Harry could see it all from his favourite vantage point at the top of the Astronomy Tower, chin tucked against his knees. Lightning spider-webbed across a shattered grey sky, thunder cracking in the air straight after. The wind was freezing, but Harry couldn't make himself move. His robes would have to suffice.

Voldemort had tried to return last week. Tried to use Harry in the most horrifying ritual he had ever seen in his life. For some reason, it hadn't worked right. It was all a blur in Harry's mind, the ensuing battle, the look on Voldemort's face when he crumpled to the ground, wand spiraling lazily after him.

So many people breathed Harry's praises, touted him as some kind of hero. He wasn't. Bile rose in his throat again, and he swallowed hard, staring blindly into the worsening storm. It was nothing. He was nothing. The Boy Who Lived By Chance, the product of his mother's sacrifice. Nothing but a freak.

And then there was Cedric...

Oh, he wasn't dead. Madam Pomfrey and the Headmaster were so quick to assure him. Not dead at all. But in a coma no one could wake him from. He looked like a wax statue the few times Harry had sneaked into the Hospital Wing and made his way to Cedric's corner, to see the Hufflepuff boy in his hospital bed. He was wasting away, and no one knew the cause. Some strange byproduct of having dodged a particularly nasty curse, mixed with the Killing Curse. But Wormtail was dead, and he was the caster.

So in the meantime, Cedric lingered, and Harry hated himself that much more every day, no matter how his friends tried to reassure him it wasn't his fault. He could see the truth in Cedric's parents' eyes. He was the one who told Cedric to take the Cup with him, wasn't he? He was damned.

"Out after curfew, Potter?" Snape spat behind him, but there was less acid in it this time. Harry adjusted his position as carefully as he could without falling off the edge of the Tower and regarded his most hated Professor with wary eyes. Rain dripped down, soaking his robes and plastering his hair to his skull, misting his glasses.

"Sorry, sir, I didn't realise the time," Harry muttered, truthfully this time. He hadn't been aware of how late it was. Then again, did it matter anyway?

"Get to bed, or you'll be in detention for a month, summer holiday notwithstanding," Snape sneered. "Ten points from Gryffindor."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, his shoulders slumping as he clambered down from his perch. A last, longing look over the edge of the Tower, and he was gone, plodding his way to the Gryffindor dormitory.

Professor Snape watched him go, a frown knitting his brows together. There was something...off about the boy. He couldn't quite figure out what. Yet, anyway.

He would.