*Revised 2/18/18

Warning: This chapter contains graphic descriptions of self-injurious behavior, injuries, and blood. If this topic is disturbing or triggering for you, please skip past the first line break. This content is not for younger audiences.

He sat in the midst of a sea of bedsheets, listening to the snores of his dorm-mates. His fists clenched and unclenched as he struggled to contain the writhing emotions within him: anger, fear, anxiety, sadness, depression, loneliness, and so many others he couldn't even name. The insanity, a thousand voices all screaming in unison within the grip of an empty void. His eyes burned as they refused tears, lungs clenched by a thousand unspent sobs. So much pain. It was overwhelming him, consuming him. He would rather rip out his own bleeding heart than bear it! But then, it wasn't just his heart. His thoughts drifted to his trunk... This was crazy! Only crazy people did this. But he wasn't crazy. He wasn't crazy. It was wrong... but it was so right. It was the only solution, the only peace. He fought back the invading feelings as much as he could, silently crawling out of bed and unlatching his trunk. He lifted the lid and rummaged inside. No... no... Yes. He pulled out his knife, glimmering in the moonlight. He turned it slightly, admiring the sleek silver light that played off its edge. It was his friend; it helped him. It would never hurt him, abandon him. It was beautiful, cold, serene. As he would be. He quickly dropped it out of the light, lest someone wake up and see him holding it. They wouldn't understand. He needed this. He needed this.

He stealthily made his way back to bed, clutching his prize and drawing the curtains closed around him, enough to block any view from his classmates while still letting in a sliver of moonlight. A wave of terrible emotion wracked his body and he froze for a moment, nails digging into his palms, teeth clenched, breaths pained and shallow. It would all be over soon, he promised himself. Just a few moments more. He rolled up the sleeve of one of an old, baggy hand-me-down, now recycled as a nightshirt. He thrust his naked arm into the pool of light, shivering as it revealed the lines crossing his skin. The works of art he created to hide his shame, to free himself from his burdens, from himself. His body was his canvas and his knife his paintbrush, sweeping to create small, neat strokes mixed with deep, jagged, slanted carvings. They ranged from fresh wounds to thin pink scars, slowly fading to white. A beautiful pastel rainbow against the ivory of his skin. Each line remaking him anew, cleansing him. The darkest, thickest scars, a sickly shade of plum, were also the oldest, laying under the other marks. They stretched their ribbed lines across his skin like parasitic worms, marring the beauty of his canvas. They spelled out letters: K. His fist clenched again, reflexively, as he read the word permanently branded into his forearm.

He raised the knife, hesitating a moment as it hovered over his skin, glinting greedily, begging to release him, to caress him. He sucked in deep, shaky breath and drew it jerkily down upon his arm, his skin splitting apart easily in its wake. For a moment he tensed as the fresh pain hit him, but then he relaxed, sighing, pain meaningless in the release. He shivered as the tormenting emotions, the pain in his heart, the guilt and the weakness, flowed away down the bright red stream trailing from his arm, as the blissful numbness filled him. It hit him as a deep flood of ecstasy. But it wasn't enough, not yet. He slid the sleek metal down his arm again, deeper this time, cleaner. It emptied him, purified him. And again, and again, until all that was left was a pleasant cloud filling his mind, hiding away the feelings, the memories, that haunted him. Until he was light and free, like the thestrals that danced over the forest at night on their black wings.

No longer did the word "freak" mar his arm, no, now it was awash in a beautiful red sea. He smiled bitterly, peacefully, pleased with his handiwork. Pleased that, at least for now, he had retaken control. He had subdued his tormentors and healed his mind. He stroked a finger elegantly down his arm, relishing in the twinges of pain that echoed from the new wounds as he disturbed them. He breathed deeply the coppery tang in the air, an iron cage no longer constricting his lungs. He was content. He stroked the thin blade of the knife, pleased with its work, and it pleased with him.

He picked up the wand from where it lay on the bed, careful not to dirty it, and cast silent cleansing spells at his red-stained sheets, nightwear, and knife. He gave his perfect, beautiful arm a mournful glance before he cleansed it as well. He let the dark blood flow a moment more, entranced by its graceful, feminine shimmers as it danced down his arm in rivulets, before cleansing it again and performing a whispered spell to stop the bleeding, then another to seal the skin. It was advanced magic, taking him a second try before it stuck, but he was used to doing whatever needed to be done, no matter the difficulty or cost. And unfortunately, he couldn't risk bandages. He stared down at his arm a moment more before looking away disdainfully, the word FREAK now visible beneath his new red, angry additions to his family. A flare of anger and fear touched him but he pushed it away easily. Soon those letters would disappear. Soon he would be healed. He reapplied the glamour charm he constantly wore, able to mask both sight and touch, and ran his fingers over his now deceptively clean, smooth white skin, his lip quirking as small shocks of pain sounded. Had it really only been a month? It felt like a lifetime... and perhaps it had been. He pulled his sleeve back down and snuck to the trunk, replacing his dear friend within its confines, already looking forward to their next meeting. He returned to bed calm and confident, knowing that the world was once again right.

