Disclaimer: The idea for this story came from Spiorad's challenge Accidental cut on potions and snitches. Furthermore, I don't own any of the HP characters or settings (that's all J. K. Rowling's) ... regrettably ... what's mine are the OCs (if there end up being any) … and the mistakes … yep, that's about it.

WARNING: themes of suicide and self-harm

Author's note: I mean, I suppose there should be a warning for suicide themes, although I assure you: Harry is not and was not trying to kill/harm himself, people just think he is/was. However, to be fair they do have a good reason to think that... so... read at your own risk?

Chapter 1

Harry remained quite still for a moment, then hurled the mirror back into the trunk where it shattered. He had been convinced, for a whole, shining minute, that he was going to see Sirius, talk to him again. . . . Disappointment was burning in his throat. He got up and began throwing his things pell-mell into the trunk on top of the broken mirror (Order of the Pheonix, chapter 38).

But not seeing the mirror didn't make things better. Sirius was gone, and Harry had just destroyed the only thing he had left from him.

Changing his mind, Harry knelt beside the trunk. He needed that mirror. Even if it couldn't bring Sirius back, it was the last present he had gotten from him. The last present he would ever get. Tears streamed down his face as the regret of losing his temper, settled in. He hoped he could fix it.

Yes, he would do just that. "Accio, Sirius's mirror." Harry pointed his wand towards the trunk. Yet nothing happened.

Of course nothing happened. What did you think would happen? asked the small voice in Harry's head mockingly.

Harry realized; he would have to find the mirror the old-fashioned way. Still holding his wand, he reached into the trunk with his left hand, throwing things out with the same carelessness he had thrown them in couple of minutes ago. Yet he had this nagging feeling that he had forgotten about something. He figured out what it was the moment he grabbed his Invisibility Cloak and tossed it aside.

The Accio had worked, Harry realized, as he saw the first shard soaring towards his face. It was only thanks to the years of playing quidditch, that he managed to shield his face from the oncoming glass in time.

Now looking back, Harry realized that he could have done it better... he wasn't sure how. But there had to have been something, he could have done instead, Harry thought as he glanced at his left forearm, that was now covered with cuts of varying depth. Some were just angry red lines with no or barely any blood visible. Others bled sluggishly. One of the still-bleeding cuts even had a piece of glass embedded in it.

Harry felt queasy just looking at it.

He briefly considered yanking out the offending piece of glass but immediately thought better of it. This wasn't a basilisk's tooth. The glass – as far as he knew – wasn't poisoned, so pulling it out would possibly do more harm than good at this point. He reasoned as he reached into his trunk for something he could use to stop the bleeding. He pulled out one of Dudley's old shirts and felt almost giddy at the fact that he would finally have a good reason to get rid of it. He pressed it to his forearm mindful of the protruding piece of glass before securing it with his Gryffindor shawl.

The makeshift bandage complete, Harry carefully levitated the remaining shards into one of the trunk's smaller compartments. He didn't want to make the same mistake twice. Slowly, he moved to sit on the bed, feeling the room spin at the movement. Once the room came back to focus, he looked around.

That wouldn't do, Harry realized, as he scanned the mess he made – the open trunk, the piles of clothes strewn across the floor, and, most concerning, the dark spots staining the carpet. If any of his dorm mates got back before he did, they would be in for a shock.

Murmuring a few spells, he erased most of the blood from the carpet before levitating his clothes back into his trunk. Satisfied with his work, he stood up – only to nearly collapse as another wave of dizziness washed over him. He clutched the bedframe, taking deep breaths until the room stopped spinning.

Breathing a sigh of relief when it did, he rolled down the sleeve of his robe, concealing the bandage and left for the Hospital Wing.

Was this how being drunk felt like? wondered Harry, as he finally stumbled into the Hospital Wing. Reaching it took Harry longer than he had expected.

"Madam Pomfrey?" he called out. Not hearing any response, he looked around the room, only to find it empty. Sinking to the floor a few feet from the door, he leaned back against the wall. Being close to the ground helped a little. The dizziness wasn't as bad now. He could just wait for Madam Pomfrey to come back, surely, she wouldn't be gone for long.

