........

It was hard to get through the remainder of the week without his friends. Time seemed to drag on twice as slowly without the company. Harry spent a majority of his time in his dormitory, absendmindedly flipping through his school books and munching on various wizard sweets for meals. He'd occasionally attempt to survive a dinner in the Great Hall, but Ron's constant glares and Hermione's sobbing were too much to bear.

He missed them. And it didn't help that Snape still had Sirius's mirror. It had been nearly three days since he'd placed the shard in the palm of Snape's hand.

He missed it. He missed the easy escape, the quick release. He missed having a plan for being emotionally distraught. He missed knowing exactly what to do in times of weakness. The automatic response. The solution.

The meetings with Snape weren't entirely helpful. He'd sat through two sessions with his lips glued together, only parting to mutter 'yeah's and 'I guess'es when the times seemed appropriate. Once he'd almost dared himself to ask Snape what the hell he was supposed to replace the cutting with, but that would have required Harry to speak, and these days in Gryffindor tower surrounded by silence were not helping his communication ability one bit.

And worse still, the cuts on his thigh were beginning to heal. Nothing left to stare at when he was feeling particularly needy. Watching them heal felt like the ending of a book that he just wasn't ready to put down.

Hagrid had written Harry twice, but he hadn't bothered opening the letters. He couldn't bring himself to explain why he wasn't with his best friends, or why he was suddenly so absent from most of the school grounds.

So here was Sunday. The first day of the last week of the holiday. And today was no different.

Harry woke to the sound of the door shutting. Clearly, the last of the boys had left the room. He turned to a more comfortable position, but did not open his eyes. It was much nicer keeping them closed, not allowing reality to register through sight. He could pretend that Ron was awake in his bunk, waiting for Harry to rush down to breakfast. He could pretend that he still had Hermione waiting for them in the-

Creak.

Harry's eyes popped open automatically at the sound of the floorboard.

"H- Hermione?!"

Indeed it was. The door wasn't somebody leaving after all.

Hermione Granger stood beside Harry's bed, staring at him with watery eyes. She was still in her nightgown, and it looked as though she hadn't slept very much.

"Ron said I shouldn't bother, but I just... this is just so..."

And Hermione, the most brilliant student at Hogwarts, was at a loss for words. She left her sentence to trail as she flew towards Harry and locked him in a very tight embrace. When she finally released Harry, the water in her eyes was now trailing down her cheeks.

Harry wasn't sure what to say. He wanted to hug her back, to tell her he was sorry, to mend their friendship, but the words would not come.

But Hermione, still the most brilliant student at Hogwarts, could not read minds. She registered Harry's silence for a few moments, and rushed out of the dormitory, her sobbing not quite so silent this time.

He'd hurt her. He'd hurt her worse than he'd hurt her earlier in the week, when he'd told her to mind her own business. She'd come into his room, against Ron's wishes, to try and fix the problem. She'd hugged him, cried for him, and he'd done nothing.

He had to do something.

But what? Go downstairs to breakfast, emotionally unstable and weak? He needed to calm down. He needed to...

Yes.

Perhaps Sirius's mirror was gone, but his coping mechanism was not. Why hadn't he thought of it before? A potions knife? A steak knife? Another piece of mirror?

Harry jumped out of bed and dug through his trunk at top speed. His panic increased as he realized the lack of sharp objects he possessed. He didn't have a potions knife, he'd always borrowed Hermione's. A steak knife resided in the kitchens, but he didn't have time for that right now. And then he felt it.

Plastic, cheap, and perfect. He pulled out the muggle shaving device he'd nicked from Dudley when puberty had finally hit. He'd completely forgotten he'd had it.

He lowered his pajama pants again and quickly slid the triple bladed razor sideways against his leg. Three very thin parallel red lines formed in response.

It was something, but it couldn't compare to the broken mirror.

Broken.

Harry pulled the plastic handle off of the razor head with ease. He attempted to pry the head apart with his fingernails, but they were not as giving. Frustrated, he bit the sides with his mouth. The plastic split with a gratifying snap. Harry separated the three liberated blades. He chose the cleanest one and drug it across his leg in a quick and thoughtless motion.

The line that formed was indeed red, but not thin at all.

Harry hadn't anticipated the ease of the razor blade. The paper thin sheets of metal were quite different from a large chunk of mirror. Blood pooled on his thigh, threatening to spill onto the floorboards.

Fuck.