Severus Snape flung open the door to the Potions classroom dramatically, the resounding bang causing several students to flinch, most noticeably Longbottom, who nearly fell out of his chair. Stupid boy. Even a worm had more of a backbone. He sat down at his desk, pulling some first-year essays towards him and starting to grade them. Soon his spidery handwriting covered the pages in blood-red ink, the harsh criticisms soon to draw metaphorical blood from a few budding Ravenclaws, so sure of their woefully inept intellect.

Slowly the remaining few students trickled in, barely on time. Potter and his two pets were some of the last. The boy hung back a bit, sulking. Typical. He heard the Weasley boy gushing something about a new wand as he walked in, and continued to do so even after he had sat down, waving the thing around dangerously.

"Did I ask you to retrieve your wand for this class, Mr. Weasley?" he asked darkly, glancing up from his papers with a sharp glare.

The red-head gulped, saying, in a mix of fear and loathing, "No. -Sir."

"Then put it away and stop jabbering on like the dimwitted fool that you are," he sneered, quill returning to scratching.

Weasley turned pink, struggling to restrain his temper. Unfortunately for the boy, he had said nothing that was untrue. The boy did manage to obey the command, however, to his credit. Honestly these Gryffindor brats were worse than dogs; at least hounds were able to obey orders without all this superfluous whining and griping.

Potter was as insolent as ever, shooting him a glare when he thought he wasn't looking. His eyes momentarily connected with the boy's and he froze, barely restraining the flicker of shock that threatened to dash across his visage. Lily's hateful emerald eyes were staring back at him, unobscured. Why wasn't the blasted boy wearing his glasses?

He swiftly dropped Potter's gaze, unable to stand his sudden resemblance to Lily. The damnable brat, he was nothing like her. Before, the glasses only emphasized the boy's resemblance to Potter, but now he could see that the whelp had her nose and cheeks as well. His jaw clenched as his lip curled in disgust. All the more reason to show the boy he wasn't fooled like those other idiots who called themselves teachers. He would put the boy in his place, mark his words.

"Five points from Gryffindor, Potter," he snapped, keeping his eyes trained on the papers before him, "for disrespect to a teacher."

Potter's blasted spawn had the sense to keep his tongue in check, thought only after a sharp jab from the bushy-haired show-off. Pity. He would've liked to show exactly how little he would tolerate from the dunderhead this year.

The boy turned his head sharply towards the know-it-all and Severus saw a small disturbance in the air, a magical ripple. He looked closer, squinting slightly, curious as to why the boy would be under a charm, for he had seen many such glamours before. This one seemed to be particularly well done for a student of his age and disguising his entire body, or at least the part showing above the table. He looked away scoffing, knowing that the Granger girl had obviously done it for him. The brat probably had some sort of blemishes that resisted magical remedies: many of the students had them. However, he had the audacity to try to cover it up, as if such a thing would ruin his princely perfection. He sneered at the Gryffindors, setting Longbottom quivering.

He saw round-faced boy's toad poking out from his pocket, the fool. If the toad should decide to take a hop into his cauldron there was a fair chance he could incinerate himself along with half of his classmates. Longbottom was simply a catastrophe in the making. But this was just a normal day for Severus.

Potions were easily corrupted, often with catastrophic results. He constantly had to monitor the dunderheads' actions, lest the unthinkable happen. Unlike his predecessor, Severus had no deaths in his classroom and no lasting injuries. He would to keep it that way, no thanks to foolish students bringing their pets to class.

He rose from his desk, dark eyes glancing over the students who immediately quieted. He noticed that Draco had seated himself close to the Gryffindor side of the room, unpredictably. He hoped he wasn't planning to provoke the idiots, who would no doubt proceed to blow his classroom to smithereens in some act of moronic house loyalty. Gryffindors never failed to overreact to everything, never missing a chance to flaunt their supposed righteousness in the faces of the less worthy. He glared in their direction, wordlessly warning them to behave. His glare deepened as his eyes brushed over Potter's face for a moment, before quickly flicking to the next child.

