The morning was awful.

Or was it the afternoon?

Harry pulled the blankets over his head in a feeble attempt to shield himself from sound and light. His head throbbed fiercely, and his stomach felt like he'd been eating nothing but Hagrid's cooking for days. He rolled over on his back to relieve some pressure from his stomach. Harry longed to stay there all day; his body felt unwilling to remove itself from the warmth of the bed. And a noble plan it might have been, were his bladder not filled to bursting.

He sat up slowly and clumsily, his eyes so narrow they appeared closed. He smacked his hand against the side table in search of his glasses, but couldn't seem to locate them.

"Shit," he groaned.

And his glasses magically appeared in his hand. He shoved them on his face sloppily, and the room began to sharpen. Professor Snape stood before him.

Harry realized he'd probably been the one to hand him his glasses. It was becoming more and more awkward, accepting help from Snape. It was sort of nice to have somebody know and understand his secret, but the years of hatred he'd been building for the potions master was not easy to forget.

Hatred. Or was he just using it to mask his embarrassment?

"I see you've finally gained consciousness. I almost contacted Poppy."

"Oh, she's back, is she?" replied Harry. He had attempted to come off politely, but the pains in his head and stomach were interfering with his voice.

"Just this morning."

"Well, at least I won't have to bother you next time I'm bleeding to death," suggested Harry, rather darkly.

"Correct, as you should no longer find yourself in such a situation," came Snape's retort, quick and smart as ever. Harry shot him an annoyed look before making his way to the bathroom to relieve himself.

He returned to find his bedding had vanished. He groaned loudly before tossing himself on the empty couch, attempting to pull his night robes over his head for warmth.

"It's nearly three in the afternoon, Potter. I've been kind enough."

"One more hour."

"No."

"Half an hour?"

"No."

"Five minutes..."

"Quit being childish. Sit up."

Harry rolled over and narrowed his eyes at Snape, who was standing across from him with his arms folded. "I don't feel good."

"Of course you don't feel well, Potter, you nearly drained the bottle last night. Now sit up. Unless you'd rather not take this potion..." Snape dangled the tiny bottle delicately from his fingertips before clasping it back in his palm threateningly.

Seriously?

"I thought you said you weren't going to give me that," said Harry, disbelievingly.

"Keep testing me, Potter."

"I- okay, yeah, I'll sit up..." Harry shifted himself upright, holding his stomach. He reached for the vial of relief clutched in Snape's hand, but Snape pulled it back.

"You will not steal any more of my possessions."

"Yes, sir."

"I will not return to my chamber again to find you so ridiculously inebriated."

"Yes, sir."

"Very well." Snape handed the potion to Harry, who eagerly finished it in one gulp.

Harry's headache vanished. He felt the churning in his stomach come to a halt, and his mouth was no longer dry. A warm, comforting sensation coursed through his veins. It was as if he'd just woken up from an incredible nap... a sort of long, soothing, and healing slumber.

"Feel better?"

"Brilliant!" exclaimed Harry, feeling too bright to shield his happiness. "Erm... thank you, sir."

"Should I find you like that again, you will not be so lucky," warned Snape. "And no need for gratitude just yet. I have given you a restoration potion because I don't believe we have the luxury of a wasted day to illness. As I have been so generous to rid you of your terrible hangover, I expect you to use the remainder of the day to return the favor."

"You want me to cure yourterrible hangover?"

"Don't be stupid, boy."

"Then-"

"I want you to go back to Gryffindor tower," began Snape, pausing shortly. He wanted until Harry's eyes met his before continuing. "I want you to go to Gryffindor tower and tell your companions the truth."

The only sounds from Snape's office came from the bubbling potions on the shelves. Harry glared at Snape's blank face, recalling all of the anger he held for his potions professor.

No. He wouldn't do it.

He would not.

So many days had gone by, and Harry had never fully appreciated how well his secret had been kept safely in Snape's dungeon. He couldn't bring himself to reveal his darker side to his friends. Sure, they weren't exactly happy with Harry at the moment, but any excuse for their quarrel would be better than honesty.

Wouldn't it?

Could he continue lying to his best mates, even if he got better? Ron and Hermione had always been honest with Harry, at least when it counted. He knew he would be furious if either one of them held such a secret from him, but still...

"I realize you might not think too fondly of the idea, but-"

"You're damn RIGHT I don't think too fondly of the idea! This is stupid, what the hell are you trying to pull?" interrupted Harry, his voice raised. "I... I'm not doing this, I don't care. I'll vomit up the potion if you want."

