Severus didn't like how Harry had acted before he went to bed. His good night was short and strained. Something had happened, Severus was sure, but due to his falling asleep, Severus didn't know what.

He wanted to kick himself in the backside for falling asleep at a critical moment. He shouldn't give out like that. He was a full grown man, and a bit too old to take naps. He pinched the bridge of his nose, schooling his mind behind Occlemency shields.

That done, Severus walked to the doorway of Harry's bedroom, and leaned his back against the door frame, glancing over his shoulder at Harry. The chambers were dark, and he had been silent. Harry didn't know he was there, and every so often, Severus heard Harry's breath catch. Silently crying.

Severus was more upset in his own lack of vigilance than he was angry at Ron for who knew what offense. He couldn't afford this. He had to be the strong one. The one who didn't make mistakes. He had one chance to get this right, and he couldn't mess this one up. Harry could be lost at any point, and Severus would never forgive himself if Harry was lost through a stupid case of negligence on his part.

There it was again. Harry's breath catching. Severus stood up and silently moved to Harry's bed. He sat down on the edge, and laid a gentle hand on Harry's head, smoothing the hair. Harry flinched and turned his face into the pillow, refusing to look at Severus.

"Shh," Severus whispered. "Tell me what's wrong." Harry shook his head into the pillow. Severus sighed. It seemed they were back where they started a month before. What had happened?

"What did Ron do?" Severus pressed. "I'll see it to that he doesn't hurt you again. I'm sorry." Harry mumbled something into his pillow that Severus didn't catch.

"Pardon?" Severus asked. "I can't understand you talking into your pillow."

"I said," Harry choked out, lifting his face from the pillow a half inch, but still not looking at Severus, "that Ron didn't do anything."

"Then what's wrong?" Severus said. "What happened? Was it something he said?"

"Ron didn't do anything," Harry repeated, as if he were afraid of something befalling Ron. "You - you - " Harry stammered, before he fell back into the pillow, with his shoulder shaking silently. Severus laid a hand on his shoulder.

"I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong," Severus whispered in his ear.

"Don't want help. Please. Just...go away," was what Severus was able to make out from the muffled voice in the pillow.

"Alright," Severus said after a moment. "Alright, I'll leave you alone. But if you change your mind, I will be here for you." There was no response, and so Severus stood up and left the room.

Something had happened. Something that bothered Harry deeply, and Severus was no closer to discovering what it was. He could feel the beginnings of a headache behind his eyes, and he knew that he wasn't going to be going to bed that night without some pain-killers.

.oO-Oo.

Harry just kept crying, even after Professor Snape left. It hurt. It hurt so much. But he wasn't bleeding or wounded. No one had hit him, yet he was in so much pain.

He hadn't wanted friends who just showed up because of obligation. He was angry with himself that he had even entertained the thought that they were there because they wanted to be. Professor Snape had told him that they were there for him, and then Ron told him that the Professor had asked them there. So it was like Professor Snape had lied to him when he had been assured that Draco and the others were there because they wanted to be.

He would just love it if he were good enough to have people want to be around him. The Professor had told him what he wanted to hear, what he had desperately wanted to hear. He had been blind enough to believe him, or at least hope that it could be true.

Why, oh why, had he been such a fool?

.oO-Oo.

Severus pulled his cloak around his shoulders as he walked down the hall to the Gryffindor common room. Distracted by his own thoughts, he hardly realized that he had arrived before he walked into The Fat Lady. His hands were slightly damp from the sweat of anticipation.

"Well, well," the Fat Lady said, making him realize where he was, "if it isn't Severus Snape. If you think you can just go barging into the Gryffindor common room, you'll have to wait a long time."

"I need to speak with Ronald Weasley," Severus said.

"It's after curfew, you know," the portrait replied. "It's against school rules to be out of the common room after." The old woman was enjoying this, Severus was sure. After all, he was the prime culprit for giving curfew breakers detention.

"Unless they are with a professor," Severus said. "And I need to speak with Mr. Weasley. Now, I would greatly appreciate it if you would send him out here."

"Alright," the Fat Lady sighed, and momentarily left her frame. In a few minutes, a sleepy-eyed, pajama clad Ron came stumbling out of the common room.

