Title: Book of Shadows (1/1)
Author: Lux (quietlygorgeous@hotmail.com)
Feedback: not needed but greatly appreciated
Pairing: HP/SS and various others
Rating: R
Summary: The final weeks of Harry's seventh year in which he watches people have sex, skips classes, and tells Dumbledore what he really thinks.
Warnings: angst, mild humor, self-mutilation, little bit of incest...sort of (you'll understand when you see it)
Archive: want it? just ask
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am poor. Oh so very poor.
Author's Note: Book of Shadows sprang up while I was at my Grandmother's for Christmas and listening to "Why Does it Always Rain on Me?" by Travis. I didn't expect it to be this long. It explores depressed!under-appreciated!witty!artistic!Harry. I might expand on him one day. I've become quite fond of him.
Thanks: KC for putting up with my quirks and for being you ::smooch::

Book of Shadows

1

Harry doesn't talk to anyone anymore. No one even bothers to try, either. Malfoy gave up trying to provoke him into a fight when Harry would just stare at him and walk away whenever he would try. All Harry feels these days is emptiness but he does his schoolwork so the teachers don't start sniffing around. Sometimes Ron talks even though Harry isn't listening to him. Quidditch doesn't interest him anymore. It seems childish and Harry realized once that being childish only gets people killed. He sits by the fire and stares into the flames as the logs snap and crack; but he's not really there. He's some place else that no one can get to except him. A place for secrets to be kept because secrets are all he has left. So he stares past the fireplace to a world where everything is different, where he is different.

Crookshanks will curl up in his lap when he's feeling particularly suicidal. He feels suicidal most days now. It was muted in the beginning but each day gets a little bit harder, each morning a little more difficult to face. It's gotten easier for him to ignore the feelings so he runs on automatic. He doesn't think anyone notices him anymore but the more withdrawn he becomes, the more the teachers stare. He's anti-life but a model student. "Just like his mother - but not quite," they whisper. McGonagall starts pulling her Gryffindors aside to ask how Harry is doing. They all give the same answer, "I don't know."

He doesn't sleep much anymore. Sometimes he'll get a few minutes in but the rest of the night he studies or pets Crookshanks who has begun sleeping at the foot of his bed at night. It never occurs to Harry that this might upset Hermione but Crookshanks has always gone wherever he wanted. Harry appreciates the company, though. He doesn't cut in front of the cat. His yellow eyes penetrate Harry; makes him nervous so he waits until Crookshanks slinks away or is fast asleep before he pulls the knife from his bedside table and bleeds.

He thinks bleeding is a lot like flying. Every time, he bleeds a little more and makes sure none of it lands on his crisp white sheets. More than once he notices that the blood matches the red duvet on his bed. Ironic, really, he thinks as a few drops disappear and converge with the blanket. Sometimes he heals the wounds but other times he lets them heal naturally; scar his skin. He likes to look at them. They bring him happiness and a little bit of pain.

When he is lucky, he dreams when he is fortunate enough to sleep. He always dreams of arms that don't make him flinch and a voice that makes him as happy as his knife. He usually wakes up in tears when he dreams like that because he knows whom the arms belong to. He cuts after he cries. Uncle Vernon once told him that boys don't cry and even now, Harry feels the shame in his heart when he lets the tears fall. He can always hear Uncle Vernon laughing at him.

When he can't sleep and he's tired of studying; Harry wanders the endless hallways. He likes to get lost in the great winding corridors and hide in the shadows when he thinks someone might be coming. Usually it's nothing but Harry likes to pretend that someone would come looking for him if he did disappear. As much as he wants to be left alone, he also likes to dream about someone caring about him and looking for him. It feels insane to him that he's so indecisive about his feelings.

When he walks the hallways, he feels alive. Sometimes he thinks he can hear the stones grinding together in secret speech and he can almost understand what they're whispering to each other. He'll lean against a wall and listen to them in his head until he realizes that he's going insane. He'll begin moving again and forget that the stones are mumbling about aching backs and House rivalries.

Very little comforts Harry anymore but when the castle is quiet and Peeves isn't causing mischief and Moaning Myrtle has stopped crying; it is peaceful and Harry feels safe and protected from himself. Often, he finds a dark corner or window to sit in and he thinks. It's always something different. Snape, his art, life after Hogwarts. All those things scare him and excite him at the same time. He thinks it's silly that he should be infatuated with Snape but he is none-the-less. Snape makes Harry's heart beat quicken and breathing a little more difficult but Harry always keeps his composure somehow.

He thinks about confessing; telling Snape that he wants to be with him. And in a perfect universe, Snape kisses him forcefully and their lips linger for a few seconds before Harry is whisked off to the dungeons to be well and thoroughly fucked. The rest of the time, Harry tells Snape how he feels and Snape simply says, "Why?" With that one word, all Harry's hope withers because he doesn't know why. He doesn't understand why he wants to live with Snape for the rest of their lives. He doesn't know why he still calls him "Snape" in his head and not "Severus" even though he would probably do anything Snape asked him to. No, Harry doesn't know why he wants Snape but he does and he thinks perhaps love doesn't need a reason why.

2

Harry likes to watch his schoolmates. He watches as they play jokes on each other and talk about their classes. They don't bother including him but he still feels like one of them sometimes. Perhaps if he tries hard enough he can be one of them again. It's fruitless, he knows, but he can't help hoping for his identity to return.

Harry doesn't like being watched, though. It makes him jittery and prone to dropping things. He can feel several strong gazes on his back. They're all coming from the head table. Without a word, Harry leaves the table and the Great Hall. His footsteps are light but quick as he moves towards the tower. He knows that standing around only gets him noticed and he hates being noticed; always has.

It's Sunday so he grabs his cloak, a thick book of drawings, and slips the little bag of charcoal into his pocket. Crookshanks blinks slowly at him from Harry's bed as he puts on the shimmering cloak. He feels comfortable beneath the warm folds of it and sometimes he thinks it smells a little like his father. He slips out of the castle, past his housemates. He likes being outside when no one else is around. It's windy but the breeze is warm and smells like the flowers from Professor Sprout's greenhouses.

Once the castle is considerably smaller behind him, Harry takes off the cloak. There's no one around to see him now that he's far away from the school. He pulls off his shoes and socks, wiggles his toes and feels the crisp grass beneath them. He takes the coal from his pocket before folding his robe and placing it on the ground. He sits on it and rolls up the sleeve of his shirt so he can draw his arm. He gets a rush when he draws himself. Over the summer before his sixth year, he discovered that he liked to draw and was moderately good at it. He likes to think about spending the rest of his life drawing and painting for people; showing them the art of driving a knife into your own skin and watching it bleed. The thought makes him shiver.

He opens his book to a crisp new page and begins to draw his hand. He sketches his knuckles and the pads of his fingers until he branches onto his wrist, creates an arm to give his hand life. Carefully, he mimics the gashes on his own arm to coal on paper. Each drawing is a little different. The position of his hand or the pattern of scars gives individuality to each one. When he is finished, he puts his signature in the corner: a bolt of lightning like the one on his forehead. It seems strangely appropriate.

He lies on his back, stares up at the sky and feels his eyelids grow heavy and for the first time in days, he sleeps. The breeze keeps him warm as his body rejuvenates. Harry doesn't dream of anything but when he wakes, he feels a tiny spark of something he can't quite put his finger on but it feels good. His body doesn't feel so heavy and dead.

He gathers his things as the sun begins to set and pulls on his robe. The walk back to the castle is longer than he remembers but eventually he climbs up the stairs and slips into the Entrance Hall. He can hear the rest of the school in the Great Hall for the evening meal. He turns away and heads towards the tower. He'll go to the kitchens later after everyone is asleep. He hates eating in the hall. He can feel all their eyes on him and it makes him nervous.

"Potter." Harry stops. He can't believe that he walked right past Professor Snape without even realizing it. He turns slowly and stares at his professor. He clutches the book closer to his chest and hopes it's hidden in the folds of his robe. "Why aren't you at dinner?"

"I'm not hungry." He knows to give simple answers; make himself look stupid because Professor Snape likes it when he's stupid and bumbling like a fool. Harry thinks it's funny that he knows how to make his professor happy without even trying.

Professor Snape steps forward and Harry takes a step back. His arm is beginning to hurt and he thinks the cover of his book might be cutting into his fingers he's clutching it so tightly. Snape cocks his head. "What is that in your hand?"

"This?" He makes it look like he's hardly noticed he was even carrying it.

"Yes. That book you seem to be guarding with your life."

He takes a shuddering breath. "It's just a book, sir. Fuh-from the library."

Snape sneers. "Books from the library aren't to be taken out of the school, Potter. Even the First Years know that."

Harry dries his sweating hand on his pant leg. "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. It won't happen again." He turns to leave but a strong hand lands on his shoulder. Harry stops breathing.

"What book is it?"

Frantically he searches his brain for a book he might read that would placate Snape. "It's - uh - Hogwarts: A History, sir." The silence is deafening and Harry swears that the whole school can hear his heart beating. "May I go, sir?"

The hand lifts and Harry misses it for a second. It's the closest thing he'll ever get. He doesn't dare move until Professor Snape says that he can go. "It's a good thing you weren't placed in Slytherin, Potter. You're a horrible liar." Harry can't breath as Snape plucks the book from his hand too easily.

"No!" His plea echoes through the empty corridor as he makes a grab for his drawing book but the several inches Snape has over him makes it impossible. "Please, give me my book back. It's mine."

Professor Snape looks at the cover skeptically. "Is it a journal, Potter? All your little secrets penned down for someone to read? What are you hiding?"

"I'm not hiding anything, I swear. Just, please, give it back." He doesn't care that he sounds desperate because he is desperate. It's his book. He made it. He did it all himself and he needs it. If Professor Snape looked inside his whole world would be shattered in a few precious minutes. "It's private," he whispers.

Snape is fascinated by this change in Harry. The boy who once defied him is now so nervous it looks painful and Snape almost feels sorry for him. He holds the book out to Harry. "Here. Take it." Gratefully, Harry snatches the book and cradles it close to his chest with both arms and he looks like he's been reunited with an old friend and Snape wonders if this is truly the only friend that Harry has left. "Get out of my sight," he orders and sweeps away in the other direction, leaving Harry terrified but relieved.

Harry runs to the tower and to his bed. His pounds up the endless flights of stairs before finally pulling back the curtain. Crookshanks blinks at him as he jumps onto his bed, closes the curtain and holds the book as he rocks back and forth. Crookshanks stretches and steps forward, rubs his head against Harry's knee and mews lowly. He drops the book, scoops up the cat and holds him; presses his face into the animal's fur and listens as Crookshanks purrs and vibrates against his chest. His breath is coming in quick, hard pants and he's scaring himself. It was too close. Snape was too close to finding out his secret - his most guarded secret of all. Deep in the depths of the book is another picture that isn't of himself but of the man who comes into his dreams when he gets a chance to sleep. The man with strong arms and sturdy hips who makes Harry feel alive, the man who makes Harry cry when he wakes up because he knows that the man only exists in his dreams. Crookshanks mewls because Harry is holding him a little too tightly. He lets the cat go but Crookshanks only shakes out his fur and settles next to Harry's knee.

Harry takes out his knife and lies down on his side. Carefully he makes shallow little cuts on his arm. They don't bleed but the pain is enough to make him feel a little better and to calm his nerves. He doesn't make a pattern, just scatters them along his skin. Afterwards, the knife lies next to him like a faithful lover and Harry thinks about strong arms and sturdy hips. He wonders if Severus Snape is as good of a lover as he is in Harry's dreams. He turns onto his back and stares at the new cuts. It's the first time he's cut in front of Crookshanks and he knows that it's okay; Crookshanks won't tell anyone. He puts the knife away and thinks about what will happen once the school year is over so he can leave; disappear into the Muggle world. He doesn't mind them so much and he could paint. All he wants is to paint and bleed. He doesn't need anything else.

Harry begins to hum softly as he pulls his sleeve back down and allows the heavy feeling to take over. It feels good and maybe he'll dream of arms and long black hair, milky skin and a soothing voice before he awakens again. One day Professor Snape will see that he needs Harry and that Harry needs him and everything will be wonderful and perfect. Crookshanks licks his hand lightly, stares at him with huge yellow eyes and Harry wishes that Crookshanks could talk just so he could have an understanding ear. He feels silly talking to a cat.

The door to the dormitory opens and he hears whispering and clothes rustling. Soundlessly, he sits up and peers through a fold in the curtain. His eyes widen and he grabs his book and bag of charcoal. Barely looking at the page, he sketches what he sees. He can't believe he never noticed before but the thought is fleeting as his own breath catches. Dean smiles at Neville and the rest of their clothes are gone and Harry goes to a new page so he can draw their flawless skin as they mesh together and he knows he isn't the only one creating in the room now as they move fluidly.

Harry isn't even turned on by this even though he knows he should be. The artist in him is pushing the arousal away and all he sees is the beauty and the perfection in front of him. There's no room for his hormones when the air is permeated with the scent of sex. He wants to capture this moment. He wants to make their feelings tangible on paper. He draws the arch of Dean's back and the way Neville throws his head back, his mouth open in a silent moan. Harry can't draw fast enough but he knows he won't forget this moment until he's long past dead. He never noticed before how beautiful Dean and Neville are.

