Author's Note: This is really my first attempt at Harry Potter slash of any sort, and it's a one-shot. Enjoy! Flames will be used to toast marshmallows.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters or settings mentioned in this. I am not associated with Warner Bros. or J.K. Rowling. Nor do I make any money from this.

Severus watched Potter from the shadows. Considering there were quite a few shadows in his potions laboratory, this was not a hard thing to accomplish. He simply had to lean back against the wall, and he disappeared. It was nearly 3am, and there were no windows from which moonlight could seep through. What Potter was doing down in his personal laboratory, he had no idea, but he intended to find out – most likely stealing from him again. Severus was intent upon finally catching the boy in the act, so he received the punishment he deserved.

Potter reached into a drawer of cutting knives, and pulled one out – one with a thin, silver blade. A knife used for the chopping of fine ingredients. Severus narrowed his eyes, wondering what potion the boy could be brewing that required such a knife. It was no doubt something prohibited. Well. He could wait and see what ingredients the boy would take. That would no doubt narrow down his list.

However, Potter did not go over to Severus' store cupboard, much to his amazement. Instead, the boy sat right down onto the stone flagon floor of the dungeon, facing Severus, but obviously not seeing him.

Severus blinked at the expression he saw on the boys face – his eyes were wild and tear filled, his face contorted into an expression of pain. He stared down at the silver blade clutched tightly in his hand, a translucent tear running down one side of his face, leaving a shimmery trail in its wake. As Severus watched, Potter set the blade down carefully and rolled up the left sleeve of his red and gold striped pajamas.

Still Severus did not move from his hiding spot, transfixed by the scene unfolding before his eyes. He continued to watch intently as Potter sliced a thin line into his forearm, the blood beading up from the cut in small dots, oozing sluggishly down the side of his arm as he cut. The red tracks stood out stark against the lightly tanned skin, the drips leaving spots on the boy's pajamas.

Severus had no idea how much time had passed since he had started watching the boy. All he knew was that he could now count the lines carved into Potter's skin – seven in all, red and angry, slicing down from the crook of his elbow, to the delicate fold of his wrist. Severus hardly noticed when Potter stood up from his spot on the dungeon floor, not bothering to either clean up the knife and blood spots from the floor, nor roll down his sleeve, as he took his invisibility cloak from the counter and left the dungeon, the wooden door closing with a thud behind him.

Severus stood in the shadows, continuing to stare at the knife lying on the floor in a small pool of blood. What exactly had he just seen? Harry Potter – carving up his own skin? It made no sense.

He carefully picked the knife up from the floor and wiped it off, tucking it back into the cabinet drawer. Severus had no idea why he was doing this. Why he was cleaning up after the boy's mess, instead of going straight to Potter's Head of House – hell, instead of going straight to Dumbledore for this. He had no idea why he whispered a cleaning charm over the blood stained stones, instead of going after the boy and making him explain. Then again, Severus did not have a clear explanation for most of the things that he did.

*

Severus watched Potter from the staff table. Potter ate and talked to his friends like normal, like nothing was wrong, but there was something off in his face that his friends either couldn't see, or denied. The boy's eyes were hollow, no matter how much fake cheer he put on for the entire Gryffindor table. Foolish boy. Instead of going to his friends for help, he insisted on this independent bravery and kept it to himself. Severus had no idea what the Boy Who Lived could possibly have to complain about, but whatever it was, it certainly wouldn't help to carve himself up like a Thanksgiving turkey.

Severus found himself wondering how long this had been going on. How long Potter had been taking out his frustrations on his own skin. Not that he personally cared about Potter's well being – but the blasted boy was supposed to defeat the Dark Lord! He couldn't very well be the savior of the wizarding world like this, that was all. It had nothing to do with whatever Severus felt for the boy. For he surely felt nothing but contempt for him.

At least, that is what he told himself.

*

Severus watched Potter from his desk. The sixth year potions students were all brewing in pairs, aware of their professor's eyes looking over them intently from where he sat at the front of the room. However, they were not aware that their professor was only sparing them a passing glance today. He was far too busy watching Potter to pay them any attention. The class could have set off an entire box of Filibuster Fireworks, and he would have taken no notice.

Severus paid close attention to the way Potter was careful to keep the trailing sleeves of his robe's over his arms, the way he handled the blade to chop ingredients carefully, almost reverently. This disturbed Severus. How was it possible that the boy's foolish friend's did not notice the way he was acting? How did no one notice? It seemed that this was the tenth time that he had asked that of himself today.

He heaved a great sigh and stood up from his desk, resigning himself to the fact that he would not be able to rest until he had this situation figured out and under control. The boy needed a dose of reality, and who better to give it to him than his most hated teacher?

"Potter!" He barked, startling the boy as he marched over to the table where he was preparing his potion, "Detention tonight. My office. Eight o'clock."

The Weasley boy spluttered at him in indignation, however Potter simply started back at him with hollow eyes. "Yes, sir." He mumbled, turning away and ignoring his friend's angry mutterings.

Severus narrowed his eyes and whipped around, stalking back to his desk, refusing to acknowledge the wave of emotion that had swept over him at Potter's compliance. It could not have been worry. Surely not. Severus Snape did not worry.

*

Severus watched Potter from the doorway.

"You're early," He said curtly, sweeping into the room with a great deal of grandeur and dropping his armful of parchment onto the desk before taking his seat behind the large, wooden desk. He slammed the door shut with a casual flick of his wand, and surveyed Potter over the tips of his steepled fingers. The boy simply stared at him, sitting with his hands folded in his lap, offering no information.

