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“I want to kill myself.”
Harry had burst into Snape’s office without permission, without a soul knowing where he was. He sat once again without permission as the words left his mouth, causing Snape to slowly lift his head, eyes widening slightly to show an emotion Harry had never seen on the man before: shock.
Snape lowered his quill and opened his mouth to speak, but Harry interrupted him. “I know you hate me, and you’re probably more surprised I’m coming to you rather than surprised over the fact I’m not going to literally anyone else, but you won’t coddle me, and I don’t need coddling.”
For nearly thirty seconds, the professor stared at Harry as if he were growing seventeen heads one after another, while Harry was more conscious of his pounding heart and wanted to fix it.
“Why-“ he cleared his throat, “why do you want to…” he trailed off, like he doesn’t fully believe the words.
“Why do I want to kill myself?” Harry asked, leaning forward like someone eager to talk about their favourite topic. “I want to kill myself because I have a homicidal maniac after me while he’s causing a genocide against muggleborns and the whole wizarding world seems to be counting on me when I am a fifteen year old boy who can’t seem to please anyone, our government is aiding this maniac and is infiltrating the school with the toad in pink who tortures students in detention and is creating a scar almost as painful as the one on my head, nobody believes me and thinks I murdered Cedric, oh and my family are abusive and for some reason the wounds aren’t healing this year.”
The two men in the room are wearing different expressions. Harry looks determined, as if he just gave a perfect answer, and Snape is about to tell him to hurry along and kill himself, but ensure not to leave a mess. Meanwhile, the professor is looking at Harry, directly in the eyes with stronger eye contact than the boy knew he could perform, looking startled, as if Snape was hoping for a trusted adult to come and save them both.
Snape collected his thoughts, “Mr Potter-“
“Harry.”
“What?”
“Call me Harry. Please? When I die, I want to be known as Harry, not Potter.”
Snape’s eyes travelled down and back up in judgment before conceding with a nod. “Harry… do you not think with you gone that nobody will be saved from… the homicidal maniac.”
“I’ll be dead, I won’t know, and if you want to say anything about an afterlife, I don’t believe in one. No god can exist and let what happened to me happen, so I refuse to believe he exists. And the Dursley’s love God so I’m quite happy not to. And even if there was an afterlife, I’m already going to hell.”
Once again, Snape nodded, conceding the point, “but right now you know it. Right now, you believe, you know if you die, you’re leaving everyone else to die too.”
“Right now I’m feeling really fucking selfish, professor, and I’m thinking more about how to construct a noose than what happens after I stick my head in it.”
“Hanging? That’s your preferred method?” Snape leans back in his chair “Most suicide attempts that happen at Hogwarts occur by jumping off the Astronomy tower.”
Harry’s eyes narrow “Where, beneath the tower, there is a magical safety net and alarm system, so I both wouldn’t die and be found? Yeah, Hermione told me about that in first year it’s in Hogwarts, a History, apparently.”
“Where would you hang yourself?”
“Room of Requirement. Or an abandoned classroom if the room wasn’t available.” For Harry, while he knew his body couldn’t be found if he asked the Room correctly, he knew there were enough spare classrooms that teachers couldn’t block them all off.
“You’ve thought this through.”
Harry shrugged as if this was obvious because to him it was. “This isn’t the first time I wanted to. This is the first time the urge has been strong enough; I fully believe I actually will follow through.”
“You clearly don’t want to, or else you wouldn’t have told me.” He flicks his greasy hair back and raises an eyebrow, arms crossing over his body.
“I needed to say it out loud and to someone who wouldn’t stop me. My options were you or Draco, and I think I have a crush on Draco, and I really don’t want to work out if I’m a fag right now.”
“Harry, you can’t say that word”
“Shit, that’s a slur, isn’t it? Sorry, my aunt and uncle and cousin have spent all summer calling me one because whenever I had a nightmare about Cedric, I’d say his name. They would bring that up and call me a filthy fag, and at Hogwarts it’s not ever talked about, are we bound by Maggie Thatcher’s Section 28?”
“You know Muggle politics?”
“I watch the news.”
“Well, we don't follow Section 28 but I can say that while not the most accepting, Wizards are more accepting than Muggles. But I think your sexulaity is a conversation for later, and we can unpack you and Draco then,”
Snape once again inspected Harry, eyes narrowed, and Harry began to suspect the professor was reading his mind, but before he could question it, Snape spoke up. “What’s the best thing in your life at the moment?”
“My friends. Who I’m leading into their early graves because I didn’t die as a baby, and no matter what I do, I’m going to hurt.”
“So even the good is tainted by the bad?”
This time, it was Harry’s eyebrow that raised. “When did you get a therapist licence?”
“This kind of conversation is what we practice on teacher training days, and everyone sighs, calling it unrealistic, but you seem to be sticking directly to the ministry’s usual prompts.” Snape’s voice droned as if annoyed.
“I sound like the ministry? All the more reason to die”
“Potter.” He sounds sharp, and Harry realises the man doesn’t appreciate the dark humour.
Harry leant back in his seat, eyes on Snape, this time he studied the older man. He saw how his fingers gripped his biceps too tightly, like he was holding back, his thin, greasy hair falling into his face, but not hiding the piercing stare that looked more nervous and surprised than Harry had ever previously seen. The man hasn’t done anything to stop Harry; he tried verbally rationalising, as it is clear the training must have suggested, but he’s not trapped. The door didn’t lock, no other teacher has been informed, and Harry’s not suddenly in St Mungo’s.
