Harry ran as though he had no bounds to his energy. His legs pistoned as he

found himself flying deeper into the remote areas of the castle, the running

slightly liberating. Now he didn't want the feeling of warm, sticky blood

running down his arms, legs, chest, stomach. He wanted the cool feeling of

dry air caressing his face, the welcome relief of tiredness. And so he kept

on running.

Legs pumping more slowly now, lungs starting to burn. When his head began to

spin, he opened his mouth and gulped in fresh air, which gave his aching

muscles another spurt of energy. The feeling of being totally lost was

actually quite liberating. He didn't want to be found.

Finally, he reached a suitable looking room. Well, it wasn't really a room,

but at the moment all he wanted was to hide, and this closet seemed perfect.

In the dark, damp cupboard, he felt as though he could hide, safe on all

fronts. If he couldn't see anything, then surely nothing could see him?

Childish as it sounded, the reasoning made him feel better, and he sat

hugging his knees, catching his breath. How far had he run? This was

definitely a part of the dungeon he had never visited before, so he must be

fitter than he thought. Drawing his robes tightly around him, acutely

feeling the cold as the sweat began to dry on his body, he looked down at

his hands. The small scars were going purple from the cold, and he wasn't

sure if he liked the look or not. Not that there was anything he could do

about it now.

Displeased with his ruminations, he began to pick at his fingernails. They

had grown long, but ragged from chewing, and were slightly grubby. What was

he waiting for? He didn't know. And then he did. He gasped, and his eyes

filled instinctively with tears.

He was waiting to die.

And he had never known this deep, suffocating, restrictive, overwhelming,

overpowering sense of. . .nothing. Nothing. He wanted everything to go

black, and disappear, fade out.

"Oh god" he whispered, in utter futility. "Save me."

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

Snape prowled around, eyes flashing, mind whirring. Where could Harry have

gone? Where would he have gone if he had wanted to be alone?

The dungeons.

It was the answer that recurred over and over again, but he had combed the

dungeons, and there was no sign of Harry. No footprints, to doors ajar, no

magical signature. The rest of the staff had checked every conceivable

hiding place, including the Astronomy Tower. His invisibility cloak had been

found in the Gryffindor dormitories, along with a hysterical Granger and a

load of totally confused idiots. Which hadn't helped matters at all. Stupid

Gryffindors.

Finally, through the linking spell which all the teachers had on so that

anyone finding Harry could alert the rest of them, he told Albus he would go

further into the dungeons. . .just in case. He knew the probability was

minute, but he couldn't get the thought that he and Harry were not so

dissimilar out of his head; and having combed every other square inch of the

castle, if nothing else the expedition would soothe his frazzled nerves a

little. So, with Albus' blessing, he walked down to the dungeons and began

his search.

And struck gold.

After about half an hour of aimless wandering, he caught sight of a door

slightly open, and a torch alight. The torches only lit if something went

past them, which must mean that recently someone had passed. He wrenched

open the door, and practically ran down the corridor, following the light

footsteps. Harry must have been running, and quickly at that. His steps had

been light, and wide spaced. Unfortunately, this made it very hard for Snape

to trace them. It was a slow and arduous job, but eventually he reached the

door of some sort of cupboard. The footsteps had stopped abruptly outside,

making scuff-marks in the dust, and there was a hand-print on the door.

Breathing a sigh of relief, although his stomach was uneasy at the thought

of what condition Harry might be in, he pushed open the door.

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

It made sense, really. The best way to go would be to cut his wrists. He

would also have the feeling he wanted, of seeing the world fade away, rather

than just blacking out suddenly. He didn't think. Didn't care. Wrote no

note, planned nothing.

The boy-who-lived, dying in a disused cupboard at Hogwarts School for

Witchcraft and Wizardry. It had a certain ring to it. He didn't care.

Transfiguring a blade, he brought it to his wrist, took a deep breath,

looked at the clear white skin. . .dropped the blade, fumbled for it with

trembling fingers. He wasn't sure he was brave enough to do this.

Come on, he told himself. Show them that fucking Gryffindor bravery that

they're trying to force on you all the time.

This time his hand was steady as he pressed down firmly on the forbidden

vein, and watched the blood begin to spurt out, in increasing amounts.

It all began to darken, and he felt a drunken smile spread over his face.

Getting darker and darker, everything was fading out. . .

And then there was light.

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

Snape darted into the cupboard, and grasped Harry's bleeding wrists tightly,

almost retching as he felt pulses of blood beating in vain against his

fingers.

"Oh god, Harry. What have you done?"

Harry shivered, and Snape looked in horror as his head began to loll to the

side.

"No, Harry, no! Hold on. Please. Please. . ."

Clumsy in his haste, Snape set about trying to bandage the wounds as best he

could, trying to ignore the green eyes resting on him. Finally the

nervousness got the better of him, and he began to babble.

"Oh Harry, I'm so sorry. It's all my fault. I didn't. . .I don't know. I

suppose I should have an excuse. But I don't. I wish it hadn't taken me so

long to find you. I wish I could understand you, Harry."

Harry smiled weakly, and Snape put a long, blood-stained finger under his

chin.

"I think I've stopped the bleeding now. Will you drink this?"

Harry did so without question, and some colour immediately returned to his

face. He coughed slightly.

"What was that?"

Snape smirked.

"Whiskey"

Harry almost smiled, and Snape pulled him into a hug.

"For Merlin's sake, Harry, please never do anything like that again. I was

so scared. . .I thought I was going to lose you. I don't know what I would

do if I lost you. Don't leave me. . ."

Harry ran a hand through his Snape's hair, without even thinking.

"I thought you hated me" he said wryly, surprised at Snape's vehement

denial.

"Do not say that! I made a mistake, the biggest mistake of my life. I was

too proud to admit I was wrong. I wish I had an excuse. Does being a greasy

bastard count?"

Harry smiled again, softly, and leaned against Snape.

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

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

A/N This is where the slash will be inserted. Ugh, this is getting

confusing. . .anyone who hasn't signed up who wants slash, please do! I will

be sending it out as soon as it is done. Just email me with your email, and

preferably a sycophantic email. Thanks!

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

The two men fell asleep against each other, both exhausted from the long

day, and their injuries. They were, at some stage, taken up to the

infirmary, where they were both checked over. However no lasting damage was

done.

One night, the darkness came back to Harry, washing over him until his very

soul was saturated with depression, and he crawled into Severus' bed,

holding the older man tight, and relishing the feeling of being held. And

the darkness left.
The darkness never came back.
THE END
* I need reviews like I need water. That is, very much. And it's not that

hard, really. *pleading eyes**