"I'm sorry, Professor!" Ron immediately said.

"What happened?" Severus growled.

"I don't know!" Ron said. "What did I do?"

"Well, that's what I'm here about," Severus said. Ron's tone and facial expressions told him that Ron truly didn't know what was going on. And he was apologizing to be safe, since having the dungeon bat come to get you out of bed was never a good sign.

"I don't know what happened," Ron said again.

"Harry is upset about something," Severus hissed. "And he won't tell me what it is. I need to know what happened." He wasn't about to admit that he'd fallen asleep. Ron didn't have to know that.

"I'm sorry, Professor, I don't know!" Ron said. Severus pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Fine," he said. "Just tell me what happened. Tell me what you said."

"Well, I brought wizarding chess, and I asked him if he wanted to learn. He said yes, and I said that was great because I couldn't find a first year who wanted to learn. So I started explaining the rules, and then I asked him if - " And then Ron's voice cut off.

"If?"

"If everything was okay for him. You know," he shrugged apologetically. "Sir. Well, he said it was, and that he liked you and everything, and I said that it was actually a stupid question on my part because of course you'd take care of him if you had asked us all down there to see him. And then he started to look sick, and I got him a glass of water - "

"You told him that I had invited you down there?"

"Yes, sir," Ron said.

"You told him that I had invited all of you? Draco, Mr. Longbottom, and Miss Granger?"

"Yes, sir." Severus ground his palm into his forehead.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," he muttered almost silently. "Why? Why did you do that?" he asked, addressing Ron.

"Um..."

"'Um, sir,'" Severus corrected, more out of nerves than anything.

"Well, I didn't know I shouldn't!" Ron said.

"Alright," Severus said, reigning in his temper. "Go to bed, Mr. Weasley."

"No detention, sir?" Ron said after a moment's hesitation.

"There will be if you don't get back in your common room right now."

"Yes, sir!" Ron said, and was gone.

Turning, Severus stalked back to the dungeons, his mind overflowing with thoughts. So that had been what happened. He had fallen asleep, and Ron had told Harry that he had orchestrated the whole thing. Harry must have taken it hard.

It had been stupid on Ron's part to open his big mouth, but Severus knew that Ron hadn't meant to do any harm. What was worse, what was unforgivable, was that he hadn't been there to sort the mess out immediately. He'd failed Harry, yet again.

He'd arrived at his chamber door, and he rested his fist against it, and his forehead against his fist as he fumbled with the door knob. His mind kept replaying his conversation with Harry, and then with Ron, and lastly, how he had fallen asleep. Finally, the door opened, and he stumbled in. Closing the door behind him, and locking it shut, he ran his hands over his face.

Oh, dear God, Severus thought, how was he going to explain this to Harry? How was Harry every going to trust him? He knew that Harry saw this as a lie. Harry would think that the children had come to see him only because they had been asked. And at every turn, he had assured Harry that they were there for him. Severus prayed it wouldn't destroy Harry. Their bond, thin and delicate as it was, was likely burned away forever, Severus thought, but that was to be expected.

How could he have expected any different? Harry had told him to go away, and that was just how things worked. Harry would never trust him again, Severus was sure. It would mean Harry getting another caretaker. But anyone Harry would get - would they really understand what Harry was going through? Could they see into his mind, even if figuratively, and literally, if need be? Severus doubted it.

Maybe the whole issue was a lost cause before he began. Maybe Harry was too far gone. Maybe no one would be able to save him.

No, no, no, Severus told himself. He couldn't believe that. There had to be answer. Harry had to be able to be saved.

"I'm sorry, Lily," he thought. "I'm sorry...James. I'm so, so sorry."

With the bond broken between them, as Severus was sure it was, Harry wouldn't be able to live in his care anymore. He didn't want Harry to go to Lucius. Then Harry would be raised a Death Eater for sure, and it would be a terrible blow to anything that was left good on the side of the Light.