He instructed them on the potion they would be making that day, or more predictably, attempting and failing to make: a Shrinking Solution. He briefly explained the history, purpose, and directions of brewing the Solution, enchanting the chalk to write them down on the blackboard as he spoke, then sent the students off to work. Really the potion was a misnomer, its purpose being to change physical age rather than size. Not to be confused with a deaging potion, however.

As the students settled down to prepare their ingredients he heard Draco mention something about Hagrid's idiocy with introducing Hippogryphs as a first lesson. He completely agreed, though he wasn't about to reveal it to anyone. The oaf was more suitable to being monster bait than teaching about them. How he managed to convince Dumbledore to give him the position, Severus would never know. He had heard the rumors, of course, that Draco had provoked the beast, but quickly dismissed it. Draco was far too intelligent to stoop to such utter idiocy. No, it was clearly Potter that had pulled one of his little stunts, and he paid for it with a scratch to the arm. The foolish boy was lucky the beast hadn't killed him. Honestly he sometimes wondered if Potter had a death wish, the way he flaunted his utter recklessness.

After a while he stalked down the row of students, checking their cauldrons. When he reached Longbottom's he nearly banished it on the spot. However, the imbecile needed to be taught a lesson... Yes, the toad would do perfectly. Perhaps he could keep pets from causing havoc in his classroom and instill the importance of following directions at the same time. He doubted it would improve the idiot boy's potion making but at least he might prevent an explosion in the future. Yet again, with Longbottom's ineptitude that might be too much to ask. He had melted a cauldron per year as of yet and there was no evidence of that trend changing anytime soon.

He gingerly picked up the ladle from Longbottom's table, dipping it into the cauldron and pouring the vibrant orange liquid back slowly so that the class could see.

"Orange, Longbottom?" he drawled sarcastically, the boy cowering under his flashing gaze. "Orange. Tell me, boy, does anything penetrate that thick skull of yours? Didn't you hear me say, quite clearly, that only one rat spleen was needed? Didn't I state plainly that a dash of leech juice would suffice? What do I have to do to make you understand, Longbottom?"

The boy had gone pink and was trembling noticeably. He looked on the verge of tears as he sniffled and gulped loudly. Pathetic. If the boy spent the effort used in fearing him on paying attention instead, he would be a potion's master already.

"Please, sir," the Granger girl implored, "please, I could help Neville put it right-"

Severus chose that moment to interrupt, coldly stating, "I don't remember asking you to show off, Granger." He withheld a smirk as she went as pink as Longbottom. "Longbottom, at the end of this lesson we will feed a few drops of this potion to your toad and see what happens. Perhaps that will encourage you to do it properly." And he swept down the row, leaving the foolish boy nearly paralyzed with fear. It's not as if the toad would die. Then again, this was Longbottom...

He continued down the row, pausing slightly as he saw Potter's cauldron. He sneered, commenting, "A mockery of Potion-making, as always, Potter," before moving on. The boy had obviously not bothered to read the directions properly and had put in twice the amount of daisy root and half as much diced shrivelfig. And those were only the obvious mistakes he could tell by a glance at the thick yellow liquid. He would've banished the potion on sight but casual avoidance seemed the best option, with Potter sporting his Lily's eyes like some grisly trophy. The boy was a living insult to her memory. He didn't think he would be able to bear it if he saw her eyes glaring hatefully at him from that face again. He cleared his mind quickly as he felt the beginnings of pangs in his heart. This was no time to dwell on things that couldn't be changed.

Now that he had moved away the Gryffindor brats were talking about the recent sighting of Black, the filthy scum, by some muggle. Draco made some vague, enticing comments to Potter about the brat's relation to Black; he could only hope the stupid boy wouldn't act on them. The last thing he needed was for the boy to play hero, trying to hunt down the murderer. Yes, he heard them quite clearly, though they obviously thought they were covert in their whispering. It was better to have them thinking he couldn't hear than to crack down on every whisper. He had gained some valuable insights concerning the upcoming plans of the disruptive Weasley twins that way, among other things. There was a reason Severus Snape was unprankable.

After a few more minutes he called out, "You should have finished adding your ingredients by now; this potion needs to stew before it can be drunk, so clear away while it simmers and then we'll test Longbottom's..." He trailed off ominously, shooting a sneer at the boy.

