Harry sat perched on the edge of the astronomy tower for the fifth night that week, staring out at the stars. Or well, he would have been, if not for the cloudy sky. The weather seemed to be in the same dreary mood as he was tonight.

He sighed, looking down at the cool metal he kept turning over in his hand. Cuticle scissors, he thought they were called but wasn’t quite sure. He had snagged them from Aunt Petunia’s nail kit, she had never used them and therefore never noticed their absence. He wasn’t really aware of what he needed them for at the time, just that he needed them.

And now they were his crutch. These tiny scissors that he wasn’t even sure of the name of were the only thing keeping him together. Or were they only helping to tear him apart? It was hard to tell, sometimes.

He hadn’t used them in a long time, actually. He just brought them with him to Hogwarts, kept them stashed away in his trunk because the thought of being without them just didn’t feel right. Just as he held onto every letter from Ron and Hermione to re-read when he was feeling alone and isolated at the Dursleys, he had to keep this piece of stainless steel with him to help hold on to his sanity…

Harry scowled, thinking of Ron… his so-called best friend had abandoned him when he needed him most. He hadn’t even attempted to listen to Harry when he tried to tell him he hadn’t put his name in the Goblet of Fire.

Hermione was stuck in the middle, believing in Harry but still speaking to Ron… While he appreciated her situation, it still didn’t help to make him feel any less lonely and hopeless. He did not even want to go through with the tournament, not at all. But as usual, he did not have a choice.

He turned the scissors over in his hand once more, contemplating.

Harry wasn’t quite sure when he had started to hurt himself, just that it seemed to make him hurt less on the inside. What did Dudley’s fist and Uncle Vernon’s cruel words mean to him when he could simply cut it all away from his mind? The transfer of pain from mind to skin was more than a little fascinating, and Harry found himself looking for that euphoric high more and more all the time.

Then his Hogwarts letter had come and things seemed a little bit easier to handle without the blade by his side. Not that it wasn’t by his side, mind you. He just didn’t find himself turning to it quite as often as he used to. There were times, of course, mostly during the summers… but now he was at the start of his fourth year, and he hadn’t purposely hurt himself since just after he had blown up Aunt Marge, which was more than a year ago now.

Sometimes he would go for long stretches of time like this and it seemed like he was actually finally over it, he didn’t need it any longer. He rarely even thought about it. But then one day he would just open his trunk and see it and even if he was feeling perfectly fine, he felt a need to pick it up and test his limits, to see just how deep he could go...

As it was at the moment, however, he was not feeling perfectly fine at all. And he felt like he needed this now more than ever before.

He had carried it up with him to the tower every night this week, just looking at it, debating. He was proud of himself for resisting for so long, but honestly in the end, what did it matter? What was the bloody point of denying himself something he wanted so very bad? It’s not as though it really hurt. It actually really didn’t.

Even if it did hurt, it still wouldn’t be hurting anyone but himself and since when had that mattered in the least? Harry seemed to exist solely for the purpose of hurting…

And so, without any further ado, he pressed the thin metal against his wrist, bracing himself for the first delicious sting in a year and eighty-four days…

But it never sunk into his flesh. Harry was too shocked by being stopped to notice who he had been stopped by, but the perpetrator became clear when he spoke.

“Potter, what in the hell do you think you are doing!?”

Harry stared blankly at the hand that had been holding his scissors, still trying to process what had just happened.

“Of all the… suicide?!”

Harry snapped out of his daze then, looking up to meet the eyes of his professor. His tone had been angry as usual, but the man looked… scared? Concerned, even? For Harry?

“I- I wasn’t trying to kill myself, Professor,” Harry said softly.

Snape glared at him, only slightly less cold than usual. “Then just what were you trying to do?”

“I was just going to… cut myself.”

Snape blinked and kept his eyes closed for a moment, rolling them as he opened them once more. “Obviously.”

Harry huffed, feeling irritated. Not an unusual feeling to experience when around this particular professor.

Snape sighed. “Fine. If not trying to kill yourself, why were you trying to cut yourself?”

Harry shrugged, feeling self-conscious now that the shock of the situation had worn off. He slightly shook his arm to get the sleeve of his robes to slip back down over his wrist.

“A verbal answer, if you please,” Snape said, narrowing his eyes at Harry’s movement. Suddenly he swooped down beside him, causing Harry to flinch as he pulled down his sleeve, revealing the scars usually kept hidden under the long sleeves of his robes.

Snape stared for a moment before Harry thrust his sleeve back down, glaring at the Potions Master as he hugged his arms across his stomach protectively.

There was silence for several long moments before Snape voiced a question, just one word but it seemed to speak a million. “Why?”

Harry nibbled on his lower lip and thought about it for a moment, as he never really was quite sure why. What drove him to think that slitting his wrists would somehow make him hurt less? For the life of him, he couldn’t remember the first time, but he seemed to be able to remember every time after, and how it always made him feel a little less like nothing. Like for just a moment, he could forget that he was nothing more than the boy who slept in a cupboard under the stairs and drift into not exactly happiness, but a feeling of something other than the loneliness and despair that he experienced every single day at the Dursleys.

