The first thing Harry noticed when he opened his eyes was that he was incredibly comfortable and felt rested for the first time in ages. He felt warm and peaceful and for a few short moments he felt like everything was perfect. It didn’t take long, though, before the reality of the last few days hit him with a vengeance and he wanted nothing more than to bury his head under the covers for the next year or so.

The smell of breakfast assaulted his senses and his stomach churned as he realized he’d have to face Snape sooner or later. His clothes had been changed into pajamas, which meant that his professor had seen his scars and he’d probably be interrogated over the meal. The last thing he felt like doing was having a psychobabble session with the one of the people in the world who hated him most.  

Rolling onto his side, Harry marveled in the fact that his head was pain-free for the first time in weeks. Physically, he felt great. Judging by the sunlight and lingering smell of food, it was likely morning, which meant that he had slept uninterrupted in excess of twelve, possibly eighteen, hours, a feat that could only be accomplished with a heavy dose of dreamless sleep. He couldn’t deny that it had done his body, not to mention his mind, a lot of good.  

The Gryffindor had been at his breaking point the previous day and he hoped that the worst was behind him now. The longer he remained awake, though, the more intense the suffocating pressure of loss tightened in his chest. He knew it was stupid to expect to feel any better right now, the pain was still too fresh to even begin to diminish, and for what felt like the millionth time that week, he wished he could turn off his emotions.

Harry was brought from his thoughts by someone clearing their throat behind him. With a groan, he rolled over silently, glad someone had interrupted him before the tears had found a way to make their escape. The last thing he needed was to start crying again. Harry met Draco’s gaze, noticing immediately that the blonde looked nervous and uneasy. He was immediately alert and he shot up in bed, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing…nothing’s wrong. Are you alright?”

Harry could tell Draco was struggling to keep his voice steady, and the Gryffindor resisted the urge to tell the Slytherin that he was doing a lousy job of keeping his air of superiority up. Harry didn’t really feel like fighting, though, so instead just shrugged, “I’m okay.”

 “ Severus came up a few minutes ago, breakfast will be ready shortly.” Draco said quietly, “Are you coming down?”

Harry nodded, his stomach growling despite the general queasiness that always seemed to be present lately. He fell back against his pillows again, savoring the last few moments of warmth and security that his oversized duvet provided before giving in to Draco’s expectant glare and reluctantly leaving his bed. Grabbing the first set of clothing he could find, he disappeared into the bathroom, yawning despite being quite well-rested.

Harry was shocked when he looked into the mirror. He didn’t know what he expected, really, his appearance hadn’t been a pressing issue over the summer, but he didn’t expect to see someone nearly unrecognizable staring back at him. His skin was pale, undoubtedly from spending the days indoors, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes. His hair was quite possibly the only recognizable feature besides his famous scar, and even it was more unruly than usual. Harry rubbed his eyes before turning the water on and decided to forgo the much needed hot shower in favor of quickly splashing some water on his face. He was grounded, after all, and would have plenty of time to take a long, leisurely shower later.

The raven-haired boy unbuttoned his pajama top and threw it on the floor before pulling a t-shirt over his head. With a groan, he realized that he should have also grabbed one of his jumpers to hide the scarring on his arms. He’d have to figure something out before facing Draco and Snape, Harry couldn’t very well walk around with angry red marks on his skin.

Harry realized, however, that a jumper would be of little significance. Somehow, the marks on his arms were gone. He ran his fingers through his hair, panicking slightly. The only way they could have disappeared was if someone had healed them. Someone like Snape or Dumbledore. They knew. What was he going to do? He couldn’t very well stay locked in the bathroom all day, he’d have to face them eventually. Harry needed an explanation, a way to make this seem like an accident or inconsequential, a way to deflect the situation. And if Snape knew, then he probably told Draco, and that’s why he seemed so nervous. What if he told everyone once they got back to school? The last thing he wanted was everyone thinking he was weak and unbalanced.

His inner rambling was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Just a minute.” Harry gasped, trying to quench the panic rising in his chest. He needed to decide what to do and he was running out of time. He suddenly felt lightheaded and hot and let himself slowly sink to the floor, resting his head against the cool door. He couldn’t face them, not now, not if they knew.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Harry replied, trying to keep the shakiness of his voice at a minimum. He had no doubt in his mind that if he expressed any hint of a problem in front of Draco, the blonde would find Severus and limit his time to think of an excuse for the cuts on his arms.