He saw a few of the less subtle Slytherins laughing openly as they watched Longbottom sweat, feverishly stirring his potion. Granger was likely finding some way to help the boy, even after he had explicitly told her not to, always having to find a way to show off with every lesson. He seriously doubted that the girl could right Longbottom's potion but she would have to be punished. After she thought she had gotten away with it. Then they both could learn some common sense this lesson, though after two years of trying he really should just give it up as a lost cause. Gryffindors were simply too hardheaded to use half an ounce of logic. He stared around the room stonily, watching the students as they packed away their ingredients.

He sat back down at his desk for the remainder of the lesson, but didn't resume his grading. Instead he kept his dark stare trained on Longbottom, who looked as if he might start having a panic attack at any moment. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes in exasperation.

As the time drew to a close he stood up and strode over to Longbottom, who was cowering by his cauldron.

"Everyone gather 'round," he said, black eyes glittering in anticipation, "and watch what happens to Longbottom's toad. If he has managed to produce a Shrinking solution, it will shrink to a tadpole. If, as I don't doubt, he has done it wrong, his toad is likely to be poisoned." He smirked slightly as the Gryffindors' expressions filled with horror. His own Slytherins looked excited, knowing that there was no real risk to the toad with him present and likely seeing the whole event as one large joke. He wasn't so cruel as to kill a student's pet out of spite, not to mention the Board of Governors would fire him instantly if he did.

He picked up the toad in his left hand, grasping it firmly as it tried to squirm away. He dipped a small spoon into Longbottom's potion, which was now green, nearly the shade it should be. His eyes narrowed. So Granger had helped after all. She had done better than he expected. The girl had talent, he had to admit; it was a shame that she chose to use it as some ploy for attention, constantly being a disruption to the learning of the other students instead of putting that knowledge to good use. He trickled a few drops of the potion down the toad's throat.

There was a moment of hushed silence in which the toad gulped, then there was a small pop and a tadpole was wriggling in his palm, covered in slime.

His face turned sour as the Gryffindors burst into applause. This was supposed to teach a lesson to the idiot boy, not encourage him to cheat off other students! The blasted know-it-all, having to use every chance to show off. He pulled a small bottle from the pocket of his robe, poured a few drops on top of the tadpole, and the toad reappeared suddenly, fully grown.

"Five points from Gryffindor," he said blandly, which wiped the smiles from every blasted Gryffindor's face. "I told you not to help him, Miss Granger. Class dismissed."

"That's not fair!" Potter blurted, face set in angry lines. "Neville got it right, didn't he? What does it matter if Hermione helped him a bit?"

Severus' nostrils flared in anger as he spun around to face the boy, being careful not to look into his too-familiar eyes. "If you think I will award you points for disobeying my instructions, Potter," he spoke, voice dangerously silky, "you'd best think again. Detention. Seven o'clock. My office."

Potter's jaw and fists clenched but he refrained from speech. Severus hated to give up his evening to punish the brat, but it was necessary in order to reform his impudence. Too long had he run amok without a firm hand to set him limits, and obviously none of the other teachers were going to step in to discipline the boy.

The class trickled out silently, Gryffindors casting him dirty looks to which he returned glares, warning that points would be taken. He hoped that he had made something of an impression on Longbottom, though only time would tell if he succeeded. The sooner the infantile boy left his class, the better. If only the blasted Board hadn't required that students take Potions up to their sixth year he would be spared of much inconvenience and difficulty. Being forced to babysit incompetent blockheads as they played with volatile ingredients was not a productive way to spend his time.

His eyes were suddenly drawn to Potter as he slunk out the door. The boy was limping. It was impossible for his sharp eyes not to see it, he was so used to the brat's irritating strut. It was the slightest of limps, too slight, in fact. The dolt was hiding an injury, obviously too ashamed to go to the Hospital Wing. Probably tripped and fell down the stairs. Idiot, foolish boy. Untreated injuries on active young children had a tendency to get worse, not better. At least the dunderhead would be able to learn this for future reference. But then again, it was too much to ask Potter to listen to any form of reason. The boy had been skipping meals as well: his little friends made quite the fuss about it. Foolish all around. Irritated, he put the matter out of his mind, lest he actually start to be concerned about Potter. He had made a vow to protect the boy and that was all. There was no need to see that every tiny injury got the spoilt brat coddled, pampered, and fawned over.

At that he set about tiding up the Potions classroom, devising the most tedious and humiliating punishment for Potter that evening, cloaked in an air of malicious pleasure.

