Disclaimer: I own nothing that is J.K.'s.

Warnings: If you don't already know, you've skipped far too much. Go back and read it.

A/N: It's a chapter, I know you all can't believe it, but I'm finally updating. Hurricanes, emergencies, computer crashes, and medical stuff aside, it's finally here! Woo. Apologies for the extremely long wait and the shortness of the chapter after such a wait. (Though it's been on the yahoo group for awhile now, is rather annoying).

Plans and Diversions

He blinked. The light hurt his eyes, tiny daggers. He was lying on a floor. A dirty potion-spilled floor. Reeked, too. And his face felt like a Bludger had beaten him. Things were not looking good.

Physical violence, Potter, will not be tolerated in this school. You'll be lucky if you aren't expelled for this! Perhaps you really do belong at St. Mungo's.

Well, crap. What did Potter have to do with—oh, right.

Perhaps I don't NEED this place anymore. Voldemort's gone now, I can go back to the Muggle world! You don't NEED me anymore! Who cares what I do?

You are still a student of this school. You haven't completed your training. You would be dangerous to the Muggles, yourself, and the Wizarding World! Don't even contemplate such a thing, Potter.

He debated what he should do. Speak…or listen. Listening the last time got him in the position he was now in, but he always found out such valuable information…hmm. A few more moments couldn't hurt.

Always about what other people want. Kill Voldemort, Harry. Be a Seeker, Harry. You're just like your father, Potter. Well, what about me? Why can't I do what I want!

That was actually a really good impression of Snape, but Draco didn't think that he'd like that. Ah well.

You are a child, Potter. You can't just do what you want.

And as a child, everyone decided that I should be the one to kill Voldemort. Well, he's gone now. I'm done with all of this!

Time to wake up. I really don't want to hear anything about his issues.

He groaned loudly.

"Whas—"

"Don't move yet, be still." He heard the mutterings of a scanning spell—Snape was checking for concussion. He had hit the floor rather hard. And who knew Potter could punch like that? He was going to bruise, which meant concealing charms for awhile.

"Potter stay right where you are. I'm not done with you yet."

It was odd how Potter followed his orders.

"Mr. Malfoy, as you are quite well, albeit a bit bruised, you may return to your room. I will be in to discuss this with you later."

Well, bugger. I wanted to finish listening.

"Yes, Professor." A slight nod to him, and I had to leave.

I wonder if they'd notice if I didn't go down the corridor?

"Mr. Malfoy. Now."

Well that answers that. Time to see what the imbeciles were doing.

"Alright, Potter. Detention, two weeks. I won't take any points this time—"

"Only because your precious Malfoy was the cause of that! He's lucky I didn't hex him!"

"Quiet! You will be working on the assignments that you've been neglecting."

"You want me to make up five months of work in two weeks? You're mad. I won't do it. Guess you'll just have to expel me."

Severus sighed. This boy was going to drive him mad. He couldn't handle things on his own, without resorting to physical mutilation; he certainly wasn't going to allow him to leave the Wizarding world. He knew that if the boy was expelled, he'd return to the muggle life.

"Detention, Potter. That will be all."

Harry stormed out. Things were not going to plan. And where the hell was his blade?

Up in Gryffindor Tower, things were going much more smoothly. Ron and Hermione had succeeded in talking to Harry without being concerned at all.

"We're going to visit mum and Ginny on Saturday, Harry. Are you coming?"

Like he really wanted to go St. Mungo's Ward for Incurable Maladies. "Yes. Of course."

Ron and Hermione smiled at each other. Progress! Harry was theirs again.

"Want to play chess, Harry?"

No, I don't want to bloody play chess. Stupid, stupid!

"Harry?"

Damn, that concerned, are-you-alright-and-still-sane tone. "Sure, mate. Chess it is."

"Hey, Harry, are you still awake?" Ron's voice cut through my thoughts. And lovely thoughts they were—blood and pain and lines and death.

"Harry?"

Will he get the hint? I concentrate on my breathing, in and out, in and out. Back and forth, got to find my blade. Or glass. Or something. And on my arms, this time. The ankle, or legs, or wherever else just aren't the same. I want to feel the lines, the ridges. I want—

"Harry?"

Ron to stop saying my name. Can't he figure out that I'm asleep?

The conversation with Snape drifted in my mind, and I latched on to it.

Thank Merlin, Ron's given up.

Now if only I could get that bloodhound Snape to do the same…

A/N. I know, short. But it's something, yes? And I will be endeavoring to write more; more quickly even. Do let me know what you think! As always, suggestions and concrit welcome.