hedwig, okay?" He hung up the phone without waiting for her to say goodbye.

His breath caught in his chest. He closed his eyes, resting his fisted hands on his thighs and focused on the feel of his fingernails biting into the palms of his clenched fists. It hurt, but it felt real, in a way that nothing else felt real. Harry felt as though he wasn't even really in his body; if he tried, he could pop right out of the top of his head.

Harry thought of Ginny's face as he'd last seen it, slack and still, her eyes the only thing that seemed alive; Mrs Weasley brushing her hair.

A wave of anger flowed over him. Remembering what Ginny had said to them, Harry couldn't help but think she'd meant to kill herself. How could Ginny have done that? She had everything she could want. Everything Harry had ever wanted.

It seemed Ginny had been more affected by Riddle than any of them had imagined, though. Could it be that he was still working some kind of dark enchantment on her?

Maybe people touched by that kind of darkness couldn't ever get rid of it. Unconsciously, Harry lifted his hand to his forehead.

"Potter?" Snape's smooth voice was dark with concern, startling Harry out of his thoughts.

"What?" Harry's eyes snapped open.

The professor stood in the doorway of the kitchen, leaning on his stick, staring at Harry, "Are you all right?" He'd changed into his Muggle trousers and sweater. He still looked a bit rough, but he'd managed to shave and damp hair hung around his face in tendrils.

"Yeah. I mean...Yes, sir." Harry nodded, trying to sound sure of himself.

Snape looked at him with narrowed eyes, "Hmm." he said, "Did you bring your note?"

"Oh...erm...left it upstairs."

"Go get it then. I have some other letters to send." said Snape.

Harry pounded up the stairs and came back down with it.

The older wizard slowly made his way to the kitchen window. One of the brown school owls was sitting just outside, apparently just waiting to be needed. Snape tied three or four letters to its leg. Harry handed over his letter. Snape took it, pausing a moment to absent-mindedly seal the envelope, without reading it.

"I was planning on sandwiches for lunch." Snape said, when he'd finished, "Unless there's something you'd prefer?" the man sounded as though he were going out of his way to be nice.

Harry shrugged.

Snape made one of those irritable noises in his throat, "Get the bread out, then, Potter."

The rest of the day was quiet. After lunch, Snape went into the the living room, settling down with a stack of books. Bereft of housework to keep him busy, Harry wasn't sure what to do with himself, after the lunch dishes were done. He tentatively joined the professor in the living room, expecting to be told to get out of Snape's sight, but Snape didn't seem object to Harry's presence at all.

Harry sat down on the floor in front of the fire with his back leaning against the settee.

After a while, Snape pulled out his wand. With a few flicks, he set a record on the old fashioned stereo that was housed in a wooden cabinet. Harry hadn't realized there was actually a stereo there and he'd been afraid to open the door, in case something nasty and magical had burst out of it.

It was strange how unmagical Snape's house seemed to be.

The next bit of strangeness was the music Snape listened to. Harry was convinced that Snape would listen to classical music, or else something from the Wizarding World that Harry had never heard before, so he was surprised when the first record Snape put on was anything but; rather it was a some variety of dark, moody rock music.

Harry had no idea what it was, since the Dursleys wouldn't let Harry even listen to the radio, if they were around. It wasn't like what Dudley liked, though. It was what some Muggle teenagers down the street from the Dursley's liked to listen to. The teenagers that used to make Petunia go mad over their purple or pink hair, boys with black made up eyes and girls with nose rings.

By the middle of the afternoon, Harry finished the book he'd started the night he'd gotten to Snape's house, and he was beginning to feel edgy with inactivity. More, there were things in his mind that just wouldn't go away. He had questions he just had to ask, never mind if it sent Snape into a temper. So far, Snape's temper hadn't been any worse than it ever had been, so maybe that had Harry feeling braver.

On the other hand, maybe he was just losing his mind, "Sir?" he asked tentatively.

"Yes, Potter?" asked Snape, without looking up from his book.

Harry took a deep breath, blurting out the question that had been bothering him for the last day and a half, "Were you and my mother...Did you and she...?" his courage failed him as the potion's master looked at him sharply.

"Did we what?" the man asked, his jaw tight and his lips compressed to colorless lines.

"Did my father take my mother away from you?" Harry never did know when to keep his mouth shut.

Snape's eyebrows furrowed, then his face cleared, "No, Potter, I never competed with James Potter for your mother's affections."

"But Mrs. Cook said you were inseparable." Harry persisted, convinced that this would be the reason Snape hated Harry's father, and by extension Harry himself.

Snape closed his book, "You, Weasley and Granger are fairly inseparable. Which of them is your intended?" Snape's mouth quirked up at the corner.

"I...Hermione and me...we're just friends..." Harry found himself babbling. It was far too disturbing to think of Hermione as a girlfriend.

Snape nodded, gravely, "As were your mother and I." The man sighed, "She was a very good friend."

Harry pushed his hair out of his eyes, "I don't know much about her." he admitted, quietly.

