"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.

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.

Harry kept his eyes shut.

He didn't need to look to know what his friends were seeing. He had every scar memorized, every line, like the secret passageways on the Marauder's Map. He didn't need to look to know that Hermione's eyes were probably tearing up, and that Ron's face would be etched with confusion.

He didn't need to look... and he didn't want to.

It wasn't until he felt Hermione's soft palms around his forearm that he dared open his eyes once more. His assumptions were correct; Hermione's eyes were wet with sadness as she turned his arm slowly and gently, staring knowingly at each and every apparant line. Harry looked down at his feet. He had been prepared for the confusion and hurt, but not the shame.

"How long?" asked Hermione quietly. Harry kept his eyes glued to the floor.

"Since the summer."

"Summer? You've been... you've been doing this all term and we didn't... we haven't... oh, Harry..." Hermione trailed, dropping his arm and embracing him tightly. Harry, prepared this time, allowed himself to return the hug.

"What are you talking about? What the hell happened to your arm, Harry?" asked Ron, speaking up for the first time. "What do you mean he's been 'doing this al-'"

Ron's sentence stopped abruptly as realization hit. His eyes widened and the color drained from his face. As Hermione released Harry, Ron slid off the bunk and approached them slowly. His eyes darted awkwardly from Harry's arm to his face, his jaw locked open in shock.

"Why wouldn't you tell us about this, Harry? We would have been there for you! Don't you know how much we care about you?" exclaimed Hermione. It was hard to tell whether she was asking or accusing.

"I'm really sorry, Hermione, I just couldn't..."

"I understand if you felt you couldn't talk to us about this, I just wish we could've been there for you," said Hermione quietly. She looked hurt and slightly offended.

The feelings of guilt were overwhelming. He took Hermione's hands in his. "I'm so sorry I kept this from you. I trust you guys more than anything, I just wasn't ready to talk about it yet. I hope you can understand that," he said softly.

Hermione's expression softened slightly. "Of course we can. I'm sorry, that came out all wrong. I'm glad you told us."

Harry gave her a slight smile.

"I-I don't understand," Ron said finally. "Why would you..."

"I think you two have a bit of talking to do. I'm going to go... change," said Hermione, her voice breaking slightly. She approached the door slowly, taking time to wipe her eyes accordingly. "Harry, please be safe," she added in a weak voice before exiting.

"What's her deal?" asked Ron, his voice dripping with false confidence.

"I don't think she wanted to break down in front of us," responded Harry, staring at the door she'd just shut. He tried to repress the immense amount of guilt flooding through his thoughts. Though he was slightly upset that she'd left so abruptly, he knew he could have a reasonable conversation with Hermione later. Hermione, distraught as she was, could never miss an opportunity to be clever. She'd left so that Ron and Harry could talk alone.

Hermione must have known that Ron would be less likely to understand. Harry wasn't even sure if this was an existing issue in the wizarding world at all. And, of course, she'd been right. The look on Ron's face as he tried to avoid staring at Harry's arm was full of confusion. They sat in silence for a moment as Harry contemplated a conversation starter, but he was saved this initiative as Ron finally spoke up.

"So... so you did this to yourself," he said, his voice shaking slightly. "On purpose?"

Harry nodded. Ron's eyes flickered to Harry's exposed arm.

In all of Harry's history with Ron, he had never seen him this shocked. Not when Harry had told him the tale of facing Voldemort for the first time, not when he'd seen Sirius Black in the Shreiking Shack, not even when Voldemort had officially returned after the Triwizard Tournament...

But, then again, this was something different entirely.

"Why would you do that to yourself?"

The question had come more confidently than it had the first time. Harry was starting to become used to this question, but it didn't make answering any easier. He allowed himself to collect his thoughts before answering.

"It kind of helped me control my emotion. It was a way of dealing with everything that allowed me to keep functioning normally."

"That doesn't look normal to me," objected Ron, his eyes no longer subtle as he stared openly at Harry's scars.

Harry wasn't exactly sure how to respond to this, so he brought down the sleeve of his robe instead, leaving Ron with nothing to stare at. He looked at Harry.

"So you aren't going to keep doing this, right? I mean, you can't keep doing this..."

"I know, Ron, and Snape's been trying to-"

"SNAPE?"

"I know it sounds crazy-"

"It sounds bloody insane, it does! That's why you guys have been so weird lately, isn't it? That's where you've been! He's punishing you for this, he's locking you up-"

"He's HELPING me, Ron," interjected Harry, suddenly feeling incredibly defensive of his potions professor. Earlier, he might have agreed with Ron's accusation. Locked up, punished... and he couldn't blame Ron for thinking that way. But something had made him trust the man recently. Perhaps it was because of the hangover potion. Or perhaps it was because right now, Harry felt he'd rather be talking to Snape about this than anyone else.

"You trust him? After everything he's done, the damn git... you're talking to HIM, of all people..."

And suddenly, Harry understood. Ron was jealous. Upset that he'd been confiding in the enemy, upset that he hadn't come to his best friends first. And he couldn't argue with that. After all, had the situation been reversed, Harry was sure he'd react similarly. Still, he desperately wanted Ron to understand that Snape was no longer the enemy. That Snape had brought him to do something he hadn't thought possible... to talk. And that was a feat that not even Dumbledore himself could have acheived.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you guys. I really am. But honestly, I wasn't ready to tell anybody. Snape's been helping me talk about it more. I didn't even want to talk to him at first, but I was kind of forced to..."

