Many thanks for all the reviews on this - as per usual they're a huge incentive to write. Thank you in particular to "Harry Albus Potter Dumbledore" who reviewed all three chapters in one go! I would point out, this is a slow moving fic - if you want action there's more of that in I Did Nothing. It will get less sad eventually...but this chapter probably doesn't count! I'll work on the principle that if it made you cry then I'm writing well at least!

As I said on my other fic I Did Nothing I sincerely apologise for the delay in posting this chapter; I dislocated my right shoulder badly and have been incapable of doing even simple tasks for several weeks let alone trying to think and type at the same time. I hope this makes up for it.


Trigger Warning: Suicidal Ideation and references to Self-Harm

I never thought I'd have to do this. It's not the first time I've been sat waiting for one of my young charges to come round in the Hospital Wing, it's not even the first time I've been sat on the edge of a hospital bed for hours on end and it's certainly not the first time I've been waiting for information on one Harry Potter. Harry Potter; the boy who has spent more time in the Hospital Wing over the last six years than any other student combined. It is however the first time I have been sat, waiting and watching, with such an awful feeling of guilt crushing my chest and making it so difficult to breathe. The boy looks so peaceful lying on that bed and as he is no longer deathly white, he could almost be simply sleeping. Except he isn't. None of us who were present when we found him can even try to forget that. None of can forget the blood which seemed to have spread everywhere or the gaping wounds, now so neatly bandaged. The effect on both myself and Poppy is obvious to see but even Severus is acting differently; there's been no more of his jibes about Potter since that night, no more comparing him to his father. Instead, every time he's passed by the Hospital Wing he's stopped by and despite never asking the question out loud, it is clear in his eyes; Any improvement? The question we all need answering.

I stretch my stiff limbs out before deciding I need to walk around for a bit before I freeze up on this bed completely. Nodding at Poppy as I pass her, I approach the entrance to the Hospital Wing and suddenly catch the murmured whispers outside the door. I can't help the smile that quirks the corners of my mouth. I am not the only one who has kept a near constant vigil over Potter through the last few days and it's been a relief to see that his friends are sticking by him. One of the group is almost always around, often more than that and it doesn't seem to matter how many times Poppy chases them out; they never go far away. Even now, when it's officially past curfew, they're still there. I silently move closer to catch what the group is talking about before I pack them back to their dormitories for the night.

"I just don't understand why he'd do this!" the tear filled and slightly hysterical voice of Granger rises slightly above the other voices. I have to admit, my heart goes out to the girl. She's the best and brightest of the year, in fact she's one of the best I have seen in my many years teaching but this is far beyond her comprehension or her experience. Ever since that troll incident near five years ago now, her Potter and Weasley have been virtually inseparable; she has been by Potter's side throughout everything and is one of the very few people who has never turned on him. This must be absolutely devastating to the girl. "How could he do this to us!? Why didn't he talk to us!?"

There's a long, pregnant silence after her words as no-one knows quite how to answer her question; how can they answer her question when they don't know themselves. I can hear the sense of betrayal running through Granger's tone, loss and guilt yes, but there is also an anger that Potter could even contemplate abandoning her when she has never abandoned him. There's a definite sense of betrayal that he didn't think about anyone else. He didn't tell her, didn't come to her for help, instead decided to take it into his own hands and tried to leave them all forever. The silence stretches on for so long that I was just about to step forwards and announce my presence when the quiet voice of Longbottom stops me before I can take more than a step. There's none of the hysteria that is so obvious in Granger's tone, instead his words are soft but with a touch of urgency that grabs my attention as I lean in closer.

"I understand why he did it." That more than anything stops me in my tracks. It certainly isn't something I'd expected Longbottom to come out with and for a second I wonder whether I misheard the boy. I creep forwards slightly so that I can actually see the group standing outside the Hospital Wing and it's clear that they are just as thrown by his comment as I am. Granger and the Weasley girl are looking at him in horror and the Weasley boy looks completely confused. The only person who doesn't seem fazed is the Ravenclaw girl Lovegood, but then again she is rarely fazed by anything at all. I suppose it's difficult to be fazed by things when you hold a firm belief in the existence of Wrackspurts and Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. It's very noticeable that the group which has been keeping the vigil over Potter is the same group which accompanied him to the Ministry of Magic last year; somehow the bonds of friendship had grown stronger than I had realised. "You don't understand because you haven't been there. You can't understand. I can."