Harry kicked the stone wall of the dungeons harshly – too harshly. He hissed, muscles clenched as he fought against the pain. He had wanted to release some of the anger he had built up against the greasy git during Potions, but he had forgotten about his sore ankle. Great. Now he was angrier than ever! He clenched his fists and stalked after Ron and Hermione, fuming. He purposefully ignored his throbbing ankle, though he couldn't help but tense with every step. Many choice words ran through his mind at that moment, not one that wouldn't get him ten points from Gryffindor if a teacher was around.

He caught up with his friends at the bottom of the steps to the entrance hall. Malfoy's cryptic words coupled with Snape's vileness had them all in a foul mood, but Harry especially.

"That git," Ron spat, seething. "Five points from Gryffindor because the potion was right! And then detention!" He looked pityingly at Harry at this. "I don't envy you, mate. He's sure to do something awful to you." Ron seemed to have momentarily forgotten to chide Harry in light of their shared hatred of all things Snape.

Harry scrubbed his face before reforming a fist. "I'll bet he'll have me chopping up slugs or something, the overgrown bat." He made a face in revulsion.

Ron shuddered, reaching over to clap Harry on the shoulder. It really hurt, though Harry didn't show it, just gave Ron a grim smile. "You should've just said Neville had done it himself. Then you wouldn't've given him an excuse to torture you, or take points. Right, Hermione?"

He looked around as Hermione didn't answer.

"Where'd she go?" Ron asked, confused.

Harry looked around too. They had just stepped into the entrance hall, the rest of the class parting around them and heading into the Great Hall for lunch. Harry felt a wave of nausea sweep over him at the very thought of food. His appetite had been getting worse and worse over the past few days, along with his other symptoms, and his friends' pestering really hadn't been helping. He turned in a full circle, searching for the distinctive bushy brown hair of his friend. Hermione was nowhere to be seen.

"She was right there," Ron said, frowning.

Malfoy sauntered past them, walking between Crabbe and Goyle. He smirked slightly at Harry and disappeared into the crowd.

"There she is," Harry said.

Hermione was panting slightly, hurrying up the stairs: one hand clutched her bag, the other seemed to be tucking something down the front of her robes.

"How'd you do that?" Ron asked.

"What?" Hermione asked absently.

"One minute you were right behind us, the next moment you were back at the bottom of the stairs again."

"What?" Hermione said again, looking slightly confused. "Oh- I had to go back for something. On no-"

A seam had split on Hermione's bag. Harry wasn't surprised: he could see that it was crammed with at least a dozen large and heavy books.

"Why are you carrying all these around with you?" Ron asked, brow furrowing.

"You know how many subjects I'm taking," Hermione said breathlessly, holding out a lopsided stack of books to Ron as she examined her bag. "Couldn't hold these for me, could you?"

"But-" Ron was turning over a few of the books she had handed him, looking at the covers. "You haven't got any of these subjects today. It's only Defense Against the Dark Arts this afternoon."

"Oh yes," Hermione said vaguely, not really listening. She repaired her bag and repacked the books all the same. "I hope there's something good for lunch, I'm starving," she added, marching off to the Great Hall without a backward glance. Strange, she didn't even try to prod him in.

"D'you get the feeling Hermione's not telling us something?" Ron asked Harry, who shrugged. Yes, he did. At the moment he was more preoccupied with how he would escape the drawn-out ordeal of lunch, though.

"C'mon then," Ron said as Harry didn't respond further, "let's get to lunch." He turned to the Great Hall but then stopped, turning back around, eyes widening slightly as he shuffled awkwardly. "I mean, you're coming, aren't you? Hermione's right, you can't keep skipping meals, Harry." He smiled slightly and rubbed the back of his neck. "I sound just like her, don't I?" It was painfully obvious how hard Ron was trying to avoid another argument, and Harry had to give him some credit.

Harry mustered up a smile for his friend, clapping him on the shoulder. "Look Ron, I'm fine. You and Hermione don't need to worry about me." He appreciated that his friends cared about him, but he could take care of himself perfectly well. He felt a bit bad for giving them the cold shoulder lately, but he wouldn't have to if they would just leave well enough alone. Maybe it couldn't hurt to go, though, since Hermione seemed to be preoccupied today. His thoughts drifted longingly to Bird and their bench under the trees, but he had made up his mind. He had to appease his friends sometime, or they might talk to a teacher about him not eating and cause an unnecessary disaster. Not to mention he was eating: they just thought that Ron-sized portions were normal. So he set off towards the Great Hall with a hidden sigh, Ron grinning beside him, cracking jokes as always.