A Work of Fiction By: Els-chan

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Harry Potter and all its characters belong to J., and I’m not about to piss her off by trying to steal her stuff, even if I am an insane klepto.

A/N: OK, this just started out with me writing down random conversations that I have with myself as they pop into my head. (I know that makes me sound insane – and I am – but it’s really not what you might think). Therefore, if at any point it seems kind of choppy, that would be why. It initially wasn’t intended to have any body text in it.

This fic does touch on suicidal themes, and may (read: probably will) eventually become slashy. Because of that, I might as well mention that Harry is in his seventh year, Voldemort is dead and gone, and so are several of Harry’s friends and classmates. Anyway, enough of my foolish banter. It’s going to become longer than the story itself at this rate.

Harry Potter sat quietly in the Potions classroom, cutting up flobberworms. Apparently, Snape hadn’t appreciated Harry’s new cynical responses to his criticisms and had decided that a detention was in order – not that Harry cared, really. But then, it had been a long time since Harry had really cared about anything. The final battle with Voldemort was the most difficult, traumatizing event Harry had ever gone through. Lupin was dead, Colin was dead, Ginny was dead…so many countless deaths…and he was to blame. Rather than luring Voldemort away from Hogsmead, where they were all enjoying their weekend, he decided to "stand and fight like a man." What a fool he was…and now so many others suffered… Before he realized what he was doing, Harry had the knife he was using to slice up the flobberworms digging into his wrist, leaving a crimson trail as it passed over. He couldn’t help but smile cynically as he watched the blood trail along his arm. It really was a rather Gryffindor shade of red in his opinion, and he became so focused on drawing more of that lovely crimson out of himself that he didn’t notice the dark figure come up behind him.

"What are you doing?" Harry jumped slightly as the soft tones of the Potions Master’s voice cut into his little reverie. He scowled at the interruption.

"I don’t know. What’s it look like I’m doing?" he responded, sarcasm dripping in his voice.

Snape snorted. "I will ignore that bit of sarcasm for the time being."

"Well, aren’t I the lucky one?"

"As well as that bit of sarcasm," Snape continued without missing a beat. "Give me your knife."

"Why? Do you want to finish me off yourself?" Harry retorted, rather irritated at the interruption.

"Not quite," Snape replied, snatching the knife out of the boy’s hand.

"Hey! Give that back!"

Snape snorted again. "Do I look stupid to you?"

Not even bothering to think of the consequences, mainly because he just didn’t give a damn at that point, Harry replied, "Yes, you greasy bastard. Now give me back my knife!"

Snape’s eyebrows shot up as an almost amused expression crossed his face. "Well, now you’ll never get it back."

Harry’s hands balled up into fists. "Fuck you, you slimy, greasy…"

Snape cut him off. "That’s quite enough."

"No, it’s not!" Harry yelled, his frustration building by the moment. "You didn’t let me finish what I started!"

"Yes, well…" Snape trailed off as he looked down at Harry’s arm. The boy really had cut quite deep into his wrist, which surprised him. Who would have thought, the great Harry Potter, suicidal? "Perhaps you should get that cut cleaned out."

"If you’d just let me finish…" Harry replied, the slightest bit of pleading evident in his voice. The Potions Master smirked humorlessly.

"What, so you can completely sever all the veins in your wrist and slowly bleed to death? I think not."

"What do you care? Just give me back my fucking knife!" Harry reached out and tried to snatch the knife back, but Snape pulled it away quickly, still wearing that infuriating humorless smirk.

"Such language…No, I think I’ll have to be contacting your dear…godfather…" Snape practically spat the word, "…about all of this."

"NO! You can’t tell him!" Harry cried, panicked. If Sirius ever knew…

"I bloody well can, and probably will, if I’m not beaten to it." Snape always knew just the right buttons to press. Years of talking his Slytherins out of their own untimely demises had taught him a great deal in the art. Of course, he’d usually seen the signs in all of those cases. He never thought he’d have to talk down Potter, however.

Harry felt weak and defeated. This was no good. If Sirius found out… "It would kill him if he knew…please…"

Tempting as Black’s death was to him, Snape felt that perhaps this wasn’t the best time to bring up the fact that it wouldn’t be much of a loss. "And how do you think he’d feel if I let you succeed? Aside from wanting to kill me even more, of course," he added with the slightest bit of humor in his voice. Harry said nothing, and instead stared at the floor. Snape raised an eyebrow. "Ah, didn’t think about that, did you?"

"Shut up," Harry muttered quietly. Snape pretended not to hear him.

"Besides, it wouldn’t look very good if students began offing themselves during my detentions." Harry looked up, and gave Snape an empty smile.

"I knew there had to be a reason."

"Hmm?" Snape looked at Harry questioningly.

"A reason why you’d stop me. I knew there had to be a reason like that," Harry clarified, smiling bitterly.

"Oh? And what makes you say that?" Snape replied quietly. Harry didn’t seem to have an answer for that, and so after a few moments of silence, Snape decided that it was up to him to voice Harry’s obvious thoughts. "Just because I’m cruel doesn’t mean I want you to die."

He was treated with a sardonic grin. "Of course. Then who would you have left to torture?"

Snape couldn’t help but chuckle quietly to himself. "I can assure you that there are plenty of others on my list, thank you. Nevertheless, that’s not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean, you ugly git?" Harry shot back. He didn’t have the patience left to deal with this anymore. He wanted desperately to end this so he could finish what he started.