He couldn't ask for another blood replenishing potion, could he? He had to stop the bleeding. He frantically pulled off his pajama bottoms and wrapped the leg of them around his injury, pulling tight to increase the pressure.

Several minutes passed and Harry felt the panic die down as his bleeding slowed, allowing the familiar feeling of relief to overcome him.

Finally.

Sure, he'd cut too deep for the second time, but it wasn't his fault. He just wasn't used to the razor, that was all. He could finally regain control. Maybe even talk. He'd found his solution once again.

And Harry, without giving it a second thought, picked up the thin silver blade and tucked it safely inside his trunk.

........

The makeshift pajama bandage fit uncomfortably in the legs of his black school pants. He could feel himself walking differently to allow the fabric more room.

And yet... he'd felt more confident than he'd felt in days, knowing what was tucked inside of his school trunk. The whole idea of cutting seemed more comforting than it had before he'd been caught. His appreciation for the release grew after he'd been without it for several days. Nobody knew, not even Snape, that he still had it. His secret was still his, and he didn't want to lose it again.

He could start over. He would convince Snape that he was done. He would talk to Ron and Hermione, and explain that he had just been upset for a bit. Because now that he could avoid his problems once more, not a damn thing was in his way. Even lunch in the Great Hall sounded like a good plan. He abandoned his History of Magic book and headed downstairs.

Harry rehearsed his apology speech for his friends on the way, feeling confident that he could pull it off. He'd tell them how sorry he was. He'd explain to Hermione that his silence wasn't meant to be hurtful. He'd-

"Potter."

The silky voice put a halt to his mental rehearsal. Harry froze in his tracks, and felt the confidence he'd had not two seconds earlier drain away. He looked up, expecting his eyes to meet the familiar icy glare. However, Snape's eyes did not meet his; Harry was horrified to see them staring curiously at his bulky, pajama-stuffed pant leg.

"Is there any particular reason you are limping through this hallway like the hunchbacked Igor?"

Where had his voice gone? He'd been so prepared earlier. So ready to face everyone. So ready to lie. But he knew it was useless. What could he possibly say to Snape to convince him that it wasn't what it looked like?

Snape's eyes left Harry's leg and met his eyes. He gripped Harry's arm and pulled him towards his office, leaving all plans for rekindling friendships behind.

........

"Clearly I was foolish to trust you. How long has this been going on?"

"Just the once, sir, I-"

"Show me."

It was probably supposed to feel awkward and uncomfortable, lowering your pants in front of a faculty member, but all Harry felt was shame as he revealed his pajama bandage to Snape. He unwrapped the cloth slowly, careful to keep his gaze on the floor.

Snape did not leave to retreive his medical supplies this time. He performed the summoning charm wordlessly, keeping his eyes on Harry's leg.

"This doesn't appear to be 'just the once', Potter," Snape said, motioning towards the healing cuts Harry had performed days earlier.

"That... I did that before I gave you the mirror, but... but not since then!"

"With the very blatant exception of today."

"I... yeah..."

Snape pulled out his wand and muttered healing incantations, holding his hand up to silence Harry's protests. The sting of the injury was quickly replaced with a warm, healing sensation, leaving nothing but a pink patch of skin behind.

"We have played by your rules, Harry, and clearly they have not been adequate. I will no longer stand for 'natural' healing, your privacy, nor the silent meetings we've had this past week."

Snape's unfamiliar usage of his first name had not gone unnoticed, but Harry did not mention it. He nodded slowly, staring woefully at his clean, uninjured thigh. Snape motioned for Harry to redress himself, and returned to his usual position behind the desk.

"Where have you been all week, apart from your visits with me?" Snape asked calmly.

Harry remained silent, trying to recall the potions pattern he'd known so well during their first meeting.

"Where have you been all week?" Snape repeated sternly. "You may relay this information to me verbally, or I shall discover using other methods."

Harry could speak, or be subject to legilimency. He opted for the former.

"I've been in Gryffindor tower," he admitted honestly.

"By yourself? During meals?"

Harry nodded.

"Have your friends not noticed your lack of socialization?"

"We're not speaking at the moment."

"Ah," said Snape. "Definitely an opportune time to be quarreling with your companions."

"I didn't want to tell them what was wrong, I just... they'd be too worried," said Harry quietly.

"And I take it they are showing absolutely no indication of worry at the moment?"

"Well..."

"I see," said Snape. He paused for a moment, a look of consideration on his face. "I fail to see any value in allowing you to waste away in that dormitory of yours, immersing in isolation and self pity. Clearly I cannot trust you with yourself."