"Neville!?" the Weasley girl gasps in shock, and I can't help but understand where she's coming from. "Neville, you can't mean that!"

"I mean it," the boy says firmly with a rare fire to those hazel eyes. Looking at him now, there's something to his expression that makes me believe him, something that screams out that he knows what he's talking about, that he's not exaggerating. "None of you really understand what loneliness is; Hermione, you might have been lonely when you started but since then you've been attached at the hip with Ron and Harry. Luna is probably the only one with a chance of understanding. None of you can comprehend the dark hole inside yourself that you can't fill no matter how hard you try. None you really know what it's like when you are shunned by everyone around you just for being yourself, none of you can understand how it feels to hate yourself every day and night that you're alive simply because you can never live up to the standards you are meant to meet. Because you can never be good enough. How can you hope to understand?"

There's a shocked silence as the boy looks at each one of them in turn and they all flinch backwards slightly, again with the exception of Lovegood whose grey eyes meet Longbottom's unflinchingly. He's right, out of everyone there, she is probably the only one who has gone through the same thing. Filius often ends the year in a complete rage after having to locate pieces of her clothing that the other students have hidden in various areas of the school; he can't abide bullying but as Miss Lovegood won't say anything and the perpetrators are unlikely to step forward by themselves there is little he can do about it. She too knows what it's like being different. Looking back at Longbottom, I'm shocked by how vulnerable the boy looks but also by how old he looks.

"Last year was the first time I have ever felt like I fit in or belonged anywhere and that was only because that Umbridge woman led to the DA being created. It was only because Harry taught it," he continues softly, looking down at the floor once again. "It was the first time I ever felt useful or accepted…"

"It was like having friends…" Luna interrupts dreamily and I can't help the stab of pity I feel at how matter of factly she just came out with such a heart-breaking statement.

"Yes, it was," Neville nods slowly in agreement and it takes all of my will-power not to go over to the group and intercede. I don't think I want to hear what else he has to say, but I don't think I have a choice. "I had nothing before last year; my own House were ashamed of me and believed I should have been sorted into Hufflepuff, all of the Professor's with the exception of Professor Sprout thought I was completely useless – including my own Head of House, and as far as my family were concerned, I was little better than a Squib. Do you know how helpless and completely alone that makes you feel? Do you know how many times I've laid awake at night thinking about it, how to do it and what to leave behind? Do you have any idea how many plans I've made but never actually had the courage to go through with them, to be seen as even weaker than I already am?" His voice cracks slightly and I don't think I'm mistaken that he blinks away tears. "At least Harry had the courage to actually do it which is more than can be said for me."

He falls silent, looking steadfastly at his feet and the rest of them continue to stare at the boy in horrified shock. Myself included. I can't believe just how much I have missed, just how much I failed to see. How many students do we have here who are on the edge of breaking into thousands of fragments that we simply don't notice? How many times have we blithely turned a blind eye to the struggles and challenges our young charges are going through, blindly trusting that everything will work out, never realising just how close to the knife edge we are walking? By the sounds of it, it's something close to a miracle that Longbottom didn't give up long before Harry did; but I don't think it was cowardice that stopped him. Stubbornness maybe, but the fact that he is still standing shows a deep reserve of strength that I doubt the boy even recognises he has. I blink away the tears that have started to form in my own eyes. I have one boy lying in a hospital bed after slitting his own wrists in hopelessness and despair and I have another one of my young griffin's who has just openly admitted that not only has he felt like dying but that he's also made plans to do exactly that and I had no idea that either of them felt that way. I never noticed that two of my sixth years have been slowly breaking since the moment they entered the hallowed walls of Hogwarts. In reality, I never even looked. Once more I start to walk forwards, despite the fact that I have no idea what I'm actually going to say, but again a small voice interrupts me.

"But…but why didn't you talk to someone? Tell someone?"

Longbottom gives a harsh, bitter laugh that echoes down the corridor with ease. I don't like the sound of it; he's far too much of a nice boy to be laughing in that tone. It doesn't fit with the plump, shy and slightly bumbling youngster I see in my classes, it's too hard, too cruel. It's the sound of a much more bitter adult, not the boy I see in front of me. It isn't right.