But there was the problem of Dumbledore. Dumbledore would take Harry from him if Lucius didn't get custody, and possibly raise the boy himself. Harry would be nothing but a weapon, an object, collateral damage. He couldn't stand by and let that happen. Otherwise, Dumbledore would send Harry back to the Dursleys. He could get them off charges, Severus was sure. He'd gotten him off of charges of being a Death Eater, hadn't he? Severus couldn't even make himself think of that possibility - Harry going back to his sorry excuse for relatives.

He walked into his bedroom, his mind half-drunk with the stress. It felt like his world was falling in around him. He should have known. He knew building his life around one person was setting up for disaster.

His headache was full blown now. Between that and his ever rising mound of problems, he was hardly aware that he had gone to his nightstand and opened the drawer. His breathing was ragged as he tried to gain control of his thoughts again, and failed. Not even his amount of mental training was enough to deal with everything that was happening. He felt overwhelmed.

He was exhausted. He was responsible for his students. He was a key player in a war. He was responsible for Harry. He had to keep Harry away from Dumbledore and the Dark Lord. And most of all, he was failing. He was a failure.

With the last thought, his eyes fell on a lone object in his nightstand's drawer. He blinked back what he thought would have been tears. Reaching out, he grabbed the object from the door. His fingers closed around an ivory handled knife. The ivory had had something inscribed in it long ago, but it was since worn away. It was smooth and cool to the touch. The blade gleamed in the flickering candlelight.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, a voice told him to stop, not to do it. But it was distant, and Severus didn't think he could stop if he tried. Why should he? He closed his eyes, and tried to focus his mind again. He couldn't.

He sat down on the floor, in a corner, and brought the knife into his line of vision, turning it over in his hand as he turned thoughts over in his mind.

His life was spinning out of control. He couldn't control the war. He couldn't control Dumbledore. He couldn't control the Death Eaters. He couldn't control Harry. Heck, he couldn't even control himself. He couldn't live this way.

He summoned an old rag. What he certainly didn't want was the blood staining the floor. Setting both knife and cloth aside for a moment, he began to unbotton his shirt. He closed his eyes, his mind numb for the moment. It almost felt like a dream. Like a nightmare. Maybe he could wake up at any point. He shrugged his shirt off once the buttons were undone, and let it fall behind him.

Holding his left arm out in front of him, he moved the knife over it. Ah, his knife hadn't dulled at all since the last time he'd used it, right after finding Lily's body. The smooth, cold metal cut into his arm and he felt immediate relief, but guilt twinged his relief. The rational part of his mind told him he'd regret this later. But he ignored that part of his mind. He scared himself sometimes, and now was one of those times. As he watched the blood swell up from his first cut, he felt the knife began to slip as his hands broke into a cold sweat.

He might not be able to control the war. He might not be able to control Dumbledore. He might not be able to control the Death Eaters. He might not be able to control Harry. He might not even be able to control himself. But he could control how deep and how slowly his knife moved.

Quickly, Severus dropped his knife and grabbed the rag to catch the blood that was about to spill onto the floor. He applied pressure on the wound as he bled into the cloth.

"Oh, God," he muttered, closing his eyes and resting his head against the wall. "Please." He didn't even know what he was asking the deity for. Relief? Help? Death? He didn't know, but he hoped he'd postmarked it right so that God would actually receive it. His breath caught as he tried not to have a total breakdown. Tears pressed against his eyelids.

He felt stupid. He felt weak. And he felt childish. Suddenly his throat tightened and his lungs released a gasp of air. Two tears rolled down from the corners of his closed eyes. He tossed the rag aside, cracking his one eye open, and picked up the knife again, drawing it over his arm.

His breathing had become irregular as his stifled crying increased. Unlike Harry, he had never learned how to cry silently. He was a grown man! He shouldn't be sobbing like a child. But no matter what he did, he couldn't get himself under control. Finally, he gave up, and let his tears run freely.

He pressed the rag against his arm again.

"Oh God, oh God," he breathed again. "What have I done?" He looked at his bloodied knife, laying beside him on the floor. What had once looked like a beautiful form of escape, suddenly looked like a twisted and ugly opportunity for failure. "Tell me it's a dream. Tell me I can wake up."

How had this helped anything? How could it help anything? He grabbed his knife again and stood up, shaking, and went to the bathroom. He cleaned it in some water, setting down on the counter while he washed out his wounds, bandaging them with the rag. His hands shook as he tied a knot in the rag to old it in place.