Harry didn’t have an excuse, though, just a reason. A reason that would definitely not go over well with his professor or the headmaster. He didn’t expect them to understand, anyone to understand. He barely understood why it made him feel better, alive, calm. He assumed it was because the physical pain was easier to handle than the emotional pain, the Gryffindor was used to physical pain after all of his escapades, not to mention the manual labor his aunt and uncle forced on him. Physical pain could be ignored, patched and forgotten. Physical pain didn’t haunt your dreams and linger in the shadows of your mind. Physical pain didn’t make you want to die, it didn’t make you feel like you were insane. Sure, there were a few painful curses that made you feel like you were seconds from losing your mind, but once the curse ended, the pain receded. He desperately wished for an off switch for his feeling.

“Harry, are you coming?”

“Yeah.” Harry called back, taking a deep breath. Time to face the music. He moved to grab his pajamas off the floor, stopping once he saw a jagged edge of glass obscured by the edge of the cabinet below the sink. The distraught teen picked it up, goosebumps covering his arms as he stared down at the small object that had given him his release the previous day. He was filled with anticipation as he turned the shard over in his hands, pricking his thumb slightly with the tip.

It wasn’t the idea instrument for self-inflicted damage, but it had an important origin. The shard of glass belonged to a shattered mirror which was situated on the bottom of his trunk. It had been a gift from Sirius. A gift that could have saved Sirius’s life the night of the Ministry of Magic fiasco. A reminder that he acted without thinking and got the people he loved killed…as if a reminder was really necessary.

Harry had to find a way to keep it safe, hidden, so he could come back to it later, should the need arise. It had to be somewhere Draco wouldn’t look, somewhere Snape wouldn’t see it. Harry couldn’t put it in his trunk, if Snape knew he was cutting himself, his possessions would likely be searched. He couldn’t leave it in the bathroom or else Draco would find it. Biting his lip, the boy knew it was time to face the music, he could practically hear his roommate scowling on the other side of the door. There would be time later to find the perfect hiding spot, until then his pocket would keep it safe.

Harry opened the door, coming face to face with his longtime rival who wore the same arrogant, irate expression that he often donned at school. The expression alone caused Harry’s temper to flare slightly, and he had to remind himself that he and Draco had a truce this summer and there was no need to react defensively. Besides, he simply wasn’t in the mood to fight today.

“Primping like a girl, Potter?” The Slytherin glanced at Harry’s hair and sneered, “I guess not, you didn’t even bother to brush your hair.”

“It’ll look the same anyway.” Harry muttered, throwing his pajamas onto his bed, “You could have gone down without me.”

“Tired of my company already?”

“Are you surprised? All you have done is nag me since I’ve gotten up.”

Draco smirked before opening their bedroom door, “Remind me not to exchange pleasantries with you anymore, since you construe them as bothersome.”

“Pleasantries, is that what you call it?” Harry replied, flashing the blonde a weak smile. It was odd, joking around with Draco Malfoy, but it was a very nice distraction from the shard in his pocket, which seemed to beckon him from between the soft fabric, “I’ve never known you to be pleasant.”

“And I’ve never known you to be intelligent, yet I continue to converse with you.”

“Wouldn’t that make you less intelligent than you think I am?” Harry replied with a smirk that he hoped matched Draco’s.

“Touché.”

Harry was wearing a genuine smile as he walked into the dining room, but it quickly faded as he spotted his professor, already seated with a stern expression on his face.

“Look who decided to join us today.” Severus said in a cool tone, not nearly as snide as he had been in the past but clearly displeased with something.

Harry looked down with a frown, knowing the jab was deserved but finding himself irritated by it regardless. He had long ago lost count of how many meals he had skipped altogether since arriving at Snape’s home, much less the number he had picked at and pushed around on his plate in an attempt to pretend he was eating. Harry had a feeling, though, that his lack of appetite was the tip of the iceberg on the list of information Snape could torment him with.