"Who would I tell?" He asks bitingly. "Who would I talk to? Professor McGonagall? It's quite clear she sees me as a waste of space." My heart clenches further. Is that really the impression I have given to this boy? First Potter, now Longbottom…how many others have I let down so badly? How many others have I failed? "My grandmother?" He snarls fiercely. "The only thing I count for with her is to carry on the Longbottom name and hopefully have a son who is less useless than I am. Even if I died the only thing she'd mourn would be the family name, not me. So who would I talk to? It's not as if any of the other Professors are lining up to give moral support and counselling, Professor Sprout has her own House to deal with and nobody else even noticed me. So should I have spoken to another student? Which one? No-one cared about me." He stops Ginny Weasley as she opens her mouth to interrupt him again. "No. Don't. You might give a toss now, but you didn't two years ago. None of you did."

He looks around the group again before continuing; almost as if now he's started he can't stop, as if this had been building up inside of him for years, silently festering. But now the dam has been breached and everything is spilling over indiscriminately. Somewhere between his fear for Potter and the way he has felt for so many years, all the barriers he had built have been knocked down leaving nothing left to hold the flow.

"Do you have any idea how many suicide notes I have written over the years? How many times I've written the same words over and over and over again? I'm sorry for being so useless, I'm sorry I'm not good enough for you, I'm sorry I can't do this anymore; I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." His voice is getting louder as he goes but there is no mistaking the crack in his tone or the tears hiding behind the surface. I lean on the wall for support as he goes on. "And that's just me; stupid, useless Neville. I haven't done or been through half of what Harry's had to go through; I haven't had the entire wizarding world screaming for my blood and calling me a lunatic for a year, I didn't lose my godfather last summer. How could he do this to us!? Is that what your question was, Hermione? How could he do this to us? Surely the question should be, how could everyone have done that to him? How come he was expected to cope with all that when I couldn't even cope with just being isolated from my own year group? How come no one else cared enough to ask him?"

"That would include you as well though, wouldn't it Neville?"

If I didn't know how much the Weasley boy cares about Potter, I'd have assumed that was just a deliberately cruel question meant to wound, but I don't think it is. He's lashing out, yes, but he's lashing out purely because his best friend is lying in the Hospital Wing after nearly dying and everything Longbottom said rings true. There's more guilt behind that question than real anger; guilt, fear and shame. However, this was too personal to begin with and could easily escalate into something potentially dangerous; emotions are running far too high. Once more I step forwards, intending to intervene before wands are drawn or fists used. Once more I'm stopped.

"Yes," Longbottom replies quietly and I have to marvel at the amount of maturity it showed that the boy was willing to admit that. I really have misjudged this one over the years. "I got lost in the feeling that I finally belonged, that someone wanted me and that I could be useful. I didn't notice just how much Harry was suffering, just how close to giving up he was, and out of all of us I should have been the one to notice. Even when I saw the scars, I still didn't put two and two together; I just accepted his excuses when I should have realised exactly what was going on. I should have done something and I didn't. So yes, I should have noticed, should have asked, should have done something and I didn't."

"Scars?" Granger asks exactly what was going through my head quickly and quietly, as if afraid of the answer. "What scars?"

"That's…that's not something I can say," Longbottom murmurs and again my mind goes back to the images that room hurled back at me. The image of the child with bruises across his face and fear in those clear emerald eyes, but more importantly the image of the teenager contemplating a blade in silence as tears run down his cheeks. The memory of the boy picking it up and running it almost lovingly across his skin, watching as red beads of blood rise from his pale arm with a look of relief on his face, relief that is quickly overtaken by shame and fear. I know exactly what scars Longbottom is taking about, I wish I didn't, but I do.

Finally I get my feet to move; Longbottom's right, that isn't something Potter would want the world to know and if I don't step in now chances are Granger will hound the poor boy until he gives in just to shut her up. Even as I step forwards though, I still don't know what to say. What could possibly be appropriate, particularly when I wasn't intended to overhear any of that conversation let alone all of it? Stepping forwards quietly I say the only thing I can think of.