“It just… helps,” Harry said finally. “It’s better to feel… something… something you can control. Rather than… something bad that you can’t control. Or nothing at all... “

He knew that he wasn’t making any sense, but Snape seemed to understand, somehow, for he didn’t object or criticize. “How long?”

Harry’s eyes drifted to his shoes, struggling to remember a lifetime he had tried so hard to forget. “I dunno. I think I started when I was… nine. Or ten, maybe.”

If Snape had been anyone else, Harry would have thought his mouth was hanging open. As it was, Harry’s eyes were still focused on his feet and he could not see him, only hear him. “Nine?”

Harry just nodded.

There was silence once more, and Harry decided to break it. “I haven’t done it in a long time, more than a year, I, I… honestly, most of the time I don’t even think about it. Sometimes it almost seems like I’ve grown past it but then randomly I’ll just see it in my trunk and it’s, I just have this like need for it, even when I don’t really even need it… it’s just a craving, an urge… I could be feeling fine but then if I see it I just... want it.”

“Perhaps the problem is seeing it? Why do you keep it and carry it around like this?”

Harry shrugged. “I dunno… it’s… it’s like a security blanket. I need to have it to know… that I always have something to anchor me, just in case, I guess…”

Snape stared at him and Harry flushed, looking away. “I know it sounds crazy-”

Snape shook his head. “It’s not crazy. But it’s not the solution.”

“What else am I supposed to do when, when…”

“Take a walk, read a book, talk to someone. This isn’t the coping mechanism you should turn to at the first sign of trouble.”

“Who am I going to talk to!? Everyone hates me because they think I put my name in that goblet, my best friend isn’t even speaking to me because of it!”

“What about your relatives? What would they say?”

Harry snorted. “Probably ‘go deeper, Harry, you can’t even commit suicide properly.’”

Snape just stared at him yet again and Harry looked away, tugging his sleeves down further and tightening his arm’s hold against his stomach. “Forget what I said,” Harry murmured after a moment.

“I think I’ll have a difficult time forgetting that,” Snape muttered.

Harry closed his eyes, resting his heavy head on his knees. Snape blew out a heavy breath. “I can not allow you to keep this any longer, I’m sure you realize.”

Harry whipped his head back at him, desperation shining in his eyes. “Professor, please, I need it! It’s not hurting anyone!”

“But it is hurting you, and that is unacceptable,” Snape said, his greedy fingers encasing Harry’s only source of emotional support.

“Why?”

“You… no one, save for perhaps the Dark Lord deserves to feel bad enough to do this to themselves. This won’t help you in the long run.”

“No offense, Professor, but you don’t know that. I just had to explain the whole thing to you. It does help.”

“It sounds like a temporary fix that won’t help you in the end, only leave you with more scars.”

“Scars are the whole reason I’m alive, they’re the key to my survival in more ways than one,” Harry said, pointing to his forehead.

“You should have none of these scars, not even that one… you should have never been attacked, never sent to live with careless relatives, never started this...”

“Yeah well, I did,” Harry stubbornly retorted.

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. “I do not have any other choice, Potter, there is no way I could possibly hand this back to you and just forget about it.”

“Fine,” Harry said, annoyed but resigned. “But if you’re going to keep it from me, then just… get rid of it, please. If I know you have it, I don’t… I don’t know what I might do to get it back.”

“Don’t you think that you would just go looking for something else to use?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said honestly. “I’ve never been in a situation before where I needed something else.”

“Very well,” Snape said, banishing it on the spot. Harry stared at where it had been, feeling despair tugging at his heart at the loss of the only constant in his life.

He could feel Snape’s eyes watching him carefully, so he forced himself to tear his eyes away and look back at his professor. Snape assessed him for a moment longer before nodding slightly.

“Come on, Potter, you need some sleep.”

“I’d rather not be in the same room as my dormmates right now, thanks…”

“Have they been tyrannizing you?”

Harry shrugged.

Snape sighed. “I don’t suppose you’ve told your head of house about this?”

“Why would I?” Harry asked, genuinely confused.

Snape rolled his eyes. “Bullying is not tolerated at Hogwarts.”

Harry chuckled. “Doesn’t mean much. Nearly everyone is walking around with ‘Potter stinks’ badges on their robes.”

Snape seemed to pause a moment before nodding. “You are correct in that… you probably should be monitored tonight, anyway.”

“Hospital wing?” Harry asked, groaning a bit. “Please don’t take me there, I’ll die…”

“Don’t joke about that,” Snape responded sharply. “Follow me.”

And so Harry stood, feeling pins and needles prickling up his legs as they had fallen asleep, and followed Snape.

They journeyed down the stairs of the astronomy tower and made their way to the dungeons. Snape stopped at his office and ushered Harry inside. Just as Harry wondered if he would now be receiving a lecture, a door seemed to appear out of nowhere behind Snape’s desk and Snape gestured for Harry to follow him inside.

Harry did so, hesitantly, finding himself in what he guessed to be Snape’s quarters. Snape led him over to a leather couch and gently pushed Harry down to sit on it when he made no move to do so himself.

“You may stay here for tonight, but you will have to speak to your head of house and work something out with your dormmates eventually.”

“I… I don’t have to tell her about… you know,” Harry started tentatively, head inclining towards his arms, “do I?”

