Harry quickly fell into his new routine.

It was easier now that he only had to play the part of the attentive friend during meals and in the short period of time between his last afternoon class and the end of the dinner hour. He could feel his friends' suspicions diminish day by day.

He had a good excuse for studying immediately after classes, rather than after dinner as usual, since his friends believed Harry spent his after-dinner hours being Snape's slave.

At the same time, he felt their friendship unraveling. It was only natural that the less time he spent with Ron and Hermione the less aware he was of what was going on in their lives. He found himself not understanding their jokes, being left out of their conversations, and even being left to study alone in the common room while they pursued their own interests. They were no longer adamant about dragging him along wherever they went.

He was glad, he thought. On some level, the realization that they were drifting apart a little more each day bothered him. But mostly, he was grateful to be left alone. With the number of daily reminders of his life before the war lessened, Harry was less and less frequently plagued by the memories. There came a time when he realized that several nights had gone by free of the nightmares that in the past had him waking drenched with sweat and shaken to the core. It was no longer a daily struggle to slip into his disguise.

For the first few weeks, just the relief of being left to himself was enough, but the more he withdrew, the more he liked it, and the more difficult it was to return upstairs.

That's how he started to think of it -- there was the upstairs and the downstairs, and when he was upstairs all he wanted was to return to the dungeons. The few hours after dinner were no longer enough. He wanted, more than anything, to cut out any activity he could which forced him to spend time with his peers.

He presented himself in front of McGonagall one day, quaking inside because he knew she would give him grief once he told her what he was going to do.

"I would like to leave the Quidditch team."

She stared at him, looking like she hadn't understood.

"I mean," Harry continued quickly, "it isn't something I enjoy doing anymore. There are other people who should have a chance to play and who would appreciate the opportunity much more than me."

He expected her to argue with him, but after a long silence she nodded. "Inform the team captain. I will arrange for tryouts to take place this weekend. If we are able to find a replacement in time for the next match..."

"Thank you," Harry said, seeing a dangerous look enter her eyes. He didn't want to give her a chance to start asking him questions. As it was, she would no doubt be speaking to Dumbledore about him.

She nodded again and waved her hand toward the door, dismissing him.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. No Quidditch meant an end to early morning practices. It meant he didn't have to spend time with Ron, who was on the team that year, or Fred and George, who seemed to have got it into their heads that Harry needed cheering up.

Without Quidditch, Harry was even more isolated. The team had been one of the last things he'd had in common with Ron, and even setting aside Ron's anger about Harry leaving, Harry found their friendship losing even more ground.

Outside, the sun began to warm the ground, the snow melted, and everywhere there were signs of spring. Harry watched the change through eyes deadened to the world's remarkable ability to renew itself.

He had done such a good job of isolating himself that it was no longer necessary to make elaborate plans for avoiding his friends, or to fear running into Dumbledore in the halls. These things had lost the power they had held over him. He could get through entire conversations now without really hearing a word that was said, and make the necessary responses without conscious thought. He went to meals and classes, he studied, he smiled where appropriate and looked sad when it was expected. When had it ever been difficult to do these things? He no longer cared if he was watched, but as he made fewer and fewer mistakes it seemed that he had placated even Dumbledore. Only Lupin continued his relentless pursuit, trying to draw him into conversations riddled with psychological traps he had become immune to. As long as he could hurry down the dungeon stairs every evening, and spend the hours before curfew away from their prying eyes, he felt he could handle anything. He finally felt he was in no danger of breaking down.

The time he spent in the dungeons was a waking sleep, when his senses dulled and conscious thought departed. Snape had long before conceded to leave him in peace for the duration of their time together. Harry found the dungeons to be the only place where none of the noise of daily life encroached on his solitude.

Night after night he sought out the stagnant semi-darkness, where expressions of any kind were unnecessary. Alone and undisturbed, he allowed himself to dissolve into the shadows.

On one particular day he was held up by McGonagall, and arrived in the dungeons a quarter hour late. He knew immediately that Lupin had chosen that day to seek Snape out. It had become almost routine; at least once a week he would come down to the dungeons, demand a word with Snape, and minutes later they could be heard arguing in Snape's office. Nothing ever seemed to come of it, save for the cryptic looks Snape sometimes cast his way afterwards.

