Harry stepped into the Gryffindor common room a full fifteen minutes before curfew, and there were still a couple lingering individuals, though most of his fellow students had long since retired to the dorm rooms. Quickly, Harry took stock of who was left in the common room, and his eyes fell on Hermione.

He actually felt a bit warmed by his conversation with Snape, even though emotionally exhausted, and he wanted to tell Hermione about Snape. About Snape being his father and the whole memory business. If Snape was ready to offer him a home, Harry was ready to be grateful to him for getting him out from under the Dursleys. And even if Hermione didn't know about the Dursleys in any great detail, she knew his summers weren't kind to him. It made sense to tell her, if his living arrangements were going to be that drastically changed, and frankly, he was proud of it.

He was going to live in a better place. He was going to have a better life.

Even Snape at his worst was better than the Dursleys, and by all appearances, Snape was planning to take this whole father business seriously and straighten up his act.

"Hey, Hermione," Harry greeted her, and he genuinely smiled. He felt more at peace now than he had for a long time. For a moment, at least, he was happy. "I have something to tell you."

"Oh, not now, Harry, please," Hermione said, her voice rising in pitch, like it did when she was nervous about something.

"But Hermione," Harry pleaded, "it's important and I'm happy about it."

"That's nice," Hermione dismissed. Harry's smiled faded into a look of confusion, because he couldn't understand why she was brushing him away. Ron had brushed him away before. That was just how Ron was. Very passionate, but also very volatile, and he had the ability to turn on you in a moment. Hermione wasn't that way. She was calm, stable, and sensible. Hermione picked up a book and a few loose parchments from the table where she had probably been studying and turned to go up to the girls' dorms.

"It's not like I can tell Ron!" Harry called after her, beginning to feel more than a little bit worried.

"Yeah, about that," Hermione said, her voice still stilted. "I need to talk to you about that."

"Yeah?" Harry prompted, a coldness washing over him suddenly.

"I think Ron is right," Hermione sighed, clutching her books to her chest. "I mean, there's only so much we can take from you, and I don't intend to try to patch things up between you two again. If you can't handle your temper, well, I'm sorry, Harry, but we can't stay around forever."

"What?" Harry replied, too stunned to but any feeling into the word. "What are you talking about?"

"This is good-bye, Harry," Hermione said as she turned suddenly.

"Hermione, wait!" Harry shouted after her, the panic naked in his voice. "Hermione!" She paused with her right foot on the first step and didn't turn around. Harry quickly rushed over to her, closing the gap of space between them.

"I'm sorry," Harry apologized.

"I don't want to hear it," Hermione replied coldly.

"I'm sorry! Forgive me!"

"Harry," she said softly, and for a moment, Harry's hopes rose high. It was the voice of the Hermione he knew. "I can't. I'm sorry." And with that, Hermione began to climb the stairs.

"Hermione!" Harry called after her, the desperation apparent. "Hermione, come back! I'm sorry! Hermione! Don't leave me!" She never turned back, and when Harry heard the faint click of the dormitory door, he gave up.

"Hermione," he said once more, almost sobbing, quietly to himself.

He turned, put his hands in his pockets, and blindly stumbled up to the boy's dormitory.

He entered the shared room where he found his classmates either asleep or quietly conversing. No one noticed his entrance. Maybe it was the empty look in his eyes.

Harry quickly changed into pajamas, slipped under the covers, and closed the curtains around his bed, without so much as a hello or a goodnight to any of the other boys.

As soon as lights went out, Harry's mind exploded.

Hermione had no precedent for doing that. Alright, maybe he had left something lacking in their friendship by not trusting them with all of his summer. And maybe it did come off as cold that he had told Snape - Snape of all people! - rather than his two best friends, but he had intended to tell them, sometime, when he was ready.

Hermione had never pressed him before about life at the Dursleys when he dodged questions. She had always respected his reluctance to talk about anything. Perhaps Ron hadn't always, but Hermione had. He couldn't understand what had turned Hermione against him like that. What, truly, had he done?

And if she wasn't going to try to advocate his side to Ron, that friendship was as good as gone too, Harry realized. In one night, he'd lost his two best friends, and that was enough to dampen any joy he may have had about being rescued from the Dursleys.

Harry felt a rogue emotion in his chest. He tried to bury it, but it was persistent, and it manifested itself by a small gasp on his part as he curled into a fetal position and began to quiver with the force of his repressed sobs.

He bed was suffocating. It was too small. He needed space, lots of space. Harry could feel a panic attack coming on if he didn't get out of his dorm. It was going to stifle him, and so with that thought, Harry slipped out from between his still closed curtains and knelt before the trunk at the foot of his bed. Silently, he opened it and grabbed his invisibility cloak and Marauders' Map. He threw it over his shoulders and was about to close the lid when he saw a glint from the inside the trunk. Without stopping to think, he grabbed the item that felt so right in his hand, closed the lid, and slipped out of the room.

Unfolding the map, Harry made his way to a a tunnel out of the castle. He saw Filch was patrolling on the other side of the castle around the Ravenclaw tower. Snape was in his chambers, as was Umbridge, and Harry had no other adults to fear.

When Harry had successfully made it out of the castle, he took a deep breath. The air was fresh and cool. It wasn't cold, since it was still the beginning of September, but Harry was still grateful for his cloak and pulled it closed about himself.

Harry knew where he was going. He had his hill, where he sat and watched the stars. It was the highest point for a good distance, and Harry felt safe in the open space, especially on clear nights like this one. The hills and fields went on and on and the sky went up and up. The only boundary was the ground beneath his feet.

