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.

They didn't notice, he thought, and felt a particularly vicious twinge of pain in the pit of his stomach. No Hermione curled up on a sofa with another massive, dusty book, demanding to know where he'd been. No Ron, yawning and heavy-eyed, playing a half-hearted game of chess with himself. The only person still awake was a seventh year he didn't know by name, staring rather sullenly down into her Potions book, and he skirted by with a cautious wince. The girl didn't stir.

All the others were snoring when he made his way up to the boys' dorm, and Harry flopped onto his bed without bothering to change out of his still-soaked robes. Yanking the curtains around him (putting up his customary silencing spells), he toed his trainers off and shoved them to the bottom of the bed. Morning couldn't come soon enough.

He slept poorly as usual, his nightmares shredding his throat raw. The silencing spells held, but when Harry opened his eyes, the light was all wrong, filtering bright and golden through the dust motes dancing atop his four poster. He was late. No one had bothered to try to wake him up.

He knew he should be leaping from bed, changing from his still damp robes into fresh clothes, maybe trying to find a bit of toast to fill him up until later. That he should be gathering up his homework, ink-spattered and crumpled as it was, and going to class.

In the end, he didn't bother. He just put up an additional locking spell on his curtains, rolled over, and went back to sleep.

When he awoke again, the dormitory was still eerily silent. The light had changed again, fading into a duller amber. It was probably mid-afternoon, edging into evening. Sitting up, Harry considered what he should do. He couldn't see anyone reacting well to the realisation that he'd skipped the entire day's worth of classes, and his stomach felt like putting so much as a sip of water into it would be a very bad mistake.

Seizing the opportunity, Harry scrambled from his bed, changing right there in the dubious privacy of his bed-curtains into Muggle clothes. They were Dudley's hand-me-downs, ridiculously over-sized, but when he layered a Weasley sweater over it (with a slight stab of guilt), it felt warm enough. It was the work of a moment to snag his invisibility cloak and pull it over his head, ensuring that it wouldn't flutter or ripple and betray even an inch of exposed Harry.

Maybe it was time he went and finished the job he'd started to do last night, before Professor Snape had interrupted him. A slight smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he slipped down the staircase. There were Gryffindors here, on free periods or just skiving off, but no one could see him to bother him. Ginny Weasley bounded out the portrait hole, probably on her way to class, and he eased his way out just behind her. There. He was free, and life (as short as it was going to inevitably be) couldn't help but look up.

He probably shouldn't be so calm, Harry reflected, tiptoeing up the stairs to the Astronomy Tower. It would be empty all night again, Astronomy didn't meet for another day. After all, he was going to jump off a tower. His body would thud into the ground, an inevitable test of gravity that he would fail. He wondered if anyone would even be able to find him, considering the invisibility cloak. Unless it moved. Was there a way to ensure the cloak would cover his whole body, even to the end? Perhaps some sort of sticking charm?

Sighing a bit, Harry grinned and shook his head. It didn't matter anyway. He wouldn't have to deal with anything ever again, and the thought was heady. No more Dursleys. No more cupboard. No more 'freak.' No more senseless hero worship, lavished upon the head of a boy who had done nothing but survive through sheer luck and others' sacrifices. No more Ron and Hermione. That thought made him pause, but only briefly. They had each other. They didn't need him. It might be hard at first, but in the end, they would be better off.

Air so cold it stung swirled around his face. He'd reached the top. Harry glanced at his favourite perch, a bit longingly, but stepped forward. It was better to get it over with quickly. That way, doubts couldn't set in.

Balancing precariously on the edge of the parapet, Harry smiled one last time.

Then he stepped off.

Surely not, but Severus hadn't lived this long by discounting his instincts. So with a deft slash of his wand, he created a magical barrier encircling the tower, just a few feet below the parapet. Anyone attempting to leap off this edge would find themselves bouncing off his protections a short while later. Not to mention the alarm it would set off for him, and only him. By the time a suicidal student, Potter or otherwise, figured out how to break through the enchantment and continue their perilous downward journey, he should be up there and more than ready to prevent them from their attempt.

Or that was how it was supposed to go in theory anyway, and it was a worn-out Potions professor who plodded to his quarters later that night, praying to all the gods that Potter stayed put for once. He was exhausted.

The next afternoon, as it shaded toward evening, Severus crinkled his nose in annoyance at the clamour emanating from his chambers. If Peeves had found a way into his study again... Quickening his steps, his hand was on the knob when he finally realised what it was. The Tower alarm...

The Potions Master whirled and made his way to the Astronomy Tower so quickly, it almost looked as if he'd Apparated.