Suddenly, he felt sick and weak, so he leaned over the sink, hands braced against the counter. After the wave passed, he looked up into the mirror. He looked terrible. He looked almost as bad as felt.

"I shouldn't be raising your child, Lily," he whispered to the mirror. "I don't know what you ever saw in me." He leaned his head against the mirror, letting the cold glass cool his feverish forehead. He brought the back of his hand over his eyes, trying to wipe away a fresh lot of tears, now falling into the sink.

Perhaps he couldn't redeem himself. Perhaps there was no answer for Harry, and there was no answer for him. Maybe they were both lost to what had been done to them. He had told Harry that they would sink or swim together, and right now they were sinking quickly.

He went back to his bedroom, and stretched himself out on his bed, cradling his left arm as he drifted to sleep from sheer exhaustion.

.oO-Oo.

Next morning, Severus woke up to his arm hurting. Memories of the previous night flooded back to his conscious mind. He cursed himself as he got up. He'd hoped it had all been a dream. After all, he'd had enough of them in that few hours where he'd done everything from cutting to suicide. At some level he knew it hadn't been a dream, but he could still hope.

Throwing the shirt from the night before into the laundry for Nitty to take care of, he pulled out a fresh one for that day's classes. He still had classes to teach, no matter what happened the previous night. His long sleeves would cover anything suspicious, and no one would be the wiser as to what had happened.

He'd acting foolishly, he knew. Had a full blown breakdown. He'd felt like his sanity was coming apart at the seams. He could continue on alone, like he had for the past ten years. He could deal with his issues himself.

.oO-Oo.

Harry woke, and slipped out of bed, dressing himself. He hadn't forgotten anything that had happened, and he was feeling terrible. His dreams had been haunted with unending horrors, and he'd woken in a cold sweat that morning, glad to be rid of his soaking clothes. He didn't want to eat, and he had no intention of showing up to the breakfast that he knew Nitty would have ready for him.

If Snape had lied to him about the reason the children had come down to visit him, then he probably had lied about him being worthy of food and clothes. Harry didn't understand what was going on, but he did know that if a person lied once, you should call everything they said into question. Quietly, he made his way into the bathroom. He had to use the toilet pretty badly, even if he didn't know what else he was planning to do that day.

Quickly he used the toilet, and went to the sink to wash his hands. Glancing down at the soap bubbles lathering his hands, he noticed an ivory handled knife laying next the sink. It held his attention, almost in a trance. Harry finished washing his hands, and hastily dried them. He picked up the knife.

It was beautiful. The white handle was old, he could tell, but it was pure. The blade was untarnished, gleaming brilliantly. And Harry didn't have to touch it to know that the blade was razor sharp.

Harry seemed to hear a voice in the back of his head, Snape's voice, say, "I didn't feel that I was worth anything, and there was nothing I could do to fix it. So, I took a knife, and I would cut myself."

Well that aptly described how Harry felt at the moment. He didn't feel he was worth anything, and there was nothing he could do to fix it. Maybe...maybe cutting himself would make him feel better. He wasn't sure how, but he was desperate for something to numb the pain. It wasn't like one or two more scars on his body was really going to make that big a difference. His body had been used and ravened so much, so many times, for so many things, that it didn't matter what he did with it. There was no undoing what had been done to him.

Harry's hand gripped the handle of the knife with a sudden determination, and he put it in the pocket of his trousers, not unlike a certain boy a generation ago used to do.

He left the bathroom, with the plan that he would leave the chambers and find some deserted part of the castle to hide away and do what he needed to do. At some level, Harry knew that he wasn't supposed to harm himself. He knew it wasn't the right thing to do. But he still wanted it, because it was his only offer of relief at the moment. And so he wasn't going to do it in Snape's chambers, because buried somewhere deep, Harry didn't want to disappoint Snape even now. Somehow, doing something that Snape would disapprove of outside of Snape's chambers was less wrong than doing them here.

Harry opened the door to the hallway, and slipped out quietly, closing the door behind him. He knew a bit about the layout of the castle, since Snape had explained it to him with a map before the sorting feast. Thankfully, he realized, no one was in sight of the door, and so he had a perfect chance to find a deserted hallway.

