Curled up in bed, Harry flipped through his journal, reading what he'd written over the past few weeks. He could see progress in his writing from when he'd started, and it seemed to be making a difference in his essays for class. He wished he had a regular muggle-style pen instead of a quill for writing in his journal because it would be much easier for him. He was so surprised about the way detention had gone the night before that he'd written down the whole incident in detail. Snape had been kind to Harry in a way he'd never experienced from the man. He had a funny feeling in his stomach knowing he'd be there with him again that evening, but it wasn't unpleasant. It was odd, and he had no idea what it meant. He'd never had a feeling like that, and no one could ever know because it was unthinkable to want to be in the same room as Snape.

When Ron questioned him about how detention had gone, Harry told him it was rough. Ron started criticizing Snape, calling him a greasy git and a bastard, and for a moment Harry felt like defending the man. It was all so shocking; it was like his world had been turned upside down. But then he'd been feeling that way since the end of last term. He was a completely different person, one who'd been taking refuge in dark feelings and anger. His poetry was rudimentary but it helped him get his feelings out. Often he wrote about hurting himself, and sometimes other people. He worried that Ron might try to read his journal if he left it out, so he kept it with him most of the time or hid it in his trunk under all of his belongings.

"There's a Quidditch match this weekend, Harry," Ron said. "Do you think you might come with us to watch?"

"I might," he answered. "I'll see how I feel on Saturday morning. I've been a bit worn out, and it would be a good chance to have a lie-in. But I'd like to root against Slytherin, that's for sure."

Ron grinned, feeling good that his friend seemed less angry and friendlier. "It's nearly time for dinner," he said. "Do you want to head down to the Great Hall? Hermione's at the library and can meet us down there."

"You know, I'm going to run to the library before dinner," Harry said. "You just reminded me that there's a book I'd like to look for. I'll meet you guys at dinner."

"Okay, mate," Ron snickered. "The library? You've never been one to read for the hell of it. But I'll see you in a bit."

Harry rushed down to the library, and was glad Ron had reminded him it was something he'd wanted to do. He was hoping to find a book on psychology, because it might help him figure out why his moods were so off. He was fairly sure there weren't going to be any Muggle books on the subject, but surely there were wizard psychologists. After all, everyone has problems at times.

Right before time was about to run out and he'd have to leave for dinner he ran into the small section of books about psychology. He quickly looked over the titles and picked out a beginner's book on the topic. The Wizard's Introduction to Psychology sounded perfect. He grabbed it and checked it out of the library. Running down to the Great Hall for dinner he felt pleased with himself for taking the initiative to find such a book. Ron was right, it was a bit out of character for Harry to search out a book to read that wasn't required, but there weren't any people at the school who were experts on it, and he probably wouldn't talk to them about his problems anyway. If he could just fix this on his own everyone might stop looking at him like he was mad.

"Did you find what you were looking for in the library, Harry?" Hermione inquired at dinner. Harry had known she'd be interested in him going to the library.

"Yeah, I did," he answered. Since he didn't want to talk about it he took this opportunity to leave and head for the potions classroom for detention. Today he was five minutes early instead of late, and he waited to enter until it was time. Snape looked up at him and gestured for him to sit at a table in the front of the room. Harry set his bag down and took a seat. He felt glad to be there, and was so surprised and dismayed at the feeling that he frowned.

"Problem, Potter?" Severus asked.

"No, sir," answered Harry.

Severus took a good look at Harry and wondered about the boy's look of dismay. Had something happened or was he disgusted at the idea of being in the same room with him? It wasn't going to be easy to get Harry talking.

"Mr. Potter, tonight you will scrub down these tables and chairs. Use the bucket and brush next to the table where you're sitting," said Severus as he walked over to his desk and sat down with a pile of essays to grade.

Harry picked up the brush and dipped it into the soapy water. He began scrubbing the first table and his thoughts were racing. Later he'd be able to have a look at the psychology book, once everyone else was asleep. Part of him wanted to say something to Snape, but he was afraid. What would he possibly say? If Snape said something cruel it would be too much to handle. But there was no one else to approach. While he couldn't put his finger on why, he had a feeling that Snape would know how he was feeling, and there was no other person around him that might understand. Harry was either feeling so angry he might burst or so sad he wanted to walk away from his life and disappear. This couldn't wait forever, and if he didn't take some sort of action, something bad might happen. Thoughts sometimes came into his head that he knew were plain crazy, like wanting to smash his head against the wall. He didn't do it, but the urge was there, and it was getting harder to stop it from happening.

"Sir?" Harry stood up straight and looked at Snape.

"Yes, Potter?" Severus responded.

"Um, I don't know," Harry backed off. He was losing his nerve. "Never mind." He bent back over and scrubbed the chair he was working on.

"Ask your question." Was it possible that Potter wanted to discuss his problems? Could it be this simple?

"I don't really know how, sir," replied Harry. His stomach had that odd feeling again. Part of him knew the right thing was to spill his guts, but most of him was terrified.

"You don't know how to ask a question? Just spit it out, Potter." Severus cringed internally, knowing that it wouldn't take much to alienate the boy and prevent any progress from being made. His tone couldn't be too harsh. "It's no secret that you're having problems. Is that what you wish to discuss?"

"Yes," Harry answered in nearly a whisper. He looked down at his hands and felt his face redden. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

Severus sat back in his chair, stunned that Potter wanted to talk to him. Why him? Why not someone who'd be sappy and understanding? Like Dumbledore. The idea of Potter discussing problems with his evil Potions Master was inexplicable.

"Sit down," he said to Harry, taking a quick breath.

Harry sat down in a chair and fixed his eyes on a crack in the table. He regretted his actions already; he wasn't prepared for this conversation.

"What do you think is wrong, Potter?" asked Severus.

Harry wanted to have a look at the psychology book. He should have done that first.

"Sir, is it okay if we talk about this tomorrow instead?" Harry felt desperate. He couldn't talk right now, it wasn't okay.

Snape looked at Harry and noted the boy's breathing had quickened and he had a panicked expression. He wanted to force him to talk, but that wasn't the right move. Waiting until tomorrow night would be acceptable since it had taken quite a bit of courage for the boy to even try to have this exchange.

"We will discuss this tomorrow evening," Severus answered. "I expect you to be prepared for a full conversation. In the meantime, you may return to cleaning the tables and chairs."

Flooded with relief, Harry nodded and stood up, getting back to work. He'd rushed into this tonight and didn't know how to explain what was happening. He'd be ready tomorrow. Writing in his journal would help him piece together what he needed to say to Snape. He felt both terrified and comforted by the plan to talk tomorrow night.