Too soon, the boys finish and lie together on Dean's bed. Harry barely breathes as they re-dress and leave the dormitory. He lets out a whoosh and flips through the pages. He smoothes out some of the edges and thinks that maybe he should've told them that he was in the room, maybe he shouldn't have watched when Dean slid inside of Neville, he definitely shouldn't have drawn them but they were beautiful and looking at the drawings now, he knows that it's okay because it's art and everything is okay when it's for the sake of art. He closes the book and puts the charcoal away. His hands are black but he leaves the residue because it's his trade, it marks him as an artist.

He leans back on his bed and thinks about other people he could draw. He's never had people model for him before and he doubts he'll find that here at Hogwarts but he wonders where he could watch people like he did with Neville and Dean. The only place he knows of, that he's heard of couples using, is the Astronomy Tower. He thinks he'd like to watch them and draw them. He looks at the clock and wonders when people go to the Tower to fuck. It never occurred to him, before now, that he could draw them. He's never been to the Tower after dark, never been there to fuck, either. He throws on his father's cloak and takes along his supplies. He nearly skips all the way to the Tower, terribly pleased with himself.

When he arrives, Harry settles in one of the corners in the room. From his corner he can see everything and he intends to. Couples will begin to arrive soon, he hopes, and he is prepared to draw them. It doesn't occur to him that it may be privacy infringement and that he shouldn't be drawing their intimidate moments but the artist whispers that it's okay, that he's doing nothing wrong because he is an artist; it's his right, his duty to capture a moment on paper. They would understand, he thinks, if they knew. He waits patiently for someone to show up. He can't be selective; he'll draw whoever shows. He hopes, though, for at least one girl. He's never drawn breasts before but he'd like to try.

Finally, the door opens and two people climb through the floor. He smoothes out the page from beneath his Invisibility Cloak and takes out a fresh piece of coal as the couple comes into view. Harry doesn't recognize them but he can make out their faces in the light of the moon coming from the window. She is short and blonde, petite. He is tall and gangly and reminds Harry of a puppy. They're nervous at first, only kissing tentatively but he watches as their inhibitions slowly fall away. Harry draws as quickly as he can, wishes he had a camera so he could really study the position of his couple. He makes due though and nearly jumps with joy when her shirt comes off. He shifts and sketches her small breasts. Her skin is flawless and pink. He darkens the shadow of her areola. He doesn't notice that the boy is nearly naked now. Harry knows how a man looks. He thirsts to draw her full form; make the curls of her pubic hair and the delicate curve of her thigh. He hopes he can recreate her once he gets back to the dorm.

He's fascinated by the way they move together. The boy takes on a dominant but protective position over the girl. He is gentle but sure in his movements and Harry looks on in awe at the way she trusts the boy's every move and caress. Harry has a perfect view as the last of their clothes are stripped away and he lays her down on the floor. Harry can't help but take a moment to stare at the mound between her thighs. It's exquisite but foreign to him and for a fleeting moment he wishes to touch her body, to feel her quiver under his hand. He thinks that this is what being an artist is about - creating beauty and being enchanted by it at the same time. Yes, he will make her the most beautiful woman in the world but she will be flawed, she will be human. This comforts him.

Later on after the couple has dressed and left and Harry has gone back to the dorm, he will make a dozen portraits of her. She with her perfect smile and shimmering, diamond eyes of the clearest blue. He will give her flaws; make her beautiful and ugly. He mares her smooth papery skin with purple bruises and cuts on half of her body, the contrast. All they will see are her flaws but to Harry she is magnificent, so human it's almost painful.

But there is one that he wants to draw more than anyone else in the world. He wants to immortalize Professor Snape in one of his drawings. Perhaps paint him one day. Slowly, he goes back to his book and beings the outline of a body. He molds it and a face appears with deep black eyes and a unusually shaped nose. The neck is thin and branches into equally thin shoulders and thin arms. Harry always imagined his professor to be slightly emaciated. Almost bashfully, he creates a torso and hips. Between the thighs he draws a modest cock with a thatch of hair around it, covering it. He pays close attention to the way it curves and the thickness of the head. The rest of the drawing is nearly forgotten. He wants the real thing.

He slams the book shut with a 'bang' and takes out his knife. He is drained but he aches to bleed so he tears open his skin and sighs as the blood comes. He watches it until it begins to clot. This one will heal into a nice scar. He thinks about what his teachers would think if they knew of what he did. If they got a hold of his book and saw his masterpieces, the passages he writes in between each picture. Maybe they would have their favorite drawings as he has his. He could send the picture - his adaptation - of Snape to the man. He might like Harry's creation. After all, who doesn't want to be drawn and admired? Made immortal? Harry sighs, knows it's hopeless but he can dream forever and that's what he intends to do. A small part of him wishes for someone to see, someone to notice but the risk is too high and he's through with taking risks.

3

Sometimes, Harry thinks he sees Snape staring at him. The moments are brief, almost fleeting but the itch on his neck never lies. In Potions, he can feel the gaze hot on his back as Snape stalks up and down between the desks but when he turns to see, Snape is looking in the other direction. Harry knows, though. He caught him once when they were passing in the hallway and Snape didn't look away in time. Harry had smiled at him and thought he saw a little color in Snape's cheeks.

Harry likes to lie on his bed and dream about Snape cornering him in a dark corridor late at night. They argue about him being out after curfew and Snape accuses him of disrespect and negligence. Every time, Snape ends up fucking Harry against the wall. On rare occasion, Snape lets Harry fuck him back. He likes to think about fucking Snape; his superior, his teacher; but he can't help the rush he feels when he imagines Snape pushing him against the wall. It's usually slow and Harry can almost feel the stones grinding into his back and Snape's breath hot on his face. It feels so real as Harry masturbates quickly and quietly on his bed.

Snape has been staring at him all week. As much as he wants it to be something else; Harry is sure that Snape only watches him because he has to. So Harry rolls over once he's cum and pretends that he wasn't just thinking about Snape.

----

During class on Thursday, Harry knows that McGonagall is trying to think of a way to talk to him. He wonders if Snape mentioned that he skipped dinner on Sunday or about his book. Luckily, his book is safely tucked away in his dorm so he doesn't worry. They couldn't possibly know what's inside the hard cover binding. No one has seen his cuts, he is sure of that. His grades are almost perfect, second only to Hermione and just barely. He can't imagine what McGongall could want with him so he waits patiently for Transfiguration to end. Right on schedule, "Potter, I'd like to see you after class." Harry nods and packs up his things, waits for everyone to leave before he approaches McGonagall's desk. He waits for her to address him as she pretends to straighten the rolls of parchment on her desk. "Potter, some of the other teachers have noticed a change in your attitude over the last few weeks." He's been waiting for this. He knew it would come eventually. "And while we're all thrilled that you're more serious about your studies, you've been neglecting your friends and you've quit Quidditch." Harry wonders why she's stating the obvious. Perhaps she just likes to hear herself talk. He doesn't say anything; even during the pauses where he should be defending himself. He just nods instead. He knows all this. McGonagall looks frustrated. She decides to try a different approach. "What do you plan on doing after you leave Hogwarts?"

He cocks his head, studies her face. He thinks that she must've been gorgeous when she was young. He knows he's stalling but he can't help it. "I don't know," he decides to say. He's not sure why he's lying to her. There's no shame in what he wants to do after he graduates. Maybe he just wants to keep it a secret. Why should he tell McGonagall that he has talent outside of sports and killing people?

"Do you plan on going back to your relatives? Apply at the Ministry? They'd jump at the chance to have you. Maybe -"

"-Professor." He almost laughs at the look of disbelief on her face. Apparently she's never been interrupted by a student before, he thinks gleefully. "With all due respect, what I plan on doing is none of your business." He goes back to his desk and picks up his bag.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter."

He turns back to her; positively delighted at the way this meeting is going. "For what? For not giving you what you want? That's terribly selfish, Professor. I have classes to get to. Excuse me." He leaves before she gets a chance to rebuke him. His hands shake as he makes his way to his next class. He's sure he'll get detention later, maybe something worse but he can't find the strength to care. It was none of her business, he tells himself over and over again. It's no one's business but his. It takes him several minutes to realize that Transfiguration was his last class of the day so he starts back to the Tower. He knows that McGonagall will tell Dumbledore and possibly the rest of the staff. Maybe it was petty to keep his future a secret but he wants to disappear into the Muggle world. He doesn't want a single Wizarding soul to know where he is. Maybe he'll even go to America, leave Europe completely. That makes him smile.

"Skipping dinner again, Potter?"

Stay calm. Your book is safe. He can't get anything out of you. But most of Harry's courage was used up with McGonagall and he's tired and he wants to go back to his room and bleed for a little while before he studies. "Um.. yes, sir."

Professor Snape is leaning against the wall and Harry can imagine his naked body almost perfectly. "Tell me something - do you think you're too good to eat with the rest of the school?"

Familiar ground. Harry knows this. It's like being a First Year again but Harry wants something different now. "Yes," he says with conviction.

Professor Snape stumbles. Harry has shifted the playing field. "What did you say?"

"I'm better than everyone else in this school because I killed people. Oh yes, that makes me amazing." Sarcasm is dripping off of him like so much rain. It sounds clichˇ even to his own ears. The bitter, washed up hero looking for some comfort, some sympathy. But he's not. Harry doesn't want sympathy. He doesn't want anyone to understand. He doesn't want to be whiny and pathetic. He handles things the way he thinks they need to be done and he doesn't need help. He has everything under control. He is strong; he is competent. He doesn't need anyone. He watches Snape as he processes everything. It gives Harry more time to think of how he wants to draw his professor. Snape walks around Harry. He can feel something coming off of Harry but he's not sure what it is. He hates stalling. He hates not knowing what to say even more, especially to a student. Harry makes it simple for him. "I'm going back to the tower. Good-night, Professor."

Snape glowers. "You have not been dismissed."

"The conversation isn't going anywhere." He shrugs easily. "Why waste our time?"

"Detention, Potter. Eight o'clock."

Harry shrugs again before walking away, completely stumped as to where his boost of confidence is coming from. It's almost frightening. But he manages to make it back to his dorm without faltering his step. He doesn't want Snape to see him like that. As he climbs the stairs, Harry thinks about how he does want Snape to see him: as a man. He wants Snape to just see him, really. More than a student, more than a boy, more than a fucking scar on his forehead. He thinks about how ironic it all is. Snape treats him like a celebrity in his own way. Really, he's hardly different than the rest of the world. The only real difference is that the world loves him and Snape doesn't and that's what Harry wants - for Snape to love him. He may not need anyone but that doesn't mean he doesn't want someone.

He pulls out his book and turns to a fresh page. The pencil is thick but rough in his hand as he draws Snape. He gets satisfaction from drawing him. He can touch Snape on paper, create him, make him perfectly flawed. Harry is careful as he pencils in the Dark Mark. It's the ultimate flaw. He wonders what Snape would think if he knew that Harry draws him naked; draws his thighs, spends several minutes perfecting his cock, makes his toes slightly spaced. Snape is beautiful on paper.

He draws well past midnight, unaware of the time as it ticks by. When he's finally finished, it's nearly three a.m. He can't bring himself to care about his missed detention as he carefully puts his book away and begins to study. Hermione would be proud if she knew how much studying he does now. He loses himself easily in Charms until the sun is peaking out and over the horizon. He puts his book away and goes down to watch the sunrise over the lake. He makes sure to grab his cloak before he goes. The stairs creak beneath his feet; he moves quickly and easily through the corridors. Sometimes he feels like the castle knows him and keeps him safe. It's a comfort as he leaves and the dewy grass is springy beneath his feet. He spreads out his cloak and sits on it to protect his clothes from getting wet. He watches as the sun rises over the lake, the colors bleed over the water as it ripples. He sees the shadow of the giant squid as it glides under the surface.

He looks past the sun and slips away into a place without time that is akin to the place behind the fireplace. When he refocuses it is time for breakfast and soon for classes but he can't tear himself away so he continues to stare into nothingness until it's time to go back to the Tower and collect his things. His head is foggy and he's having trouble seeing as he goes. He reaches the door without trouble and he's momentarily blind as his eyes go from bright sun to dim torches. He's nearly to the Tower and this time he can feel Professor Snape behind him. He stops and turns, blinks slowly at his teacher.

"You skipped detention last night, Potter."

He shrugs. "Just being what you want me to be." He's not sure if it sounds pathetic or not. He hopes it doesn't.

"Don't be petulant."

"I'm not. I'm simply telling you why I wasn't in detention, sir."

Professor Snape rolls his eyes but plays along. "Fine, why weren't you in detention?"

"Because I knew that you would enjoy it more if I didn't show up. That's what you want isn't it? For me to be stuck up and to think that I'm better than everyone. Newsflash, sir, I'm not particularly fond of being gawked at but you seem to enjoy yelling at me so I thought I would indulge you." Right, I really need to figure out where this is coming from so I can stop it before he kills me. He waits for Snape to snap.

"As much as I appreciate the sentiment," his says, words dripping with sarcasm. "It was not necessary. If I thought it would do any good, I would take you to see the Headmaster."

"Fat chance that'll do anything."