Snape studied him for a moment before sitting down beside him on the sofa, elbows placed on his knees as he rested his chin in his hands. “As you didn’t do yourself any damage tonight, I suppose you may keep the incident between us. Does anyone else know?”

Harry shook his head slowly. He hadn’t told anyone, ever, and no one before Snape had discovered his secret.

“If you don’t want anyone else to know, then I will have to monitor you myself.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, feeling very nervous.

“I will have to check to see if you have been harming yourself. I will not reprimand you if you relapse, but I can not stand by and allow you to continue to hurt yourself.”

Harry bit his lip before nodding. He felt like he was losing all control over his life, but he could recognize Snape’s position. “I understand, sir,” he said quietly.

Snape pulled a blanket off the side of the couch and conjured a pillow for Harry. “I know it’s…” he sighed, shaking his head. “I won’t lie and say that I can relate to your situation, but I can understand and sympathize with it. You do not have to deal with everything on your own, as you always seem to do.”

Harry stared at his knees, saying nothing. Snape put the blanket over him, almost tucking him in. He handed him the pillow and Harry took it, placing it against the armrest behind his head.

“It is late. I will leave you to rest,” Snape murmured. Harry nodded and turned on his side, tucking his knees against his chest.

Snape stood and seemed to hesitate for a moment before placing a hand on his head, lightly brushing his fringe out of his eyes. Harry closed them tightly and forced himself to relax and drift off to sleep, feeling just a bit of peace mingling in with the anxiety at last.

The clock chimed twelve times, it was midnight. One year and eighty-five days clean...

Harry wasn’t stupid enough to believe that everything would be okay, but well. It was fine for the moment, at least.

“It’s. a. dragon,” Harry hissed, pure panic shining in his eyes as they sat on the ground in front of the champion’s tent.

Severus had to bite back a frustrated growl. Yes, it was a dragon. They had gone over this several times. There were no words he could say to make the situation go away, and yelling curses wouldn’t make Albus any less of a fool or help Harry to feel any less terrified.

He had no words of comfort to offer, as he wasn’t one to lie. Not for someone on the good side of the battle against Voldemort, anyway, and Harry, he had discovered in recent weeks, was nothing if not good.

He had already known the boy to be a self-sacrificing fool, but he had been blind to just how pure his heart really was. He had been told by others, of course, numerous times, but he had not once listened. Things were better learned through experience, anyway.

Harry really was more like his mother than his father, but more than anything, he was his own person. His own, emotionally troubled person.

Severus had born witness to many things in his years, but he had never expected to witness Harry Potter attempting to commit suicide. But then, he actually hadn’t been trying to kill himself. He had only been trying to cut himself. Because that was so much better.

Severus didn’t get it, not really, but he was hardly in any position to judge others' coping mechanisms. It was a terrible thing to contemplate, and Severus would do anything in his power to prevent it from happening again, but it still somehow had to be better than joining the Death Eaters.

“It’s a dragon,” Severus agreed solemnly, the crowd’s screaming nearly drowning him out.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Harry muttered, turning towards the bushes. Nothing came up, but Severus rubbed his back all the same.

“You have a plan,” Severus stated after a while.

“Yeah, I have a plan… it’ll probably end with me being burned to death by a dragon, but, I have a plan.”

“You won’t be burned to death,” Severus said, wondering if it was considered a lie if you wanted so badly to believe it. The chances of his fourteen-year-old pupil escaping this little escapade without injury were admittedly not great.

The speakers announced success for Fleur Delacour as Harry fiddled with his tiny dragon model. Hungarian Horntail, the most treacherous of the lot, of course. Why would he have drawn anything less?

“Sounds like Krum’s turn,” Harry muttered.

Severus stood then, exhaling a heavy breath. “I suppose you’d best get back in the tent.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, gulping audibly.

“Harry,” Severus started, hesitating before placing both hands on the boy’s shoulders. “You… Be careful. It doesn’t matter how you perform, just that you do your best to stay safe.”

Harry stared at a point somewhere behind Severus, nodding slightly. They both started as the speakers announced Krum’s triumph.

“Go on,” Severus forced himself to say, gently pushing Harry towards the tent before making his way to the stands to watch the first task.

***

“And so I live to see another day,” Harry said dryly, though the relief in his features was evident.

He had survived, yes. More than that, he tied with Krum for the victory. Not that that bit mattered much to Severus, in comparison.

“It would seem so,” Severus responded. “I assume that you and Weasley have made up?”

Harry nodded, grinning like the little dunderhead he was. “Yeah, he finally got over it.”

“And you forgave him for abandoning you, just like that.”

“Mmm. Well, there’s no sense in holding a grudge, is there?”

“I suppose not,” Severus agreed, though they both knew that he had been holding a grudge against the boy’s dead father since before he had even been born. Severus pushed the Gryffindor’s sleeves back down once he had performed the nightly ritual of checking his arms for fresh cuts.

“You did well, Harry.”

***

“You truly have not heard of Gillyweed before?”

“No, I… God, I’ve gone through so many books trying to find a solution…”

“And it never occurred to you to simply ask me or another adult?” Severus asked, sighing. He was doing a lot of that these days.

“We’re not supposed to have help,” Harry muttered, taking the Gillyweed and stuffing it in his pocket.

