Harry arrived in the Great Hall the following morning just in time to catch his best friends finishing breakfast.

"Oi! 'arry!" Ron waved him over, his mouth full of toast. "Where 'ave you been?"

Harry took the seat beside Hermione, and handed Ron a napkin to wipe the dropping crumbs from his mouth. "Morning, Ron. I've been... I've been in detention with Snape all morning..."

"I don't recall you receiving a detention from Snape, Harry," said Hermione.

"He, erm, caught me in the halls after hours when I'd gone to... erm, sneak food from the house elves."

Hermione narrowed her eyes disapprovingly and muttered something about slave labor. Ron swallowed his toast.

"Damn greasy git," he said, much more clearly. "Giving students detention on holiday. Bet Malfoy would've gotten away with it."

"Yeah," Harry agreed halfheartedly, and quickly changed the subject. "Anything exciting happen this morning?"

"Other than Hermione reading aloud the same conlusion paragraph in her Transfiguration essay repeatedly to check the comprehensiveness?"

"Comprehensibility, Ron, and you'd do well to attempt it once in a while," Hermione corrected. The bickering continued and Harry fell silent. Two weeks left of winter holiday. Two weeks he'd be able to avoid Snape, keeping his dignity in tact. But once the term began once more, how would he survive potions? Would Snape find every excuse to expose his secret to the class? He recalled Snape's lecture on werewolves the day he'd substituted for Lupin a few years back. Just what he needed; a potions class devoted to blood replenishing potions, specifically to be tested on Harry....

"So, are you in?"

Ron's voice snapped him back to reality. "Sure, yeah... I'm in... in what?"

"Quidditch practice after dinner tonight! The snow's clearing up, I'll bet we can get some good practice in before term starts."

"Yeah, I'll be there," Harry said, attempting to make his voice sound excited. It seemed convincing enough for Ron, who continued to chatter about trying out a move he'd seen at the world cup. Harry found this conversation much easier; all he had to do was nod occasionally, and let Ron continue discussing his plans excitedly.

Harry absentmindedly ran his fingers over his bandaged arm. He'd managed to escape Snape's without confrontation this morning. He pretended to be asleep until he heard Snape turn on the shower, and dashed out the chamber before he could be noticed. He was far calmer this morning, having had a good seven hours of sleep the night before, but the feeling of having somebody else know about his secret was enough to keep his stomach tied in a permanent knot. Unable to eat, he opted for the glass of pumpkin juice Hermione had poured for him, continuing to nod at Ron apathetically.

"...and I was thinking, if we lined up the chasers just right-"

"I regret to interrupt what I'm sure would be a superlative strategy, Mr. Weasley," came a silky voice from behind Harry. "However, I wish to have a few words with Mr. Potter here." Harry straightened up in his seat, startled. So much for avoiding Snape.

"Whatever you want to say to him, you can say in front of us! Right, Harry?" Ron declared bravely. Ordinarily, Harry would have appreciated Ron's confidence, however, the circumstances were not quite ordinary. He stared down at his uneaten toast, hoping Snape would be tactful enough to avoid all private subject matter.

"Perhaps..." began Snape, and Harry could feel his black eyes burning holes in the back of his head. "However, I'd appreciate some acknowledgement while speaking to you, Potter."

Harry turned around to face Snape, but did not dare make eye contact.

"You left detention early this morning, Potter," Snape continued. "This is unacceptable. You will return to my office tonight-"

"But we had Quidditch plans!" Ron interrupted. "And anyway, who was Harry really hurting?!"

Snape closed his mouth and looked at Harry thoughtfully. Harry once again avoided his gaze, and concentrated rather harshly on the painting of two wizards playing chess across the hall.

"Potter has disclosed his actions to you, Mr. Weasley? And you understand them to be harmless?"

Move the pawn, thought Harry, focusing on the active chessboard. Destroy the rook with the knight-

"I'll bet if Malfoy had done the same thing, you would've just let him go!"

That's it... now move the queen before the king...

"Should Draco display actions as hazardous as Potter's, I would expect his best friends to display a bit more concern."

Checkmate.

Harry opened his mouth to interrupt the coversation, but Ron spoke first.

"What's so dangerous about sneaking food?! I would expect Malfoy's chubby friends to appreciate a little extra treacle tart!"

Harry released the breath he'd been holding in. Ron continued to glare. Snape, however, seemed to have noticed Harry's sudden relief, and to Harry's great surprise, played along.

"Students are not to be in the halls after curfew, Mr. Weasley, hungry or otherwise. I expect you in my office at seven," he added to Harry before turning around and leaving.

"Greasy git," Ron muttered, and returned to his toast. Hermione, however, was staring at Harry with an odd look on her face.