The Gryffindor sat down, trying to summon up some sort of bravery, and folded his hands in his lap. He was just waiting for the questions and accusations, to hear how stupid he was for being so self-destructive or perhaps some taunting at the expense of his self-esteem. After all, isn’t exchanging heated words what he and Snape did best?

Deciding that quiet obedience may save him from the receiving end of his professor’s sharp tongue, he took a piece of toast and placed it on his plate, careful not to make eye contact with both of his Syltherin companions.

~~

Severus took a sip of coffee, studying Harry carefully. As someone who dealt with children on a daily basis, it was obvious the boy was nervous, although he couldn’t figure out why. The professor was just relieved to see the child show his face at the table. He would never admit it to anyone, especially Potter, but he had been quite worried about the boy the previous day. Although a diagnostic scan had only showed a migraine headache and a lack of proper rest and nourishment, he had a nagging suspicion that something else was wrong. Perhaps it was just the depression the boy was clearly dealing with, or his weakened state from the visions he had experienced, but there was definitely something off.

“Would you like jam for your toast?” Severus asked as Harry absentmindedly nibbled a slice of toast, “Butter?”

“No thank you.” Harry murmured, staring down at the table.

Yes, something was definitely wrong. The Harry he knew never acted so compliant. Even when the child was mourning Sirius’s loss at the start of the summer and rarely spoke at all, he still gave away his emotions through his facial expressions, the words he did say. The Harry sitting across from him was stony and silent, carefully guarded and clearly unwilling to show anything that was going through his mind.

“How are you feeling this morning? Is your headache gone?” Severus asked, watching Harry jab his fork at the eggs in front of him, not really eating. Maybe the boy was still feeling under the weather; maybe another day in bed would do him some good. The headache potion should have cleared up the migraine, but he himself had been known to have a stubborn headache every now and then that needed more specialized potions. If the boy were still in pain, it would explain not only his meager appetite but his quietness as well.

Harry shrugged, putting his half eaten slice of bread down, “It’s gone.”

“I was thinking that maybe the two of you would enjoy some time outside today.” Severus said cooly, trying a different tactic. Maybe some fresh air would cheer the sullen boy’s spirits, if nothing else it would give him another opportunity to observe Harry’s mental state without being too obvious.

Harry shrugged once more, glancing quickly at Draco before murmuring, “I have a lot of homework to do.”

“I thought you had completed your assignments?” Severus asked, recalling their previous conversation about schoolwork, “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to fly?”

Harry shook his head, refusing to meet the gaze of both Draco and Severus as he continued to push his food around, “Draco can go ahead, I want to do some revision on my essays.”

“I’m not going if you aren’t.” Draco huffed, slamming his glass down rather forcefully on the table. He definitely looked upset at the prospect of losing the little outdoor time that Severus was allowing them during their time on restriction, “It’s a nice day outside, though.”

Harry frowned before pushing his plate away, “You should go, then. I’m going back to my room.”

Before Severus could interrupt, Harry had all but dashed from the room, his footsteps echoing up the staircase. With the more worrisome of the boys gone, Severus turned to Draco, “Did Harry sleep well?”

“Yes, and he seemed in a decent enough mood until we got down here. He stalled a bit while getting ready, but we were having a friendly conversation on the way downstairs. I don’t know what his problem is.” Draco replied, briefly meeting his godfather’s gaze before turning his attention back to his plate.

Severus was quiet for a moment, trying to recall if anything had ever happened in the dining room that would make Harry uncomfortable. He couldn’t think of anything along those lines, so clearly Harry’s discomfort stemmed from being in Severus’s presence. That, too, made little sense, seeing as how they had been living together for weeks. He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache beginning. The child was difficult to decipher on a normal day, now he was nearly impossible.

“I am finished with the Transfiguration book you loaned me; I put it away in the library.”

Draco’s voice startled Severus, who had been absorbed in his thought and had momentarily forgotten about his younger companion. Looking up, he offered Draco a slight smile, “Did it help with your assignment?”

Draco nodded, “Yes, sir. It was very enlightening. If you have time later, do you think I could assist with some potions? I don’t want my brewing skills to become rusty.”

“Of course, I would rather enjoy your company.” Severus smiled, “How are you adjusting to being here?”

“Well there has yet to be a dull moment with the Gryffindor in the house,” Draco snorted, “You know how they are.”

