[A/N} No, Harry does not feign madness. He believes he is the normal one. His thoughts are twisted, I am quite aware.

Thanks for the reviews. As for this chapter, I am not happy with it. I have had a rather rough month, and still have. I have much school work to do, so my apologizes for the delay. During this month I have had my ups and downs, which probably is clear when reading and some personal issues have appeared. That is my only explanaiton as to why I am late with the update.

17 pages including the two AN's, just for you.

{Art of Suicide}
Chapter III:
The lunatics arrive

Is this how it feels to be skinned alive? Perhaps not. The fire is inside of me. It is like a core or something, exploding in waves and slowly eats me up.

Parasites are born and I claw my skin. My neck. My throat. My chest and my arms. Why cannot they disappear? Vanish?

I lie in foetal position. I lie on my back. I lie on my knees. No position can make this disappear. Why? Why is it like this? Every night, every time I close my eyes, I have to relive it. I cannot escape these horrid... things. Memories.

I cannot breathe. I am choking. Strange sounds sparkle alive in my throat. Growls? And I cannot open my eyes. I just cannot! If I do that, Cedric will disappear from my eyes. He will disappear and I cannot let him go again. Never. For I was not supposed to let him go at all.

Is it Cedric who caresses my body in this gentle way, beneath my own claws? Slowly, hands are caressing my head, down my neck and spine; my cheeks, my lips, my chest. Cedric never really touched me like this, did he? Well, my face was often connected with his hesitant fingers, but never too much on my body. Not this way.

"Ced-edric," I whimper, "s-stop hau-aunting me."

Then, the hands become harsher. Rougher in some way. Strangle me, the hands do. I think I have a vague memory from where these hands come from - but I do not want to remember it. I do not want it! I want to push it out of my mind. Obliviate me? Get Cedric back, for me?

Cedric smiles; nods as though to encourage me. To do what? I cannot comprehend the dead. They are so mysterious, so quiet and yet screaming the answers.

The hands become gentle again. Down my spine, my legs; down my chest and stomach. They travel down. I shake my head. Not again! Not again! Cedric, help me!

But Cedric smiles innocently. Is this how he will pay back?

Or is it my hands that travel down?

Why does my body react? Why does Cedric smile?

Can someone just explain why I was even brought to existence! If this is how I will have to live-

"A-aunt Petu-tunia? Dud-eh-ley?"

They just continue to snore as a reply.

{Art of Suicide}

The "Old Crowd"'s members - the memebers in the Order of the Pheonix - stared at Remus at first. Most of them had raised their eyebrows in disbelief, while others - like Molly Weasley - sniffled quietly. Sirius bit his cheeks and clenched and unclenched his fists repeatedly. Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody's magical eye spun around and observed the others while Severus still held his impassive mask upon his face - though he had raised his right eyebrow slightly to look sceptical.

It took a few moments for everyone to understand what exactly Remus had said, and then the chaos began. Everyone talked in their mouths of each other; some even hit the table with their fist (Sirius and Arthur to name the most brutal) to probate their opinions.

"It can't be true!"

"We have to catch the bastard!"

"Personally I think it's better to let the boy breathe-"

"I think we should visit him, to cheer him up-"

"You think that's a good idea? He's probably scared out of-"

"Poor boy, as if he hasn't had enough already!"

"Indeed, with all this about the Tournament and then Diggory-"

"You think it's a Muggle or Magical? I believe it's a Muggle. No offences against them, but any magical being should understand by now that Potter isn't to mess with-"

"Precisely, he defeated You-Know-Who for us-"

"- Prophet thinks he's mad. Probably they're right now, yes?"

"Oh hush, you! Harry isn't mad! He's probably just a little bit lost-"

"Silence!" Albus' voice rang through the room, and was as usual effective. His blue eyes did no longer hold their merrily twinkle. They were fierce and blazing, slicing through each person's capacity to argue even further. His hands were resting on the table while he stood halfway up from his chair, but even then he looked tall and powerful. He slowly turned his gaze to Remus. "Remus, what was your thought when you saw Harry? Did you talk to him?"