Of all the things Harry expected from jumping off the top of the Astronomy Tower, it was not stopping five feet below the edge on an invisible barrier. The impact drove his breath out of his lungs with a painful whoosh, and he rolled over on his back, squinting against the rays of sunlight still filtering past him, as he fumbled for his wand. There had to be a way past this. A little voice in the back of his head asked if it was worth it, finding another way, but he ignored it, fingers scrabbling through the folds of the invisibility cloak. One fingernail bent back almost all the way, causing a thin rill of blood to trickle down his hand, but he ignored it as he seized his wand, triumph sizzling through his veins.

Then he heard it. Footsteps, loud and approaching. Eyes widening at the sight he must look, Harry flung the invisibility cloak over himself, scrunching down in it just as a shadow fell over him.

"I know you're there," his Potions professor's acerbic tones filtered down to him. "I put the barrier up. Considering you would look far wavier if you were Disillusioning yourself, it must be an invisibility cloak, and since the only student I know with that is a certain Gryffindor...would you like to come out of there, Potter?"

Turning crimson with humiliation and thwarted effort, Harry lowered the cloak a bit, until just his flushed and sweaty face poked out. He couldn't properly see Snape's face, but he thought the man looked angry.

A whispered word later, and Harry was floating straight up, flailing with more than a bit of panic before he tried to recollect the tattered bits of his dignity. Snape deposited him gently on the floor of the tower, and summoned the invisibility cloak the next moment.

"Hey, that's mine," Harry blurted out. Snape raised one eyebrow.

"And you shall have it back when I am assured that you will not use it to cloak any other suicide attempts," the Potions Master sneered. Harry flushed again, shivering a little in his Muggle clothes.

"I wasn't trying to..." he protested weakly.

"Of course not. You always try to leap off the top of the Astronomy Tower before dinner. It provides a bit of exercise," Snape said, scathing. Harry bit his bottom lip. Well, when he put it like that...

"Come on, Potter," Snape said, holding out one hand to help pull Harry off the floor.

"Where?" Harry asked, apprehension pooling in the pit of his stomach.

"The Hospital Wing," was Severus's curt answer.

Shit, Harry thought.

But the ultimate humiliation came when the Mediwitch eyed him up and down, said she needed to get something from her stores and talk to Professor Snape more, she'd be right back, and used her wand to invisibly leash him to the bedpost so he couldn't run off.

Harry slumped down on the bed, halfheartedly pushing himself under the starched covers. He might as well be warm while he was imprisoned, right? The leash itched his wrist, and he wondered why she couldn't have just used a Sticking Charm while she was at it. Surely that would have been easier than this bloody spell.

"I'm not a dog," he mumbled. Or a toddler, he mentally tacked on, recalling what he'd occasionally seen in Muggle places, of parents tying long fabric leads around their toddler's hands or through a little knapsack. He was fourteen years old, almost fifteen. How was this supposed to help him? Aside from making him wish that the floor would open up and swallow him. Which was actually a possibility at Hogwarts, however remote.

He could see Madam Pomfrey and Snape in her office. She'd left the door open a crack. He couldn't hear a thing though. They must have put up Silencing Spells. Huffing a sigh, Harry scratched at his ear and tried again to get comfortable. His finger throbbed where he'd apparently ripped the nail off, and blood had dried down the side of his fingers. If this was how he was going to be treated for failing, it only strengthened his resolve to finish it properly the next time.

Besides, it was what he deserved, wasn't it? Cedric would still be awake, alive, and kicking, were it not for him. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had told him more than once what a burden he was. An imposition on their good nature, his aunt had said with a haughty sniff. No matter what he'd done, it was never good enough. It was never enough. Didn't he have the scars to prove it?

Why wouldn't they just let him go? His job was over. Voldemort was dead. There was no more use for him, was there? Couldn't they just let him die? Harry's shoulders sagged as he pulled his knees up to his chest, one hand still awkwardly stuck out with the invisible constraints.

The door to Madam Pomfrey's office opened, and he could hear the click of her shoes across the floor. He looked up, throat tightening with apprehension. She still looked rather...remote, and Professor Snape just glared at him.

"I'm glad to see you have stayed put, Mister Potter," the nurse tutted, waving her wand. The invisible leash unwound and he immediately tucked his newly freed hand into the other, under the blankets. "I'm not a Mind Healer, Mister Potter-Harry. And despite You Know Who's downfall, it's not safe for you to go to St. Mungo's for treatment." She paused for a moment, biting her bottom lip.

"So?" Harry prompted her anxiously. They weren't sending him back to the Dursleys early, were they? Granted, if they did, it's not like it would be that difficult for Harry to finish what he'd started...

"Since the dormitory is not as secure as it needs to be to hold you at this time, you'll be spending the remainder of the term, and possibly longer, with me," Professor Snape interjected, looking like he'd bit into something sour.