A/N- Obviously, I do not own the characters portrayed here. This story is situated a few years after the end of the first wizarding world. This may or may not just be a one shot, depending entirely on whether my muse wants to save him. This story will contain mostly non-graphic self injury, but will mostly deal with the emotions and turmoil of those who do self injury. This is your first and only warning. Thanks~ Case.
He stalked through the castle, with his black robe billowing around him. His pale white skin was a stark contrast to his greasy black hair and his sharp, onyx eyes. Those eyes were void of all emotion, his face looked aged, tired. Students jumped out of his way as he swept through the halls. Colleagues eyed him with concern and worry. He was young still, the youngest on staff, but he seemed so old in these moments, frighteningly so. As the young, dark man stalked toward the dungeons, eyes followed him. To him, it felt like the very walls of this god-forsaken place was watching him. He just did not realize how close to right that he was.
"Headmaster, that...boy seems off. I followed him as requested. I do not trust him. He will turn on you." The man who spoke was not really a man at all, not any more at least. He moved about in his frame, watching the current Headmaster, who did not bother looking up from his parchment. "Thank you, Basil." "Dumbledore, really. The scoundrel was trouble during his school years! He is not old enough to teach!" The portrait of the dead headmaster advised, albeit a bit harshly. "Enough. He is intelligent and talented. His age is not important, he is far more mature than most of his peers were and he is also the youngest Potions Master currently living, if not in all of history. I will not hear another word on the subject." Albus Dumbledore looked up from his desk and turned his piercing blue eyes onto the portrait. "Do try not to harm him, Albus." Another portrait remarked quietly. Albus toward him and sighed. "I do not plan to harm him, Phineas. Rather, I wish to help him. He has been here for over a year now, and he has said little. He does not speak with the other Professors unless he has to, and although he takes good care of his house, he is distant and harsh to all others. I fear that we might lose Severus, for he is so withdrawn into himself." Albus frowned, the twinkle in his pale blue eyes diminishing just slightly. His potions master was a bit of a problem. But what to do, what to do? "What do you plan to do about him Albus?" "That is the question, isn't it?" He replied, putting aside his parchment and strolling from the room.
"May I help you, Headmaster?" The young, dark haired man looked up from where he was marking essays to the man standing, uninvited, in his doorway. "Good afternoon Severus. I just wanted to see how you were doing." Albus replied pleasantly, watching the younger man closely. Severus' skin was paler than usual and the boy was skinny, too skinny. The dark circles under his eyes marked his weariness even as his eyebrow rose sharply. "I am fine, Headmaster." "I'm sure that you are, Severus. However, as Headmaster it is my job to make sure my professors are well." Albus remarked, eyes twinkling. Severus bit back a retort. Why can't the meddling fool just leave me alone? It's not as if he actually cares. "If there is nothing else, Headmaster..." Severus glared. Albus hesitated. The young potion master did not make his task any easier, but he had known that. "Very well, Severus. I shall leave you to your marking. I do, however, expect to see you in the Great Hall tonight and at all meals from here on out." Albus replied finally, leaving in a swish of robes, gone as quickly as he had appeared. Severus groaned and flicked his wand. The door slammed shut and locked, before the younger man dropped his head into his hands, vowing to keep as far away from the older wizard as possible. It would not do if he suspected anything wrong with the Slytherin. It just would not do.
Albus watched the dark haired Slytherin out of the corner of his eye, listening intently to Minerva on his right. He watched as the younger man picked at his food and pushed it around, before glancing around quickly. He caught Albus' eye and quickly ate a forkful. Albus turned his gaze back to the witch, frowning at the flicker he caught. He glanced back at Severus and quirked an eyebrow but said nothing. There was no food remaining in front of the younger man. Albus gave the tiniest nod, conceding defeat briefly, and the younger man disappeared from the table and stalked out the door. "He's still grieving for her, isn't he Albus?" The woman asked quietly. Two others, a short wizard, Filius, and a stout woman, Pomona, lean in to hear his reply. "I do believe so, Minerva." He replied gravely, having watched the retreating back of his Potions Master. "It was almost two years ago Albus! The deaths were tragic, for sure, but he cannot just waste away because of it." Pomona murmured. "I will take care of Severus, Pomona. I am sure he will be fine." Albus sighed, rubbing his forehead. He had a headache coming on and the term had just started a few weeks prior! If the year kept up this pace, he would have to consider investing in headache reliever! He innerly chuckled but his expression remained quite serious. "Not if he returned to certain habits from his school years." Filius muttered. Three pairs of eyes flashed toward him. "Might I ask what you mean, Filius?" Minerva asked quietly. "I'm quite sure that you know exactly what I mean." Filius replied, glancing at Albus. Albus sighed, shaking his head. "He won't. Severus is not the same person that he use to be." But even to himself, he did not sound sure. "Be that as it may, but habits die hard Albus. He's been through a lot. It stands to reason that he might turn back that way."Filius retorted, albeit respectfully. " He would not. And if he does, I will handle it." Albus frowned, his tone firm. The subject was closed. Supposedly. "Yes, because that worked so well the first time." Minerva muttered under her breath. Albus' eyes snapped to her and she had the decency to flush a little before looking away.
Unknown to the Albus, but that was exactly what his potions master was doing, locked in his personal quarters with a ward that would cause even the headmaster to pause briefly. He had started back over the summer, when he was locked away in his lab except for sleeping, which he rarely did. The knife he held in his hand was reserved for this purpose and this purpose alone. It was the same knife he had kept from the headmaster when he was a teenager, although, that really was not so long ago. Old habits die hard, and this was not exactly an old habit. It was an addiction, one of the worst sorts. He needed the pain to survive. He deserved the pain. It was his fault. It would always be his fault. He needed to be punished. He was guilty. He had innocent blood on his hands, figuratively at least. For Severus had not killed her; he had not personally killed anyone. Perhaps his potions were used to torture and kill, but he was never present. He did not like killing, the taking of life was just a bit unnerving to him. But here he was, knife in hand. In one swift movement, he placed yet another cut on his upper arm, where no one would see, and finally set the blade down. With that one last cut, he fell into bed, exhausted, and sleep quickly took over him.