Everyone's eyes turned to the werewolf, who was fidgeting and bitting his lips. He looked around quickly, before he met the Headmaster's eyes. "Yes, I talked to him. He was", he took a breath. Whether it was to calm himself or find his words, no one knew. "He was not well. He talked like- like he's gone mad, Albus!" The amber eyes looked at the blue ones with pleading emotions. "Please, Albus, we can't let him down now. I promised to protect him- we all did! And look what's happened!"

"He shouldn't have left the house, let alone on at night", Albus pointed out. "No boy should walk around on dead streets."

"Well, that's true", Arthur said with a frown. "I mean, I wouldn't let my children out in the middle of the night - even though it wasn't war. But then again, what kind of rules do the Dursleys have? I mean, they mostly ignore him, from what I've heard. Just as long their own son gets the best, they don't care about Harry, so where would he've learnt what to do and not do?"

Sirius grunted in agreement. "Exactly. And the fact it took this to break Harry just shows how strong he is. He can make it through, I know he can. He's James' and Lily's son, for Merlin's sake!"

"And it doesn't make it right to rape a child, just because the child walks outside at night", barked Alastor. As a former Auror, he had never had to take care of rapists. Now, though, he wanted to send the culprit straight way to Azkaban with no trial. The world's fate laid in the boy's hands, and now he was in no mental state to be the saviour.

Molly burst into cryings and Nymphadora Tonks tried to calm her by patting her shoulder rather awkwardly. "Now, Molly, it won't do to cry. We've got to cheer him up!"

Severus pursed his lips. So that was why the boy acted more peculiar and kaput than after Diggory's death. Now, he could not blame the boy to be totally out of his mind. Severus himself would never like to be in a duel with the Dark Lord, let alone be the one with the blood to ressurect him, lose his boyfriend and then get raped. However, he thought that the others were acting on their feelings. Cheer him up; Catch the bastard; Let the boy breathe... What exactly would it do to do any of these things? To throw some party at Privet Drive would make the boy scared witless. To catch the bastard they needed to question every person who might have been in Surrey that day. And let the boy breathe - well that was a good idea. But to let him breathe too much will cause him debates with himself in his own mind, and slice it in two pieces or more. Or just drive him insane.

So yes, Severus thought they all acted on their feelings; rage, sympathy, pity... This, mostly because no one but Severus in the Order was a Slytherin. Merlin knew they needed someone to lead them on the right way and stop them from doing anything foolish, like throw a party for Harry, with Harry, as a surprise, for Severus knew, that they would probably all run to Privet Drive and have a surprise party there. The boy would probably just stare at them as though they were fools - which most of them were in Severus' own opinion - or be scared and hide somewhere.

"Severus?" Albus called his attention. "What was your thoughts when you saw the boy? Anything particular?"

Severus snorted. "I had to wake him from a nightmare. He was screaming so that I could barely hear myself thinking. I left after that, as I had seen the boy alive and safe within the Wards."

A curt nod came from Albus (Sirius still growled) and he looked at each and everyone with searching, blue eyes, as though to find hidden information. "So are we done?", he then asked. "Is there any questions or reports I need to hear?" When everyone shook their heads, he cleared the meeting over, but asked Severus to stay behind.

The Grimmauld Place 12 cleared out the Order members, though a few stayed. When the kitchen was empty except for Severus and Albus, the Headmaster sighed heavily.

"Severus, I need to ask you something."

Instantly the younger was alarmed. It never boded well when his mentor said that. Usually it was about risking his life - or position as a spy - to save Potter's skin. And given what just had happened, Severus had a vague anticipation of what to come.

"What is it, Albus?"

"I want you to help Harry."

As he had thought. That did not mean he would do what his mentor asked for, though. "No", he said simply. "I will not help the brat now. He is mad, and I will not be the one he will lean on when he needs help. As for my position as a spy-"

"That will not be needed", Albus said and his eyes twinkled for a second. "Harry is more important than that. And I'm sure you could make an Unbreakable Oath to never reveal what you learn about Harry, nor take him to Voldemort."

Severus eyes narrowed. "I won't do it. Can you imagine his wrath, to know his most loyal follower knows Potter's most inner feelings?"