"You're more than welcome to, but the effects will remain," replied Snape calmly. "And I wasn't asking for your permission. You willdo this."

"And why should I do this? So you can sit and watch me admit my weaknesses to everybody?"

"Potter, you can keep up with that tired argument, but it will get you nowhere. And I will not 'sit and watch' you do anything, as I find you perfectly capable of doing this on your own."

"You really think you can trust me to do that?" asked Harry angrily.

"It won't be very difficult to figure out if you've lied," responded Snape, and Harry scowled. The familiar silence invaded the room once more. Harry scratched his arm absentmindedly, biting his lip to keep from shouting. Snape glanced at the red marks Harry was forming with his fingernails.

"Stop."

"Why?" blurted Harry, his built up frustration resonating loudly against the chamber walls.

"You're going to draw blood-"

"NO! I mean WHY are you making me tell them?" shouted Harry, but he dropped his hand just the same.

"The winter holiday is coming to an end. I will not be able to monitor you as closely once the term begins. In addition, I believe it will be beneficial for you to have somebody to confide in."

"I have been confiding in YOU! I don't even LIKE you, but I've been talking to you, haven't I? I trustedyou, I let you know my secret-"

"Your secret wasn't TOLD to me, Potter, it was dripping down your arm that night you were forced to ask me for help! You falsely believe you have sufficiently confided in me only because you have yet to reveal anything important about yourself to anybody else. The most I have heard from you came out with Firewhiskey breath! You do not trust me, Potter, and though I won't deny the feeling is reciprocated, you need to talk to somebody!"

"I'll start talking! What the hell do you want to know? You don't care about me, anyway, so I don't see why-"

"-why you shouldn't talk to somebody you are certain cares about you?" finished Snape, the calm returning to his voice.

Rather than argue back, Harry stared at his knees. He didn't know what to say to that. He understood what Snape meant, but logic wasn't the only thing deterring him from confiding in his friends.

"I just... I don't think I can... bring myself to tell them, sir," admitted Harry, his feelings of defeat evident in his tone.

"What do you fear will come of it?" asked Snape curiously.

"They'll worry too much. And Hermione will probably cry. And..."

"And?"

"...and they won't think I'm a hero anymore," Harry finished weakly. "They'll think I'm stupid. They'll know I'm a mess."

The feeling had been suppressed for too long, and Harry wasn't even sure it was there until he'd said it. How awful it was to crash down off that pedestal, believing he was somehow above the fear of losing his pride in front of his closest friends. He bowed his head shamefully, his arms limp against his sides. He knew what Snape would say. Arrogant, self-absorbed boy, obsessed with his image, just like his father. He closed his eyes and waited for the words to come.

"It will take a lot more than honesty to destroy the disgustingly heroic picture your friends have painted of you, Potter," said Snape. They were not the words Harry had been expecting at all. He looked up, shocked. "I would be surprised if they don't find this makes you somehow moreheroic, keeping all your pain bottled up. It's sickening."

Snape's familiar icy insults were surprisingly comforting. Harry's panic subsided, if only just. He smiled for a moment, before realizing how unfamiliar the lack of tension in the room was.

"So does this mean you're letting me move back?" he asked, changing the subject quickly.

"Absolutely not. Now please shower before your visit. You smell like Hagrid."

...

Harry took the scenic route to Gryffindor tower. He trekked on through unfamiliar hallways, begging to become disoriented. Unfortunately, he had studied the Maurader's Map for far too long to find himself truly lost, and kept ending up back on the right path. Once an hour had passed and he'd successfully counted all of the staircase portraits, he approached the Fat Lady reluctantly, hoping with all his might he wouldn't be allowed in.

"I haven't seen YOU in a while!" she exclaimed, raising her eyebrow suspiciously.

"Has the password been changed?" asked Harry hopefully.

"Of course it has. And I won't allow you in without it!"

Harry's sigh of relief kept her suspicious look in tact. He gazed at the wall in an attempt to avoid eye contact. "I suppose I'll just be going, then-"

"Harry!"

The voice returned all the panic the Fat Lady's denial had diminished. Harry turned around to face Neville, who was grinning cheerfully at him.

"Forgot the password, eh, Harry? It's Foetida Troglodytarum!" said Neville, seemingly proud he could remember it himself. To Harry's strong dismay, the portrait swung forward to allow them entry.

"Thanks, Neville," muttered Harry insincerely as they made their way to the common room.