“Yes, the rules of this tournament have been followed very closely,” Severus said, rolling his eyes. “To start with, there is an underage student being forced to participate. Completely ethical.”

Harry nibbled his lip. He did that quite often and Severus wasn’t sure if it fell under the self-harm spectrum or not. He truly had no idea what he was doing most of the time, just that he was trying his best. But was his best enough?

“Do you know what we’ll be retrieving from the lake?”

Severus shook his head. “Unfortunately not. They have been very tight-lipped about it. However, I do believe that a good night’s sleep is in order.”

“Yeah… erm, would it be okay if I stayed here tonight?”

“Won’t your friends wonder where you are?”

“Nah, Professor McGonagall took them somewhere for the night.”

“Very well, then.”

***

“I don’t recall you ever mentioning that you were unable to swim.”

Harry laughed, pure relief showing once more now that the second task was over and there was only one more to suffer through. “Didn’t much matter, I had to go through with it either way.”

“Hopefully the third task won’t be as ridiculous as this one,” Severus muttered. Drugging students and tying them down underwater… What were these people thinking, honestly?

***

“It’s a maze,” Harry said, mirth shining in his eyes. “After nearly being burned alive by a dragon and drowning in the Black Lake, the big finale is a fucking maze.”

“Language,” Severus reprimanded softly. A maze, indeed. It did seem a bit odd…

***

It was getting dark.

It was getting dark and Harry was just a little bit afraid of the dark. He always slept with a bit of light whenever possible. Not a nightlight, he had insisted, but a light nonetheless…

It was getting dark and Harry was without his nightlight.

Severus’ Dark Mark lit up like fire.

***

Cedric Diggory was dead and Harry seemed to be halfway there himself.

He had seemed to be… at the moment he was nowhere to be found. One moment Albus had been prying his fingers away from Cedric’s body and the next he had seemingly disappeared. As had Mad-Eye Moody.

“That is not Alastor Moody,” Albus said suddenly.

***

Harry stared at the blood dripping from the cut on his arm, ostensibly transfixed.

Barty Crouch Jr. lay on the floor, tightly bound by robes.

Severus was given orders, and he followed them resignedly.

***

Harry slept, seemingly at peace. Severus knew he was far from it.

He sat with him alone in the hospital wing. It was very late, or early, one might say. The whole world seemed to have changed in the last few hours and Severus was unsure if he himself would ever manage to sleep again. He especially couldn’t allow himself to drift off while his… Harry... was left alone in the hospital wing after suffering through such an ordeal.

Voldemort was back. The Minister of Magic refused to accept the truth. Severus had to resume his role as double agent. Cedric Diggory was dead. Harry had nearly followed him.

It was an odd feeling, to care for someone who had such a large target on his back. Severus had always known Voldemort would come back and go after Harry, but to be here now, actually experiencing it…

Harry could have died. And for the first time, Severus found himself wondering how he could possibly go on without him. The child he had sworn to protect but never care for had somehow managed to worm himself inside of Severus’ heart and he couldn’t go back now, even if he had wanted to.

Unanticipatedly, Severus became aware of emerald eyes blinking at him blurrily. He picked up the glasses that had been sitting on the nightstand and placed them on the face.

“How are you feeling?” Severus questioned softly.

“Bad,” Harry admitted, voice raspy. Severus was sure if it had been anyone else asking, he would have said he was fine. He wasn’t sure if that should make him feel smug or sad.

Severus held a glass of water up to the boy’s lips. “Drink,” he said. Once Harry had had his fill, Severus asked him what hurt.

“My mind. My heart. My arms. I, I… I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

“Shh,” Severus soothed softly, running a hand through the child’s messy raven hair. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Harry shook his head, blinking back tears. “I told him to take the cup with me. I… why couldn’t I just be selfish? I got him killed, he’s dead because of me. And he’s alive because of me.”

“No,” Severus said firmly, pulling the boy into his arms, holding his head against his chest. “It was not your fault.”

“I can’t make myself believe that,” Harry said, breaths coming short and fast.

“Then I’ll just have to work harder to make you believe it.”

Harry shook his head against his chest but was quiet for long moments.

“I’d give anything for my scissors right now,” he whispered after a while.

Severus tightened his hold. “I… I can’t give them to you. I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do.”

“You’re doing fine,” Harry murmured. “You’re here.”

***

Harry seemed to drift through the final week of school, Severus observed. A walking corpse.

Severus knew he couldn’t allow him to return to his relatives, not now. From what little he had gotten out of Harry this year, he knew that they were obviously unfit guardians.

And so with that thought in mind, he made a visit up to the headmaster’s office.

***

Albus had argued, insisting that the blood protection the Dursleys offered was far more important than emotional support. The Burrow’s wards certainly weren’t strong enough to protect Harry Potter.

Severus somehow convinced him that Harry would be both safer and happier with Hogwarts level wards and a fully trained wizard to protect him. A former Death Eater’s home, perhaps?

Well, Severus certainly thought himself capable of protecting Harry from any outside threats as well as from himself. He still didn’t know what he was doing, but was definitely here.

Harry couldn’t ever remember crying when he cut, something about the numbness just didn’t allow for it. Right now though, his eyes were a river as he fell to pieces.