"And Voldemort doesn't?" Albus raised his eyebrows. "I thought the connection let him-"

"Of course! But the Dark Lord does not sit days in and days out and look through each and every memory the boy has. Surely you must understand he has better things to do-"

"Indeed", Albus interrupted. "But he could search through every memory the boy has, and thus you can help him through this and not risk your position as a spy. You could say, the first thing, that you would rather spend fifty years in Azkaban than being Harry's mentor."

"And what is in it for me?"

"The future, Severus. The future lies in the boy's hands, and you know it."

Sure he knew it, and he did not like it. Could it not have been anyone, anyone but James Potter's brat? Did the boy really need to carry the name 'Potter', and make the line even more famous? His children, grandchildren - the whole line will be even better than the Black's! The Potter line's wealth was just below the Prince's - though Severus' grandfather still was alive and could therefore not inherit the money - and the Malfoy's were below the Black's and above the Prince's. Now, however, it was different times. The Potter line would race to the first place and be classed as the wealthiest family in the Great Britain. Probably the whole Europe, too. It was insanity. Just because he defeated the Dark Lord Voldemort at the age of fifteen months!

"Why do I have to do it?", Severus inquired. "Why not Lupin?"

"It won't do for him to hear his cub in such vulnerable state."

"One of the Weasleys?"

"Have enough with their own family."

"Hagrid? Minerva? Why not you?", Severus asked and crossed his arms over his chest. "Why is it that I always have to clear the mess?"

"Now, do you really think you have to do that?" When Severus raised a brow as to say "When have I never?", Albus sighed. "Hagrid is on a mission, as you well know. Minerva is not as good as you at this."

"And I should be good at this? To listen when the boy pours his feelings at me? Or when the boy tries to attack me for being this 'greasy git'?"

A light chuckle let out of the Headmaster's lips. "Now, now, Severus. You cannot deny you and Harry have a lot in common-"

"I do not have anything in common with that insufferable brat!", Severus growled and slammed his fit on the kitchen table - just as Sirius had before.

"No? Then how come your childhoods seem rather similar to one another?"

The obsidian eyes sent lightnings into the blue - now constantly twinkling - eyes. Severus knew he had once again lost an argument. "Albus", he tried again, though not calm. "While the boy may have not been loved by his family, as Molly and Arthur insist he hasn't, I never endured such things. Let alone before Hogwarts!"

"Such things as-?"

Severus sniffed. "Such as being locked inside my own room with bars on my window, or live in a cupboard for ten years."

Albus nodded. "That is correct. However, your mother-"

"Don't go there."

"Your father-"

"Don't you dare call him my father!"

"You're perfect for each other!", Albus decided merrily and clasped his hands as if it was settled. "You can help one another! You have not solved your own childhood problems yet. You can help Harry through this, and meanwhile figure out how to leave your childhood behind - solved, of course..."

Severus just felt he wanted to slam his head against the wall and lose his consciousness. As he had said; Why was it Potter of all people?

"Why not you?"

"I have too much to do, Severus. The Ministry, Hogwarts-"

"You just said Potter's more important!"

"And now you did."

Severus growled angrily. "Why not Black?"

"Oh, Severus, we all know Sirius has a foul temperament and would probably scare the poor boy away."

The younger man clenched his fists. Then what would I do? Cuddle the boy?

He never voiced his thoughts though, just made a mental note to himself to prepare Headache Relief Potions and Firewishkeys.

{Art of Suicide}

It is funny. Just to stare at them. I can see their worry, their shame and guilt. I don't care though, it is just funny to stare. You can see whatever you want. You can change the contours of a person just by your staring. In your own imagination, that is. I made Aunt Petunia as white as snow yesterday. It was funny. And she had a little more flesh on her bones then. Now I try to make Dudley a girl, and it is not even hard.

It is really funny, because you lose yourself in it. You don't need to think about the things that drive you into madness and insanity. You can just change and change and change until there is nothing more to change.

They think you are mad though. The ones you stare at. They think your mind is empty and that a fog has taken over. But it is not that way. You can build up your own little world until you are ready to face the real one. If you ever will be, that is.