Hermione and Ron sat by the fireplace, pretending not to notice Harry's entrance. He wasn't sure if it made the situation better or worse. Maybe he could return to Snape's office and say they wouldn't speak to him. It wouldn't be a complete lie, would it?

No. Snape wouldn't buy that.

Whatever his choice, he would have to decide soon. He was beginning to feel quite silly standing in the middle of the common room, staring at nothing in particular. It wasn't until Neville attempted to spark up a conversation about Herbology that Harry excused himself and approached the fireplace.

Ron didn't acknowledge Harry's presence until he was practically breathing down his neck. He turned around and looked at Harry as though he were a random first year.

"I see you're back," he muttered without a hint of emotion.

"Yeah," replied Harry. Silence came after that, but quite unlike the silence in Snape's office. There, silence was met with eye contact and expectation of response. Here, silence meant they were done. Ron turned back around to face Hermione and began talking rather loudly about Hogsmeade.

Harry stood behind Ron's back and attempted to meet Hermione's gaze. If she noticed his staring, she didn't show it; her eyes were set on Ron, and she was nodding enthusiastically at his description of Fred and George's new product line.

Harry subtly scratched at his arms, wanting so much to run up to the dormitory and find something sharp. He had been gone for how long? And they didn't even pretend to be curious as to where? He felt his shame replaced by anger; had Hermione or Ron been missing from the tower, he would certainly drop this foolish argument to find out why. Were they really that angry? So angry that they couldn't be supportive when he needed it the most?

He couldn't stand there any longer. He felt the adrenaline rush as he stormed up the staircase and slammed the door behind him. There were a few more trunks than before, as students were beginning to return from their holiday. He approached Seamus's first, recalling his admission that his dad was a muggle. Sure enough, it contained a few razors.

Just as he'd done before, Harry bit into a razor head forcibly, releasing the three blades. He picked one up without a thought and hovered it above his arm.

He paused for a moment, blade stationary, and gazed at the broken bits of plastic in front of him. Snape was right. He was out of control. He dropped the blade and let it fall to the floor, leaving his skin untouched. He didn't need to do this.

He needed to talk.

Harry picked up the pieces of the razor and threw them in the rubbish bin, careful to hide them under a few chocolate frog wrappers to avoid suspicion from Dobby. He splashed some water on his face before braving the common room once more.

Hermione and Ron remained in the same position, though their conversation appeared less cheerful. When they noticed Harry creeping down the stairs, they stopped talking completely, and instead looked down in silence. Mustering what little confidence he had left, Harry approached his friends.

"I need to talk to you guys about something," said Harry, in the same serious voice he'd used so many times before when sharing news of Voldemort. "In private."

They stared at Harry blankly for a moment. Hermione was the first to stand. Harry turned around and motioned her up to the dormitory, not even waiting to see if Ron would follow.

Harry took the steps two at a time. Though he was not looking forward to the conversation about to take place, he wanted so badly to get it over with. He heard Hermione's footsteps rushing to keep up, and a slower, steadier pace behind her.

So Ron had decided to come. The more the merrier, Harry thought grimly. He opened the door to the boy's dormitory and waited for his friends to catch up. Once Ron had finally made it, he shut the door behind him and climbed up to his bunk, sitting on the edge and letting his feet dangle.

He was hoping they'd interrogate him, that they'd help prompt him, but they didn't speak a word. Hermione was staring at him worriedly, and Ron was staring at Dean's West Ham poster across the room. Harry sighed. No such luck.

"So... I mean... I guess I needed to... erm... tell you guys what's been going on," began Harry. "...why I've been so distant."

"You guessed right," muttered Ron, who continued to stare intently at the muggle Football poster.

"Right. Well..."

"Well?" It was Hermione's voice this time, but she didn't seem angry. It was more of a mix of impatient worry.

"I... I've had some difficulty dealing with... things, lately. And... I didn't want to tell you guys because... I didn't want you to worry..."

"That's nothing new, mate," said Ron, ungluing his eyes from the poster. "That doesn't give you the right to treat Hermione that way."

"I didn't treat Hermione-"

"She tried to hug you and you pushed her off!"

"That's not what happened!"

"May as well have been. She was crying for hours," said Ron quietly. Hermione's eyes began to water.

"Look, I don't want to argue... that's not why I came here..."

"You just came to make Hermione cry again?"

"Ronald, stop it!" shouted Hermione, wiping her eyes.

Harry turned around to face Ron completely. "I came here to..." he began, but he couldn't find the words. "I came here to show you... show you this."

Harry looked away from Ron as he rolled up the sleeve to his robe.