And then Harry couldn't stop. He'd been hiding from his friends for so long, he'd almost forgotten how to tell a full story. But out came the timeline... being caught by Dumbledore in the hall, being forced to ask Snape for the potion. He cringed but continued as he explained the severe awkwardness and shame he felt as Snape cleaned his wounds. He explained his inability to hug Hermione back, and how much it had hurt him to see her cry. Ron sat patiently and listened to every word; he even smiled and gasped when Harry admitted how much Firewhiskey he'd finished off, and then frowned again when Harry explained what had brought him to drink.

When Harry finally finished, Ron stared at him, his expression unreadable.

"I'm sorry, mate. I shouldn't have been so shitty to you. I had no idea..."

"That's okay, Ron, I would have been frustrated too," Harry quickly admitted.

"So I suppose you're going back there tonight, then?"

"Yeah, I suppose I am," responded Harry. "But I think this means we can start having meals together again," he added once he saw Ron's disappointment.

"Yeah, I guess so," said Ron. Then- "I still don't get it, Harry, and I don't understand why you have to stay with Snape. I don't trust him. But, if it means you'll stop... stop doing that..."

That had been the confirmation Harry needed. No hugs and tears were necessary with Ron. This type of submission was understood as an expression of caring, and Harry deeply appreciated it. They walked to the portrait hole in silence, but it was not awkward. It was nice to have his best mate at his side again, however ashamed and weak Harry felt.

Ron patted Harry on the back before heading toward the dormitory. Harry watched him walk upstairs before turning around and making his way back to the dungeons.

"I almost did it again," admitted Harry, sitting in his usual arrangement across from Snape. Somehow, after confessing to Ron and Hermione, talking to Snape had seemed far less difficult. He'd chosen to discuss the hardest part first, figuring the rest would come easier.

"You went straight to your dormitory to hurt yourself?"

"I went straight to Ron and Hermione, but they ignored me," explained Harry. Snape's face revealed a flicker of disapproval before falling back into its usual expressionless stare.

"And then?"

"And then I felt really frustrated, like they didn't care. So I ran upstairs and searched."

"How far did you allow yourself to continue?"

"I broke another razor again, with... well, the same way I did last time. And then I was going to do it. But I saw the plastic bits all over the floor, and I remembered what you said about being out of control, and I... I stopped."

If Snape had ever allowed his face to show a positive emotion for longer than five seconds, it would've been news to Harry. This, however, was a first: Snape appeared content... slightly proud, even. His mouth was turned into a slight grin, which, in Snape's case, was like a full-toothed smile. He allowed himself to keep this expression as he spoke.

"I won't pretend I'm not surprised, Harry," said Snape. "I have recognized more progress in that last statement than I have in the past two weeks."

"T-Thanks, sir," stammered Harry. He was not used to hearing his first name and a compliment from Snape in the same sentence. Then, without thinking, he asked, "Do you think that means I'm better?"

"Do you?"

Harry figured he ought to have expected the return question. He thought about it for a moment. He'd allowed himself to break the razor in another fit of desperation. Would he allow himself to go that far again? Would he allow himself to go further?

"I'm not sure."

"I believe that answers your question," said Snape. "What did you do after you abandoned your mutilation attempt?"

"I went back downstairs and confronted them. I told them I needed to talk to them, and I brought them upstairs. I showed them my scars."

"How did they react?"

"Hermione was pretty upset. She was crying, but she knew what it was at once. Ron, well..." Harry allowed himself to recall Ron's horrified expression and jealous words. The pangs of guilt returned. He'd wanted so badly to keep them safe, he hadn't anticipated how much more pain hiding the truth would cause. "Ron was confused, and I think he was jealous."

"Jealous?"

"Upset that I didn't come to them first. But I told him everything. And I think he gets why I have to stay here."

Snape paused for a moment. "You believe he understands why you have to remain in the dungeons," he repeated, tracing his jaw with this index finger. "So you are admitting that a legitimate reason exists?"

"Yeah, I guess so. Because I... I know I can't stop on my own yet. Because I don't want to, not fully. And I need to be accountable to somebody."

"I couldn't have worded it better myself."

"Yes you could," said Harry, and mimicked Snape's stone cold stare. "I am aware of my inability to cease this behavior without mentorship," he mocked in Snape's nasally tone. "I am unable to conduct proper behavior in isolation. I am currently incapable of holding myself accountable for my actions." Harry froze. What was he doing? Talking to Snape like a therapist? Mocking him like a friend? Feeling comfortable doing it?

To Harry's great surprise, Snape turned up a corner of his mouth in amusement. "Yeah, I... um, well... guess that sounds good and all," he responded, performing Harry's pauses immaculately.

The two stared at each other intently, keeping silent, trying to register the unusual friendly banter they'd just shared. Then, without warning, Harry burst out laughing.

And then even Snape, careful as he was to maintain his decorum, smiled.

Just a few more days until the start of term. Perhaps things wouldn't be so bad after all. He'd finally told his friends what he'd been too scared to admit all term. He had a small group of people that would be there for him. Maybe he'd even visit Myrtle.

He didn't bother to ask Snape how much longer he'd have to stay in the dungeons. For now, this was where he needed to be. After spending so much time saving the world, Harry needed to focus on saving himself. Snape was not Sirius, and would never be, but somehow, having a new mentor on his side made all the difference in the world.

Possibly, he could move on from this. Accept the help that would undoubtedly be offered.

Possibly, he could learn to feel again. Learn to live again.

And maybe, just maybe, he'd even try at Potions this time.