“Do I ever.”

Draco hesitated for a moment, seeming quite unsure of himself, “You offered to let us go outside.”

“I am not senile, I am capable to remembering conversations in recent past.”

Draco rolled his eyes, “Stop trying to intimidate me, it won’t work. If I can convince Harry to accept your offer, is it still on the table?”

Severus nodded slightly and Draco quickly stood, “May I be excused?”

“You are nothing if not ambitious.” Severus chided, “Yes, you may.”

Draco paused in the doorway, glancing back at Severus with a smug smirk, “You do realize you’ll have to try harder to pretend to hate him once school starts again.”

Draco disappeared up the stairs, leaving Severus to ponder his statement. Yes, yes he would need to brush up on those skills once the holidays were over, only now it would be much more difficult since he was starting to like the brat.

~~

Harry sat on the edge of the porcelain tub, the shard of glass directly above his pale arm. He wasn’t sure why Snape hadn’t mentioned the cutting at all, but the anticipation of a bad confrontation was driving him mad. His head was starting to ache again and the nagging pain in the pit of his stomach had returned when the Gryffindor started thinking over the morning’s events. Snape had been civil, Draco had been friendly in his own Slytherin way and leaving Harry feeling confused and overwhelmed.

Harry wanted to talk to someone about what was going on, someone who would commiserate with him over his rotten luck to be stuck with Malfoy and Snape, even if the summer had been bearable so far. He wanted someone who would come up with some random, ordinary subject to distract Harry from all of the grief he was feeling. He wanted someone to say something to cheer him up. He wanted Ron. He wanted a warm hug from Mrs. Weasley. He wanted to see beautiful Ginny with her hair pulled back and a serene smile on her face. He even wanted to be involved in a prank of George and Fred. Unfortunately, that would never happen again.

Tears stung his eyes and the teen fought to hold them back, gripping his own personal weapon tightly in his hand. He didn’t deserve to cry, they died because of him, because of who he was. He didn’t have the right to grieve, to lament. Guilt washed over him in waves and he slowly brought the glass to his skin, butterflies in his stomach. His skin turned an angry shade of red and blood reached the surface of his arm, although it did not run. Harry stared at the crimson liquid, his mind fuzzy as his unshed tears evaporated.

This pain was easy to deal with. This pain didn’t consume his body, mind and soul. It stung a bit at first, then quickly faded. Why couldn’t all of life’s problems be this simple? Why couldn’t he reach into his brain and quickly slash the part that controlled his emotions and be done with it?

He pressed slightly harder with the second cut, watching a single drop of blood splatter onto the floor in amazement. Blood. It was one of the vital substances that made a person live. It was fascinating, the way it traveled through your entire body, from organ to organ, pumping in rhythm with your heart. How easy it was shed, how easy life could be shed. Life…his life, Ron’s life, Sirius’s life, Cedric’s life, Seamus’s life, his parents’ life. Gone in a flash. Forever.

He always wound up alone. Sure, right now his two housemates were being civil, but in a few weeks they’d be back at Hogwarts and he didn’t really envision himself hanging out with Snape and Malfoy in the dungeons. He couldn’t picture himself in Gryffindor tower either, two empty beds in his dormitory. He surely couldn’t imagine being back on Privet Drive. Did he belong anywhere?

No. Of course he didn’t. He was responsible for so many lost lives, he didn’t deserve to be anywhere with other people, people who could be hurt because of him and the sick vendetta of Voldemort.

His hand felt unnaturally warm, and looking down Harry realized he had cut deeper than intended. He held up his hand, feeling detached and numb as he watched several more drops splatter onto the pristine floor. He’d have to clean that up later. Harry was vaguely aware of the pain in his arm, and it confused him. It had never hurt before.

A knock on the door brought him back to his senses and he quickly called out that he would be right out before looking down at the damage that had been done. Feeling dizzy and sick as he stared down at his bloody hand, his heart began to race as he realized there was no way to hide this. What was he going to do? How could he explain away marks that weren’t there just twenty minutes earlier?

The raven-hair boy stood, taking a step towards the sink to get a flannel to try and clean the mess he had made. He felt lightheaded as soon as he tried to move and he fought back an intense wave of nausea. Harry took a few deep breaths, trying to postpone the inevitable. He hadn’t been able to eat a meal without getting sick since the end of last term, and didn’t expect that to change now. First, though, he needed to hide any evidence of what was taking place in their bathroom.