.oO-Oo.

Harry had found the spot he wanted. He was just settling down next to one of the walls and he had just begun to roll his left sleeve up. What was that? He'd heard someone, he was sure. Rolling his sleeve back down, Harry stuck the knife back in his pocket. There was no where to hide himself, so he would have to take his chances with whoever was coming. Because someone was definitely coming. He knew how to recognize the sound of footsteps, and these were definitely those.

.oO-Oo.

Albus Dumbledore had placed a spell on Severus' chambers. If Harry ever left, a warning alarm would be set off to notify him. True to its purpose, the alarm had gone off. Having cast a point-me charm, Albus began to search the castle for Harry. As his wand got warmer, he knew he was getting closer. Finally, he was almost upon where Harry was. Discontinuing the charm, he proceeded to an old deserted hallway. This was wonderful. No one would be witness to anything that transpired between himself and Harry.

Sure enough, Harry was sitting on the floor of the hallway.

"Mr. Potter?" Albus said kindly.

"Yes, Professor Dumbledore?" Harry responded, putting all the false bravado he could into his voice. Of course he remembered the man with the long white beard and the half moon spectacles. He'd only heard the speech he gave at the sorting feast and then been dragged into his office. He knew Snape didn't trust the man, but then, maybe that was good enough reason why he should.

"I'm glad to see you out and about," Albus said. Honestly, he couldn't imagine why Harry was in a deserted hallway by himself, but he bet that this wasn't something that Severus had allowed. "I trust you're feeling some better since the sorting feast?"

"Yes, sir," Harry lied.

"That's wonderful, Harry. Come along. There's something I want to show you."

"Yes, sir," Harry said again. He got up and followed Albus down the hallway, and through some other deserted passageways. It was in his best interest that Ablus use normally unused ways of traffic. Finally, after a long walk, Albus slowed, and gestured Harry into another hallway.

"I take it you're out without Professor Snape's knowledge?" Albus said, looking into Harry's eyes.

"No, sir," Harry said. "Professor Snape knows." Albus grinned at him.

"I don't think so," he said, his eyes twinkling. "But tell you what - this will be our little secret alright? You can come here if you ever want to leave the chambers. This can be your little home away from home. No one comes here, and you'll be perfectly safe. Professor Snape doesn't have to know."

"Yes, sir," Harry said.

"Why are you out?"

"Just needed some time," Harry said, shrugging.

"Alright, that's fine," Albus said. "Have a good time, whatever you're doing." He patted Harry on the head, not noticing the flinch Harry gave away at the touch.

.oO-Oo.

Harry sat down again, across from a large mirror. He looked up and saw himself in the mirror. There was something mystical about the mirror, and it drew Harry to itself. Once again postponing his original purpose in leaving the chambers, Harry got up and looked at himself in the mirror. But wait! He wasn't alone! Snape was in the mirror behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, but when he looked, he was truly alone.

When he looked back, he saw Snape again, yes, but he also saw his mother, his father, Draco, Hermione, Neville and Ron. He saw them all around him, giving him hugs. They all were smiling at him, and he looked happy.

Harry wasn't stupid. He knew that was what he wanted more than anything else in the world. He wanted love. He wanted to be worthy of Snape. He wanted his parents back. And he wanted his friends to care about him. In the mirror, the little boy who looked like him (but very clearly wasn't him), had all of those. He knew that that little boy could never be him - he could never have those things.

As the depression that clawed at Harry's heart took a deeper hold, Harry sat down where he couldn't see the mirror. That way, he wouldn't fall under its spell again. He could get the relief he had come for instead of more guilt and torture. He took the knife out of his pocket and laid it beside him. Rolling up his sleeve again, he looked at the scars he had put there at his uncle's instructions. Now he was doing it voluntarily. What sort of a sick freak was he, anyway? Everything his uncle had said was true.

Closing his eyes, because he couldn't stand to see, he grabbed the knife and drew it across his arm. He gasped as the knife broke his skin. It was painful, that was for sure, but it didn't hurt like it had when Uncle Vernon had made him do the very same thing. This pain, this was a distraction. It hurt, but it was because it hurt that he could think about something else, something besides how worthless he was.