"Aren’t we the brave one today? Insulting me to my face for a change…I’m appalled," Snape replied with false horror.

"Whatever."

"And now feigning indifference. Fascinating," Snape said. Harry glared at him with eyes that promised death, but remained silent. "Oh, please, Potter. Do spare me your feeble attempts at death glares."

Growling in frustration, Harry reached for his knife again. Again, Snape pulled it away. Harry decided this was getting very old, very fast. "…Why can’t you just let me…"

"Because I don’t feel like having someone die right in front of me," Snape replied before Harry could even complete his sentence.

"It wouldn’t be the first time." Harry replied coldly.

Snape twitched slightly at that. He reminded himself that the boy was just trying to get him to give up. Well, he’d heard worse. "All that aside, why don’t you explain to me why you decided to shuffle off this mortal coil, hmm?"

"None of your business!" Harry snapped at him.

"It bloody well is. It became my business the moment you made your first cut during my detention!" Snape snapped back.

"Sod off." With that, Harry returned his glare to the floor.

"Ah, I see. You’d rather explain this to your headmaster, of course," Snape said. Harry remained silent, and Snape smirked. "Well, I’ll let him know, then, but I hope you can handle his disappointment with you." More silence. He had him. "Ah, I see. You didn’t think about that either, did you? Did you think this through at all?"

"Of course I did!" Harry lied. He hadn’t really planned any of it, but he’d be damned if he ever admitted that to Snape.

Snape looked at him with amusement. "Really? So you were planning on doing this during my detention all along, somehow knowing with your incredible psychic powers that I would have you slicing up flobberworms, then." Harry opened and shut his mouth. He didn’t have a response for that. Snape noticed. "Oh, I see. You just now decided. Well, I hardly see that as ‘thinking things through’…"

"Shut up!"

"No, you shut up and listen when your professor is speaking to you. Did you even once stop to consider anyone else’s feelings? Or were you too selfish to think of anything but yourself?" Another pregnant silence. Harry hadn’t thought about his friends at all. It never occurred to him that they would even be affected. Snape continued. "I suppose you also think you’re the only one who feels the level of pain and pressure that you do, hmm?"

"Of course!" Harry cried. "Who else…oh…" Realization hit him when his professor rolled up his sleeve, exposing his dark mark. Snape sighed.

"Finally picked up on it, have you? Bravo, indeed. I didn’t think you’d get it so quickly," Snape replied sarcastically.

"But it’s different!" Harry retorted. "You chose all of this! I didn’t have a choice!"

Damn. He had a point there. Inwardly sighing, Snape decided that the only way to get through this would be to act…sympathetic to the Gryffindor. This would not be fun.

"Well, I suppose that is true. However, by your logic, I have far more reason than you to end it all." Snape smirked when Harry looked down at the floor. "I mean, the guilt…all those deaths by my hands…" Damn. Saying all this was starting to affect him. He didn’t want to have to remember all that…The boy had better appreciate this. "In fact, I’ll come clean with you. I have attempted suicide on several occasions. Do you know what stopped me?" He regretted the words as they left his mouth. ‘Way to make yourself look weak in front of the boy, you stupid old sod.’

Harry, however, didn’t seem to notice how uncomfortable this discussion was making his professor. "…What did stop you?"

‘Well, nothing left to lose at this point, Severus. Might as well just let it all out…’ Sighing, Snape continued. "Well, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, I really have nothing in the way of friends. Dumbledore is the only one who really puts any trust in me. Nevertheless, I decided that as long as I survived, I had the potential to change all of that and to improve upon my current situation." Snape noticed Harry looking at him oddly. He mused that it was probably because his student wasn’t used to seeing him as a person, rather than the greasy old potions master. The thought made him smirk ever so slightly before continuing. "Unlike you, I had very little options. In fact, my current situation is the best of the very few choices that I had. You, however, are not so limited." The boy remained silent, much to Snape’s chagrin. He was growing tired of being the only one talking. "You know, it pains me to see something so beau…something with so much potential go to waste." Well, that certainly was a close one. Where the hell did ‘beautiful’ come from? "Therefore, I implore you to rethink your current options." Here, Snape smiled ever so slightly. "You know, I hear England is looking for a new seeker for next season…you’ll be out of here by then."

Harry just sort of stared at his professor. He’d never heard Snape be so…so…human before. He could almost be described as…nice. That was a frightening thought. Snape, nice? "…Professor?"

"Yes, Potter?" Thank Merlin, the boy finally decided to speak up.

"Um, while I’m still really confused about your motives…well…thank you."

"Yes, well…" Snape cleared his throat nervously. This had to be one of the most uncomfortable situations he had ever been placed in. "Back to your common room, but first you should probably have that cut looked at. And if I ever find out that you tried something like this again…"

"Yes, sir."

"And 50 points from Gryffindor for the language you used before."

Harry knew that it was too good to be true. There was no such thing as a "nice Snape". "Yes, sir."

"Also, I will see you again down here for detention tomorrow night…if only to find out your motives. Good night, Potter."

"…Good night, professor," Harry said, before quietly leaving the dungeons. Maybe the old git wasn’t so bad after all…Harry shook his head to clear it of such thoughts as he made his way back to his dormitory.

Meanwhile, back in the dungeons, Snape sighed in relief. Well, that was most uncomfortable. And quite a close call, at that. And what was that ‘beautiful’ thing about, anyway? Shaking his head, he sighed. Damn that Potter.