Snape shudders. "For once, I agree with you."

"Potter!" Female. Distinct. McGonagall.

Snape smirks. "Hello Minerva. What's Potter done now?"

She glares at both of them. "The Headmaster wishes to speak with you."

Harry sighs and rubs his eyes. He waves his free hand, "Lead the way."

McGonagall bristles but turns and leaves Harry to follow behind her. Snape, not one to miss an opportunity of this magnitude, follows along for the ride. He knows that Dumbledore will do little more than put riddles in the boy's head but he could do with a good riddle and his first class doesn't start for another half an hour. Harry blindly follows behind both of his professors. He's starting to think that he shouldn't talk when he hasn't slept in a week. He thinks that perhaps that's why he stopped talking when he stopped sleeping; it was too easy for him to say something stupid so he just stopped all together. He really needs to take that back up before he gets himself into more trouble. He nearly trips up the stairs and he hears Professor Snape cough away a laugh and Harry almost smiles because he made the big, bad Potions Master laugh. He can't help feeling giddy and stupid as he enters Dumbledore's office. It's still as immaculate and red as he remembers. It's good to know that it hasn't changed, he decides.

McGonagall paces as they wait for Dumbledore to appear. She hates that he always has to make an entrance in his own office. She thinks about yelling for him but that's not something she wants to do in front of Potter and she's not quite sure why she's so angry with the boy, anyway. She ignores it and concentrates on just being angry.

Finally, Dumbledore comes slowly into the room and descends from his stairs to the ground level of his office. "Severus, Minerva, Harry. Please, sit." Harry is already firmly in a comfy over-stuffed chair and from the look Snape is giving him, it's Snape's usual chair. Harry only smiles sweetly at him and makes a show of squirming further into the chair. Yup, he's definitely trying to get himself killed. McGonagall sits near Dumbledore's desk and Snape takes a seat somewhere that Harry can't see but he can feel his presence. Dumbledore sits neatly behind his desk. "I've received some inquiries about you, Harry." Harry decides this is definitely the time to stay quiet and presses his lips firmly together so this renegade behavior doesn't find a way to lash out again. "Mostly people who're interested in what you're going to pursue after you leave Hogwarts." He groans internally. More people wanting to know what isn't their business. "And I must admit, I don't know what to tell them. Some are job offers and I thought I would just give them to you and you could make a decision yourself."

"Giving me a chance to make my own decision for once? I'm honored." Stay shut, you stupid mouth! "It's nice to know I have a choice over what I do after I leave." He can feel the hostility rising in the room but it's not coming from Dumbledore. Dumbledore is as calm as ever and fucking twinkling and Harry can't stand that. "Sir, could you stop twinkling? It's really annoying and it's really not as endearing as you think it is." Professor Snape coughs again and Harry wishes he would stop that because it makes him want to jump Snape and that's definitely not something he should do in Dumbledore's office.

The Headmaster merely chuckles and pulls the bundle of letters from his desk drawer. He places them on the edge of his desk, a clear indication that Harry must get them himself. He goes up slowly and as he reaches out for them, Dumbledore's hand curls around his wrist and his eyes are no longer twinkling as he stares daggers into Harry. "I suggest that you are more careful about what you say, Mr. Potter," his voice is low but hard. His thumb brushes against something he doesn't expect as he's holding Harry's arm. Slowly, he turns the boy's hand over and pushes up his sleeve to see a long cut peaking out. He lets go as abruptly as he latched on and settles back into his chair. Harry takes the letters and tucks them into his robe pocket. "You may go. All of you."

Harry cocks his head to the side, watches Dumbledore as he stares back. He smiles brightly at the Headmaster before nearly bounding down the stairs. He leaves quickly so the other two professors don't catch up to him. He makes a mad dash for the tower so he can make it to his first class on time. As he pounds up the stairs, his pace slows until he's walking and wondering why he's so eager to go to class. He won't need any of this once he's graduated. He'll be around Muggles who wouldn't know a wand from a stick. He goes up to his room and climbs onto his bed, draws the curtains shut and giggles madly because he isn't part of the system. He is free.

Humming softly, he takes out the letters from his pocket and spreads them out on the duvet. He picks one at random and reads it, notices that Dumbledore has already broken the seal.

Dear Headmaster Dumbledore,

It has come to our attention that young Mr. Harry Potter is going to be finishing his last term at Hogwarts this spring. As such, we would like to offer him a job in the Magical Law Enforcement Department here at the Ministry-

He frowns. Why did they address Dumbledore as if he were Harry's keeper? He balls up the letter and throws it to the other end of the bed. He grabs another one and reads it. It says the same thing except it's something about Auror training. All the letters say the same thing and they all end up in a crumpled heap at the end of him bed. Flustered, he decides that he's had enough for the day and is going out.

He empties his school bag and puts in his book and his bag of coal. Slinging it over his shoulder, he covers himself with his Invisibility cloak and heads down to the kitchen. It won't do if he's starving to death. He tickles the pear and the portrait swings open. "Dobby?" He pulls off the cloak so the elves aren't frightened. Dobby appears in front of him, his ears quivering with joy and his eyes shining. "I need food for one person to last me the rest of the day." Without a word - an improvement, Harry thinks - Dobby rushes around the kitchen and re-appears with several bundles that Harry places in his bag along with his book and bag of charcoal. "Thank you, Dobby." Harry puts the cloak back on and leaves. He's almost skipping as he winds through the corridors and out to the rolling green grass. He starts to hum loudly as he walks towards the Forbidden Forest. For all of Dumbledore's warnings, Harry is not afraid as he passes the outer rim of trees and descends into the misty depths. He keeps the cloak on just in case, though.

He smiles brightly as the birds flitter from tree to tree and somewhere in the distance he can hear running water. He heads towards it, idly munches on a piece of bread as he goes. He doesn't worry about staying on the path. He knows he'll be able to find his way out eventually and he is not afraid. Fear is what keeps the students from the forest but Harry has learned that there is nothing to fear, not even fear itself. Twigs and branches crunch beneath his feet as the sound of water gets louder. He can feel it in every bone in his body. It's almost as if the water is racing through him. He finally sees it, his heart pounds loudly and his insides flutter because he knows he's found something wonderful, something beautiful.

He steps into the clearing and his breath catches in his throat. His eyes shimmer because beauty like this shouldn't be hidden from anyone and he knows it is his duty to draw it, make it eternal. He knows it doesn't apply to this spring though, it's magically maintained. It will be around forever. Yet, how many people have actually witnessed it's beauty? The lush green grass and the crystal clear water that pools in from the waterfall. He can see flashes of silver as minute-sized fish scurry underneath the surface. He is surrounded by trees and Harry thinks that the trees at the edge of the forest are only there to frighten but the deeper he gets into the woods, the more beautiful and alive it becomes. Not for the first time, he is amazed by what Dumbledore keeps from the students and what magic is capable of doing.

He steps down onto a rock and notices how the water has smoothed it until it glistens in the sliver of sun that hovers overhead. Harry takes off his shoes and socks; the stone is warm beneath his naked feet. He drops everything he is carrying and frantically goes to a crisp, new page in his book and he draws. His hand shakes from excitement and anticipation but eventually he is calm and he bites his tongue as he draws. He feels empowered, he can feel life swirling inside of him as the sound of the water slowly dissolves and all Harry can hear is the steady beat of his own heart and the occasional breath from his lungs. He is in his element and he is swiftly falling in love with this virgin terrain. It's something out of a dream, he thinks as he looks up to get the right look for the tree that towers over the waterfall and the bushes at the very top. He wants to weep with joy because all his dreams seem to be coming true at once.

When he is finished and the page is covered from corner to corner with his effort, he knows that this is just the beginning and he wishes that his canvas were bigger. His hand is nearly black and the piece of charcoal is nothing more than a tiny nub. He places it back in his bag; he won't let anything ruin this perfect place. He belongs here, he thinks. There is something here that is calling to him and wrapping him in a safety net of warmth that he never wishes to leave and for now, he won't. He knows that even by being here he is disturbing the tranquility but he is welcome for a short time and he will embrace this time granted to him. He turns to another page in his book and begins again from a different angle.

4

That evening, he lies on one of the large, flat stones and stares up at the sky. He is naked from his swim in the pool; his hair is still wet and clinging to his scalp. Next to him is his book and he stares at it longingly. It is his greatest companion, his most loyal friend and it is bulging with new drawings. He is proud of his creations and he wonders if this is what it's like to have a child. Except he is both mother and father and this is his baby, his lifelong work and he is bursting with pride.

He dresses slowly once he is dry. His limbs are heavy and he can feel fatigue creeping up on him at an alarming pace. He picks up his things and leans against a giant tree. He covers himself with his cloak and slips away into dreams with his lover. He sleeps peacefully.

Sometime during the night he is awakened by a rustling near by. Cautiously he makes sure he is still covered by the cloak and opens his eyes. He stops breathing. Only a few feet away are a Unicorn and her foal drinking from the pool. Soundlessly, Harry grabs his book and a piece of coal and draws them. His eyes fill with tears as their beauty is matched by nothing else and he feels so lucky to be so close and given the opportunity to draw them in their element. The moon glistens off their silvery backs and Harry wants so badly to touch them but knows he can't. Instead he watches intently as the female cleans her young and the foal nuzzles her under the chin. His heart aches to know what it's like to feel affection from ones mother. Pushing all feelings aside, Harry draws after his hand begins to cramp. He doesn't stop until the Unicorns leave to find some place else to roam. His hand is throbbing angrily but he is overcome by what he has just witnessed. He has been shown something special and he'll never tell anyone where he found it.

He yawns, his jaw cracks and Harry goes back to sleep as the sun begins to rise. When he wakes up again it is well into the morning and he can feel something against his side. His fingers flex and meet fur. Cracking one eye open he looks into deep yellow eyes and almost laughs. "I should've known you would follow me. Sometimes I think you're more like a dog than a cat."

Crookshanks mewls lowly, how dare the human boy call him a dog! He gives Harry his most insulting look and begins to bathe himself.

Harry sits up and throws off the cloak. He is famished as he rifles through his bag and pulls out the things Dobby has packed for him. There is a little packet of fish that he gives to Crookshanks who accepts it as an apology for being called a dog. For the first time in weeks, Harry is really truly hungry and he eats with relish until he feels like his gut will burst open. He sighs contentedly and leans back against the tree. He licks his fingers and wipes them on his pants. Once more he is over come by the beauty set before him and he makes a grab for his book. Crookshanks trots over to one of the stones to lie out in the sun and Harry gleefully amerces himself in his work. His eye catches Crookshanks as he shifts and stretches on his rock. Harry smiles and on one of the rocks he has already drawn, he draws Crookshanks sprawled across it as if it were his throne. He finds it strangely fitting that a place of such surreal beauty should have a flat-nosed, bow-legged cat claiming one of its pristine rocks. "But you're the best cat I've ever know."

Crookshanks lifts his head and licks his chops before rolling back over to sun on his other side. Silly human boy.

5

It isn't until early Monday morning that Harry and Crookshanks finally emerge from the Forbidden Forest. The moon is high in the sky and the stars are winking merrily but at the Eastern corner, the sky is turning a light shade of purple and Harry can make out the barest sign of the rising sun. Crookshanks is trotting beside him; his belly flopping back and forth as he chases crickets and Harry realizes just how much of a cat he really was.

Harry stops a few feet from the edge and stares near the vicinity of Dumbledore's office. He is still angry that such beauty should be kept from the rest of the school yet he feels honored that he was allowed access to it. His mind shifts to his encounter with Snape and he clutches his book tightly. He puts on his Invisibility cloak and whistles to Crookshanks who turns and cocks his head. Harry forgets that Crookshanks can see him through the cloak. They start again towards the school and on the steps Harry lifts the cat into his arms. He doesn't want to risk anyone seeing either of them. Stealth fully, he slips inside, idly pets Crookshanks to keep him quiet. He holds his breath as they move through empty corridors. Everyone is asleep so all he worries about is running into a teacher but mostly Snape. He is known for combing the hallways just as closely as Mr. Filch, neither of whom Harry wishes to meet tonight.

Crookshanks is patient in his arms and doesn't move a whisker. He understands what's going on and can feel the anxiety coming off the human boy in waves. He has always been fascinated by humans, especially the ones that can become animals. They smell interesting. He is amused that the human boy feels the need to protect him when he is quite capable of taking care of himself. No one looks twice at a cat wandering the hallways at night; Crookshanks should know, he does it all the time. But he stays still anyway and plays along to placate the human boy. Besides, the fish yesterday really was divine.

Harry doesn't let go of Crookshanks until they're safely inside the Tower. He pulls off the cloak and takes several deep breathes to calm his heart before climbing the stairs to the dormitory. He needs to hide his book before anyone wakes up. Crookshanks follows him up the stairs and jumps onto his bed. Harry puts an Obscuring charm on his book and hides it in the very bottom of his trunk along with his bag of charcoal. With his mind at ease, he takes a shower to rid his body of the rogue coal smudges. He feels refreshed and alive, but nothing like how it was in the forest. Later, he'll draw it a thousand times and he can't wait until he has paint so he can bring the scenery to life in color.