I am worried though. I really am. I mean, they are talking, Aunt Petunia and Dudley. About me, I guess. It makes me squirm and fidget. I do not like the attention at me, but I guess I was born to never have what I want; what I need.

I am worried about what they will do. About me. If they are going to send me away or keep me imprisoned in this house. Not that I would ever put my foot outside again. I am not afraid of what could happen to me if I did; I am more afraid of what Cedric would think of me. I mean, it would mean I want more, would it not?

Dudley is a shade of navy blue. His cheeks are sparkling and his eyes are amethysts. I make his ears a little bit bigger and his hair in fierce red colour. His lips are as red as Snow White's, and when he speaks, I make his tounge green. It is funny, and I think I laugh. I am not sure though, as I do not recognize any sound I make. I can be growling, for all I know.

Whatever sound I make, they turn their gazes at me. Nervous, are they not? Why? Because I laughed? Am I not allowed? Perhaps that rule still stands. I should be quiet, non-existing. But how can I stand quiet, when I really need to change contours and forms, colours and shades and laugh? It is funny, to just see how I can transfigure a toaster to a cow. And if I cannot do this, then I will have to face the world.

I do not want that. I really don't. I cannot face it. Not yet. Not ever.

I think I stand up to walk away, when Petunia calls my attention. She talks to me, I believe. Her green lips are moving and I just stare back. Is it scary, Aunt Petunia, to see me like this? Do you regret to never have given me the childhood I always wanted? At least you never hurt me more than slaps. And these slaps even Dudley could get. I admit that I felt something from you; some silent comfort or something. As if you really did want me to be happy, but could not figure out how to make sure of it. You are trying to repay me now, by being someone I can depend on, are you not?

I always wanted your love. Yours, Uncle Vernon's and Dudley's. I never got it. And now, the one I loved and held close to my heart-

Do you understand; can you fathom how much it hurts? I dream of it. Every night. Each night I see him collapse on the ground and stare up without the emotions floating in the depth of his eyes. It tears me apart from my insides out; like acid in my veins. I feel the urge to cry; to slit myself in pieces - but I cannot do it. It is like all my emotions are frozen. They burn and they burn and they burn but there are glaciers surrounding the very fire. I cannot extinguish it.

It is comfortable, though, to be mad. I do not have any expectations but to get better. And they expect me to get better with the time going. I don't. I will never get better. In fact, I think I am sinking deeper.

"Harry? Are you listening?"

Harry, am I listening? I do not know. How can I know? I think I do, though. Otherwise I would not get that thought in my head, would I? So I nod my head, warily, and I think I meet her now benitoite-like eyes. The violet shades are flashing in worry and concern. No longer are they filled with the disgust and disdain, and I am not entirely sure whether to be glad or furious. I think I remain calm, just in case.

"Remus Lupin told me Severus is going to talk to you about.. this. Tomorrow. Is that okay?"

Of course it is not okay. It is Severus Snape, for Merlin's sake! He hates me and I - well, we just loathe one another. It will not work. It is like to put two negative charged magnets together - at least to try. But I will not say that. Of course Snape may come and try to talk to me, lose his temper and never return. It is easier that way, I decide and nod again.

"Okay, that is.. good", Aunt Petunia says and looks uncertain. "So, where were you going?"

"My room", I reply simply and do just that. I am glad no one tries to stop me, because I think I would hex that person. Annoyance has taken over me, and I am not even sure why. It scares me, how my moods shift as fast as lightning but still I remain calm and collected. I can be indifferent about my environment until someone stops me from doing what I've decided to do. It makes me annoyed and nervous, for what if I haven't got the time to do it later? But it is like every emotion I get, as for annoyance or grief, they get locked away in a room I do not know. And yet I feel them, they are vibrating, but I cannot reach them and free them.

I am not sure what I want to do in my room. Either I will hold my breath until I cannot hold it anymore, or I will hit my head so hard I lose my consciousness, for now it is too tiresome to live. At least to be conscious. Thoughts are haunting the back of my mind and I just want to escape them. They are scary. I should not have them. They are dark and evil and scary.