"Did Petunia never speak of her?" asked Snape.

Harry shook his head, "She said once to Aunt Marge that she thought my parents had to get married. That their wedding was rushed, because my mum was...you know."

Snape seemed to smirk, "I promise you, Potter, James Potter did not marry your mother because she was pregnant." The expression was gone after an instant and the man's face settled into dour lines, "If the wedding was rushed, it was due to the fact that the Wizarding World was engaged in a war. People tend to do these things more quickly under those circumstances."

"Oh." said Harry, "But, if you were friends..." Snape sat, looking at him coldly, and Harry's courage failed him, "Never mind." he said hastily.

"No, Potter, go on." Said Snape. His tone was soft, not encouraging, but not discouraging either.

"Forget it." Harry crossed his arms over his chest.

Snape tutted but seemed willing to drop the subject.

The day continued in this vein. Harry wrote notes to Hermione and Ron, but he really didn't say much.

Hedwig returned with replies in what seemed a very short time.

Ron's letter told him that Ginny continued to get better. There was a surprising thread of anger in the tone of Ron's update. Ron said that Ginny's potion overdose was an accident, apparently she'd botched the brewing of a Draught of Peace. However, he still was angry at her for taking stupid risks.

Like he was one to talk.

Hermione on the other hand, was convinced that Ginny had done it on purpose. She was more forthcoming in writing than she would have been in person, Harry thought. She sent him a long letter that she must have been working on, even before she spoke to him on the phone, talking about the whole term.

Among other things, Hermione told him that she had gone to Lupin in the first place because Ginny had told her and her brothers "They better do something about Harry before he ends up like Neville."

Apparently, Ginny had been adamant that Harry's behavior was just like Neville's. She'd also made some very dark implications about what happens to people who aren't looked after by their friends, that she wouldn't explain.

So really, Ginny was to blame for Harry's current predicament. To an extent, that made Harry feel better about Ron and Hermione. If Ginny had been winding Hermione and the other Weasleys up, being all guilty about Neville, then it was no wonder they'd gone to Lupin.

Two days passed, and Snape seemed to be getting better, spending more time awake. He still had the thing where he'd randomly drop off, but Harry never made the mistake of trying to shake him awake again.

Harry avoided talking to him, as much as he could, limiting his answers to "Yes, sir" and "No, sir" if at all possible. For some reason, he kept thinking about how Snape knew so much more about his mother than he, Harry, did. It wasn't fair. It was yet another person who knew far more about Harry's life than Harry did.

Snape made the next few meals. Harry was actually surprised that the man wasn't a bad cook. He also apparently liked Muggle food. The next evening he sent Harry out for Indian take away. When Harry admitted he'd never had Indian, the man had merely told him to order himself a mild chicken curry, rather than sneering at him.

Harry had never had so little to do in his life.

Snape didn't even seem to care if he slept till all hours. Which was good, because Harry couldn't sleep more than two hours at a time, without waking up in a cold sweat.

This time, the nightmare sent him rushing to the loo to be sick.

He must have made too much noise, because he immediately heard Snape come out of his bedroom.

"What's the matter, Potter?" sighed the man.

"Nothing. M'fine." Harry muttered, standing up shakily. He felt terribly self concious as he washed his hands and face and rinsed out his mouth.

"Curry not agreeing with you?" Snape sounded almost solicitous.

Harry nodded, looking for an easy out, "It's fine." He said, softly, "No big deal."

Snape hesitated, "You know, Potter, it sometimes does one good to talk about...things."

Harry had to hand it to the man, he was a damned fine actor. That smooth voice was heavy with sympathy and had taken a coaxing tone, as if Harry were a kitten he was trying to talk out from under a car. Harry could almost believe he gave a damn. But it was his Duty, wasn't it? To make sure Harry was okay?

Harry almost laughed out loud, "No. it's fine." he wasn't a bad actor himself, "I just think it's that I never had curry before."

Snape narrowed his eyes, but nodded, "Your mother had a touchy stomach, as well."

Snidely, Harry thought Snape ought to know, given that he and his mother were inseparable. Of course, Harry didn't know the first thing about his mother, did he?

Harry nodded again. He really just wanted to head back to his room.

Snape turned away, "Good night, then Potter, if you don't need anything."

Harry mumbled, "Good night, sir."

He lay back down in bed, but he knew he'd never be able to go back to sleep. This last nightmare had been of Ginny, laying in the Chamber of Secrets, Tom Riddle bending over her form as Hermione tried desperately to get Ginny to breathe again.

Harry wondered how the potion Ginny had used felt. He'd never made a Draught of Peace himself, but it was good for just generally calming. Ginny must have drunk an awful lot to overdose on it. She must have brewed it wrong, then. If it was easy to overdose on, it wouldn't be in a student book. Or at least not outside of the Restricted Section.

He turned over again, restlessly, wondering how it must feel to die. Potions were all very well, but they were too easy to mess up.