"I don't think you're useless or a waste of space, Mister Longbottom." As I speak, five heads whip around to meet me, shock reverberating off all of them at the sight of their stern Professor walking towards them. "I never have and I am truly sorry if that is the impression I have given you. That was never my intention."

The look the boy gives me is somewhere between horror that I heard what he had said and disbelief at the words I have just spoken. Gradually fear seems to encroach on his expression.

"How much did you…umm…how much did you hear, Professor?" he mumbles, eyes fixed firmly on his feet.

"Enough to know that Mister Potter isn't the only Gryffindor I have let down sorely over the last years," I say gently, watching as his eyes fly up to mine in confusion. "Enough to know that you need to be able to talk to someone. Would you prefer to talk to me or to Professor Sprout? Or is there someone else you'd be able to trust?"

"I'm fine," he mutters and I bite back my response that he is quite clearly not fine. Anyone who was fine would not have admitted what he just did, even if I wasn't meant to hear it. Anyone who is fine would not be writing suicide notes in secret and planning ways to die as he goes to sleep. That is most definitely not fine. "I didn't mean…"

"Yes you did, Neville," Miss Lovegood's voice appears as if out of nowhere but despite the dreamy look on her face I note she is looking straight at Longbottom, almost as if she can see through him or into him. "You meant every word you said. You bear the scars to prove it." She turned to the other three youngsters. "I think it's time for us to go now. We can come and see Harry again tomorrow." With that she started walking off, the others following more slowly sending concerned glances back towards Neville and myself.

"What scars, Neville?" I interrupt the silence which is growing oppressively long to ask. "What did Miss Lovegood mean by scars?"

I'm hoping my instincts aren't right, hoping it was some kind of metaphorical comment that the girl threw into the conversation so easily, but I don't think it was. There are many things Miss Lovegood can be accused of, but stupidity is not one of them and she seems to have a knack for seeing things which other people miss. Or perhaps it is simply that she is looking whilst others are too busy to notice. The look of absolute terror the teenager shoots me more than confirms my suspicions; if it was merely a spurious comment then there would be no need for that kind of reaction.

"It's nothing, Professor," he mumbles again, shooting a glance at the corridor behind us as if hoping for some kind of rescue. "I'm fine. Honest."

"No, Neville," I state as firmly as I can whilst still being gentle. "You are most definitely not fine. I have made many mistakes and I do not intend to make yet another by pretending to blithely believe you when it is more than obvious that you are anything but fine." The boy looks up at me and I can clearly see the tears he refuses to let fall shining in those hazel eyes. "Would you roll up your sleeves, Mister Longbottom?"

The look he flashes me is one of complete and total fear. Whatever Longbottom is hiding, he's petrified of me finding out and has clearly kept it hidden for a long, long time.

"I'm not going to judge you, Mister Longbottom," I continue slowly and cautiously. "I'm not going to get angry or tell you that you are merely being stupid. I want to help. That I promise you." This time I can see the conflict in his eyes; he wants the support that I am offering, he wants the chance to actually tell someone, to show his deepest fear but he doesn't know if he can trust me. He doesn't know if he dares to. "I don't make promises lightly, Mister Longbottom. You have my word and I don't give that lightly either. You don't even have to show me if you'd prefer not to. I can ask Madam Pomfrey to have a look if you'd prefer."

I'm shocked by how pale the boy suddenly goes; he's almost as pale as the night they found Potter's note and he backs up several steps, protectively clutching his right arm to his body as if I might force his sleeve up. The look in the boys eyes is one of sheer panic as he shakes his head violently, backing himself into the wall completely.

"No," he gasps out. "No."

"Mister Longbottom...Neville," I say with no small measure of concern. "I am not going to force you to do anything you are not comfortable with." I pause slightly, watching the boy carefully. "It might be best if you sit down for a while." Putting my hands gently onto his shoulders I ease him down onto the floor; I could seriously do without him collapsing on me if I can possibly avoid it. "Head between your knees for a moment, Mister Longbottom. Wait there, I'll be back in a second." His gaze flies back to mine, complete panic abundantly clear in his eyes. "No, I am not going to get Madam Pomfrey. But if I find you've moved from that spot before I get back then I will get Madam Pomfrey and I will have her drag you bodily back from Gryffindor Tower." I fix him with one of my sternest glares. "That is also a promise, Mister Longbottom."