He dresses and climbs onto his bed to wait for his roommates to wake up and leave for breakfast. He already ate the last bit of food he had while he was still in the forest and he knows that food just won't taste the same now that he's back in the castle. He takes his knife out as he hears sheets rustling and quickly closes his curtain to obscure himself from view. Humming ever so softly, he cuts pretty designs into his arm. A fat rose blooms on the canvas of his skin and he can't help but smile. There is minimal bloodshed but just the feel of the cold metal against his skin is enough. He doesn't find it ironic at all that he didn't feel the need to cut while he was away in the forest.

He is oblivious as Ron, Neville, Seamus, and Dean leave for breakfast. He will wait patiently for them to return to get their bags and then he will emerge for class. He's almost sure that every teacher has been told to watch for him, send him to Dumbledore's office as soon as he shows up again. Maybe he should've stayed in the forest forever but that morning the air had been thinner than usual, a silent push that it was time for him to go; he was no longer welcome. Sighing, Harry lies down and pets Crookshanks until he purrs loudly and crushes his flat nose against Harry's chin. "I'm going to miss you when the year ends. You'll go home with Hermione and I'll probably never see you again." He's not that surprised that the cat has wormed his way into Harry's heart and he thinks that perhaps he'll buy his own cat just to have a feline companion again.

The clock in the common room strikes 8:30 and the boys come back to collect their things. They're laughing and joking together and Harry doesn't feel remorse anymore. They are still children who will be thrust into the great womb of the world. Harry is prepared, he is no longer a child and for that he is almost grateful. After the boys leave, Harry re-packs his bag and follows them at a safe distance to his first class.

"Harry! Mr. Potter!"

He stops and turns, looks down into the bright eyes of Professor Flitwick. "Hello Professor."

"Hello! You missed class on Friday. Were you sick? Never mind, it doesn't matter. I enjoyed your paper on Invisibility Charms. The next one is due on Friday on a topic we've covered this year of your choosing. I look forward to reading it. Oh and before I forget, Dumbledore asked me to send you to him if I saw you. Well, he told everyone on the staff. You're a hot commodity today, my boy. See you in class." Flitwick scurries away with his arms full of parchment before Harry gets the chance to say anything. But it's always hard to get a word in edgewise when speaking with Professor Flitwick.

Harry chuckles and turns to go to Dumbledore's office. He knows what the meeting is about. He's never known anyone who deliberately skipped a day of classes so he's not sure what the punishment will be. Whatever it is, he is sure he can handle it. Humming cheerfully, he guesses the password for a few minutes before the Gargoyle hops aside and Harry is admitted. He bops back and forth as the staircase propels him upwards. He progresses to whistling as he opens the door to Dumbledore's office and steps in. As he expected, the room is empty. "Hello Fawkes," he greets and sits comfortably in the chair set in front of the Headmaster's desk. Fawkes squawks back at him and flutters to the arm of his chair. Harry pets his head absentmindedly before Dumbledore descends from the stairs and sits behind his desk. Harry watches his face intently, notices that the old man's eyes aren't twinkling and he looks grave. As though someone has died, he thinks.

"You skipped classes on Friday without due cause." Harry doesn't move, he only blinks and stares. He knows his idiot act won't go over as well with the Headmaster as it does with Snape but he can try anyway. Besides, nothing he can say will save him now so he just smiles sweetly. "On top of that you completely disappeared until this morning." Harry realizes that Dumbledore's knowledge does not extend past the borders of Hogwarts. He lost track of Harry when he disappeared into the Forbidden Forest. Dumbledore was worried about him. Harry continues to stroke Fawkes as Dumbledore stares back at him.

Who is this boy who only a year ago would've done anything I asked him to? Where is the boy who used to play Quidditch and laugh with his friends? Where is the boy I knew so well? But you didn't know him, Albus, not really. To you he was a weapon of mass destruction that if molded correctly, could do whatever you wanted him to do. And you've destroyed everything this boy ever wanted. You took away everything. You're a fool, Albus.

Harry watches as Dumbledore's eyes begin to shimmer but not in a way he ever remembers seeing. Dumbledore clears his throat and looks away from him. "Harry, the N.E.W.T.s are next week. You can't afford to miss any more classes. If you miss anymore, you will be exempt. Is that understood?"

He almost laughs. "That's it? I get a tap on the knuckles?" Harry shakes his head and gets up.

"Sit. There is one more matter to discuss. On Friday I saw a mark on your arm."

Harry manages to look embarrassed. "Run in with a knife in Potion's last Wednesday." He's lucky that Dumbledore isn't as good at detecting lies as Snape is. Or maybe Harry is still a little naive enough to believe that he can still one-up the Headmaster. Either way he shrugs and smiles and hopes Dumbledore doesn't ask to see because more marks have been added since then, just this morning even and such careful diligence is never an accident.

"Very well. Go to your classes. And if you are given detention, show up this time."

Harry does laugh this time and leaves. He doesn't stop until he's safely away from Dumbledore's office and he lets out a hysterical chuckle as he grasps his arm and traces the scars and fresh cuts with his thumb. He would cast a concealment charm on it if he weren't so proud of it. Maybe he leaves the charm off because he wants someone to see. He thinks it's bizarre and makes his way to History of Magic.

He slips in unnoticed. The teachers have been informed that he might be late for class. So he sits in the empty desk in the very back and doodles on his parchment because he already knows the textbook by heart. He knows all of his textbooks by heart. He hums softly to himself while Professor Binns drones on about Grindelwald and Harry recites the text inside his head word for word. He wonders if he could skip the next week of classes and still pass his N.E.W.T.s. But he's done with taking risks so he just waits for class to end.

He has a study hall next so he takes his time leaving the classroom and finds himself in the library. He sits at a small table by the window and makes a start of his Charms paper but instead he begins to draw the battle between Dumbledore and Grindelwald. It's still fresh in his mind from History of Magic. He's never drawn with his quill before so some of the lines are thicker than others and a little scratchier than he would've liked but he perceivers.

As he draws, he feels someone hovering over him. He stops in mid-line and looks up into Dumbledore's eyes. "Nice work, Harry." Harry just stares at him and waits for him to leave. It only takes Dumbledore a few seconds to get the hint before he moves on to whatever he was doing in the first place. Harry feels the hair on his neck go back down before he goes back to his drawing but the magic of it seems to be gone now so he tears it to pieces and throws it away on his way out.

Harry wanders the hall through the rest of his free period and thinks of how Snape will berate him today. Snape was never one to wait until after class to give Harry a piece of his mind. At least he won't have Potions until the end of the day. He knows he should go eat lunch with the rest of the school but he retraces his steps once he's sure the library is empty and finds a quiet corner away from the knowing eyes of Madam Pince. He takes out another piece of parchment and taps his quill against it as bits of ink splatter across the clean page. He feels his stomach twist and jump. "Hello Professor," he says softly and turns to face Snape.

He glares. "Why aren't you at lunch?"

"Why do you keep seeking me out?" Harry tries to keep from smiling as Snape steps back, alarmed. "It's not like I mind, though." He looks up at Snape through heavy lashes.

Snape straightens, tries to look as imposing as possible. "Why aren't you at lunch, Potter?"

Harry sighs. "I thought we established that already, Professor. I'm better than everyone, remember?" He blinks slowly, deliberately. "So why aren't you at lunch?"

He stiffens. "That is none of your concern."

"Why do you keep seeking me out, then?"

Snape glares menacingly. "I'm not seeking you out. It is my job as your teacher to make sure you're not starving yourself."

Harry turns back to his parchment. The conversation isn't going in the direction he wants. "I'm not starving myself."

"Oh? Then why do I never see you in the Great Hall for meals anymore? Am I to believe that you don't need to eat?"

He laughs softly. "Don't be stupid. I eat. When I'm hungry I go to the kitchens."

"And how often are you 'hungry'?"

Harry looks at him and feels his lip twitch. "I never thought I would live to see the day when you actually cared about what happened to me." He shakes his head in apparent amazement. "I get hungry when I get hungry." He feels a spell being cast upon him. "What the hell are you doing?"

Snape looks thoughtful and relieved at the same time. "Just make sure you haven't put a Concealment charm on yourself. It's happened before with...other students."

"Well I'm not 'other students', am I? I eat, all right? Don't worry your pretty little head about it. You can report back to Dumbledore now." Snape stares at Harry until he sighs. "For Merlin - do you want me to take off my shirt so you can be sure my ribs aren't sticking out?"

He thinks about it and finally nods. He thinks he's calling Harry's bluff. "Yes, I think that would be acceptable."

Harry rolls his eyes and takes off his school robe. "Can you hold this?" Snape takes the robe as Harry pulls off his school vest and begins to unbutton his shirt. He holds it open. "See? No ribs."

Snape tries desperately not to look at more than just the vicinity of Harry's ribs. He clenches his hand around the robe to keep from reaching out and touching the smooth expanse of skin. He tosses the robe at Harry's feet. "Get dressed, Potter," he snarls.

But Harry saw the look in Snape's eyes and he can't help but feel elated. He buttons his shirt slowly and when he bends down to retrieve his robe, he turns away from Snape. He hopes that the intact of breath he hears is because of him and not a random dust bunny. He stands slowly and puts on the rest of his clothes. He turns back to his teacher and looks him in the eye. "I'm not starving myself as you can see."

Snape's mouth is dry as he swallows thickly. "I'll see you in class, Potter. Try not to skip it today. I'm not as lenient as Flitwick." He leaves with a swish of his robes and Harry feels strangely let down. He puts away his ink-spattered parchment and his quill. He leaves the library to be on time for Transfiguration.

6

That night after everyone is asleep, Harry lies awake. He pets Crookshanks until the cat is fast asleep and he is the only one left conscious. Carefully, he disentangles himself from Crookshanks and finds his knife. He doesn't understand why he is so hurt by this rejection from Snape. Yet he knows that there is something that Snape is feeling and doesn't speak of. Harry wants so badly to go down to the dungeons and profess some kind of undying love.

He grips the handle of the knife tightly and rolls up the sleeve of his pajamas. He rips and tears into his skin with such ferocity he is almost scared. He mutilates the rose he made so carefully that morning until his skin is open and bubbling. The blood is hot and thick as it flows from him and for once, Harry wishes he could cry.

He wonders what Snape would think if he saw Harry now; cowering on his bed and holding his bleeding limb. He drops the knife and it bounces against the duvet. The blade is slicked with his blood and he thinks that this is the greatest art of all. He rocks back and forth and starts to laugh lowly as it gets hard to focus. He grabs his wand and performs a clotting charm that Madam Pomfrey taught him once. The cuts are instantly covered with black, dry blood. He performs a cleaning spell on the duvet so the pool of blood never gets a chance to dry. He coughs and sniffles as he puts the knife away and rolls down his sleeve. His arm is aching and he thinks it might be hard to move it in the morning. He lies back down and stares at the canopy above him. His breathing is hard, labored but forced. It's never felt like this before and for the first time, he almost regrets doing it.

He blinks slowly. He feels weak as the feeling returns to his arm. He watches as his fingers curl at his command. He's still in control. He takes off his glasses with his good arm and places them on the pillow beside him. Crookshanks skulks towards him, climbs onto his stomach and stares at him. Sometimes, Harry thinks Crookshanks knows everything. Crookshanks kneads Harry's stomach and purrs before curling his feet beneath him and staring at Harry. His eyes are hard and yellow as he blinks slowly. Harry places his hand gently on the cat's back and feels comforted when his hand comes in contact with soft, ginger fur.

Harry lets out a shuddering breath and pulls the covers over them. He's suddenly cold in the unfriendly night. Crookshanks scurries out from underneath the blanket but curls up below Harry's arm that is bent up by his head. He nuzzles Harry's elbow and he bites back a yelp. The pain is horrible but worth it, he knows. If it's not better in the morning he'll put a pain reliever spell on it. For now, he wants to feel everything. He wants to feel everything he's done to himself. It's his right.

He blinks slowly and rubs his eyes. He thinks about how he is the master of his own fate now. He hurts himself because there's no one else to do it. He never thought that he would like pain so much. But maybe it's not the pain that is so fulfilling, maybe it's that he does it. He does it to himself. He can stop when he wants, he can whisper the safe-word when it becomes too much for him. At the same time, though, he doesn't know when to stop and he doesn't know what the safe-word is.

He turns over onto his side so he can pet Crookshanks. He buries his nose in ginger fur and inhales deeply. The pain in this arm is dulling, but maybe it's just that he's not paying attention to it. He muffles a cough so he doesn't wake his roommates. He's feeling light-headed and he shouldn't be since he closed the wounds. He pulls at the sleeve of his shirt just to make sure. The cuts are all still closed and the clotted blood is thick and dark. He hums softly to himself and to Crookshanks. He wants his book but it's in his trunk and he doesn't really want to draw anyway. His tongue feels thick in his mouth. He's not sure if he can move to get to the trunk. Suddenly he feels so warm and so content that he can hardly believe that he's never tried this before. His giggle turns into a puff of air as his eyes close and he passes out.