"I don't need a babysitter."

"I disagree. And as you feel unable to discuss this with your friends, I will not allow you to return to Gryffindor tower," said Snape.

"You can't-"

"You will stay here."

"What? For how long?!" Harry exclaimed.

"For as long as it takes, Potter! What will come of you returning to your dormitory, spending days and nights unsupervised and distraught? Do you sincerely believe it will aid in your recovery?" replied Snape, leaving his calm tone behind. "You were not able to admit it a few nights prior, but can you now see that this is beyond your control?"

"I just wasn't used to the razor, I-"

"You used a razor blade? A muggle one? And you were able to create such an injury?"

"Well, I had to... had to break it first, but-"

"And how did you manage that?"

Silence fell over them once again. Harry hadn't given it much thought before, but the action seemed utterly desperate when admitted out loud: "...I... with my teeth."

"So you disassembled a muggle shaving tool with your mouth in a reckless effort to slash your leg," summarized Snape, the calm returning to his voice. "How very in control you seem, Potter."

Harry bowed his head shamefully. "I'll just go and get my stuff, then."

"You will not. I don't anticipate any good coming out of you returning to your dormitory just now."

"So what do you want me to do?"

"I believe you were on your way to lunch before I intercepted you," said Snape. He waved his wand lazily, and a tray of sandwiches appeared before Harry. Another casual flick conjured a goblet of water. "I want you to eat, Potter, rehydrate, and then we will see to your trunk."

........

Harry's untidy trunk sat between himself and Snape, open and revealing. Snape was removing wrinkled articles of clothing, a look of disgust on his face. "I should hope that my quarters do not resemble your trunk after your stay," he muttered, dropping a dirty sock into Harry's lap. He continued inspecting the contents, removing sharp objects. Various quills and broken vials had been deemed unfit for Harry's possession, and were placed in a neat pile on Snape's desk. Harry hastily grabbed some of the clothes and began folding.

It took Snape quite a bit of time to dig through Harry's clutter and retreive the tiny blade, but Harry hadn't expected him to miss it; Snape's examination of his trunk contents had been quite thorough. Snape held the blade in his fingers and inspected it for a few moments before placing it on his desk with the rest of the confiscated items. After the remainder of Harry's trunk had been searched, Snape began collecting various objects around his office, adding a few more quills and some potions knives to the pile. He pointed his wand at the collection and uttered a few incomprehensible words. The pile vanished.

"It should be noted that I don't expect a full confiscation to fix you. Regardless, I don't see the profit in leaving these items in your reach."

Harry couldn't argue with Snape's explanation. It made sense, however bothersome it might have been. Watching the pile vanish had made Harry's stomach clench; all of the power and relief he'd felt that morning was now completely gone. He had nothing but his fingernails left, and Harry suspected Snape would vanquish those too if given good reason.

"I have an appointment to attend. I will return in a few hours' time. I trust you will not leave this office in my absence. If I should find out otherwise-"

"I'll stay, sir," promised Harry. It wasn't as though he had anywhere inviting to go, anyway. His plans to talk to Ron and Hermione felt distant and stupid now.

"Very well, Potter. Do not betray my trust again. We will discuss your actions later. I expect a more prolific conversation after dinner." With that, he walked out, leaving Harry alone and determined.

The silverware drawers had been emptied. The bathroom cabinets barren. Harry cursed Snape's meticulousness as he returned to the office, his search through Snape's living quarters fruitless. He didn't even want to cut, really. He just wanted to know something was there, just in case he needed it. For a second, he thought of leaving, but decided it probably wasn't the best option, given the circumstances.

He slumped into Snape's desk chair, defeated. He felt helpless. Locked up, punished, and stuck.

Harry gave Snape's desk drawers one last pitiful attempt, finding nothing of value. Feeling discouraged, he reached the bottom cabinet and pulled. The door did not budge.

Locked?

Interested sparked up in Harry like a lightning bolt. He attempted to pry the door open. Could Sirius's mirror be inside? But it was no use. The cabinet was sturdy, and the lock remained.

Unless...

There was no way. But, for a lack of anything better to do, Harry grabbed his wand and pointed it optimistically at the door.

Alohamora!

The door sprang open as suddenly as if a boggart had been trying to escape. Feeling victorious, Harry reached inside and pulled out its only contents.

The bottle was dusty, but certainly full. The label gleamed in the tiny bit of light in Snape's office.

Firewhiskey.

........