That said, I stride firmly back into the Hospital Wing. I'm honestly not sure of how to process everything I've found out this evening, let alone deal with it, particularly so close to nearly watching Potter die.

"Poppy?" I call softly once I'm safely within the Hospital Wing doors.

"Yes, Minerva?" The response is almost immediate despite the fact that our medi-witch has been awake for even longer than I have and must be completely dead on her feet.

"Can you find me a Calming Draft, please Poppy?" I ask without thinking.

Immediately the woman is by my side, suddenly very much the professional medi-witch rather than the friend I've known for more years than I can count as she instinctively grasps my wrist with one hand whilst doing diagnostic scans with the other. Finally she looks up at me with a clear look of confusion on her face.

"What's wrong, Minerva?" she asks, obviously still rather concerned. "If it's just mild anxiety I can get you..."

"It's not for me, Poppy," I cut her off with a smile, watching the relief spread across her face. Thinking about it, I can see why she was so concerned. It's most unlike me to ask for any medication, let alone Calming Drafts or similar concoctions and she's known me too long not to know that. "I have a student outside in the midst of a panic attack and I need to calm him down before I can figure out what to do next."

"Ah, that makes more sense," Poppy comments as she collects her kit together. "Well, we ought to get moving."

"It's not quite as simple as that Poppy," I say calmly as I step in front of her, feeling anything but calm. I can't betray Longbottom's trust, yet I don't want to offend Poppy. "If we're not careful, we may have a second situation on our hands and the boy is loath to trust me as it is. If I bring you, he'll bolt." I smile to take the sting away from my words as I take the Calming Draft from her outstretched hand. "If I need you, I know where you are Poppy."

Going back out to Longbottom it was a relief to find him exactly where he had been sat when I left him; carrying forth my previous promise would have been uncomfortable in the extreme for all of us.

"Drink this, Mister Longbottom," I say, watching as he takes the vial with trembling fingers and downs it in one go. Slowly his breathing becomes more regular and he sags against the wall in relief. From the way he's behaving I would assume this is not the first time the boy has had a panic attack, even if it's the first time in my presence. "How often has that happened, Mister Longbottom?"

"Not too often, Professor," he replies slowly. "Not usually that bad either…"

"And your arm, Mister Longbottom," I return to the subject which caused all this trouble with a certain amount of hesitation. "Are you willing to let me see?"

Even with the Calming Draft, there's a sudden flash of fear in his eyes although it quickly vanishes. The boy is clearly terrified of me finding out, even though it's quite clear I already have a fair indication of what's going on. I've been teaching for too long not to, even if I'd missed it up til now. Somewhere between the paperwork and everything that happened over the last two years I have neglected to keep a close enough eye on my wards. That much is clear.

"You'll think I'm weak," he mutters softly. "You'll tell me I'm just being stupid. That it just shows how useless I really am."

"No, I most definitely will not," I state firmly. "I told you before, I'm not going to judge you Mister Longbottom, I want to help you."

He looks up at me briefly before closing his eyes and slowly rolling up the sleeve of his right arm carefully; it takes a fair amount of determination not to gasp at what's in front of me. Layers of criss-crossed scars decorate the pale skin, some clearly much older than others, with new wounds across them. There's nothing neat about the lines he's carved into himself, nothing ordered or precise; it is a complete web of scars and cuts, deeply etched into his own skin. This isn't a new fad that he's seen and decided to mimic for the hell of it; he's done this for a long time and is clearly quite adept at hiding the evidence. He isn't simply doing it for the attention.

"Well, Mister Longbottom," I say calmly, trying to hide the slight quaver in my voice. "I do believe some of them require medical attention. Would you be willing to see Madam Pomfrey now?" I'm hoping the Calming Draft has done the trick and that won't set him off again. I breathe a sigh of relief as he simply looks up at me and nods. "Right then, up we get."

Just as I'm helping Longbottom to stand, Madam Pomfrey herself appears in the doorway to the Hospital Wing, not blinking an eyelid at the rather strange spectacle of a Professor and student on the floor outside her domain.

"It's Potter," she says excitedly. "He's waking up."