"You'll be cutting up potions ingredients," He informed the boy, standing up abruptly and walking towards the door that separated his laboratory from his office. He saw Potter swing his bag over his shoulder and followed him into the room, taking a seat at the work table where an assortment of ingredients awaited him. He picked up the silver knife that sat next to them and set about his task, all without having uttered one word to his professor.

"Take off your outer robes, Potter." Severus stood in front of the table expectantly, eyes glinting in the torch light. He was dreading this little conversation.

"Why? Sir." That "sir" was tacked on at the end half-heartedly, and only served to needle Severus.

"Surely you've learned from your six years in Potions that you should when chopping ingredients," Severus crossed his arms over his chest, "or are you really that dense?"

Potter glared at him, and hesitated, obviously not wanting to expose his arms in front of his professor. He slowly undid the buttons on his robes, slowly sliding the material off of his arms and striding quickly away from the table to hang them up on a peg by the door.

Severus stayed where he was, arms still crossed over his chest, waiting for the boy to return. There was no way he could get out of this.

The boy's face was flushed as he flopped down onto the stool, arms held close to his body as he reached for the knife to continue what he had started. However, Severus was not about to let this go – he was many things, and determined was certainly one of them.

"What's that on your arms, Potter?" He asked, his voice deathly quiet. The boy said nothing. He simply continued to stare down at the table, chopping slowly, as if he had not heard his professor. "Answer me!"

This time, the boy looked up and stared defiantly into Severus's eyes. "Crashed my broom the other day during Quidditch practice, Professor."

Severus sneered at the bold faced lie. "I don't think so," he said softly, reaching out and grasping Potter's forearm with a squeezing grip, pulling it towards him and inspecting the cuts with a trained eye.

Potter stood up quickly, attempting to pull his arm out of Severus's grip, "Let go of me," he said firmly, "I told you it was a Quidditch accident."

"Don't lie to me, Boy!" He tugged Potter towards, him around the table, "Do you think you can do this in my own potions laboratory and get away with it?" He hissed, looking Potter straight in the eye, never letting go of him.

Potter's defiant expression crumbled, and he stopped trying to tug his arm back, an expression of shock now on his face, "You – you were there?" He whispered, swallowing audibly, "You saw me?"

"Of course I saw you, you idiot boy!" Severus bit out, letting go of Potter's arm suddenly, as though burned, "Even if I had not, you certainly left enough evidence of the act."

Potter stared at up at him, his green eyes welling with tears. It only served to make Severus angrier. "Professor, I -" Severus growled and shoved him hard, back against the edge of the table.

"Did you want me to catch you?" He asked, pressing against the boy who was now quivering tearfully, "Is that why you did it in my laboratory? Is that why did not so much as pick up the damn knife?" Potter gave no answer. "Well?" Severus asked brusquely, pressing harder against him, arms on either side of the boy, pining him against the table. He wanted answers. He wanted answers now.

"It's just so hard to handle, all of it," The boy sobbed out, turning his face away, "Do you know what they say? That I'm the 'Chosen One'? Everyone expects me to be the one to defeat the Dark Lord! They expect me to save them. Me! When I can't even save myself!" Tears were now steadily rolling down his face.

Severus made a noise of disgust low in his throat, "Oh, poor Potter, the tragic hero." He lifted a pale hand, grabbing Potter by the chin and forcing the boy to look at him, "You need a little more sympathy, Potter?" He asked nastily, ignoring the steady flow of tears, "Is that it? You don't have enough little fans? Enough worship?" Severus gave a soft laugh of derision, "You need more pity?"

"No," Potter choked out, clutching at Severus's robes, shaking so badly Severus thought he might collapse if he had not been standing right there, "I need someone who understands."

"Someone who understands," Severus repeated, leaning down towards the boy, their faces now only millimeters apart, "And where do you expect to find someone who understands?"

"I don't," Potter whispered brokenly, tilting his face up and clutching to Severus desperately, "I don't expect to find someone like that," Severus could feel the boy's hot breath against his face, "but that's what I need. I need..." Severus felt the boy's lips against his own, so sudden that he did not think to move, "you." The word was whispered against his lips, and Potter's arms were wrapped tightly about his neck.

Severus felt as though he was caught in a dream. Everything was clouded, the feeling of another's mouth on his own so unexpected, and so sweet that he did not think to do anything other than to open his own in compliance.

Severus felt Potter suck in a small breath as he wrapped his arms around the smaller body, pushing his back so hard against the table that he was sure to have bruises in the morning. Their lips moved against each other fluidly, tongues twined, hot breath misting each other's faces. Potter's finger's tangled in Severus's hair and he let out a small groaning noise, that was quickly swallowed by his Professor, as the boy arched against him.

The kiss seemed to last hours before the fog in Severus's head cleared. He broke off abruptly, shoving away from the table, and Potter, as hard as he could, his head spinning. Potter slumped back against the table, stunned by the sudden change rejection, and blinked, the tear tracks still wet against his cheeks.

"Get out." Severus rasped, his voice sounding chaffed.

"What?" Potter asked, looking stunned, "Professor -"

"Out, Potter," his voice had a dangerous edge to it. "Do not make me ask you again."

The boy exited the room, leaving his robes and his bag behind in his rush to get away.

*

Severus watched Potter from the shadows. It was always like this now. The boy was carving ever deeper into his skin, sitting in the middle of the floor, much as he had done the night before their kiss. If Potter knew that Severus stood in those very shadows every night and watched, he did not say anything. Severus didn't know why he let this go on. He didn't know why he didn't tell Dumbledore. Why he didn't say something to the boy.

Severus continued to watch Potter cut deeper and deeper into his skin, until one day, he would cut too deep.

Severus continued to watch Potter self-destruct. Severus continued to watch Potter search for someone to understand.