"Has he shown any improvement under your care, Severus?"

Snape winced at the word 'care'. Yes, he had taken the boy in. Yes, he had healed his injuries and tolerated his insufferable stubbornness for the past week. Still, hearing his actions defined as 'care' gave him an uncomfortable feeling. He was merely acting under orders, wasn't he? 'Care' seemed too bright a word.

"Potter has been concealing his emotions from me. He refuses to discuss his actions... in addition, he has been continually injuring himself in secrecy," said Snape.

"Secrecy, Severus? You mean to tell me that your proficiency in Legilimency has been outmatched by Harry?"

"Certainly not, Albus," interjected Snape, a hint of insult in his voice. "Potter couldn't occlude against a pygmy puff."

"And yet..."

"I allowed him some privacy under strict orders not to betray my trust. I will not be making that mistake again," responded Snape bitterly.

"How very unlike you, Severus. Putting your trust Harry, respecting his wishes. Perhaps he has had a bigger impact on you than you thought!"

Snape opened his mouth to respond, but Dumbledore held up his hand to stop him. Snape bit his tongue angrily. Albus loved to do this, to taunt him with the idea that he and Harry had more in common than he thought, to insinuate that he and Harry were destined to set aside their differences and become the most noble of comrades. But five years had passed since he'd had the pleasure of acquainting himself with Harry in his first potions lesson, and the list of differences had grown too long to be set aside in disregard.

Arrogant, stubborn, and disgustingly heroic, Harry was the spitting image of his dreadful father. Snape would have found a better friend in Colin Creevey.

Though he had to admit, James would not have chosen such an unorthodox coping mechanism.

"I regret to say that my visit is only just," began Dumbledore. "I believe I have discovered something crucial to our fight against Lord Voldemort. I will be leaving the castle again very shortly. I merely wanted to ensure your continued care for the boy in my absence. It is of the utmost importance he recovers."

Albus always tended to use 'the boy' in lieu of Harry's name when discussing the Dark Lord. It hadn't been something gone unnoticed in Snape's history with Dumbledore, but it also hadn't bothered him before now. Sure, it was one of Snape's favorite ways to refer to Harry, but Dumbledore had always given an impression of caring and trustworthiness. Potter was obviously distraught. How would he take to learning that he was a pawn in a war, a mere tool? That his recovery was not to aide himself, but to fulfill his purpose against the Dark Lord, his prophecy?

He would probably take it valiantly. Potter, the hero. Potter, always glad to do whatever Dumbledore asked of him with little questioning. Always glad to protect the world from evil, but never willing to protect himself.

It angered Severus, but he couldn't quite pinpoint the reason.

"Where is Harry now?"

"I have placed him in my quarters for the remainder of the holiday. He has not shown a desirable amount of self-control on his own."

"Very good decision, Severus. I should hope to find you both still alive when I return."

"Any indication of your whereabouts this time, Headmaster?" asked Snape, standing up to leave.

"All will be discussed in due time, my friend! I suspect I will return before the term resumes."

Vague, as always. Snape bid Dumbledore a halfhearted farewell before making his way down the gargoyle staircase.

Snape wasn't entirely sure he expected to see Harry sitting obediently in his office upon his return. He hesitated before opening the door to his own quarters, anticipating an empty room - or worse - a bloody Potter.

The open door revealed neither, however. Harry was laying back in his couch-made-bed, staring wordlessly at the ceiling. Snape glanced around the room. Silverware drawers were open, cabinets were cracked... Harry had been looking. Snape praised himself silently on his thorough cleanse of the room, but couldn't deny his disappointment that the actions had been necessary. He'd probably been gone an hour - could the boy not control himself for such a short time?

"I see you have discovered the lack of sharp objects residing in my office. I admit I am surprised you are still here."

Harry didn't respond. In fact, he had hardly shown any indication that he was aware of Snape's presence at all. He continued to burn holes in the ceiling with his eyes.

Snape took the seat across from Harry, mentally preparing himself for the conversation he was sure Harry was just as reluctant to participate in. How to counsel a child he'd never been able to find civility with? Harder still, how to help him communicate?

"I am well aware of your disinclination to confide in me, Potter. But I assure you that our silent company will be far more awkward and uncomfortable."

"Either way sucks," said Harry quietly, speaking for the first time. Snape raised an eyebrow. They sat in silence for a few moments.

"We shall start simple, then," began Snape, regretting his promise to attempt a conversation before bed. He could have waited until morning, but it had been put off for far too long. "May I ask why you chose to follow my orders and stay here, rather than search for a replacement tool elsewhere?"

"'Cause either way sucks that way, too," Harry mumbled. Snape eyed Harry suspiciously.

"Care to elaborate, Potter?"

"You would just find that and take it away like you take everything away, because y'don't care about making me feel better, you just wanna watch me suffer without my release, that's what you want, and I bet you enjoy it, too, and that's why y'won't send me to Dumbledore, 'cause you like seeing me weak like this, 'cause it makes you feel better, doesn't it, and I'm not s-stupid, and I can see right through you!"

Harry rolled over on the couch to face the wall. Snape sighed quietly, observing the sloppy boy before him.

"You're drunk."

"'Least you aren't falsely accusing me this time."

"That hardly makes this permissible." Snape reached into his bottom cabinet and pulled out the noticeably emptier liquor bottle. "Merlin, Potter, are you capable of doing anythingin moderation?"

"Potions homework."