“I’d like to go through each of your reasons for wanting to die.” He sounded like he was tutoring the boy in potions rather than discussing his suicide note. “List them one at a time.”
“Voldemort is after me and wants to commit genocide.”
Snape is quiet for a moment. “And you want to die by your own hands rather than his, so he doesn’t win against you?” Harry nodded. “That’s bullshit, no, don’t try to protest me, that’s bullshit. I thought you were meant to be brave. You faced him yourself last year, and you survived, and you’ve decided that’s enough? You’ll let him commit genocide just so you win on a petty technicality?” Snape waved one hand up, “Next?”
“Just that point! The pressure to save us all is on me! I’m fifteen! I’m a child whose main concern should be my OWLS, instead I’m scared I won’t live long enough to complete my exams because the pressure is on me, and I don’t know how to save people.”
Snape rolled his eyes, “Your entire time at Hogwarts has been you with a hero complex. You know how to save people because you have saved people. You go alone when you don’t have to go alone, you have the help now of the Order. Your only real problem is stepping back and asking for help.”
Harry felt taken aback at this, and he’s sure it showed on his face, before his eyebrows furrowed, “Who am I meant to ask for help from?” He asked with too much smugness for a question with such an obvious answer.
“Anyone Potter- Harry- anyone in the Order or your teachers.”
“Why would I trust them?”
“The Order is made up of half your father's old friend group, trusted by your favourite man, Dumbledore, and for Merlin’s sake, you want to die, and you’ve come to me so clearly you are capable of asking for help, and you can come to me!” The professor sounds exacerbated, and it makes Harry feel minutely embarrassed, but he moves on quickly.
“Our government is letting him build up an army with their ignorance and employed Umbridge.”
“We’ll discuss her momentarily. As for the government, you think that you not being here to spread the truth will help that cause?”
Harry didn’t control his expression and looked at Snape like he was stupid “I dare say the death of Harry Potter is a statement enough.”
Snape scoffed, “You overestimate the intelligence of our Ministry. And do you want to leave the ministry at the front of this fight?”
Harry couldn’t help but agree, shuffling slightly in his seat as he realised the truth of that statement. “Well, what about Umbridge?” He deflects.
“What did you say about the scar she leaves?”
Harry suddenly puts his hand up his sleeve.
“Give me your hand.”
“No.”
“Harry-“ the warning in his voice and Harry’s determination that this won’t matter because he’s dying in the next few hours made Harry show the back of his hand where “I must not tell lies” is etched into his skin.
Snape’s eyes narrowed before the left back up to his eyes “I’ll get her fired.”
He spoke with such strong confidence that Harry almost believed him. Almost.
“You can’t.”
“This is torture of a child using what looks to be a blood quill?” Harry shrugged, genuinely not knowing the instrument, “Of course you don’t know, we’ll say it is, the use of one is illegal, and even Fudge can’t excuse that, particularly if it’s published.”
Harry was only slightly surprised at the hint of blackmail that oozed from the threat.
“What about the fact that nobody believes in me? If I kill myself, they’ll believe me.”
“Or they’ll call you dramatic.” He counters without missing a beat. “People who hate you for no good reason will hate you regardless of what you do. Once the government changes, people’s minds will change, and that's right around the corner.”
“I can’t live with it now.”
“You can, you’re just tired of having to. Not that you’re wrong for feeling that, but you can’t give up because you’re tired.” He goes to move on, but his eyes flick back to Harry’s and his voice softens the smallest bit, “And I hear the gossip, nobody thinks you murdered Cedric.”
Harry once again shuffled uncomfortably, unwilling to think about it for longer than a few seconds, but unfortunately for him, Snape’s silence made it hang in the air and sit with him.
“As for the Dursleys… Petunia? And… Vermin?”
“Vernon? You know my aunt and uncle?”
“Yes. They abuse you, you said the wounds won’t heal, what wounds?”
“He uses a belt,” Harry says matter-of-factly, but is unwilling to delve deeper.
The professor’s eyes filled with rage and what looked like regret and recognition in one. Harry wanted to, but knew not to ask. “Since when?”
“Ever. As in forever.”
Snape’s eyes fill with disgust, and the rage deepens further. “You don’t have to live with them.”
“What?” Harry straightened in his chair, suddenly more interested in this conversation than he was previously. “Dumbledore said that I had to stay because of the blood wards?”
“Well, the headmaster legally can’t leave you in the home of abusers, especially when there are more than a few willing candidates to take you in.”
Somehow, that was what gave Harry hope. He wanted to ask more, but Snape stood up and opened the door to his classroom. Harry watched as he strutted over to the supply cupboard and picked something from one of the bottom-most shelves. He came back and handed Harry a pot that reminded Harry of Petunia’s Nivea creams.
“What-?”
“Will help with both your belt wounds and hand scar.” Harry took it carefully and didn’t look at the professor as he thanked him.
“Now, Harry. You won’t kill yourself tonight.” Harry’s head snapped up, wanting to protest, but Snape put his hand up to stop him. “No. You will not kill yourself tonight. Instead, you are going to go to bed. You are going to sleep. And in the morning, you and I are going to speak again, and I will help you, Harry.”
“You hate me. Why are you stopping me? Are you not begging for my death?”
Snape leaned forward, looking Harry in the face, not directly in the eyes, but Harry felt Snape was seeing his soul. “I do not hate you. I never want a child to die. I never want you to die.”
And somehow? Harry believed him. And unbelievably? That made Harry want to show up in the morning meaning he wants to live. Harry Potter wants to live, now that’s a first.