He had woken up from a nightmare of the third task, yet again, but this time Severus wasn’t there to comfort him. Not that it was likely to help, this time. Nothing could, nothing but his old friend, that was.

His old friend that he had allowed Severus to banish like the idiot he was. It was the only thing he had ever used and he wanted it now, damn it! It was gone for good now, though, so Harry would have to make do with something else.

He stumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen, extending a trembling hand to grab a knife. He tried to go back up to his room but found that he just couldn’t seem to manage it right now and collapsed at the bottom of the stairs, clutching the knife protectively.

He usually thought long and hard about relapsing before actually doing it, considering the pros and cons of it because yes, there were pros. Right now, though, he couldn’t be bothered to care about the cons. He needed this, needed it like he needed food to eat and water to drink and Severus to-

His breath hitched, thinking of Severus. He had been so proud of Harry’s progress and would be so disappointed at his failure. It couldn’t be helped, though. Harry had known from the start that he would never give this up forever and now was as good of a time as any to start again.

He pressed the knife against his skin, and this time there was no one to stop him from digging it in.

***

Severus had returned, Harry heard him coming in. Heavy footsteps echoed throughout the house, stumbling through the kitchen. Cabinets were opened and closed, a glass slammed onto the counter. A minute later the sink was turned on and off and then the footsteps came towards him.

He scooted closer against the wall, clutching the knife tightly, feeling lightheaded. Blood seemed to be everywhere, but at the same time, it seemed like he hadn’t managed to do nearly enough damage to himself in the time allotted.

The footsteps got louder before they quieted completely, and suddenly Severus was crouched down before him. “Harry…” he murmured, effortlessly taking the knife out of his grasp and tossing it aside. He slipped off his Death Eater robes and held the fabric against Harry’s arm, pressing down firmly against the wounds.

“I’m sorry,” Harry gasped. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m not mad. It’s okay.”

“I’m not… I’m not even with the Dursleys this summer, I shouldn’t be… why am I… why can’t I stop,” he sobbed, wound-free arm reaching out desperately for Severus, who in turn responded by enveloping him in a gentle embrace.

“It’s an addiction, it’s not easy…”

“I told you before I wasn’t trying to kill myself. I want to now. I want… I want it to stop. I want it to end. Why, why won’t it… I don’t want to be alive, I don’t wanna breathe, I don’t…”

“Harry,” Severus whispered, and Harry could hear the thick emotion in his voice. He said nothing more, only stroked his back comfortingly. It didn’t help. It didn’t stop the pain, the ache. Nothing possibly could.

“It hurts so bad,” Harry moaned. “Everything… hurts…”

“I don’t know what to do,” Snape said softly. He had said it several times over the past few months, choosing to be completely honest with Harry rather than offer meaningless platitudes. He had never sounded quite this lost when he had said it before, however.

Harry wanted to tell him it would be fine, everything would be okay, but he no longer believed that himself. He needed something, and he was sure that the answers lay with the cool metal that had been tossed aside. He made a reach for it.

“Harry,” Severus said, quickly catching his movement and grabbing his hand, holding it firmly but gently.

“Please,” Harry whined desperately, long past caring how he sounded.

“I can’t. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

Harry would have felt bad for making Severus feel bad if he could have managed to sort his emotions out past the painful haze clouding his mind. He simply bawled, clinging to Severus as though his life depended on it because quite frankly, it did. As much as he didn’t want to breathe, he was breathing, and Severus was his lungs, his air, his oxygen...

At some point he was aware of Severus picking him up, carrying him somewhere. It was pathetic that Harry was small enough to be picked up and carried so easily, and Harry only wept more at the thought of his neglected childhood.

Severus never let go of him, setting him down on his bed only once he had retrieved whatever he had needed from his own room.

He wet the fabric before removing it from his arm and cleaning the wounds. It looked horrible, but Harry only viewed it in a detached sort of way. The cuts were soon covered with gauze. Harry absently remembered Severus saying something about self-inflicted wounds not being able to be healed by magic. It seemed now like something that had been said in another life.

Severus fed him potion after potion, the final one obviously being Dreamless Sleep as he was familiar with the taste and his eyes slipped closed soon after ingesting it. He was semi-aware of Severus tucking him in under the duvet and brushing tear tracks away from his cheeks.

***

Severus rested his head in his right hand as he held vigil at Harry’s bedside. His left hand was encased in Harry’s, grip firm even in sleep.

He should have expected it. Should have been prepared. Harry had done well through the school year, but everything had changed after the third task. How could it not have? Still, Severus had hoped…

Unrealistically. He knew Harry’s urges could come out of nowhere when he was seemingly fine, so considering the state he was in now… he shouldn’t have had knives so accessible in the kitchen, he shouldn’t have left Harry alone, he shouldn’t have expected so much…

Severus slipped his fingers out of Harry’s hand, heart clenching as the boy whimpered a little in his sleep. He didn’t want to leave him, but he had some things to take care of. He cast a quick monitoring spell to alert him if Harry woke up before going downstairs.

He banished the bloody knife at the bottom of the stairs and cast scourgify at the blood droplets and smears littering the floor. He felt queasy, not exactly at the sight of the blood, more just knowing it had all been purposely expelled from Harry.