I want to laugh with my friends again; I want to kiss Cedric's light lips again; I want to think properly again. But at the same time, I kind of enjoy to change the colours on the carpets.

{Art of Suicide}

The room was checked. Every other square was sallow or faded black. From the entry of the black door, you could see only the first part of the room. On the opposite side of the door, just a little further to left, was the window. No curtains hung there. Beside the window was a chair and a desk (which was covered with parchments). Posters on the Scottish National Quidditch team covered the better part of the wall and its wallpapers. An outdated bookshelf was just to the left of the door. However, the books seemed to be just shoved inside and in no specific order.

Further, on the left wall from the door, was another door. This one, however, was bigger than the first, and made of brass. If you entered this door, you came to a huge room. Bookshelfs hung upon the wall - and these books on there seemed to actually be in some organized order. The floor was of dark wooden and windows covered the right wall (from the entry). Here were also trophies and medals from chess and other hobby prizes.

Why this room was so big probably depended on the fact there was a stair in the middle of the room, also of brass, and if you walked up you came to the bed chamber. And as there were portraits around in the big room, one of them could appear in the empty portrait in the bedchamber to alarm the one who lived in this room - these rooms - should that be needed.

Actually, it was in the bedchamber two brothers were present. They were almost identical. The elder were taller though, and appeared to be proud over his name. He held his chin high and his shoulders showed everyone how confident he was. Both had a darker shade of blonde hair and brown eyes. The younger sat upon his bed with the Quidditch News-paper in his lap, while the younger leaned against the sallow wall with one leg bent on its knee, his foot resting behind himself against the wall.

"You think I'll be able to corner him?" The younger asked.

"I don't think, brother dearest. I know you will. He'll be insane. I know how to do these things. Remember that girl in my fourth year? In Ravenclaw? She went insane. I think she's still in St. Mungo's."

The younger chuckled darkly. "I believe this will be loads of fun."

"Us between, I enjoyed it", the elder said. "He was tight. He cried, you know. One would think the Boy Who Lived would be able to stand against, eh?"

"He's a lion, you moron. He acts before thinking, so why should he be able to stand against you?"

The elder snorted. "He doesn't think at all. Seriously, that piece of bullshit he came up about Diggory's death? I, for one, would never sink as low to lie about a murder."

"You'd actually murder someone and not lie about it?"

A frown let out on the elder's face. "Hm, perhaps I'd do. But I wouldn't need to do it. See, we've got a lot of power in the Wizengamot. And I'd never come up with the insane idea that You Know Who's back."

"Perhaps", the younger said with a smirk, "perhaps we didn't need to make the idiot even more insane."

{Art of Suicide}

"Potter."

"Professor."

"I see manners have sparkled alive within you."

"I merely do not wish to tell you what exactly I think of you."

Severus narrowed his eyes at the boy. He was indeed in no good mood today. He had hoped the Headmaster would have changed his wish and let Lupin take care of the broken boy. Of course that did not happen, and he was now standing in the middle of the living room at Privet Drive 4. He crossed his arms over his chest, just to make it clear he was still in charge. His too-many-times-broken nose wrinkled to point out that he found Potter disgusting.

The fact he had been raped did not change the matter. Potter had always disgusted Severus. Well, at least annoyed him by acting like James Potter, whom had disgusted Severus.

"If you believe, Potter, that I have nothing better to do than wasting my time to be here, you have been sorely misled", Severus said quietly. "I have no wish to be here whatsoever."

"Feeling's mutual, sir."

Severus' eyes flashed dangerously. What in the name of Merlin and all his hair had happened to Potter? He acted almost like a Slytherin. He tapped his fingers on his chin. What if Severus could make him a Slytherin? It would be more pleasant to meet death then, knowing that Potter Senior had gotten back by having a Slytherin son. He suppressed a smirk.

"Well, Potter, it looks like we have something in common after all, yes? Now, as neither of us wish to be here, I believe it is amenable that we both get it over. I ask questions, you answer them. Are we understood?"

"Yes, sir."

Severus gave a curt nod and conjured a chair in front of Potter, whom already sat in a chair. "Do you feel safer at Hogwarts or here?"