He sat on the grass and looked up at the sky and sighed. He longed to simply fly among the stars. Maybe in the vast emptiness of the universe he could find enough space to never feel confined again.

It was all a bit much for Harry. The whole thing with Snape and then Hermione. Harry continued to watch the cold twinkling of the stars and he felt two large tears roll down his cheeks as he let his emotions wash over him in the privacy of the night.

Why did it always have to be him? What had he done to make the world hate him so much? Dumbledore had it in for him, and Ron must have been the one to put the screws to Hermione, he figured. Maybe Ron had given Hermione an ultimatum and she had had to choose between him and Ron, and he had lost. The thought that he could even suspect Ron of that disturbed Harry greatly. Realizing that someone he considered a friend would stoop to simply trying to hurt him was effective - it did hurt. It hurt terribly.

It was like all the hurt was coursing through him, burning him with each heartbeat, and he felt a twinge of physical pain in his chest. He seemed a bit young to have a heart attack, but Harry didn't feel concerned at all, even if he were having one. More likely, it was just the depression. They said it made you hurt there. But he wouldn't have minded a heart attack, or at least not minded greatly.

Harry became away of the object in his hand and took his glass and dragged it across his arm without really thinking about it. It was a force of old habit by now, and he neither winced nor even glanced down to look at what he had done. His conscious mind didn't even register the pain properly anymore, but it was still effective in reducing the stress.

He'd picked the glass up years ago, when it had cut a rubbish bag, leaving a trail of garbage for Harry to clean up. Harry couldn't even remember exactly when it was, but it was before Hogwarts, he knew that. He knew he'd used the glass while he was still in his cupboard. And while the Dursleys were abysmal role-models for anyone, they had sought to impart a sense of cleanliness to Harry. Sure, he wasn't allowed to keep that level for himself, but he knew of it and its importance in a normal person's life, which was how he knew to leave his glass in the sun for a few hours before he used it the first time, sterilizing it. After that, he was always careful to clean it somehow between uses. Most importantly, it was his glass. It was something the Dursleys had thrown out - like him - and he had claimed it.

Running the glass over his arms several more times, he still watched the stars. They were a beautiful sight and he imagined himself flying among them as he walked back to the castle. It had to be a very early hour of the morning and he needed to catch a few hours sleep before dawn.

Having proven to himself that he wasn't trapped, Harry thought he could survive the dorm for the rest of the night. He didn't have any adults to avoid after his invisible escapade. All the faculty were, presumably asleep, in their chambers.

Harry put his things back in his trunk and slipped into the bathroom where he carefully wrapped a few swaths of toilet paper over his seeping wounds. He didn't want to mess the sheets with his blood. So he slipped past the curtains and under the covers, where he fell into a fitful sleep.

The dreamless sleep potion Snape had given him sat forgotten on the nightstand next to him.

Harry didn't have potions the next day, but that didn't stop Snape from stalking him in the hallway and waiting for the perfect moment to catch him alone.

"What?" Harry sighed. He had seen Snape lurking the shadows like a snake waiting to strike. He just wanted the inevitable confrontation to be over.

"You look like death warmed over," Snape complimented him.

"Thanks, likewise," Harry snarked back at Snape, not daring to meet the man's eyes.

"With an attitude like that, you're either rabid or suicidal," Snape observed, his tone cold.

"Why not both?" Harry snorted, though he knew he wasn't truly suicidal. He had a job to do, and a world to save. Suicide wasn't an option, at least not yet. Once Voldemort was dead, that was another matter, but at the moment, no, it was not an option, and he knew that.

"Harry!" Snape hissed suddenly.

"What?" Harry hissed back at him, meeting his eyes.

"I've been watching you this morning!" Snape continued hissing at him.

"Yeah, so?" Harry snapped. "Seen anything you like?" Harry's tone dripped acid strong enough to burn Snape.

"I distinctly don't like how gingerly you've been moving around the Great Hall," Snape replied, ignoring the veiled insult, though Harry noticed a brief flicker of horror and then hurt cross Snape's face. Snape suddenly reached out and grabbed Harry's right wrist.

"We're not doing this again," Harry sighed, exasperation flooding his voice. "You're as bad as a mother hen."

"Then stop being so cocky," Snape quipped back, pushing Harry's sleeve up to reveal several scabbed over cuts.

"You made a pun," Harry observed casually. Anything to distract from the sad look Snape was giving him. It was worse than the glares and the cruel words.

"Such things are not beneath me," Snape replied, collecting himself. Then, quieter, "Harry, what happened?"

"What do you care?" Harry seethed back at him, jerking his wrist free of Snape's grasp.

"I see the rabid part was an accurate assessment," Snape observed. Harry just glared at him. "And the rest of it?"

"I'm not suicidal," Harry ground out.

"I hope that's the truth, for both our sakes," Snape said coolly. "Now will you tell me what happened?"

"Leave me alone, and maybe I'll tell you tonight when I come by for that stupid potion," Harry muttered.

"See that you do come by for that stupid potion," Snape instructed, his voice relaxing a little bit, but not much. "I didn't spend six hours brewing it just be wasted."

"Of course not," Harry sneered, doing a fair imitation of Snape himself. "Now I have a class to attend, Professor."

"Certainly," Snape said, stepping back. "Have a good day," he added, almost as an afterthought.

"As likely as kissing a vampire would be a pleasant experience," Harry shot back with a dark look.

"I'm sure other vampires find it so," Snape replied, arching an eyebrow before he stalked off in the opposite direction.

Harry wanted to glare holes in Snape's billowing black cloak, but he couldn't find it within himself to hate the man at the moment.