He banished the knives in the kitchen, not wanting the sight to tempt Harry. He would figure out something else for cooking later. He placed wards on the knives in his laboratory that he required for potions and placed them in drawers out of sight. Anything else sharp that he noticed residing throughout the house was banished on the spot.

Once he was certain as he could be that the house had been cleared, he sat down heavily on the couch. He thought of the boy lying upstairs.

Severus believed Harry before when he had said he wasn’t suicidal, but it no longer seemed to ring true. They were past the point of being able to manage alone, Harry needed professional help and Severus would endeavor to get Harry what he needed, somehow.

“Why did you start cutting?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said irritably while not so subtly glaring at the medi-witch-shrink-or-whatever-she-was.

“No idea? One day you just picked up a knife and that was that?”

“Scissors,” Harry muttered. “Not a knife, scissors.”

“You used a knife during your relapse, however,” she stated more than asked.

Harry shifted on the couch, pulling his bandaged arm closer against his chest. Protectively. Defensively. “It was the only option available. Severus banished my scissors when he caught me last year.”

“And how do you feel about that?”

Harry resisted the urge to groan. Was she going to ask him about his mother next? Did his dead mother contribute to his issues? “Like I’m a child who can’t be trusted. Severus has even baby-proofed the house now.”

“You feel no great sense of loss when thinking of your scissors?”

Harry bit his lip. “Well… yeah.”

The therapist uncrossed and recrossed her legs. “What do you think it is about that particular tool that causes you to feel attached?”

Harry sat back on the couch, thinking. He really wasn’t sure. In the beginning, they had just seemed like they would work. But then, anything else he had tried just didn’t do it for him. ‘Until the knife the other night, anyway…’ he thought absently, tugging his arm closer.

“It’s the only thing I’d ever really used,” he said finally. “I… carried it with me everywhere in primary school and kept it in my trunk at Hogwarts.”

“And so it feels like an old friend,” the therapist offered gently. Harry nodded.

“Do you feel any resentment towards your guardian for destroying it?”

“Not really,” Harry said honestly. “I asked him to do it.”

She blinked, seeming surprised. “You did?”

“Yeah… he had to take it away from me and I… I knew that if I knew he had it, I would probably go to great lengths to get it back from him.”

“And so, you displayed a great amount of self-control to prevent that from happening.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, feeling just a bit proud of himself. “I guess I did.”

***

“How did your session go?” asked Severus.

“It went,” Harry said shortly.

***

“Tell me about your family,” the therapist, whose name he had learned was Claire, asked.

“Family?” Harry asked blankly. “My parents died when I was a baby.”

“Your aunt and uncle I mean, the people you grew up with.”

Harry shrugged, pulling his arms to his chest again. The one was no longer bandaged, but big, ugly scars hid underneath his sleeves. “There’s not much to tell.”

“Are you certain of that?” Claire questioned softly.

Harry stared at his denim jeans for a moment, contemplating. “They made me sleep in a cupboard,” he said after a while.

“Did they?” Claire asked, a slight edge straining her voice.

Harry nodded slowly. “They… My cousin and his friends would beat me up a lot. My uncle liked to yell and complain about me a lot.”

“And your aunt?”

Harry chewed on his lip. “She… she didn’t pay me much mind. She told me what chores needed to be done. That was kind of it.”

“Oftentimes, pure ignorance can sting more than a thousand cruel words.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed quietly. “It can.”

***

“Sometimes, I really just don’t see the point. Like… why try so hard to stop when I’ll just start again?”

“You don’t know that,” Severus murmured.

“I do,” Harry sighed. “You really shouldn’t think so much of me. If you hadn’t removed the knives already, I…”

“Even if you did, I still wouldn’t think any less of you. I don’t think any less of you.”


***

“Have you discussed this with anyone else? Your new guardian?”

Harry shook his head. “Why would I?”

Claire leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees. “Keeping it all locked inside yourself won’t help to ease the pain.”

“Severus doesn’t want to hear me whine about my relatives calling me a few bad names.”

“It was more than that. And it would not be whining. I assure you, Severus would appreciate honest and open communication in your relationship.”

Harry placed his head on the armrest of the couch. “Maybe.”

***

“Would you like bacon or sausage?” Severus asked.

“Sausage,” Harry said after a moment of hesitation. “I don’t… I used to cook bacon for my relatives a lot. I didn’t really get to eat it very often, but… I don’t like it much.”

“No?” Severus inquired, sitting down on a kitchen stool next to Harry. Harry very rarely ever even mentioned his relatives.

“No,” Harry said quietly, shaking his head a little. “I don’t like them much, either.”

***

“The final task,” Claire said one afternoon.

“The final task,” Harry muttered in response when it became clear she had nothing more to add to it.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Would you even believe me?” Harry grumbled, staring at the fire where Severus had burned this morning’s Daily Prophet issue. The headline claimed him to be deranged and disturbed, and while not in the way they believed, it ironically did seem to ring true.

Severus had vehemently disagreed with that line of thought when Harry had voiced it.

“I would,” Claire stated, nothing but good intention shining in her voice. She was one of the good ones, someone who tried to help people even when they couldn’t be helped, people like Harry.

“There’s not much to say,” Harry said, just as he had when she had brought up his relatives.

Once again, Claire disagreed with that.

***

“Could… would it be okay for me to visit Cedric’s grave sometime?”