He cut a second time, gasping again. He began to quiver with anticipation. He was finding his relief. It was sick, he knew. It was twisted, he knew. But it only reflected what he was, and not doing it didn't make him any less sick or twisted. For a third time, he drew the knife across his skin. And for a third time he gasped, still eyes closed.

"Hey, what do you think you're doing?" suddenly rang out in the hallway. Harry's eyes snapped open, and he dropped the knife as a hand closed tightly around his wrist.

"Draco!" Harry exclaimed as he tried to squeeze himself into the wall.

"Look, I know you're here, and I know what you were doing," Draco said. "There's no reason to be scared." Draco crouched on his heels across from Harry, not releasing him.

"Leave me alone," Harry muttered. What did Draco know anyway?

"I know a lot." Harry winced as he realized he'd said the last sentence aloud.

"It's okay," Draco continued. "I know a lot, Harry."

"Go away. Please."

"No. I won't go away. Not now."

"Did Dumbledore send you?"

"What? No!"

"Why are you here?"

"Because...the mirror."

"Oh."

"You don't sound surprised."

"I saw the mirror."

"What did you see?"

"Nothing."

"Aw, now, don't lie to me. If you won't tell me what you saw, tell me why you're cutting."

"I saw my mom and dad, and Professor Snape, and you, Ron, Hermione, and Neville." Harry really didn't want to talk about what he'd been caught doing.

"Okay. I saw you too. We were friends, and you were happy."

"Really?"

"Yes, really," Draco insisted. "Now what's the cutting all about?"

"You didn't want to see me," Harry mumbled.

"What? It's not like that at all!"

"Yes, it is. Professor asked you all to come see me. You didn't want to come."

"And who told you that?"

"Ron."

"Why that little - " Draco caught himself. "Look, he invited us down there. We didn't have to go. I'd asked him about visiting you anyway. We only showed up because we wanted to."

"But you shouldn't want to," Harry choked out.

"Why not?" Draco challenged.

"If you knew - "

"I do."

"What?" Harry whispered, his voice deathly quiet, but surprisingly even.

"I know."

"You know what?"

"I know what happened to you. I know what your relatives did. And I don't care. Well, I do, but it doesn't affect who you are. Uncle Severus just wanted to help you by asking us down there to see you. We all really wanted to come. You think Hermione would have left her books if she didn't want to? You think Neville would have ventured into the snake's lair if he didn't? You think Ron would have swallowed his pride if he didn't? You think I'd be telling you this if I didn't?"

"How?"

"How what?"

"How do you know?" Draco shrugged.

"Does it matter?"

"Yes. Professor Snape told you, didn't he?"

"No!" Draco said. "He didn't tell me anything! Honest!"

"Then how do you know?"

"My dad told me."

"And Professor Snape told him."

"Well...I don't know," Draco dodged. "Death Eaters have ways of finding things out. Your relatives are in custody of the Ministry, aren't they? Well, my father could have read the papers on them and found out that way."

"Oh."

"Yeah, 'Oh.' Don't jump to conclusions. Gosh, just relax a little."

"Okay."

"You were cutting because you thought we didn't like you? And you thought I'd leave if I knew about the abuse?"

"Yeah," Harry reluctantly admitted. "Do the others know?"

"No," Draco said. "I'm the only kid of a Death Eater of the lot of them. How would you expect them to know?" Harry shrugged in response. "Look, we need to get you cleaned up and back to Uncle Severus' chambers before he knows you're missing."

"You won't tell him?"

"No, but I think you should," Draco said.

"But - why?"

"What was the last thing you said to him?"

"That - that I didn't want his help. And he should leave me alone."

"Yeah. I thought so. You really should go make up with him. I mean, think about it. You wouldn't like it if one of us told you to go away, now, would you? Heck, you're here cutting yourself over that when we didn't even say it! How do you think he must be feeling?"

"So you see why you should tell him?"

"I think so," Harry said.

"Come on," Draco said. "I have a free period, and I know a good bathroom to clean you up in. It's an old girl's bathroom. The only thing in there is a ghost, and Moaning Myrtle won't tell anyone."