Had it not been uttered by a drunken and burdensome Harry Potter, Snape might have smiled. Laughed, even. But he would not humor the boy. His behavior could not be tolerated. Yet, despite the scenario, Snape wasn't angry. Annoyed, perhaps, that Potter had the nerve to self-medicate with stolen Firewhiskey, but not angry. There was more on Snape's mind than his lost liquor.

"Your actions tonight suggest there is more to your problem than our previous conversations," said Snape, vanishing the Firewhiskey in the same manner as the pile of sharp objects.

"Mmm."

"That you don't just have an obsession with mutilating your skin."

Harry sat up to face Snape once more, keeping his arm against the couch to steady his posture. "It's not like I'm a fucking alcoholic! Stop over-analyzing everything like you know me, 'cause you don't!"

"Why did you decide to drink yourself into oblivion in my absence?"

"I was pissed off!"

"Why were you upset?"

"You're making me stay me here!"

"Had I forgotten a knife, would I have returned to find you sober and bleeding, Potter?"

There was silence as Harry considered the question. "I don't... I wasn't really planning on using anything if I found it, I just wanted to know it was there... just in case..."

"So what happened when you discovered there was nothing left?"

"I-I found your Firewhiskey."

The alcohol was almost as good as Veritaserum. Harry's anger and frustration had drained from his face; his arms now crossed in his lap. Though he still didn't seem able to make eye contact, he appeared less reserved than usual.

"You found my Firewhiskey," echoed Snape, attempting to keep his angry retorts to a minimum. It appeared to be his first opportunity at hearing Harry speak freely and honestly, and he didn't want to waste it. To Snape's surprise, Harry continued.

"It was like... frustrating and relieving at the same time, you know? Like, I don't have what I want, but I have something..." Harry's words trailed. He seemed uncertain of how to continue.

"You didn't have an object to hurt yourself with. But you felt you needed to do something?"

"I... I guess so, yeah..."

"So you essentially replaced your self-mutilation with excessive alcohol."

"I'd rather have a razor blade," muttered Harry. His words didn't seem to be directed at Snape, however. Perhaps it was more of a drunken self-analysis.

"How you rank your poor coping mechanisms is irrelevant. What is relevant is the fact that you have proven yourself incapable of dealing with negative experiences in a healthy manner. Why do you feel you always need to dosomething while upset?"

"Because... I don't know. Because it's something that I cando, you know? Like I can't do anything else, like... I can't bring anybody back to life, I can't go back and fix everything, I can't change anything... and it's just really frustrating to know that there's nothing I can do. But there's stuff I can do, still, you know? Like cut. Or ... or drink, I guess," admitted Harry.

His slurred ramblings were poorly constructed, yet slightly logical.

Snape understood his reasoning.

It had been so long ago, but the feelings were still there, still hanging over him like a boulder threatening to release at any moment. What if he hadn't gone to Dumbledore? Would he be a sodding mess like Potter, destroying himself with anything he could get his hands on? The guilt was immensely overpowering, but he wasn't carving lines into his arms. The boy wanted to dosomething? Perhaps he could suggest Harry submit his will to Albus, to turn to a life of hidden loyalties, constant anger, and vengeance.

But Harry had that purpose already, didn't he? He'd been fighting off the Dark Lord since his arrival at Hogwarts, had made a conscious promise to do whatever it took to defeat him. And yet here he was, intoxicated and injured, still unable to direct his emotional suffering anywhere productive.

Maybe it was a teenaged adolescent thing. He hadn't matured enough to understand the proper way to deal with pain.

But had Severus really found a better way? He wasn't using physical coping mechanisms, no, but he wasn't necessarily facing his emotions, either. He'd put his focus into destroying the enemy, but he hadn't made peace with the loss of Lily... tormenting students, pushing everyone away... holding a slightly unjustified grudge toward Harry...

He felt empty.

No.

This wasn't about him. This was about Potter. Arrogant, rude, insolentPotter. Harry Potter, the boy who lived, not appreciating his fortune, not appreciating what had taken place to ensure his survival...

Potter needed fixing.

Potter, who was gripping his stomach in an unusual manner, his face appearing greener than usual...

"Toilet, Potter! The toilet! If you choose to vomit on my furniture, so help me..." Snape stood up and pulled Harry to his feet, directing him toward the bathroom. Harry stumbled clumsily to the door, barely opening it in time to rush to the toilet and violenty empty his stomach contents.

Snape turned away from the sight in disgust, returning to his chair to await Harry's return. It was several minutes before he heard the sound of the flushing toilet and the awkward footsteps approaching him.

"I don't... s-suppose you could give me a potion to-"

"And leave you without consequence? No, Harry, I don't suppose I could," said Snape, a hint of smugness in his voice. "The only thing I will provide you to drink is water, and you would do well to finish it entirely." He conjured a larger goblet than usual, and offered Harry a cloth napkin for his face.

Harry sighed dramatically and flopped back on the couch. He grabbed the goblet and drank deeply from it. Once he was finished, he placed it on the floor next to him and laid on his back, keeping his arms on his stomach.

"I feel like shit."

"I'm not surprised."

"It was supposed to make me feel better," said Harry quietly.

"Perhaps you should commit this experience to memory."

"Supposing I have that in the morning..."

"I don't plan on allowing you to forget," replied Snape. "I suggest you get some sleep. You aren't likely to feel extraordinary in the morning, and a lack of rest will not improve matters." He stood up and walked towards his bedroom.

"Professor?"

"Yes, Potter?"

"Thanks for... thanks..."

"Good night, Potter." He disappeared into his room, allowing Harry some privacy to change into his pajamas.