Before she could question the incident, Harry excused himself for a shower, and left the table hurriedly, feeling Hermione's brown eyes on his back as he sprinted out of the hall.

-------

The hot water scalded Harry's back. He stood in the shower, still and silent, nervously anticipating the questions he'd no doubt receive tonight.

Maybe he could just stay here, in the shower. It was nice, quiet, lonely... void of all confrontation and judgment. Nobody around to bother him. There was plenty of water, and he could live off the rats that occasionally scurried through the cracks in the walls.

Just like his godfather. Living off rodents. His heart sank and settled with the knot in his stomach. He shook the memory out of his mind.

He reached for the nearest bar of soap, but just as he'd grabbed it-

"I see you've managed to avoid ME all semester!"

The bar of soap Harry had been holding slid to the ground, and Harry tripped over it in shock. He landed on his side, quick to cover up all exposed parts as he inched toward the corner of the shower.

"What do you- what are you- what in the hell- GET OUT!" Harry screamed at the young ghost in pigtails, who giggled in response.

"I only wanted to ask you when you'd visit," she admitted woefully. "It's been so lonely at my toilet."

"Myrtle, how many times are you going to sneak up on me while I'm bathing?!" Harry stood up and walked slowly towards the towel rack, taking great care not to reveal himself in the process. He grasped the nearest towel and quickly covered his waist.

"What's that?" Myrtle asked, pointing towards Harry's right arm. "Have you tried to off yourself? Sad, sad, the living never appreciate how good they've got it, while poor Myrtle lacks any choice in the matter!" She began to sob, much to Harry's annoyance. He instinctively jerked his arm behind his back.

"It was an accident," Harry lied. "I was trying to chop up some ingredients in potions, and the knife just slipped."

Myrtle stopped sobbing, and instead gave Harry a disbelieving stare.

"Listen - Myrtle," said Harry, attempting to keep his voice pleasant to avoid another outburst. "Do you think you could keep this between us?"

Myrtle narrowed her eyes, and Harry could see new tears forming. "I don't suppose I've got anyone to tell, have I? All alone in my toilet, nobody to gossip with... or about."

"I'll visit you, Myrtle, I promise - just please don't mention this to anybody."

Myrtle gave Harry a half smile, and turned around to leave. Just before she reached her exit, she looked over at Harry once more.

"If you ever manage to do it right... you can always stay with me in my toilet, you know."

And then she was gone.

First Dumbledore, then Snape, and now Myrtle - he'd gone ages without being discovered, and suddenly it felt like Harry's coping mechanism had headlined the Daily Prophet.

It's not like it's hurting anybody else. Would they rather me be a sodding mess all the time?! Behaving like Moaning Myrtle, sobbing at anybody who will listen?

He slid down the wall and sat, staring at the faint white lines on his hand.

I must not tell lies.

The words that had taught him to fight through emotion. Umbridge had been unbearable, but Harry withstood the pain to remain prideful, and refused to let her see his discomfort. Enough detentions had brought about a new revelation - it was a distraction, a way to avoid an outburst. He'd focused on the repeated mutilation rather than the horrid woman that sat behind the desk in front of him.

The thin lines of blood, the pain, resulting from the etching he was creating with his own quill; it became his way of escaping all else.

So it was no surprise, really. No surprise that once Sirius had gone, and his broken mirror remained - all alone in Dudley's second bedroom, he took to scratching his wrists to avoid the finality of it all; to escape and to forget.

And then it became habit. Scratching, then cutting, and now... slitting? Slicing?

While physical pain had been useful in helping Harry avoid emotional pain and realization, it was becoming harder and harder to avoid the consequences of his self injury.

Harry stood up, dressed himself, and made his way up to the common room to find something new to wrap his arm with -- he'd thrown away the bandages to take that shower.

--

The chamber door remained as closed and unwelcoming as it had the night before. He'd reached to knock on three separate occasions, but dropped his fist as suddenly as he'd raised it.

Harry wasn't sure how long he'd been standing in front of Snape's office, but he just couldn't bring himself to enter. Either Snape was going to punish him, or try and help him take away his means of release - neither sounded too inviting.

He considered leaving, hiding in his room for as long as he could, but a creaking door told Harry he'd waited a bit too long.

"Fifteen past the hour, Mr. Potter," said the icy voice inside. "I believe you're late."

Harry remained silent, biting the inside of his lip in a feeble attempt to calm himself.

"I suppose it's also plausible that you were precisely on time, and have been standing here for fifteen minutes deciding whether or not to enter," Snape added knowingly.

"I wanted to leave. I don't really have anything to say."

"Yet here you remain."

Harry was saved the trouble of responding, as it didn't seem Snape was expecting anything of the sort; he opened the door to his office, and beckoned Harry inside.