Potter's eyes stared back. "Neither, sir."

"You must choose."

"Here, sir."

Severus raised a brow, actually rather surprised. "And why, pray tell, do you feel safer here?"

"Because, sir, I have never been attacked by neither Voldemort, his Death Eaters, Dementors or Grindylows."

"Do you feel you cannot relax at Hogwarts?"

An insane cackle let out of Potter's lips, and Severus raised a brow, again. "Now, what is so amusing?"

"Who is able to relax at Hogwarts, sir? It is essay after essay, lesson after lesson, lecture after lecture, pressure on pressure and then each and every year something just happens in June. Does it not say anything particular to you?" Potter snickered. "You're a lunatic, Professor Severus Snape, if you can relax in any place of the Magical World."

{Art of Suicide}

Ronald Weasley awoke around three in the morning. Which was strange, as he usually slept a whole night without interruption. At least when Harry Potter was not around. Not that Harry bothered him. Ron felt sorry for his friend to go through such visions from the Dark Lord. He, himself, would have gone mad if he saw torture every other night instead of dreaming about what he liked, like Quidditch. Or trivial, usual teenage nightmares.

So the first thought that went through the red haired boy's mind was "Go back to sleep, you moron!", before he felt a poke on his arm.

He froze, and suddenly his slumber drained away. Instantly he had his wand in his hand and aimed to whomever was standing just beside his bed. And said wand dropped slightly when he figured out who it was.

"Hermione?"

Ron could not see for sure, as it was rather dark in the room this night. It had rained earlier. In fact it had rained until midnight. But he could figure the contours of his friend as well as he could catch the word "Quidditch" by a mere glance in a book. Well, when the word "Quidditch" was written, that is.

A small, nervous chuckle let out of Hermione's lips, and the shadowed figure nodded.

"Lumos", Ron whispered, and the top of the wand lit up. He could now see his friend standing there, with Crookshanks in her arms. Apparently she had received a word from the Order about the occurrence of Harry's. Her eyes were slightly red and swollen and it looked as though she had bitten her lower lip rather hard.

As the good friend Ron was, he took her into his arms and drew his hand on her back in calming motions. "When did you come, 'Mione?", he asked in a low voice.

She sniffled before she answered with a low, high-pitched voice. "Just after you went to bed, Mrs Weasley said. I can't sleep though. I think of Harry all the time and how he must be- be coping, if coping at all."

That was exactly the reason Ron slept, though. To gain some of his well-worth rest away from the ever circulating thoughts about his best friend. The family had been notified about what had happened and that Harry probably would not come over to Grimmauld Place immediately. Ron hated to be at this place, and it was not because it was Sirius' home during the most of his childhood, but for the fact Harry was not the one to be there - first - with Sirius - alone. Great Merlin, he was Sirius' godson! It just made sense that he was supposed to be there first and then invite people over. Not that Harry would have had much to say about it, as Sirius was the one to suggest the place as a Headquarter for the Order.

And it was boring at the place. Without Harry everything seemed... what? Calm? It probably would have felt that way, had Molly not been running around in the house, demanding the place itself to get clean. And his family was no better. Molly spent time cleaning, cooking, crying and these things all over again, when it was not an Order meeting. Arthur had his work, recruit trusted people to the Order, stay low at the Ministry and calm Molly. Ron's siblings were either cleaning, worrying or downright depressive.

So Ron welcomed Hermione with open arms, even though she was almost an exact replacement of what he already had endured.

"He'll get better. You can't bury yourself, 'kay? You have to stand strong so we can be there for him when he needs, right?" Ron was, however, not entirely convinced himself. Rape was not only a physical thing, but emotional and mental as well. And, well, it was rather clear that Harry had had enough during this year.

But Hermione just shook her head. "But you don't understand, Ron! He needs us now! We're his friends! He can't stay locked inside a room-"

"He isn't 'locked inside a room' any longer, 'Mione."

"Isn't? They- they let him free?" Hermione's eyes widened slightly, before a small twitch on her lips could be seen. She tried to picture Harry's happiness; to be able to walk around in the house where he lived. It must have been wonderful, she decided, had he not been molested.

