This is out so quickly because my betas were so quick to read it. So you have them to thank, and if you haven't read any of Diagonalist's stories, then why not? Go read them because they are better than mine! Oh, actually, read this first. Then go and read Flawed Lines which is the best Sev/Harry fic ever.
Dean fell asleep in the middle of the 20th transfiguration. To Harry, it felt like the two millionth. Dean was a great guy, and a fantastic friend, but bloody useless at Transfiguration. He didn't have the patience to accept that he needed to wait and envisage before the transfiguration. Hence, the room was filled with grotesque half-changed animals. Wincing in sympathy, Harry dragged his tired limbs off the bed, pulled a cover over Dean, and began the arduous task of transfiguring the animals into their proper forms. Starting to transfigure a green flamingo with inverted tusks back into a mouse, Harry wondered what sort of thoughts ran through Dean's mind to make him transfigure a mouse into this absurd hybrid.

It took a good two hours to finish transfiguring the animals back to their proper states, and Harry was completely exhausted, but he couldn't sleep. And it was 5.00am; if he did sleep, he would end up being more tired than if he didn't. So, drawing his thick winter cloak around his shoulders, he stepped out of the common room, not really knowing where he was going. His feet led him to the Astronomy Tower and he allowed himself to walk right to the edge and sit down, enjoying the freedom of being able swing his legs, knowing that he was so high above ground. Then he realised what he really wanted to do.

"Accio Firebolt" he said softly, caressing the words. It had been so long since he had flown. He could feel the Firebolt whizzing towards him, and quickly caught it before disabling the wards on the Astronomy Tower so he could leap off without being noticed. The second he was in mid-air, he re- applied them, and then with foresight for any other depressed students, cast a slowing charm and a softening charm on the ground all around the Tower. That done, he allowed his broom to soar freely around the tower and onto the Quidditch pitch. The wind whipped his rapidly growing hair into his eyes, and he let out a yell of pure elation as he actually felt the life come back into his skin. It felt so good; so real. It had been so long since he had felt this free.

He turned the broom quickly, and then again so he was diving downwards. About one meter from the ground, he jerked it up with another whoop, and sped up to the other end of the pitch. He wondered how well he could dive, and cast a cushioning charm on the ground. Then he dived to the ground. He forgot to pull up, and rolled onto the ground with a giggle. Quickly picking himself up again, he had another go, and got so low that he actually touched the ground with his fingers before shooting straight up.

Invisible, from the Astronomy Tower, Snape watched the proceedings, wondering at the boy. He was smiling now, his eyes bright with tears from the wind and his cheeks reddened from the cool air. How could he have changed so quickly? Had it all been an act? Or was this all an act?

Snape didn't like being confused. It irked him that he had seen through every lie and test that Voldemort had thought up for him, but he didn't understand this one boy. It also irked him that he was worried; that he cared. Nobody had ever cared for him, so why did he now care for Harry? Potter. Harry. Potter. Merlin, this was confusing. Yes, he felt contrite, but the boy was hardly making it easy for him to apologise. Not that he was particularly good at apologies anyway.

The boy could fly. He would make a success of his life. If something had happened to make him see that he could help himself more than the slimy potions master could, then that was a good thing.

So why did it hurt so much to see him hiding?

And where had that thought come from?

Hiding. Was he hiding? Who could recover so quickly? What was he, truly? Was he Harry the depressed boy, or was that a persona he applied to prevent people from idolising Potter? Or was Harry the darker side of Potter's persona? There were so many questions, and Snape couldn't answer any of them. He didn't know, and he didn't want to care. But he couldn't help it. He did.

*****************************************************

Harry could see Snape watching him, and suddenly he felt anger overtake his logical senses. Did the stupid man think he couldn't see through simple invisibility spells? He pulled the Firebolt up sharply and leaned forward, urging it as fast as he could towards the Astronomy Tower, his eyes never leaving the dark robed figure. As he grew closer he saw Snape move to the side, as though to avoid him. He moved the Firebolt so he was still aiming at the teacher, and kept driving the broom forwards. He wasn't expecting Snape to stand still. At the last possible moment he moved the broom to the side, missing Snape by a fraction of an inch, and soared to the other side of the pitch, wondering, wondering.