7

Harry has a favorite drawing above all other drawings in his book. Even the ones of Snape do not compare to the boy sitting in the window bathed in moonlight. The boy with fluffy blonde curls that frame his angled face. Harry saw a picture of Lucifer with blonde curls once and it made him ache to twist one around his finger. He thinks he might've modeled the boy after Lucifer but his eyes are shaded darkly instead of a brilliant blue. The boy sits limply, peacefully against the stone sill. His perfect arms and fingers hang at his side and he's smiling sweetly up at the sky. Harry wanted it to look like the boy was in love with the moon. One slim leg hangs over the edge in the room and dangles. Across the boy's throat, is a gash. It spills no blood yet there are no stains on the boy's clothes to indicate if the flow ever stopped. Harry thinks it's the gorgeous moment before the blood comes, before the blood comes gasping to the surface. It's the one priceless second before the pain begins to itch and before he begins to die. In that moment, the boy is truly happy.

In the corner Harry wrote:

Slit my throat,
Watch me bleed,
I swear I'll do it,
prettily

That drawing is his favorite because he can pretend that he is the young boy that is so easily killed; pretend he is the boy suspended between life and death. He knows he'll never do it, though. He knows he doesn't have the courage to bring the knife to his throat and slit so deeply. But he lies on his bed and fingers the curls and runs his hand over the gaping hole and he feels like he can taste the blood rushing across his lips and the silky curl around his finger. Comfort, he thinks, comes in the strangest form.

----

His eyelids are crusty when he opens them again. He rubs frantically to break the lock of mucus covering his eyelashes. His head is foggy and his vision is hazy even after he puts his glasses back on. His mouth feels like someone built a sandcastle inside of it. Crookshanks is gone. He groans and pushes himself up. His arm is throbbing dully against his side. He opens the curtains around his bed and squints at the clock on the wall. Eight forty-five. He has fifteen minutes to get to... what class does he have today?

He stumbles to the bathroom and washes quickly. He glances at his image in the mirror, blinks at the huge black circles around his eyes. His whole body feels heavy and his footsteps are uncoordinated. He trips over himself a few times as he dresses. He is careful with his arm and makes sure not to jar it against anything. It's going to be a terribly long day.

He mimes his way through Care of Magical Creatures and Divination finds him with a gleeful Trelawney who predicts that he's the victim of some horrible disease that slowly eats away at a person's brain. He has Defense Against the Dark Arts after lunch that he stares his way through. He skipped lunch as usual. He can't get anything to work right and he's getting more frustrated as the hours tick by. He thinks about going to the Infirmary for a Pepper-up Potion but he doubts it would do anything and how would he explain to Madam Pomfrey that he just happened to pass out for no reason? He puts his head in his hands and he almost cries because he's so frustrated.

As he's leaving for his next class, he runs to the bathroom and manages to throw up some of the bile in his stomach that's been making him queasy. He leans against the stall wall and feels minutely better but the feeling doesn't last as the taste of vomit refuses to leave no matter how many times he gargles. He makes it to Charms just in time for class. Flitwick gives him a look of concern and Harry manages a pained smile as he slides into his seat.

He goes back to his room once classes are finished. He crawls into his bed and let's the dead feeling consume him. His eyes feel like peeled grapes and he's having trouble keeping them open. He buries his head in his pillow and wills sleep to take him. A choked sob comes from the vicinity of his throat when he realizes that sleep isn't coming and he's been left to deal with this horrible feeling on his own. At least he's in the comfort of his bed and Crookshanks comes back to lie with him for awhile.

He's almost asleep when his stomach growls and jostles him awake again. He's not sure what's happened because when he looks at the clock, it reads midnight and the rest of the boys are asleep. Shaking away some of the cobwebs in his head, Harry straightens his clothes and stumbles down the stairs to the Common Room. The fire is still bright and he realizes that it's been awhile since he's sat and stared at it. He thinks he'll do that when he comes back from the kitchens if he doesn't die on the way. Crookshanks curls around his legs. He opens the portrait and Crookshanks jumps out with him. Apparently, Harry isn't going on this expedition on his own.

Perhaps he should've taken his Invisibility cloak, he thinks as he sees the unmistakable shadow of someone else near the kitchens. Cautiously as his body allows, Harry gets closer and breathes a sigh of relief. It's only Snape. "I see my assumption was correct. Why weren't you at dinner tonight?"

Harry wants to bang his head against the wall except it seems to be hurting enough of it's own accord without the help of the wall. "Because it's too loud in the Great Hall," he grumbles as he tickles the pear and the portrait swings open. He stumbles through and sits down at one of the tables with his head resting on his folded arms. The kitchen is still open and some of the elves are still bustling around. "Dobby," he calls weakly.

The house-elf appears in front of him, ears quivering with joy. "What can Dobby do for Harry Potter?"

He smiles softly and cracks open an eye. "I'm hungry. Do you have any soup?" Dobby nods wildly and disappears. Harry sighs as he feels the bench move. Snape is staring at him and there's something creasing through his face that Harry doesn't recognize but he thinks it might be concern. Maybe subdued glee, he's not sure which. Harry manages a stupid smile before Dobby comes back with a bowl and spoon. "Thank you, Dobby," he whispers. Crookshanks jumps onto the table next to him and pushes the spoon towards Harry's hand. He chuckles. "You're more human than cat, maybe."

"Would Professor Snape like something?" Dobby asks, his voice quivers.

"No," Snape says and Dobby scurries away.

Harry picks up the spoon. It's cold and heavy in his hand as he manages to fill it with soup. Slowly, he brings it to his mouth and some of it makes the journey, the rest dribbles down his chin or splashes on the table. It's embarrassing since Snape is sitting next to him but he ignores the stare and eats steadily. Some of the grogginess starts to dissipate but he still feels like he's been run over and his arm is throbbing again. The soup is good once he takes the time to really taste it and it warms his insides like some thick blanket. He inhales deeply and straightens. He drinks the rest of the broth as if it were milk. It burns a little on the way down but it feels too good to stop. He hasn't enjoyed food this much since the forest.

He gasps for air when he finally breaks contact with the bowl. He smiles brightly at Snape and Crookshanks meows softly. Harry picks him up and holds him close as Crookshanks purrs happily. "Isn't that Miss Granger's cat?" Snape asks.

Harry nods and strokes Crookshanks. "Yeah."

"Then why is he with you?"

"I'm sorry, did you say something? I was busy ignoring you."

Snape glares. "I should give you detention for that."

"Then give me detention. I really don't care." He feels really good, he can tell. If only his mouth would stay shut but he's really enjoying this whole Shock Snape thing. "I might actually show up, you never know. At least the dungeons are quiet." Crookshanks butts him in the face and Harry laughs. It's a game to both of them.

Snape watches, completely enthralled at the way boy and cat seem to understand each other. It's been awhile since he's seen Harry laugh like that and he realizes that he missed it. Perhaps this is the time to approach another subject. "So that book that you seem to care for so much? What exactly is it?"

Harry freezes and his gaze turns from the cat to Snape and Snape almost regrets asking. Harry shrugs. "I like to draw." He says it as if it's the answer to every question Snape might want to ask and perhaps it is. Harry decides that it's definitely time to go. He sets Crookshanks down and goes to the portrait that swings open easily.

"Potter."

Harry looks back at him over his shoulder. "Sir." He tries not to look too hopeful. If Snape asked, Harry would go to him right now and give him anything he wanted, everything he ever wished for.

Snape suddenly can't remember what it was he wanted to say as he watches Harry idly rub his left arm. He thinks it's odd but doesn't say anything about it even though something is screaming at him to ask because this boy is brimming with secrets and Snape wants so badly to know everything. "I -" but he can't say what he wants to say because it's inappropriate and, not for the first time, hates that he's a teacher. "Five points from Gryffindor for being out past curfew."

Harry deflates and Snape swears he can see the disappointment. "Good-night, Professor." He leaves with Crookshanks not far behind. He's awake now that there is food swirling around in his stomach. He goes back to the Tower, successfully avoiding Mr. Filch in the process, and sits in front of the fire. Crookshanks curls up in his lap and Harry stares past the fireplace and he's in his little world again and he forgot how much he feels like he belongs there. It briefly occurs to him that it's pathetic that he feels more at home in a place that doesn't exist than in this world he's living in.

He's jerked from his thoughts when Crookshanks bites him on the finger. He stares down at the cat that stares sweetly back up at him. Harry pushes Crookshanks off and goes up to the dorm. The cat runs in before him and up onto his bed. Harry shakes his head and goes to his bag. He is bored enough to want to re-read the textbooks he already knows so he starts on the work he missed on Friday. The Charms paper is simple and he finishes it within an hour. It's some of his best work as far as he is concerned and Flitwick will take almost any dribble that Harry gives him. Potions was a practical but his skills have improved so he doesn't worry about it being on the N.E.W.T.s. Divination he whips through like always and Herbology is another paper about the maturity of his plant.

Herbology that year is an independent study for Seventh Year students. Each student was given a plant to study at the beginning of the year. Some chose to breed their plants together as an experiment. Harry's plant is still maturing but flowering beautifully. He'll have to check on it tomorrow, he realizes, thankful that his plant only needs to be watered once a week. Soon it will be ready to be cut up and crushed into a pigment. It'll be his job to color it accordingly and test it out by painting something. If the picture moves, he'll have completed the assignment.

He shrugs and figures, what the hell? He grabs his cloak so Snape won't catch him this time and goes down to Green House #4 where his Agito plant is currently residing in a large pot in the corner. He smiles proudly as it's blue flowers stretch up towards the ceiling. The soil is still moist under his finger so he knows that everything is fine. Once the flowers shrivel up, it'll be time to cut it up. From the look of the velvety petals, it'll only be a few more days. At this stage, he'll need to come down every day. Once the flowers shrivel up, he only has six hours to pull it from the soil and crush it into a fine powder and mix it with the dye he bought months ago from the Apothecary in Hogsmeade. On the table next to the plant there are six bowls, ready and waiting for the moment when he'll need them. He sits down next to his plant and waits.

He spends the rest of the week scurrying down to Green House #4 to make sure his Agito is still blooming. As each day goes by the leaves crinkle a little more but Professor Sprout assures him that he'll know when it's time to hack it down. Sometimes he brings his book with him and sketches his Agito in its unreal form. It's limbs are twisted together and it reminds Harry of a Picasso painting he saw once. Sometimes, he'll sketch pieces of the forest clearing that he remembers.

On Friday, Hermione corners him in the Common Room. They haven't spoken to each other in almost six months and Harry is strangely nervous by her confrontation. "Where are you going?" she asks.

"To the green house to check on my plant," he says.

She nods. "Can I come with you?"

He shrugs. "All right." He holds the portrait open for her and shuts it once they're both out. They walk for several minutes in complete silence.

"I've missed you the last few months," Hermione whispers to him, almost afraid to even speak what she feels to him. "It's just not the same without having our adventures. The three of us."

Harry nods. He can't really say he misses it because he never thinks about it but he'll let her think that he cares because he owes her that much, right? "They were interesting."

She laughs airily. "Dangerous is more like it. Some of the things we did were really stupid."

He chuckles. "Yeah, they really were." They're silent as they make their way towards the door the leads out into the green house pasture. The pause in conversation is thick but without tension and Harry can't figure out why.

"We take the N.E.W.T.s on Monday."

"I know."

"Have you been studying?"

Good old Hermione. "No," he says just to get a rise out of her. She laughs and Harry wonders why she didn't laugh more when they were children. Then again, there really wasn't much to laugh about when you got down to it. "Yeah, I've been studying."

"Good. Do you know what you're going to do after we graduate?"

He's not sure what inspires him to do it and perhaps it was that this was Hermione and Hermione was his best friend and he knows he can trust her with everything. For a second he misses the last six months and wishes he could change them, keep Hermione with him. "Promise not to tell?"

She cocks her head. "Harry Potter keeping secrets? Who would've thought?"

"I'm serious." She nods. "I'm going to be an artist."

Hermione laughs. She leans against the wall and laughs so hard that she grabs her side and tears are streaming down her face. Harry waits patiently for her to stop and feels a little empty because once upon a time Hermione would've taken him seriously. He wonders what happened to both of them. She finally stops and straightens, dries her eyes with her sleeve. "I'm sorry. Really, I didn't mean to laugh." He blinks at her before he starts walking away. "No! Harry!" She walks briskly to catch up. "I didn't mean it like that, honestly. Would you stop a minute?"

He stops and stares at her. "What did you mean?"

She sighs. "I don't know. I just wasn't expecting it. I thought you were going to go work for the Ministry or maybe Dumbledore had offered you a teaching job or you were going to go play professional Quidditch. An artist is...that's really sexy."

"Excuse me?"

Hermione shrugs. "Artists. They're just...they're mysterious and vague and beautiful and sexy. I guess I realized that you weren't who I thought you were and it was so over-whelming, the only thing I could do was laugh."

He nods. "I can respect that." There's another pause. "So, can we go?"

"Oh, yeah." They start walking again and Harry wishes he could think of the smart and witty things he says to piss off Snape but all of them are gone and all he's left with are stupid little comments about the weather and the quality of Hermione's plant. Hermione speaks first. "I'm engaged."

"Congratulations. To Ron?"

She smiles sweetly and looks at him. "No. Millie Bulstrode."

Harry almost trips. "Since when are you seeing her?"

Hermione blushes. "Halloween. She's wonderful once you get to know her and really smart."

"I'm happy you're happy."