Severus looked up from his potions book, surprised at the sudden question. He closed the book and stood from his chair, taking a place on the couch beside Harry.

“Yes,” he said softly. “Of course. I will take you.”

“You don’t have to, I can do it alone.”

“Yes, I do. And you don’t.”

***

“I just feel so guilty. And I know that I should, but it’s still not a good feeling.”

“Survivor’s guilt,” Claire murmured. Harry shook his head.

“No, it’s more than that. I told Cedric to take the cup with me. He shouldn’t have even been there…”

“You shouldn’t have been there either.”

Harry shook his head again. “Voldemort was after me.”

“You still shouldn’t have been there.”

***

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered. “I could’ve… I should’ve…”

Severus squeezed Harry’s shoulder as they stood at Cedric Diggory’s gravesite. There was no use in telling Harry once again that it was not his fault, not just now. Severus and Claire both knew that he would not believe it for some time.

Harry sighed heavily, gently shaking off Severus’ hand as he bent down before the grave, placing his contribution of lilies on top of the mounds of flowers already representing the great loss felt over the Hufflepuff.

Harry did not get back up after bending down, and after a few moments, Severus kneeled beside him.

“Severus?” Harry said after a while.

“Hmm?”

“I… do you know where my parents are buried?”

***

“Everyone falls apart at some point. The important part is putting yourself back together.”

“I’m always falling apart; I don’t know if I’ve ever been together…”

“No one is perfect, Harry. Everyone has cracks in their foundation. Just not everyone is brave enough to show it.”

***

“I’m sorry,” Harry murmured, already on the ground. Severus sat beside him.

“You simply must stop blaming yourself for everything, child.”

“I don’t know how,” Harry whispered, tears straining his voice. “I don’t even remember them. But I miss them so much. I miss what I never had. What I should have had.”

***

“When your guardian first contacted me, he informed me that you had become suicidal. Do you believe that to be true?”

Harry scowled, remembering the night he had gone off the rails in front of Severus. It had been pretty awful.

“No.”

“You feel strongly about it?”

“Yes.”

“Why is that?”

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I just… I’m a survivor. Sometimes it hurts so bad I just want it all to end, but I know that deep down… I would never do it. Kill myself, that is. My survival instincts are too strong.”

“I think you should try to find a reason to live rather than just survive.”

“Well, I have to take care of Voldemort, don’t I? That’s a pretty good reason to keep kicking.”

“Despite what some may suggest, you do not exist solely for the purpose of defeating Voldemort.”

Claire wasn’t afraid to say Voldemort’s name, and that was what helped him to almost believe her when she said things like that.

***

“Relapses are part of recovery,” Harry mentioned casually. “Clarie says so, anyway.”

“What do you think?”

“I think… I think I messed up and I feel really bad about it.”

“I think,” Severus started softly, “that beating yourself up over it isn’t any better than cutting yourself. Both are harmful to you. It happened. I’m not disappointed in you. I’m proud of you for holding on for as long as you did, and trying to do so once again. I think that you should be proud of yourself.”

***

“Do you think that keeping track of the days helps or hinders?”

“I don’t know,” Harry replied honestly. “It… I always did it. Just to remind myself, I guess, that I could take it. I could make it without it, I had so far. But then, I was always thinking about it, as I marked the days on the calendar… But maybe it’s better to just try to let it go and stop counting.”

“That could work,” Claire offered. “But I suspect it will be a bit more difficult to let go of than you might hope. You’ve been dealing with this for a very long time.”

“That’s the thing,” Harry said. “No matter what I do, I think that it will always lurk in the back of my mind but maybe somehow…”

***

“Do you think I’m a hopeless case?” Harry asked suddenly.

“No. Why do you ask?”

“Why don’t you think I am?”

Severus looked at him seriously. “You want help. You want to stop. If you didn’t, we wouldn’t be here now having this conversation.”

“But what if it doesn’t matter what I want? What if I can’t stop?”

“You already have.”

“The definition of relapse is a deterioration after a temporary improvement. I’ve never stopped, not really.”

“All things are temporary. Our lives are temporary. That does not make them meaningless.”

Someone was pounding on the door.

Severus jumped out of bed, hoping it wasn’t…

But it was. Harry stood there, clutching his hand, blood trailing down his arm.

Severus resisted the urge to curse out loud and instead ushered Harry inside, pulling him into a tight embrace. At least he had come to Severus, at least he hadn’t tried to hide it, at least…

“Severus,” Harry said, pulling himself out of the hug. “I didn’t…”

“It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean to,” Severus soothed, gently taking the hand and unwrapping the cloth he had held around it.

“No, I mean, I didn’t… I did it, but I didn’t want to, not really, I…”

Severus stared at the lines written on his hand. ‘I must not tell lies’ was embroidered on his skin.

“Who used a blood quill on you?” Severus asked cooly, barely restraining his anger. It would do no good to release it on Harry. No, that must be saved for the son of a bitch who had hurt his-

“Umbridge,” Harry whispered softly. “Well technically I used it on myself, but…”

“I will kill her,” Severus stated darkly. Harry shook his head frantically.