What had that expression on Snape's face meant?

**************************************************

Snape moved instinctively as Harry zoomed towards him, and almost had a heart attack when the boy changed course. Harry could see him. It really shouldn't have surprised him at all. He stood still savouring the quickly hidden surprise on Harry's face. At the last moment, the boy changed course and flew away, not even looking back.

How had he changed so quickly? He had become a Slytherin, and a proud one at that.

Like Tom Riddle.

FLASHBACK

Severus Snape sat at the back of Potions Classroom, under the pretence of brewing an anti-ageing potion, watching a Slytherin who he knew only by sight and by legend talking to Professor Dimpleworth. The short wild-haired man was gesturing with his hands agitatedly.

"Mr Riddle, I must insist that you do not make this potion! It is dangerous!"

"I am a good potions student" said Riddle smoothly, in a tone that brooked no argument. Stupidly, Dimpleworth tried to argue.

"It is too complex! There is nobody in this school who could brew it."

The professor's eyes gave him away, though, flicking towards Severus. Riddle followed his line of vision, and he smiled predatorily.

"Well, professor, it's not a dangerous potion when brewed incorrectly. If you give me two weeks to brew it, I will do so, and immediately hand it over to Professor Dippet. Just to prove that I can."

His piercing eyes never left Severus, and the younger boy found his palms growing sweaty under the gaze.

Dimpleworth nodded reluctantly, indirectly signing Severus' life over to Voldemort, and Riddle smiled. It made Severus shudder to see such an archetypal Slytherin.

END FLASHBACK

Severus had helped Tom Riddle with that potion; and the next one. He had brewed the most complex, and it had been Severus who had facilitated most of the dangerous transformations Tom had gone through to become Lord Voldemort. So it was understandable that he was disturbed by the look on Harry's face that had reminded him so much of Tom Riddle.

Sighing, he descended from the tower and walked back down to the dungeons, silent as a shadow.

*************************************************

Harry watched Snape leave from the other end of the pitch, his mood ruined. There was a painful lump in his throat, and he didn't know where it had come from. His cheeks suddenly burned with shame at the thought of how he'd repaid Snape's kindness. How he'd promised Snape he'd tae care, because it upset Snape to see all the blood. But times changed; Harry had changed. He had been forced to. So, what he was about to do wasn't really his fault, was it.

It was amazing, really, how much blood came out of his arm with a small cut. Hating himself for it, he began to think about how it would feel to see all of his blood escape, run away like he himself had never been able to. What he would look like dead; peaceful? Scared? Tired, or relaxed?

Would they cry for him? Would anyone have the sense to give him a quiet burial? Probably not; they would have the newspapers, and radio presenters, and hordes of mourners. Mourners who had never known him. Would Snape come? Would he cry?

How would he do it? Would he slit his wrists, or take an overdose of sleeping potion? He could brew a poison, or jump off the Astronomy Tower. Or let go of his Firebolt in mid-air; or hang himself. It would be typical if a gun didn't work, and slightly impractical; he couldn't transfigure one, because he didn't know about the inner workings.

He didn't realise he was writing it all down until the quill scratched his fingertip, causing a little trickle of blood. Then he realised how long he had been; breakfast would be over by now, and he would be late for charms. Throwing everything into his bag, he took off.

****************************************************

Flitwick was standing on his usual pile of books when Harry came in, and looked up with a smile.

"Harry, so glad you could join us!"