"Thanks, Harry."

He nods and shoves his hands into his pockets. He's slipping into the little world where he wants to spill all his secrets to Hermione. Even the one across his arm but he won't and he doesn't because he wants to keep his secrets. "So when's the big day?"

She shrugs. "We haven't decided yet. We're going to get an apartment together near the Ministry and live together for a while. A few years, I think. We've both gotten really good job offers from the Ministry." Harry wonders when his world stopped because everyone else's seems to have kept on going. He doesn't have a sweetheart to move in with at the end of the term and plan out living arrangements and whisper stupid things to each other when they're in bed. He's a little jealous. "Do you know where you're going to be? London, Paris or stay around here?" She asks.

"I don't know. I kind of want to disappear into the Muggle world. Make my living by my talent and not my scar."

She nods. "I think it's a good idea. Can I see some of your stuff?"

"No."

"Oh. That's okay. I'm sure I'll be hearing all about you in a few months, anyway."

He's amazed that she has so much confidence in him. He wonders if she thinks he can do anything. Maybe he can. "Maybe I'll send you a copy sometime."

"I'd like that." And he can tell that she means it and for some reason that hurts so much that he almost can't bear it. They've reached the door to Green House #4 and Hermione doesn't come inside. "I know that this might be the last time we ever talk to each other so I wanted you to know something." He nods for her to go on. "You and Ron were the first friends I ever had, Harry. You taught me that it's okay to have fun every once and awhile and to always keep my wand ready if I'm hanging out with you." They chuckle. "Seriously though, I want you to be happy and I've given this a lot of thought but I want you to keep Crookshanks."

Suddenly he can't breath and he's swallowing rapidly. "But he's yours!"

"I know but he's so fond of you and I know you like him. I thought that maybe you could use the company when you're gone. I just... I want you to have him. Please."

He can't help it. He pulls her into a bone-crushing hug and he hasn't been this close to anyone in months. She hugs him just as forcefully and Harry feels like nothing has changed and they're 16 again and stupid and just having fun for the sake of having fun because they can. "Thank you," he whispers and places kisses all over her face. "Thank you so much."

She giggles but he can see the tears in her eyes and maybe she's just as hurt about this as he is. "Will you try to Owl me at least once a month? Even if it's just to let me know that you're alive?"

Harry knows that he probably won't but he eases her heart anyway. "Sure."

She hugs him again. "I'll let you get to your plant. Good-night, Harry."

"Good-night, Hermione." She kisses his cheek and walks away with her head down and Harry knows that she's crying. He thinks that she'll probably go see Millicent and for some reason, it doesn't freak him out like he thinks it should. After all, he's in love with the Potions Master. Harry slips into the green house just as the first one of his flowers is closing up and shriveling. The others follow quickly. He's on time.

8

The next week is a blur of tests and by the end of it Harry is exhausted. The only thing he has left is his final project for Herbology. He found the time somewhere to go to Hogsmeade and buy a real canvas. It's small, only 10 x 12 but it's big enough for what he needs. The colors from his Agito are perfect. He puts the timing spell on the paints so they won't start working until he's finished and begins to paint. The picture he wants is fresh in his mind, he thinks he could do it with his eyes closed but he doesn't try.

He's a little clumsy with the paintbrush at first but he gets the hang of it with each stroke and his scene begins to unfold. A smooth, flat rock and the greenery of the forest behind it. When it's finished, it looks like a whirlwind of green and brown and red and yellow. But he can still tell each tree from each shrub.

When the paint is dry he starts on the main attraction, the center of his piece. The flat-nosed orange face is towards the audience, eyes closed and the face soon has a body lying across the stone, completely at ease. The body grows a tail that looks ready to snap at the dragonfly that is buzzing around the water's surface. Short legs are added, sprawled out in front of the body as the cat sleeps. He waits for the paint to dry before adding a face and whiskers. It's an almost perfect replica of Crookshanks in the forest and Harry wishes everyone could understand how much this painting means to him.

Carefully, he takes off the charm when it's dry and set. The trees in the background move and sway softly as if moved by a light breeze. Crookshanks tail snaps at the dragonfly. Harry waits and watches as Crookshanks stretches and sits up, cleans himself before pouncing on the insect and chasing it around the canvas. Harry smiles warmly at this great cat and his fly before dipping his quill in his ink and putting a lightning bolt in the lower left-hand corner. His signature. His first painting and he's so proud he feels like he might burst. He re-sets the spell so the painting stops moving and Crookshanks is sleeping on the stone again as if he never took off the timing spell. Tomorrow is the Herbology Exhibition where everyone shows what he or she has accomplished. Professor Sprout will grade them and most of the teacher's will be present. As an after thought, Harry scrawls at the bottom: For Hermione.

He wraps his painting in a silk shawl he snatched from Professor Trelawney and puts it safely in his trunk along with the glass jars that are holding the rest of his paint. He'll need them tomorrow to prove that he made them from the plant. Professor Sprout once told him that Agito paint and ordinary paint have a distinct taste and smell. He wonders if Sprout will actually taste his pigments. He hopes not as he closes the lid and locks it. Harry grabs his cloak, smoothes the fabric and realizes that this may be one of the last trips he makes down the Hogwarts hallways to the kitchen.

He covers himself with the cloak and hurries down to the kitchen to appease his appetite. He doesn't want to think about leaving even though that's all he's wanted to do these last six months. Dobby happily serves him a plate from dinner that evening and as he eats, Harry rolls up his sleeve and stares at his cuts and scars. He's safe here in the kitchens. The house elves won't say anything and he'll hear anyone who comes in. He eats slowly and stares at the pink flesh that's so dangerously decorated and he lets a few tears fall because this is what he has to show for his last seven years of school.

Harry leaves the kitchens and runs outside. He runs past Hagrid's hut and listens intently for the sound of running water when he enters the Forbidden Forest. He runs in the right direction until his lungs feel like they're about to burst and still he doesn't hear anything. Finally he sees the old stump that he passed during the first trip and he knows that in five more feet he'll reach the clearing. He breeches the area and feels his heart break. There's a clearing but it is empty. Only bare grass and tall gangly trees. Harry falls to his knees and feels tears well up in his eyes because his forest is gone; all that surreal beauty and it was created by magic and he can't get to it now. "I'm not insane," he whispers. "Crazy, perhaps, but insanity can only be proclaimed by a court of law." He begins to laugh and laughing feels so right so he keeps doing it until he thinks that maybe he is insane.

He picks himself up and goes back to the castle. He stares at it as it stands against the inky sky. He can remember when this castle was imposing and frightening, when he loved it more than anything in the world, when it was his home and his heart, when everything he adored revolved around it and now he can't figure out whether he wants to go or stay.

He turns towards Hagrid's hut and sees all the lights are off and a little wisp of smoke is coming from his stone chimney. Harry smiles sadly and treks back to the school, slips past the front door and goes to the Tower. He climbs the stairs and crawls into his bed. Crookshanks curls up next to him. "I might be crazy," he whispers to Crookshanks, "but who ever had fun being sane anyway?" Harry drifts off to sleep as the clock strikes five.

Four hours later he is setting up his canvas on the easel, provided by Professor Sprout, in the Great Hall where the exhibition is taking place. There are forty Seventh Year students who are setting up their exhibits as Harry does. He sets out the six jars of paint for Sprout to inspect and the drawings he made of the Agito in each stage of growth. Nervously he pulls off the silk wrapping around the painting and takes off the timing spell. Crookshanks begins to play all over again and Harry stands proudly beside him. He doesn't care if no one likes it. He created it, he made it and that is the greatest feeling in the world to him.

Hermione comes bounding over and gasps. "Oh Harry," she whispers as she watches Crookshanks. Her eyes trace over the inscription. "It's lovely."

He blushes deeply. "Thanks. Where's Millicent?"

She shrugs. "Still setting up, I suppose. I haven't found her yet. I've only been around to the Gryffindor displays so far. I already know what she's doing anyway." She waves good-bye and goes off to inspect more of the Herbology Exhibition. Harry can't bring himself to leave his work so he sits on top of the table behind his paints and his drawings and he waits for the teachers to come to him.

Dumbledore is first. He comes sweeping over and he is about to comment when he stops, literally freezes. Harry knows what has caught the Headmaster's attention. "How did you-?"

Harry smiles. "The magic let me in." He wants to tell Dumbledore how beautiful the forest is and to ask why it's kept hidden but he doesn't. He just keeps smiling as Dumbledore laughs at Crookshanks and continues on to the other exhibits.

When Professor Sprout comes along she smiles warmly at him and inspects each of the jars of paint. Harry winces as she tastes each one and nods accordingly. She doesn't say anything about the painting or the pigments or his drawings of his Agito. He won't know his grade until the rest of the finals are posted. He feels like he can leave now but stays because he has to. He answers questions from the ones who come to see his exhibit and smiles proudly when it is complimented.

Harry feels his palms sweat as Snape comes to look at his project. He doesn't say anything as the cat plays and at one point falls into the pond. Snape's lips twitch upwards as Crookshanks crawls back onto his rock, sopping wet and looking ready to kill. His eyes lift and he meets Harry's gaze. For a split second Harry feels like the room is spinning and all the chattering has stopped. He's drowning in black eyes and he doesn't want the lifesaver. His heart sinks when Snape looks away. Harry wonders if he felt it too and he wants to say something but Snape hurries away and Harry knows that they shared something.

When the exhibition is over, Harry packs away his things and is caught by Hermione. She grabs his arm and pulls him over to the Slytherin side of the room. "Millie!" Hermione waves and Millicent smiles warmly. Hermione yanks Harry farther in and plants him in front of Millicent. He's fascinated as he watches them kiss each other in welcome. "Harry," she says proudly. "This is Millie."

"Hi," he says and shakes her hand. He doesn't remember much of the conversation that takes place between the three of them but he finds that Millie really is nice and seems to dote on Hermione in a way that makes Harry feel warm inside. He decides that he wants that and perhaps if Hermione can find happiness with a Slytherin, so can he.

"So Harry," Hermione grins. "Whom do you have a crush on?"

His eyes widened. "Hermione!" he whispers fiercely. "This is not the time to have that kind of discussion."

She smiles. "So you do! Who is it?"

"I'm not going to tell you."

"But there is someone."

Damn you, Hermione! "Yes," he grumbles.

Millicent slips her hand into Hermione's. "Anyone we know?"

More than you probably want to, he thinks and looks around. Snape is nowhere that he can see. "Yes."

Hermione's eyes light up. "Which house? Or did he graduate?"

"Oooh did you really go with Oliver Wood?" Millicent asks, eyes just as bright as Hermione's.

Harry makes a disgusted face. "No! He was my Quidditch Captain!"

She shrugs. "That didn't stop Terence."

Harry's starting to feel queasy. He now knows more about the Slytherin Quidditch team than he ever wanted to know. "Besides, Oliver wasn't my type."

"What is? Tall, dark, and handsome?"

"Pretty much," he says. "Older, too." Much older. "And really sexy." Harry thinks his mouth might be watering now.

"So he's graduated?" Hermione's trying again.

Harry sighs and nods. "Yeah, he graduated." He watches as most of the people in the Great Hall have started to leave and he wishes he could go with them.

"What house?"

He wishes that Snape could've been in Ravenclaw or even Hufflepuff because he knows that they'll figure it out pretty quickly if he tells the truth and he's really sick of lying. "You know, I really don't want to have this discussion. I'll see you later."

"Wait!"

But Harry is already propelling himself through the crowd so he can get as far away from them as possible. He can go hide in the dormitory until they forget about him or just somewhere that will allow him to avoid them. He's comforted knowing that this is his last week and he'll never have to feel nervous around these people ever again unless there's a ten-year Anniversary get-together in the future. But maybe by then he'll feel comfortable in his own skin and he'll be more important than just a boy who was lucky.

He's nearly to the Tower when he hears his name called. Distinct. Female. McGonagall. He sighs as she catches up to him. "The Headmaster wishes to see you." Her voice is icy and if he were any less of a man, it would've made his skin crawl.

He smiles. "Doesn't he always?" She sniffs disdainfully and he sighs. "You're still angry with me, aren't you?"

"Now is not the time for this discussion, Potter. Follow me." She sweeps past him and he follows at a safe distance.

When they arrive, there are three other students and their Head of House. Susan Bones from Hufflepuff, Millicent Bulstrode from Slytherin (he wonders how she and Snape got here so fast), and Terry Boot from Ravenclaw. Harry joins them as Dumbledore enters the room. He smiles at all of them before beginning. "As you know, next Friday will be your last here at Hogwarts. Every graduating class has one student from each house with the highest score on their N.E.W.T.s. You four are those representatives. You will be expected to compose a speech to be delivered at the pre-feast on Friday night." Harry blinks. He... he had the highest score in his house? Hermione was going to kill him, he was sure of it.

Dumbledore continues, "You will speak in the order of lowest to highest score. Now, don't fret if you're the lowest. This year was very close. Terry, you will speak first, then Susan, Millicent, and Harry. Your speech may be as long or as short as you wish. I'm very proud of all of you. You may go." The other three leave chattering to each other while Harry stays rooted to the spot. This wasn't supposed to happen. Hermione was supposed to be here, not him. "Is there a problem, Harry?" Dumbledore asks.