What brought Harry a certain amount of relief was that although Madam Pomfrey wasn't there nor were any students. That was a blessing indeed, he didn't fancy the rumours that would spread if anyone saw him like this. It hadn't been long since everyone thought he was either mad or a liar – he definitely didn't want to reignite that nonsense just because of a botched Summoning Charm.

Growing bored of just sitting, Harry decided to unwrap his arm. He was happy to see that most of the cuts had stopped bleeding. The few that still oozed didn't seem too serious. Maybe I should pull the glass out after all, Harry mused. He grasped the shard with his right hand, preparing to remove it –

"Potter, what are you –" A familiar, sharp voice startled him.

Harry's hand slipped. Pain flared up his arm as the shard drove deeper, slicing through his flesh before finally slipping out of his arm, clattering to the ground.

Well, at least I got it out, Harry thought hazily. The last thing he registered before everything faded was Snape's face, although his expression was all wrong. Instead of the usual sneer, the Potion Master seemed almost panicked.

Severus Snape wasn't surprised to find Potter in the Hospital Wing. That boy tended to get into any trouble he could find. Often getting himself injured in the process. Sometimes Severus wondered whether the boy knew that he had sworn an oath to protect him and was doing it on purpose – just to spite him. He wouldn't put it past the brat.

Yet there was something of with the situation today. Potter wasn't sitting on one of the cots. No, he was on the ground, slumped against the wall, holding his bloodied forearm "Potter, what are you –"

Those words barely left Severus's mouth before he wanted to take them back. For he could see what Potter was doing. He just didn't believe it, at least not completely. It couldn't be. Surely not Potter, he wouldn't. All those thoughts ran through Severus's head as he stalked forward, almost running, towards the boy. There had to be other explanation, surely – is what Severus thought before he saw the boy cut himself, nicking his artery.

Severus didn't remember the last time he had moved this fast; he wasn't even sure how he got to the boy. One moment, he was watching from across the room; the next he was kneeling beside Potter pressing down on his forearm and casting a quick diagnostic charm. Yet the charm came back empty. There were no curses placed on the boy, no dark magic as far as Severus could tell – only blood loss and a collection of lacerations, some deep, some shallow.

At any other time, that would have been reassuring, yet now Severus almost wished there was dark magic at play. Otherwise, he really wasn't sure how to comprehend what he had just witnessed. He pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind; he would deal with them later. He had other responsibilities right now

"Vulnera Sanentur." Despite his uneasiness Severus's voice was steady. The worst of the bleeding slowed at the incantation, giving him a chance to properly assess the damage. No longer having to fear the boy would bleed out, Severus wiped away the excess blood.

The child's arm was filled with cuts of different depth and size. Most of them were no longer bleeding. However, that didn't make them any less concerning in Severus's eyes. It's as if he was gathering courage a small voice in Severus's head suggested. A courage, before making the deepest one. "You, foolish child" Severus gritted is teeth. No. That was a conversation for another time.

"Vulnera Sanentur." The wounds on Potter's arm began to scab over. Severus briefly considered healing them completely but, in the end, decided against it. He would leave that up to Poppy, or a mind healer, his mind helpfully added.

Coming to a decision, Severus summoned bandages and a Blood-Replenishing Potion from Madam's Pomfrey's supply cabinet. Once Potter's arm was securely wrapped, Severus steeled himself.

"Renneverate."

Potter stirred, his eyelids fluttering open. Before the boy could protest, Severus pressed the vial to his lips.

"Drink."

He was glad that for once in his life, Potter didn't argue. He obediently swallowed the potion before promptly passing out again. That didn't surprise Severus; blood loss tended to do that to people.

Letting out a shaky breath Severus watched as colour slowly returned to the boy's face. A strange, unfamiliar feeling settled in his chest.

He felt… relieved.

Autor's note: Okay, I had totally thought this would be a one-shot, but I did end up having more fun with it than I had expected. So, let me know if you want me to continue this story, I do have some ideas – and might put them together even if there isn't feedback or interest, but also might not. You know how it goes guys.