"Yes", Ron replied with a small smile. "His aunt realized things had gone too far, and wanted to help."

Hermione jumped out of Ron's reach with a squeak. "But that's just wonderful! Harry can get the family he deserves!"

Ron frowned. "But, 'Mione, I hate to break the glee, but- what if it's too late? The family thing, I mean?", he asked, and received an angry slap on his face. "Ouch!"

"Don't you go round say things like that, Ronald Weasley! He'll be fine! I'll see to it! Of course he'll be; he's Harry, right?"

"Harry, yes. Just Harry, just like he wants to be. But 'Mione, have you not realized even 'just Harry' has limits of what he's able to endure?" Ron's pessimism finally broke through the barriers.

"But it's Harry we know, and I know he'll be alright. He's got us."

"And a bunch of Death Eaters, a madman, the Ministry and ninety-seven percent of the Wizarding people in Britain after him as well."

Ron blamed his pessimism on the fact he had not been able to really venture his feelings before. And that he was tired.

{Art of Suicide}

Petunia Dursley was no longer a Dursley. She had taken back her maiden name, Evans, and was no longer the wife of Vernon Dursley.

She stared at the food in front of her, but she had not really eaten. Thoughts made her busy, and the added stress about her nephew was no calming.

Scrambled eggs, toast and tea. She had eaten this for breakfast since she was a child, before she got married. Why it had stopped, she did not really know. She suspected it had something to do with her unhappiness. The marriage had never really been happy. She loved Dudley and held him close to his heart. He was her little prince and the best thing that had ever come out from the marriage.

Vernon did not love Dudley. He had had plans for his son to help him with the Grunnings and get a name in the business world. And now, when Petunia had almost disgraced the name by divorce, he had disappeared without a world. He did not even care for Dudley.

Dudley was no longer the spoilt brat who cried when he did not get what he wanted. Neither was he someone who went around and bullied people anymore. He ran every morning, continued his diet and the lovely boy his mother always had thought he was. The fact that Vernon did not talk to him, ask for him or acknowledged him in any way, did not bother him at all.

Vernon Dursley was an abuser. Dudley did not want anything to do with him.

What was Dudley then? Petunia remembered how Dudley liked to play Harry Hunting when he was younger. She had known it was something dangerous for Harry, and what had she done to help him? Nothing. She actually asked him to clean himself by using the hose before coming in. And she never teneded his wounds; never did anything than snapping and accuse him for lying.

She remembered every rule they had set up for Harry; Do not laugh, do not cry, do not scream, do not lie, do not ask, do not breathe to high, do not use the loo nor the shower if not permitted, do not use any of our possessions except permitted tools for chores, do not tell anyone about what happens in our house, do not get better grades than Dudley.

Do not live.

They had indirectly forbidden him to live.

She poke the eggs with her fork.

Lily must hate her now. Lily never hated her. Never. It was only Petunia whom had hated. Lily was loving and caring and now probably used all her hate towards her own sister.

Lily had probably set out Harry's whole childhood to be filled with love and care. Petunia had come to destroy all the plans. Or was it Vernon?

She could not say who it was that decided the rules. Petunia had explained the situation for Vernon; had explained what freak of a sister she had, and then...

Yes. Vernon must have demanded control. Petunia had been submissive. But still she could have done something. She could have loved her nephew.

A family. That was what she always had wanted. She had had it, yes. During her childhood, before Lily was praised and seen before herself. Jealousy had grown. The family she once had, had turned to foes. And when she had married Vernon, it was the first whom had asked her out. Everyone had wanted Lily. But not Vernon. Vernon wanted Petunia.

Of course they got together and got a child. It was a few happy days of her life. Then Lily got blown up and her child had come to her doorstep.

And she had taken it in, but never gave it a proper home.

A sigh let out her lips as she rose from her chair. She was not really hungry. She never really had been.

{Art of Suicide}

He hated to admit it to himself, so of course he would not do it to anyone else. Living, dead or unliving. He would never let the words out of his mouth.

He was curious.