"Yeah, there's a problem! You must've done the scores wrong. Hermione should be here, not me."

He smiles softly. "I assure you, you scored higher than Miss Granger by half a point. I'm sure she will understand. Now, go back to your dorm and start writing. I look forward to your speech."

"Sod the fucking speech!" Harry hollers and storms out of the Headmaster's office. It wasn't supposed to be like this! He wasn't - he wanted to be anonymous now. He curses himself for studying so much, for not purposely throwing his N.E.W.T.s.

He walks miserably back to the Tower as slow as his feet will carry him. He can't imagine what Hermione will say when she finds out. Maybe she'll go easy on him and the pain will be minimal, death quick. He doesn't see her in the Common Room as he makes his way to the dormitory. Maybe Millicent will break the news to her for him and he'll be saved. He takes out a roll of parchment and his quill and ink. If they want a speech, he'll give them one.

9

Thursday night he sits in the corner of the Astronomy Tower and he wants to laugh. He isn't sure why but being here feels odd. He's always wondered why students came to the Astronomy Tower to make out and have sex. Perhaps it was the added thrill of being caught that drew them. As Harry sat and waited for someone to come in he began to realize that he would never have that experience. He would leave Hogwarts a virgin and he would never know what it was like to snog late at night and giggle around corners; to avoid teachers as they prowl the corridors.

He sighs and flips to the first page of his book. He watches the pages turn and the patterns on his arm change. He stops when he gets to the first picture he ever made of Snape. He smiles and traces the lines with his fingers. It's hard to believe that day after tomorrow, he'll never see Snape again. It makes his heart ache and for a split second, he wants to go down to the dungeons and throw himself at the feet of his professor. But what dignity he has left keeps him from embarrassing himself and he stays, tracing the picture as if it were pale skin beneath his fingers.

He feels a tear slide down his cheek and he presses his thumb into the corner of the cover to distract himself. The pain is a comfort and he turns the page. It's another picture of his arm and there's a flower in the corner that he drew during Herbologly once when no one was around. It feels like years have passed since then. He presses his thumb harder until he feels his skin pop and conform around the corner. He lets the blood drip onto the floor of the Astronomy Tower.

The door opens but he doesn't pay attention as Ron and Ginny crawl inside and pull Millicent along with them. He doesn't see as their clothes are thrown off and as Ron and Ginny move together like water and Millicent's eyes are glassy as she watches them play. Their moans and gasps are loud and echo off the stones and when Harry looks up, he is speechless as he watches his former best friend attack Ginny with his lips and tongue. Millicent seems to be lost in the shuffle but she appears with slight touches. Harry's never seen Ron look so deep in concentration before.

Ron slips inside of Ginny so easily that Harry thinks that it must've been rehearsed and his blood burns. His eyes are wide as it continues and he can't look away. Millicent places soft kisses on her face and neck as Ginny comes. After, Ginny cries in Ron's arms and whispers how she doesn't want them to go, that she needs them. Harry worries for her and watches as Ron transforms back into Hermione and holds her close.

"It won't be so bad. You can come visit us," Millicent whispers and joins them, strokes Ginny's hair.

Hermione nods and kisses them both firmly on the lips. "You can come spend the summer with us."

Ginny sniffles. "But you'll be working. You'll be too busy."

Millicent lifts her chin and tenderly strokes her cheek. "We'll never be too busy for you, Gin."

She launches herself into Millicent's arms and kisses her forcefully. Hermione smiles and watches as they hold each other. Delicate caresses against lean backs and Harry can't watch anymore. He grabs his book and charcoal and moves against the wall as quietly as possible. Before he leaves, he hears Ginny whisper, "Thank you for being Ron for me, Herm. I always wanted it to be either him or Percy."

Harry runs back to Gryffindor Tower feeling dirty and wicked. Somehow it was different when he didn't care who it was and then it was Hermione and he knows he can't do that to her. But the image won't leave his head as he pounds up the stairs and flings himself onto his bed. He feels like he's violated a sacred trust and even the voice of the artist whispering that it's okay isn't enough to placate him.

He's finding it hard to breathe as he searches for his knife and the panic doesn't stop until he's bleeding and he can relax for a second. He covers his eyes with his good arm and tries to forget but their moans are rampant in his ears as if he's still there. He groans and peers at his arm; magically closes it and there's no scar but he doesn't care. The last thing he thinks before drifting off for a few hours of sleep is how bizarre his last 48 hours are going to be.

----

He's strangely calm as he stands in front of the mirror and straightens his hat. His robes hang as limp as ever against his body and his uniform looks the same as it always did. He's fixing his tie when there's a quiet knock on the door. "Come in," he calls and turns. "Hey," he smiles and he's not sure why he's smiling but he's genuinely glad to see Hermione.

"Hi," she smiles back and comes into the room. "Excited?"

He shrugs. "Not really. I'll be glad when it's over."

"Yeah," she whispers. "I'm going to miss it here. I can't believe we're leaving tomorrow. Forever."

He doesn't have the heart to tell her that he can't wait to leave. Besides, everything she needs to hear is in his speech. "You aren't mad that I'm going to be the one up there and not you?"

Hermione laughs and it tickles in the back of his throat. "No. I've learned that being the smartest and best isn't everything. It's a lot of things but not everything. Besides, it was only half a point."

Harry never realized before how grown up she is now. The girl who cried in their First Year because no one liked her, is gone. The girl who cried when he and Ron made up in Fourth Year is gone as well. He pines for her but knows she is there in his memories so he doesn't let it faze him. "I wish it were you and not me."

She slings her arm around his shoulder and guides him out the door. "Buck up, Potter."

He laughs.

-----

Harry sits at the end of the table, closest to the podium and waits for his turn. He doesn't pay much attention to any of the speeches the other three are making. He makes an attempt to listen to Millicent for Hermione's sake but even hers doesn't keep his attention. His own scroll is in his hand even though he knows the whole thing by heart. He's smiling softly, knowingly. They're expecting him to give some heartfelt speech about how Hogwarts has been the greatest experience of his life and how he'll miss it terribly.

Millicent finishes and steps down. He applauds for her with everyone else and waits as Dumbledore nods for him to take his place. Harry's smile grows a fraction as he steps up to the podium, puts the Sonorus charm on his throat so the whole hall can hear him. He feels like his face might split in two as he begins. "Every year since I've gotten here, someone has tried to kill me whether it be Malfoy or Voldemort. I like to think that that's really the only constant that I've ever had in my life: death and Malfoy." There's a low chuckle from the Slytherin table. "What has bothered me the most since I've gotten here is why on Earth the public places so much confidence in me? There are Wizards and Witches far more powerful than myself and you all wanted a seventeen year-old boy to clean up your mess. No, no one wants to try and do anything, just let Harry Potter take care of it. If everyone had united, Voldemort would've been gone a long time ago. Instead you let fear rule over you and as long as only one orphan boy died, the rest of you and your parents could live.

"What has the Wizarding world ever given me except this scar on my forehead that makes me so recognizable and the hatred of every Wizard and Witch that ever lost someone? Apparently this was my war. I was supposed to be the only one who died. I guess no one knows what war really is." Several of the students who did resent him, lower their heads. "In my third year I was given the two greatest things I could ever ask for: Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. They were the only two links I had left of my parents. Thanks to Dumbledore, Sirius is rotting away in St. Mungo's and Remus, well, I don't like to talk about Remus.

"I should've let you all deal with Voldemort, let you bring him down on your own because I didn't want this. I never wanted this but it's my own fault. I trusted Dumbledore and I shouldn't have. You'll all go home to your families and you'll finally see what the world is really about and by next week, you'll wish you were back in the walls of this castle. As for me? I doubt any of you will ever see me again and for that, I am grateful. There's a scant few of you that I ever wish to lay eyes on again; three in fact. Stop smiling, Ron, you aren't one of them.

"My yearmates have done the expected and thanked the school and it's teachers for preparing them to go out into the world. I think I should add my own thanks in as well.

"First, I'd like to thank my years here at Hogwarts for demonstrating how little human life is valued when there is a greater plan. I'd like to thank the Headmaster personally for showing me that yes, it can always get worse, and no, there really isn't anything we can do about it. Also, I'd like to thank him for showing me how easy it is to make a person into nothing more than a weapon or a shield, be they Wizard, Witch or Muggle.

"No one is happier than I to leave this place and if I ever set foot here again, it will be too soon. Thank you and have a wonderful life." He prances down the steps, grinning wildly and sits at the end of the Gryffindor table. He smiles sweetly up at McGonagall and waits for her to bring in the rest of the school. Yes, he has made a lasting impression. It was his finest hour. Even Snape looks mildly impressed.

All through dinner he can feel their eyes on him. This is really the first time he's eaten in the Great Hall in three weeks. But for traditions sake, he puts himself through their inane chatter. Not even Hermione makes an attempt to speak to him, though, and he's just fine with that. He thinks about what he'll do during his last night. He knows that most of his year will be celebrating in Hogsmeade with gargantuan amounts of Butterbeer. He'll celebrate in his own way, by himself.

He waits for Dumbledore to dismiss them like old times before he slips out. He goes towards the lake as everyone else heads towards their village destination. He takes off his robe and folds it over his arm as he stands on one of the rocks that surround the lake. He closes his eyes and let's the wind play with his hair and he feels like he's swaying. Not too long ago he was out here to sketch his arm. He sits on the rock and stares over the crisp, black water. He watches the water ripple and the full moon reflect upon it's surface.

"What are you doing out here, Potter?"

Harry shivers involuntarily. Snape's voice is icier than usual. "Sitting by the lake."

Professor Snape grunts. He changes the subject. "You gave an impressive speech this evening. Some of them looked genuinely crestfallen."

"Is that what you came here to tell me?"

"No, actually. I come out here to stargaze and you happen to be invading my spot."

"Pardon me while I don't apologize."

"Impertinent as always, eh, Potter?"

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

Snape chuckles. "Neither would I, come to think of it."

Silence lapse between them and the only sounds are the waves slapping against the rocks and a cricket chirping in the distance. "So, what are you looking for this time? You already know that I'm not starving myself. What does Dumbledore want?"

"What makes you think Dumbledore sent me?"

"Because I've seen you more in the last three weeks out of class than I do otherwise and you always seem to be looking for something. Unless McGonagall hired you to kill me. The Ministry would never suspect an inside job," he says bitterly.

"Get over yourself, Potter. Minerva didn't send me to do anything to you."

"And Dumbledore?" Silence. "That's what I thought. So, what is it this time? Is he afraid I'll off myself in my moment of grief? Does he want an apology because I didn't make him out to be some fucking hero? Spare me."

"You like to let your imagination run wild, don't you?"

Harry shrugs. "It makes life more interesting."

"He knows that it isn't his responsibility to watch you anymore. I suppose he wants to play "Caring Keeper" one last time before you leave tomorrow."

Harry swears that Snape's voice sounds a little gruffer and that his voice hitched on the last few words. But he could be imagining it. He decides to take one last risk. "So will you miss me?"

"As much as I will miss Longbottom."

Ouch. "Well, thank you, sir. I'm over-flowing with joy."

"Are you ever not a smart-ass?"

"Let's say, you bring the best out in me."

"Somehow that's not particularly comforting."

"It wasn't meant to be," Harry says softly.

Snape looks down and studies the top of Harry's head. He tightens his hands at his sides to keep himself from running his fingers through Harry's hair. "Is there any chance that you'll stay here?" With me.

Harry feels like a knife has been thrust into his gut. "I can't," he chokes out. "I don't belong here anymore." He looks up and stares into Snape's eyes. I'd stay if you asked me. Give me something, tell me to stay and I'll stay. "Do you want me to stay?"

More than you know, Potter. "No."

Harry barely hears the answer but when he does, he wishes he hadn't asked. "I see." He gets up and puts his robe back on. He holds out his hand to Snape. "It was a pain in my ass knowing you, sir."

Tentatively he grasps Harry's hand and shakes it. "The feeling is mutual - Harry."

"Good-bye Severus." He turns away and begins his trek back to the school. He doesn't want me, Harry thinks as he stumbles over a rock and falls to his knees. He throws up violently into the grass as his shoulders begin to shake and he begins to cry. He rolls back onto his haunches and cradles his head in his hands. He doesn't want me. The words echo in his head like a bad mantra. He'd always known that he never had a chance but now he doesn't even have the dream.

He stands slowly, peers over his shoulder and sees Snape still standing by the lake. He still looks imposing but smaller now in the distance. Harry looks away and leaves Snape behind. He wraps his robe closer around his frame as he disappears inside the school and his feet carry him to the Tower automatically. Crookshanks blinks at him from the foot of the bed. "He didn't want me," he whispers to the cat and feels the tears come again.

He searches his drawers until he finds what he's looking for. Harry sits on his bed in the dormitory with the knife poised in his hand. His sleeve is pulled up like always but he's waiting. For what, he isn't sure. Maybe for someone to stop him. He drags the blade across his skin but it doesn't cut, it only grazes and sends a chill down his spine. He grasps the handle and pushes the tip in near the joint of his elbow; he feels it as it slowly cuts through. Pulling the knife away, blood wells up but doesn't spill over. It seems content in the little hole and stays. He drags the knife again but presses, tears the first layer of skin and it burns. Small pin prick-sized drops of blood peak through but it's not enough for him. With one vicious stroke, he makes a long slice horizontally along the width of his arm. It's fat and blooming. He watches it for long minutes as it swells and branches past the wound and spills over his arm to land on the duvet. He leans back and lets it go while staring up at the ceiling. It's his last night at Hogwarts, the last time he'll bleed on darker-than-blood blankets.