He only made it a few more steps before his body sent him to the toilet, losing the little he had managed to eat for breakfast.  Panting heavily, his eyes squeezed tightly shut as he tried to gain control over his body. This was not the time to be weak, not with his roommate on the other side of the door, undoubtedly poised to tell their professor everything that was going on.

Unfortunately, Harry was unable to overcome his sickness and he continued to dry heave, even after hearing Draco’s muttered ‘Alohamora’. The Gryffindor was embarrassed, ashamed that he was being caught like this, sick and injured, by his long-time rival. He was surprised when Draco placed the flannel from the sink against the back of his neck after dousing it with cold water.

“Are you going to be okay?” Draco asked quietly, “Do you need me to get you anything?”

Harry shook his head miserably, wishing the floor would open him up and swallow him whole. Draco couldn’t see the cuts, the blood. He couldn’t know what Harry was doing behind closed doors. Panic rose in his chest and he found it hard to breathe as he stared down at the floor.

In retrospect, it was probably best not to look at the object he wished to hide. It only took several brief glances at the blood drops before Draco followed his example, his eyes growing wide as he saw the crimson stain on the floor.

“Oh Harry.”

The words stung worse than Harry would have ever thought possible. He felt ashamed, guilty, defensive and slightly angry at Draco’s soft voice. No, damn it, Draco wasn’t supposed to care. He frowned, his eyes briefly meeting the blonde’s concerned silver orbs.

“I need to get Severus.” Draco said softly, grabbing Harry’s hand, “Sev can heal this.”

They both looked back down at Harry’s arm, and Draco quickly dropped Harry’s hand, his brow creasing in confusion. Where had just seconds earlier stood several angry cuts now held flawless skin.

“How did you do that?” Draco asked suspiciously, “Wandlessly, no less?”

“I..I didn’t do anything.”

Harry stared at his arm, his eyes wide and his breathing shallow. He had no idea how his arm had been healed and cleaned, it was as if the marks hadn’t existed at all. His stomach churned once more and he forced himself to breathe deeply, still staring at his pale arm.

“There were cuts, and blood, and…” Draco’s voice trailed off as he looked down at the floor, which was also clean, “How did you do that?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry replied with a surge of confidence. If there was no evidence, there was a chance Draco wouldn’t say anything to Snape. If he had healed himself, then there was a chance he had healed himself the previous night. That would explain why Severus didn’t mention anything at breakfast. It was all starting to make sense! “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Draco roughly grabbed Harry’s arm again, pulling his wand out of his pocket with his free hand and pointing it at the skin, “Finite Incantatem!

Harry held his breath, looking away as Draco waited for his spell to affect Harry’s once-injured arm.

~~

“Finite Incantatem!” Draco declared, holding on to Harry’s wrist tightly. The Slytherin knew what he had seen, there was no denying it. So how did the raven-haired boy do it? Draco wasn’t aware of any person in their year who could perform wandless silent spells, much less something to the effect of a concealment or healing charm.

Draco was stunned as Harry’s arm remained unblemished and he glared at the raven-haired boy, “What did you do? How?”

“I didn’t do anything.” Harry insisted, although he was looking just as stunned as Draco felt. Letting Harry’s hand fall, the blonde looked down at the clean floors in confusion. Even if Harry had managed to cast a healing incantation, there’s no way he could have performed a simultaneous cleaning charm as well.

Draco crossed his arms, “I don’t know how you did it, but I know what I saw.”

“What did you see?”

Draco glared at his roommate as he crossed his arms, “You know what I saw. Your arms were cut, bleeding. You did it on purpose, you were trying to off yourself.”

“I was not.” Harry snapped, “That’s ridiculous. If I wanted to off myself, I would find a better way than to cut my wrists with a piece of broken mirror.”

Harry stalked out of the bathroom, flopping down on his bed with a scowl, his back towards Draco’s side of the room.

Harry’s words echoed through Draco’s ears and he found himself frowning even deeper than before as he followed Harry into the room, stopping mid-stride, “I didn’t say anything about a broken mirror, Harry.”