The strange feeling felt like it was eating him from the insides, or nagging his mind until he released the parasites by asking - asking! - Potter questions. He had to ask Potter questions. That, because of his stupid curiosity. Imagine what the students would say about Professor Severus Snape, the scary Potions Master from the dungeouns and Hell, should they ever hear about his curiosity.

It was stupidity. He hated to be curious. It drove him mad. He could not sleep well because of it, and when he did, he dreamt about what Potter had said with that furtive lift in his right corner of his mouth.

His whole mind was, once again, only on that brat.. whom had turned out not to be a brat but an abused and neglected boy whose future had been set in stone.

His forhead rested in his hands. The long, slender fingers caught up his new cleaned hair and the palms covering his eyes. He was stressed. Oh Merlin, was he stressed! And he blamed it all on Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.

That old fool.

But a good man, indeed.

When he did not blackmail Severus with Lily.

What power she held over him. What power she held. Had she not died, and she still would have been a Potter with, perhaps, more kids than now, and she asked for a favour, Severus would do whatever it took to grant her her wish. They had been best friends. She had been there for him through heaven and hell.

And now Potter, her son he swore to protect, was a wreck. The worst thing was that it was not even half the truth.

"Why do you hide yourself in a shell, Potter? I mean, why do you believe the man loved you?"

"He said I was beautiful, sir."

"Surely Diggory said that?"

"Yes, he did, sir. A lot of times."

"Why would you believe someone who takes what is yours to give?"

"Because, sir, if you haven't figured it out yet, it's easier to think he loved me. That someone does."

"And why do you think it will help you in the end?"

"Oh, it won't, sir."

"Then why do you convince yourself?"

"I already said, sir, it's easier to believe there were some love in what he did to me."

"Do you know who it was?"

"Oh, no, sir. But I have heard a familiar voice, I believe. I just can't put my finger on what. And it was deformed in some way. It wasn't a voice I've heard, but familiar nonetheless."

"See, Potter. It was not as bad to talk as you thought."

"Sir, I never thought, I just did as you told me."

And Severus, loath as he was to admit it, felt as though he just had to help the boy. Not for Lily's sake, not for the world's, but for the boy's sake himself.

Why did he feel like that? It was not as though he cared for the boy, was it? He loathed the boy. They loathed one another. The feeling was mutual, no? And yet-

He sipped some of his wine before he drank it all. Merlin, he was confused. If Lily held power over him, what will Potter do, if they became attached?

No. He was just going to help him, for Lily's sake. Lily would have done the same, if it was his own son.

You do not have a son, imbecile.

A frustrated sigh let out of his lips and he pushed away the glass before his elbows settled down on the table's surface.

He was Severus Snape, for the sake of Merlin! He was not going to cuddle a boy. It had never been his ambition. He was not that kind of man. Everyone knew it.

Except Lily. But she had been his best friend. The one he had let the guard down for. The one whom he just had to repay.

Oh, what situation have you got yourself into, Severus?

Had it been easier, if Potter was not a Potter? If Potter was- hell, even a Weasley would have been better! Why was it Potter? Everytime he saw the boy, it was a smaller version of James Potter, but a hurt Potter; a hurt boy and therefore he saw some of himself in the boy.

He had been hurt. Not like Potter, perhaps, but he had been a small, scared but defensive boy.

And now Potter came around. Potter. Why Potter?

He snorted. It must be something with Fate these years.

{Art of Suicide}

"Mom?"

"Yes, Duddikinns?"

"Harry's bleeding."

[A/N} So that was it. I did not plan to stop it there, though, but I obviously have to update. Questions? I think the chapter will be as fair as possible. I still have a thing on HP to do. This chapter took me... what? About a month to do? Rewrite, wait for my friend to write her ideas and a few parts. The grammar should be clear, I believe. Got three spots on my English test, all three rather obvious mistakes from me, which I would never do in this story.

I still haven't recovered from DHP1. And I write another thing with another friend of mine.

I think I will not write until this term is over. At least not publish anything. I have essays, test or homework in almost every subject. Gee, I will thank Merlin and his grandmother if I do not "commit" karoushi or something.

Oh, and for those who did not understand; The beginning and the end of the story is a circle.

Reviews, pretty please?