Harry loved the way there was no sarcasm; the wizard was actually delighted to see Harry. He didn't complain at his lateness, or the fact that he had forgotten his ink. Must have left it in the dormitory. The lesson was almost painfully easy, as they were just revising levitation charms. Unfortunately, Harry was paired with Seamus, and there was no way he could get through to the useless boy that aiming was actually very important. Thankfully, Harry had the foresight to cast a cushioning charm on himself so that he didn't get hurt when he flew into the walls. Not that the jarring didn't hurt a little bit. . .the repeated impacts were jarring his arms, and there was a thin trail of blood about to seep out of his sleeve. Annoyed, he surreptitiously cast a clotting spell and wiped the blood with his robe before going back to his torment with Seamus, not seeing the Irish boy's strange expression.

**********************************************

Dean jumped as Seamus grabbed his shoulder at the end of the class.

"Wait. . .I need to talk to you."

Dean looked back at Seamus and nodded, seeing the concern on his friend's face. As soon as Harry had gone, Seamus started talking quickly.

"I'm worried about Harry, Dean. He's looked really tired and cut-off recently. . .and. . .there was blood, I think, on his sleeve today."

Dean looked confused.

"Well, he probably cut himself."

Seamus nodded grimly.

"That's what I'm afraid of."

Dean looked blank, and the understanding and horror grew on his face.

"No. . .he would have told us. Wouldn't he. . .wouldn't he?"

Seamus shrugged, his normally dancing eyes dark.

"He's been quiet, withdrawn. I don't know if he would have or not. I think we should try and find out. Maybe. . .maybe check his stuff. I hate to do it, but I'm really worried."

Dean nodded, and both boys left for Transfiguration with heavy hearts and worried expressions.

*****************************************

Harry tried to keep his front on for the rest of the morning. He wanted nothing more than to go upstairs and scream, cry and hurt himself, but to leave class would arouse attention. Not that he noticed when Seamus said he had forgotten his textbook and left McGonagall's classroom with a meaningful glance to Dean. Harry was too busy trying to turn his flamingo back into a pencil-case - it was supposed to be a mouse. He must have flamingos on the brain.

********************************************

Seamus quickly went upstairs. He had left his book outside the room and had picked it up on the way out, but he really wanted to see what was in Harry's space.

Taking the stairs two at a time, and slightly out of breath from the exertion, he walked over to Harry's bed, suddenly wondering if the powerful wizard had put any charms on his belongings. But there was no magical signature; obviously Harry trusted his friends. Biting back those thoughts, Seamus moved a pile of books so he could see under Harry's bed, and silently closed his eyes. There was a knife. There was blood on it. In varying degrees of drying. So he had been right.

He didn't want to see anything else. Harry hadn't wanted them to know. But he wouldn't let this go. Not Harry; not Harry, who had so much to live for.

Feet heavy, he picked up his book and walked down to the Transfiguration room.

*********************************************

On the way out of the classroom Harry stumbled over the desk leg, and fell heavily to the floor, jarring his arm and twisting his ankle. Dean was there in an instant, helping him up, and in his exhaustion harry didn't notice how careful Dean was to not touch his arms. The boy also helped him pack his bags, and Harry didn't notice his friend's wide eyes expression as he pocketed a loose piece of parchment with the tiniest dribble of blood on it.

***********************************************

After the lesson, Dean and Seamus hurried to the library, each noticing the grim expression on the other's face. Seamus shook his head miserably.

"There was a knife under his bed. A bloody knife, fresh and old blood."

Dean didn't look as horrified as Seamus thought he would.

"Look what I found" he said softly, his voice strained, and handed the parchment to Seamus, who read it and slowly turned white.

"What would I look like?. . .Would they have the sense. . .would Snape. . ."

Seamus stopped reading, his eyes distraught.

"We need to talk to Harry" he said quietly.

*************************************************

Harry felt slightly better at the thought of being able to freely cut when he got back to his dormitory. He almost ran the length, not even noticing Dean and Seamus until he ran straight into the Irish boy who was blocking his way.

"Harry, I think we need to talk" he said, in a subdued voice that Harry had never heard from him before. And as he held out the knife, Harry understood and his heart felt like it had disapparated.

They knew.

Shit.