“No, Severus, please don’t, it’s not worth it…”

Severus sighed, pulling the boy into his arms once more. “It’s a figure of speech, Harry. I won’t kill her. Not right now, anyway. Come, we need to get this cleaned up.”

Severus led Harry to his personal potions lab while considering both the longevity and legality of spells that would turn a toad-faced woman into an actual toad…

Once they had reached the lab, Severus told Harry to sit on the countertop as he rifled through his cupboards for potions to counteract the effects of the blood quill. Murtlap Essence, Scar-Diminishing Serum… Unfortunately there weren’t many options to help with this particular wound.

“Here, soak your hand in this for a while and then we’ll apply the Scar-Diminishing Serum,” Severus said, pouring the Murtlap Essence into a bowl and passing it to Harry.

Harry obeyed, relief washing over his face as he dipped his hand in the gunk.

“What does she claim you to have lied about?” Severus asked after a moment.

“Voldemort,” Harry answered immediately before winching as Snape did at the name. “Sorry, I keep forgetting…”

“It is not an issue,” Severus muttered.

Harry snorted lightly but said no more on that topic.

“I suppose I pissed her off in class because I wouldn’t say that he isn’t back. And so now I’m both mental and a liar.”

“You’re not mental,” Severus murmured. “Or a liar. Most of the time, anyway.”

Harry snorted again. “Yeah, I guess, I mean, I only see my therapist once a week now, so that’s something.”

“That does not make you mental,” Severus sighed. Claire had helped Harry quite a bit over the summer, but he was still clearly insecure about seeing her. He refused to tell his friends about it and only agreed to continue meeting with her during the school year in the safety of Severus’ chambers.

Severus couldn’t blame him, really, nor did he pressure him to discuss it with his friends, but it was still nothing to be ashamed of. Severus actually felt quite a bit of admiration for Harry being as willing as he was to accept help.

Harry only hummed noncommittally.

Severus unscrewed the lid to the Scar-Diminishing Serum before lifting Harry’s hand out of the Murtlap and examining it. The cut was sealed, but the ‘I must not tell lies’ had only become more readable. The scar serum could only do so much, but Severus hoped it would work miracles as he rubbed it into Harry’s skin. He let it sit for a moment.

“I really didn’t want to,” Harry said quietly, staring at the serum covering his hand. “But at the same time, I…”

“I know,” Severus murmured, rubbing his back. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”

“It is though,” Harry muttered. “I started all of this in the first place. I should have never…”

“You should have never been an orphan. You should have never been sent to live with neglectful relatives. You should have never felt enough pain to turn to this for answers. We can go in circles all day, it is not your fault. The burden is not yours to bear…”

“Lots of people have crappy lives. They usually don’t cut themselves to feel better.”

“Yes, some people become Death Eaters instead,” Severus muttered darkly.

Harry struggled to find words and Severus shook his head, continuing. “It is beside the point. Even setting aside your own struggles, that bitch tortured you. She will most certainly pay for it.”

“Severus, you can’t kill her, they’ll find out and send you to Azkaban and-“

“I won’t kill her,” Severus said, sighing. It was tempting, but he too was aware of the consequences of such actions and had no interest in leaving Harry alone to fend for himself.

“Then what?”

“We’ll just have to be a bit more… creative,” said Severus. He smirked a bit at the worried look Harry sent him. “Don’t worry, it is nothing to concern yourself over. I will discuss it with Albus and we will work something out.”

“There’s no need to bother the headmaster with it,” Harry said dejectedly. “He-he’s really busy these days.”

“He has a lot on his mind,” Severus agreed, internally fuming at Albus’ ignorance of Harry during a time when he needed him most. “But he is still the headmaster of this school and corporal punishment is absolutely forbidden, especially with a dark object such as a blood quill,” he finished, shaking his head. It was almost unimaginable that a Ministry of Magic employee could possibly think such a form of punishment was acceptable, but then, Severus had long ago lost any faith he might have ever held with the Ministry.

“I guess,” Harry muttered, looking down at his legs as he slowly swung them under the table.

“Even if the headmaster sees it fit to ignore you, I do not. I am proud of you for coming to me with this,” Severus said softly, patting Harry’s knee.

“There was a time when I wouldn’t have,” Harry said, nodding. “I don’t think I would have gone to anyone, I mean. But… you’ve been really great to me, Severus. I… never thought I would have this. I know I’ve been a pain in the ass and I really appreciate you being here for me.”

“You haven’t been a pain in the ass,” Severus assured. “Everyone has problems, Harry. You are not a burden for reaching out for help.”

Harry shrugged. “I feel like I am, though. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to change that mentality.”

Severus shook his head. “Likely a result of your deplorable relatives. You deserve love and compassion, just like anyone else.”

“I guess,” said Harry, nibbling his lower lip. Severus reached up and pulled it out from between his teeth. Harry smiled sheepishly.

“You’ve come so far,” Severus praised, taking the teen into his arms. “I truly am proud of you, I hope you know.”

“I know,” Harry murmured, tightening his arms around Severus. “You tell me that like twenty two times a day.”

“Just making sure the message sinks in,” Severus said, picking up Harry’s hand and examining it. The mark had faded to extremely faint white lines. Another application of the serum and it would be gone completely.

Severus lightly squeezed the newly healed hand. He smiled, thankful that there would be no more scars tonight.