Malfoy was leaning against the door frame of the classroom, scowling in the direction of the office. Harry paused, unable to squeeze past Malfoy and forced to stand and listen to the indistinct words filtering through the closed door down the corridor.

Malfoy's head swiveled slowly around until their eyes met.

"They're talking about you, you know."

"So I gathered," Harry replied dryly.

Malfoy gave him a long look, but said nothing further.

"I have your book," Harry told him, pulling it from his bag.

His relationship with Malfoy had become complicated. Neither one seemed to have the energy to continue the pointless bickering that had once permeated their every meeting. Without anyone around to appreciate the sarcastic and callous remarks they exchanged, the game grew tiresome. Now they alternated between ignoring each other, each lost in his own lonesomeness, and what could pass for civil conversation.

The office door opened, and they both stepped into the classroom to avoid being seen. A few moments later Lupin stalked past the doorway in the direction of the staircase.

Malfoy took his seat, in the back row near the door, and Harry headed for his, at the front of the room. Before he could get there, Snape swept into the room.

"Out," he said, giving Malfoy a look that arrested any response.

Malfoy was out the door before Snape had made it half way across the room, but not before giving Harry an angry glare, clearly blaming him for the sudden expulsion.

Harry had sat down, and now Snape approached him, slowly, deliberately, his expression unreadable. When he was directly in front of Harry he put both hands down on the desk and leaned in.

"You've spent enough time here. It's time for you to leave."

Harry stared at him, not understanding. Snape was looking right into his eyes, with those black eyes that seemed to pierce deeper than even Dumbledore's were capable of. For the first time in a while he felt unnerved, as if Snape had found a weakness in his defenses and could peer inside.

"I know what you're doing. I've known all along, but didn't stop you. It's time I did."

"What am I doing?" Harry challenged him.

"How do you feel when you're here?" Snape asked, answering a question with a question.

"I feel..." Harry had to think before he could find the words. "I feel like I'm floating. It's dark, and comfortable."

"You're drowning," Snape said matter-of-factly.

Harry frowned. "Not true. I feel peaceful. Up there" -- He made a motion toward the ceiling -- "I have to think, and talk to people when I would rather not. Here I can just... be."

"And it's easier to go back, afterward?"

"Yes..."

"Is it because each time you emerge, you find those around you just a little more distant?"

Harry had considered it, and been glad of it. Hearing it from Snape, however, was disconcerting.

"What does it matter?" he asked, determined not to let Snape see the effect his words were having.

"One day, you will find they have moved on, leaving you to rot in this dark pit you find so comfortable now."

"I don't care," Harry said, glaring at him.

Instead of returning the glare, Snape looked at him pityingly. "By the time you wake up and do care, it will be too late."

Harry found himself laughing. Could anyone think he would 'wake up' and be normal again? He must be more convincing than he had ever hoped to be, if they thought he was just in the process of normal grief.

Snape was studying him, and Harry's laughter died away.

"What do you know about what I'm feeling?" Harry demanded, suddenly angry at the man who presumed to tell him what to do with what remained of his life.

"I know that you would rather freeze than feel. I know that by now, even when you try to feel, you can't," Snape replied calmly.

Harry opened his mouth to deny it, to say that if he allowed himself to feel the pain would overwhelm him, but realized suddenly that Snape had hit on the truth. The things that had caused pain were empty of it now. He couldn't recall the last time any emotion had pushed the limits of his endurance.

"I can feel," he finally said. "I'm angry right now, aren't I?"

"Anger is easy," Snape said. "Try another."

Harry glared at him.

Snape straightened up, shaking his head.

"Leave. Crawl toward the light and hope there's still someone around to pull you the rest of the way up."

He turned away, not waiting for Harry to comply.

"Wait!" Harry stopped him.

Snape stopped, but didn't turn around.

"Why should I?" Harry demanded. "You obviously didn't. I can see what you're trying to do -- you're telling me not to do what you did. But you stayed down here. What right do you have to tell me I can't?"

Snape turned to face him.

"Do you want to be like me?"

"Everyone leaves you alone," Harry countered.

"Yes," Snape said, smirking.

"That's what I want," Harry said firmly.

Snape looked at him for a prolonged moment, then turned away.

"Get out."

This time he did not stop, but walked out of the room, and the torches snuffed out behind him, leaving Harry alone in the darkness.