Harry puts a clotting charm on his arm and stares at Crookshanks. "Why do I stay here? I've graduated. The only thing I would stay for is him and I never had him." Crookshanks blinks at him and Harry knows what he wants to do. He slides from the bed and throws all his things into his trunk. He wraps his knife in a piece of cloth and puts it on top. Before closing it, he changes into the clothes Sirius gave him last summer. They're the only set of clothes he's ever owned the fit him. The pants fit like a glove and the shirt hides his arms from view. "Crookshanks?" The cat looks up. "Come on." He jumps down and rubs against Harry's legs. Harry charms his trunk to be as light as a feather and the size of a walnut. He's grateful for his classes then as he slips it in his pocket and opens the door for Crookshanks. He follows the cat down the stairs to the Common Room. It's empty. None of the Seventh Years have come back from Hogsmeade yet so he opens the portrait and Crookshanks hops out. "We'll be okay."

As they walk the long corridors to the Entrance Hall, Harry takes his time to look at the portraits and really see where he's spent the last seven years. He can remember when it was his salvation and everything he had ever hoped for. He had loved it because it was better than the Dursley's. Even now, he's not quite sure when it went sour. He looks forward and sees Dumbledore is standing in the hall. "Hello, Harry. Midnight stroll?"

"No. I'm leaving."

Dumbledore nods. "I'm not all that surprised. We'll miss you, Harry."

"Yeah, yeah." He walks past towards the door.

"I really did try and make the right decisions. But I'm only human, Harry," Dumbledore calls softly after him but it echoes in the Entrance Hall, vibrates through Harry's bones.

He stops and clenches his fists. "I'm just as human as you and you treated me like a super hero, Albus."

"And for that, I am sorry."

"Good." He turns around and peers cautiously at the Headmaster. "Will you do something for me?"

"I will do whatever I can."

Harry pulls out his trunk and takes off the charms. He takes out his book. The cover is smooth and black and he almost reconsiders but it's for the best. He strokes the cover one last time before holding it out to Dumbledore. "Give this to Professor Snape. Don't look at it. You owe me that much."

Dumbledore takes it, holds it securely before slipping it in his pocket. "I'll give it to him at breakfast tomorrow. Where will you be staying?"

Harry smiles. "I don't know. Thank you for giving that to him." He charms his trunk again and puts it back in his pocket. He opens the door and Crookshanks runs out and waits for him on the front step.

"Do you know why the forest let you in?"

He flexes his fingers against the wood of the door. "Because I needed to know that there was still beauty in the world. Good-bye Albus."

Dumbledore smiles sadly. "Good-bye Harry."

He leaves and lets the door close behind him with a resounding thud. Crookshanks mews loudly as he takes out his wand. "Lumos." He can see the cat waiting for orders. Harry whistles loudly and soon the sound of feathers is in the air and Hedwig lands on the step. "We're leaving, Hedwig." He starts down the stairs with a cat at his heels and an owl by his shoulder. "We'll be okay."

10

... some time later

The sun is streaming through the window that is next to his bed. He cracks open one eye and feels Crookshanks balled up at his feet. Today will be a good day, he knows. It's cold in his studio apartment even in the summer and it's not much better in the winter but he doesn't care. He's happy here.

He reaches for his glasses, slips them on as he gets up. Stretching loudly and long, he makes his way to the small bathroom that is nothing more than a toilet and a shower stall. But it's his toilet and his shower stall. It's small but he's perfected the art of using the toilet without kicking the shower or knocking his elbow against the sink and using the shower without moving his arms too much. The small sink is next to the toilet and it looks more like a basin suspended in air than a sink but it's big enough to hold his toothbrush.

He's had a good week at the gallery so he makes himself a sandwich (tomato on rye) for breakfast. He enjoys eating the whole tomato himself without worrying about Dudley swiping it from under him. But he'll share it with Crookshanks when the cat asks nicely. Every week the food is different depending on if he sells any of his paintings. The last three weeks he and Crookshanks had been eating rice and beans but neither of them complained. Even the mice took time off but they seem to be appearing again and Crookshanks is on the prowl. It won't be long before he's fat again.

Hedwig comes sweeping through the window next to Harry's bed and drops the mail on the counter. It separates the stove from the small refrigerator. Hedwig lands on her perch and preens. She'll soon be sleeping the day away. Harry rifles through the pile. He never replies to any of the mail he receives. Not even the letters from Hermione which come less frequently now. He keeps her letters in a box under his bed. He only reads them because he can hear her voice in his head and it's a comfort he won't admit to.

Today there is one letter from Hermione and a letter from the District Manager of the Auror Training League. Every few weeks Harry gets a letter from him, pleading with Harry to come in and teach the new recruits. Harry doubts he'll give up even if Harry did send a formal letter declining the offer. Besides, he gets a spark of joy knowing that they still need him and now he can say no. He's dictating his own life now and he's the happiest he's been in years.

Once his sandwich is gone and the post read, he dresses in old jeans with holes in the knees and a paint splattered tee-shirt. There's a canvas spread out on his floor that he's been working on for days, trying to get it right. He's not sure he'll ever finish it.

In the center is Snape's face. Burning black eyes, black hair, and as pale as the white canvas. He's turned slightly to the right and a red hand print mars his white cheek. A disembodied arm reaches out to him from the lower left-hand corner. The hand is open, palm up as a sign of submission. There are cuts on the arm that are open and dripping. Harry thinks this is his way of expressing his grief over Snape's rejection. He stares at the canvas, squatting on his haunches and holding his head. He isn't sure if there's anything left to add to it. His thoughts are interrupted by the phone that he keeps on the floor. "Hello?"

"Don't tell me you forgot."

He grimaces but speaks politely to the owner of the gallery. "CJ, hello."

She sighs. "You did, didn't you? I swear I should just staple the notices to your forehead. Have you even checked your mail yet this week?"

"Um...no. Should I have?"

It sounds like she's banging drawers around. Harry noticed once that she only does that when she's truly irritated. "I'm displaying some of your stuff this week. Kelly dropped out so I needed a filler and people seem to like you. I figured you'd be thrilled for some extra cash but you haven't called."

He sits down fully on the floor and begins to clean one of his brushes. "Did you need me to call you? You know you can show whatever you want."

"Well, you see, that's the thing. I want to show number 78."

He drops the brush, the clatter of wood on the floor is frightfully loud but its drowned out by the blood pounding mercilessly in his head. "78?"

CJ plows through, "Look, I know you don't want it to be in the show but it's really good, Harry, and I think you should let me put it in. There's space for it and everything. I won't even put a price-tag on it."

He swallows. "78?" Number seventy-eight is the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts. And in the foreground is a detailed drawing of Snape staring up at the stars. It was done in oil. To Harry it always represented how Snape was forbidden to him. Harry clears his throat loudly. "I guess so. Yeah. Sure. Put it in."

"Oh that's good because it's already up. If you'd bother to check your mail or the clock, you'd know that the gallery opened three hours ago."

"So do you want me to come down there?"

"That would be good."

He sighs and stares at his canvas. "Right. I'll be there in half an hour."

CJ switches from boss to friend-mode in two seconds flat. "Working on that canvas of Severus?"

Harry rubs his eyes. "Yeah. It's just not working right."

"You could bring it down and we could display it," CJ says hopefully. Ever since Harry told her about Snape (minus the magic), CJ has been fascinated by him and what he means in Harry's paintings.

"No. This one stays here for now."

"Fine, fine. See you in a little while."

"Bye." He hangs up and rubs his neck roughly.

He met CJ a year ago at a club in London. She'd been trying to hit on him and Harry flirted just for kicks until she found out he was an artist and he found out she had a gallery that had some empty space. He's been showing and selling his stuff at her place ever since.

Harry changes into what he calls his "gallery clothes" but really they're just the only set of clothes he owns that aren't covered in paint. The clothes from Sirius. He grabs the key to the apartment and sticks his wand in the waistband of his pants, out of sight but easily reached, and opens the door. Crookshanks head shoots up. "What? Do you want to come?"

He licks his chops lazily and as Harry closes the door, Crookshanks shoots out and waits for Harry at the top of the stairs. Harry chuckles and follows him down and outside. Crookshanks knows the way to the gallery and always stays ahead of Harry but only by a foot so they don't lose each other. It happened once and Crookshanks has been paranoid ever since. The streets of London are not the corridors of Hogwarts.

The gallery is only a few blocks away and there are already a few people milling around. Some of them he recognizes. Ernie licks his lips when he sees Harry opening the door for Crookshanks. He's been after Harry since the day they met. Harry waves at CJ as she comes over. "Hey - I see you brought your mangy shadow with you." And then sneaks a pat or two for Crookshanks when Harry pretends not to look. Crookshanks stays at Harry's side as they mingle with the crowd and answer questions from potential buyers.

One woman comes up and shyly asks, "Who is the man in number 78?"

Harry smiles at her. "Someone I knew once." That seems to please her and she skitters away to tell her friend. Harry doesn't mind their questions so much. They aren't intrusive by any means and he likes knowing that his work is appreciated. Crookshanks mews loudly and rubs against him. "What is it? Does someone smell like fish?" he says and rolls his eyes. Crookshanks turns up his nose.

"Still talking to your pets, I see."

Harry's heart stops and he looks down at Crookshanks who looks smugly at him and begins to bathe himself. Harry swallows and turns around. "Hello."

Snape smiles in his own way. "So this is where you display your art?" He's wearing Muggle clothes and Harry's fascinated with how easily clothes change everything about Snape that Harry always feared and loved.

He shrugs. "Every so often. I'm not even supposed to be here this week."

"Then I guess it's my lucky day."

"What are you doing here?" Harry finally asks. If he had known Snape was coming... he probably would've stayed home.

Snape shrugs easily. "My love for art was recently renewed."

"Oh." His disappointment is almost suffocating.

Snape looks intensely at him and Harry almost looks away. "You have some meager sliver of talent. You can imagine my shock."

Harry glares furiously. He could handle it when Snape snipped at him about Potions but Harry takes his art seriously and he can't help the pain he feels after that comment. He squares his shoulders. "There are plenty of galleries in the city. Am I to believe it's a coincidence that you walked into mine?"

"Touchˇ, Potter." But he saw the pain and flicker of defeat in Harry's eyes and perhaps it's time to leave old grievances behind. "I didn't come here to be petty with you."

"You had me fooled," Harry sneers and turns to find the nearest exit.

Snape grasps his arm. "I - forgive my behavior. It is easy for me to slide back into it, even now."

Harry peers at him, notices the lack of glare or sneer. Somehow, that's more frightening. He's used to glares and sneers but not this near calm that seems to be exuding from his ex-professor. "Tell me the truth - what are you doing here? How did you find me?"

Snape shifts uncomfortably and Harry feels a near victory knowing that there is something that can unsettle Snape. "Is there any place that we can go that's more private?" He panicks a little. Private? With Snape? Isn't that detrimental to his health? Except this isn't the Snape he knew in school. "Well, we could go to a cafe but they won't let Crookshanks in."

He rolls his eyes. "And you never separate yourself from your cat?"

Harry glares. "Don't mock what you don't understand," he hisses. If he were a cat, his fur would've been spiked and crackling. He's startled by an arm wrapping around his waist and a kiss being placed on his cheek.

"This bloke bothering you, love?" Ernie asks, glares at Snape, and possessively tightens his grip on Harry's hip. Ernie is only a little taller than Harry but Snape towers over both of them.

Harry watches in fascination as Snape bares his teeth at Ernie, he swears his ex-professor is going to growl at him, but Ernie just glowers back. Something flutters inside Harry's stomach while he watches them fight over him but mostly that Snape would be jealous, might want him. He turns to Ernie and says, "No. He's not bothering me." He sees CJ across the room, jaw on the floor and eyes bulging. "I think CJ needs you."

Ernie looks over at her and nods. "Alright. But if this bloke gives you any trouble, you come and get me."

He nods. "Sure Ernie." His arms slips from Harry's waist, gives Snape one more glare as if to say, "Mine!" and stalks away. Harry laughs a little until he sees that Snape's glare hasn't diminished at all and there's a little bit of foam collecting around his mouth. He wants to kiss Snape gently on the mouth so he knows that Harry'll always belong to him. Instead, "Professor, calm down."

The glare is turned on him but it withers almost immediately. The hard look in his eyes doesn't fade though and Harry wonders if Snape is hurt by Ernie's display of dominance. "Is he your...?" Snape can't bring himself to say the word. It gets caught somewhere in his throat.

Harry shakes his head. "No. He just works here."

He isn't convinced. "He was all over you," he says in a growl and his hands are clenching into fists, slowly moving towards his wand.

Harry stills his hand, looks Snape in the eye. "There's nothing between Ernie and me."

Snape searches Harry's face, he was always good at sniffing out l