Shock at his own train of thought made him pause. It had been at the back of his mind for weeks, but it now was surging forth in an awful black wave. It would be horrible for something to happen to Ginny. She had a huge family who loved her very much. The vision of Mrs Weasley brushing Ginny's hair made Harry's throat ache.

Harry on the other hand...

Well, who did Harry have? Dumbledore had sent him to live with the Dursleys. And then he had sent him back, again and again. Ron and Hermione? They had gone behind his back to the teachers, not even telling him. Anyway, they'd be fine without him, they had their own families. Mrs. Weasley would be upset, but she had Ginny to look after.

Snape? Snape would just be relieved not to have to cope with Harry underfoot.

Really, the only one who'd miss him would be Hedwig, now that Snuffles had gone. Harry sat up, feeling oddly liberated. Very quietly, he crossed over to the desk, picking up quill and parchment.

Dear Professor Snape,

Would you please look after Hedwig? She seems to like you and I know she really appreciates that you let her out at night to hunt. If it's a problem, please see that she gets to Hagrid's.

HP

So, how would one not mess this up?

Harry's thoughts went back to the Astronomy Tower. That was too far away now, and who knew when they were getting back to Hogwarts. He didn't like to leave a mess, so cutting his wrists was probably out.

Could someone Avada Kedavra themselves? Unlikely.

He looked around his room. His trunk sat open with some of his school clothes inside. His eyes fell on the ties. They wouldn't work, but perhaps he had something that would? He dug around the trunk, until he came up with one of his long winter scarves.

The closet had a bar to hang clothes on, that looked very sturdy. Sturdy enough to hold up one scrawny little freak.

He looked at the scarf. He'd heard someone say that hanging was a pretty painless way to die.

He began to twist the scarf around and around, to make it more of a narrow rope. He tied a slip knot, wishing he knew how to do better knots, but this one would serve. As a last precaution, he closed the window, so Hedwig couldn't get in while he was doing this and make a noise that would wake up Snape.

The bar was set at about five foot high. Harry was four foot, eight inches, could he hang himself with four inches of space? He dragged the chair over to the closet. If he tied the noose tight enough, he could just slip off the chair.

He tied the scarf to the bar and stood on the chair, to put his head through the noose.

Feeling like he had when he stood at the top of the Astronomy Tower, he gave the chair a kick away from him.

The noose pulled tight and hard against his throat.

Harry tried to gasp, but there was only the smallest wheeze of air getting past the constriction. His head felt light and like it was going to explode at the same time. His eyes felt as though they were starting from their sockets.

Oh Merlin, it hurt. Why didn't he think it would hurt? The scarf was cutting into his throat. Why did it hurt so much? He scrabbled at his throat frantically, with his fingenails, trying to loosen the horrible tightness. What was he thinking? He couldn't open his eyes or pull his head into a more natural position. He kicked out, trying to find a purchase on the floor or wall. His body wanted to breathe so badly and his head felt as though it was twisting of his neck.

His ears were ringing like a fire alarm and a great roaring black wave was coming to claim him

"Harry!" A distant voice cried.

Miraculously, Harry felt his body lifted in someone's arms, taking the weight from the noose. The scarf vanished.

Harry gasped and coughed, weakly.

"Oh, thank god." that same voice whispered, as whoever-it-was touched the side of his throat.

Harry opened his eyes slightly. His glasses were gone, but he saw the unmistakable outline of Snape.

"Harry? Can you hear me?" Snape demanded.

"Yessir." Harry croaked.

"Come on, let's get you off the floor." Snape's voice was terribly soft, with some sort of tremor in it. He lifted Harry again and put him on the bed, pulling up the bed covers.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. He had not planned on this, not at all. He tried to turn over, to burrow into a blanket cocoon, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him, "Keep still, a moment, Harry." Snape said.

He was dimly aware that Snape was using his wand on him. Not being allowed to turn away, Harry kept his eyes screwed shut. He wanted nothing more than to sink into the floor. Now he really wanted to die.

Snape must summoned something, because Harry heard a bottle uncorked, "I need you to take this, Harry." whispered Snape.

Harry shook his head, violently. He didn't want anything from Snape.

The potions master sighed, "It's a potion for dreamless sleep. We can talk about this in the morning."

Unless it was one of Snape's better poisons, Harry didn't want it, he opened his eyes to glare at Snape, "Don't want it."

The professor was sitting on the edge of Harry's bed, dressed in a blue nightshirt. Apparently he'd been sound asleep when he'd heard Harry. Snape's expression was shadowed, yet somehow more open than Harry had ever seen it before, "That was not a request, Harry." The soft voice was firm.

Harry shook his head again.

Snape sighed, sounding exhausted. He pointed his wand at the potion and muttered an incantation.

From the momentary coolness in Harry's stomach, he realized Snape had spelled the potion into him.

"You bastard." he spat.

"Yes, well, you'll be alive to discuss my parentage in the morning." Snape said, recovering some of his snark.

Harry's eyes fell closed.