As Severus pulled out of the boy’s mind he had trouble maintaining his occlumency shields and hiding his utter despair. He’d done this. He’d driven his own son, and he now knew that’s what the boy was, into death’s arms. And how could he not. His own mind was shut off from his self, in an effort to feel less. The boy was virtually numb, gone. The boy didn’t need to slit his wrists as he was planning in order to die, he was already dead. It was just the body and a small flicker of hope that remained.

The only part of Severus that could function at this point was the pragmatic part, and he rose to gather his supplies. He returned and faced the boy, unsure of how to proceed.

“Harry, I’m sorry. But, before we talk, I need to see your arms.” He stated in what he hoped was a kind voice, and it was either the tone or the name, but somehow the boy looked up in complete despair.

“Why? It’s just me? Why does it matter?”

“Please, just take off the robe, I need to see what you’ve done. And what’s been done to you.”

As Harry took off the robe, Severus could tell that the mind was still numb, and the boy was functioning purely on instinct and following commands. What he saw once the boy was disrobed shocked him. His entire upper body was covered in bruises and scars, many from a belt. His arms were more scar tissue than flesh at this point. Many looked like they had been cut into a multitude of times, and the newer ones, those made in the last couple of months, looked close to fatal, and he knew the next cut would be fatal. He handed the boy a vial, a disinfectant, and watched as he numbly swallowed the potion, not caring what it was. Next was a bruise balm, and Severus attempted to apply it to the boy directly, only to be rewarded with a violent flinch that slammed the boy into the wall and caused his legs to become drawn up into his body.

“It’s just a balm, it will help.” With that he began to apply the balm to the slowly uncurling boy. Covering every inch that he could see with the gentlest of touch. Lastly were his arms. He applied a second potion once the balm had sunk in, and reached for the bandages.

“Please, please don’t. No, don’t please. I, I don’t want them covered. I can’t, I need them. I need to be able to get them. I, I need…” Severus’s heart seemed to break as he saw the child that he now knew was his begging to be allowed to keep his arms uncovered so that he could continue his self mutilation. How was he supposed to deal with this. He had an option. Sign the damn paper and push the boy onto Karkarof and that damn frozen school. But he couldn’t even if the boy wished for it.

“Harry, Harry, I need to. You can’t keep doing this. If, if I don’t cover them then the next one is going to be fatal. Can’t you see that?” That, it seemed, was the entirely wrong thing to say.

“So! I want it to be fatal! I want to die! Just sign the damn parchment and let me go! I’m not your problem, I know that now! I’m not going to keep trying! I’ll go away! Just stop! What the bloody hell do you even care! Why are you even doing this! Just sign the damn thing so Daskalov can come and get me!”

Snape knew Daskalov, he was a good man, and if he was the one the school had sent then he could understand why Harry wanted to go, even more than before.

“After, after we talk, then I’ll think about it. Ok Harry? But first I need to treat your arm.” With his assurance that he would think on it, Harry seemed to relax again, while also retreating into his fear of the man again, he had just yelled at an adult.

Once his arms were bandaged, Snape ordered some tea while Harry redressed. Once they were both settled with a cup each, Snape took a good look at his son. What he saw was not what he would have liked. His cheeks were sunken, his bones stood out, he was smaller than he should have been, his clothing was obvious second hand at best, and the spark that had been in Lily’s eyes was gone from his. All in all, he could not understand how he could have done this. His memory was starting to come back to him. How the boy always seemed to gorge himself the first few weeks of term, how he flinched a bit more than most when Snape came near him, especially his hands. But especially, how he had stopped eating this last term, as if he had given up. How he flinched even more when any adult or student can near him. How he had distanced himself from his band of followers. How some of the other teachers had been concerned. He especially remembered a note he had confiscated from the boy. He had thought he was passing notes with Weasley and Granger, but now it made sense.

I’m sorry. Please forgive me for everything. I know that you will all be much better off now. I

The boy had been practicing his suicide note. And he hadn’t even noticed.

                       “Your wrists then? I assume that is how you will do it then? If I do not sign you over to Daskalov you will find somewhere secluded and let the blood drain out?” He was rewarded with a nod. He noticed the backpack. He hadn’t seen it before, but now it seemed odd that the boy was walking around with it, classes didn’t start until tomorrow. “May I have my note then please? I assume that you have written out individual notes?” Once again he was rewarded with a nod as the boy reached for a journal and handed it to him.

             “I wrote to you. Every day for two years. It, it helped. It was silly. I know that, but it was nice thinking that you might have cared. I know you don’t. I just don’t know why.”

             As Severus opened the journal a letter fell out, but he decided to look through the journal a bit first. Every entry was dated, and began as if it was a letter to him. It seemed to start on a confused note, in his first year, and progressed as the boy learned how much the world hated him and he learned to lose first his self-esteem, then his trust in others, and finally his will to live. He did not read every entry, but vowed to at a later date. He finally picked up the letter that had fallen and opened it.

             Dear Father,

            I’m still not sure why you hate me, but I know you must have a reason. I don’t know why the rest of the world hates me, but I know everyone has a reason. I’m sorry for being a bother. I don’t know why Mum didn’t just strangle me in the crib or let Voldemort finish me off. She should have. I must have made her miserable too. I know she couldn’t have loved me, after all, who could? Please forgive me for whatever it is I did, it must have been horrible. Maybe Mum will be there to greet me before I go wherever I’m destined to go. I hope so. Then I can apologize to her before I go to hell. Anyway, I promise not to bother you every again. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry.

 Sorry,

            Harry Severus Snape

             His occlumency shields couldn’t help anymore. He grabbed the boy and held him tight. How, how had he done this? His own son was prepared to die, and it was his own fault. He couldn’t help what he did, or what he said, next. Crying, he finally got the words out.

             “I’m so sorry Harry. I don’t know why I did it. I’m the one who belongs in hell, not you. Please, I’m so sorry. I love you Harry. I, I just could not say it before now. Please, explain to me what you feel, and maybe I can help. I promise not to treat you the same ever again.

             Harry wasn’t sure what to think anymore. He’d stopped flinching at the hug, he thought that’s what this was, he’d never had one from an adult before. Unfortunately, as he got back a little hope it felt like the floodgates had opened and the pain he’d disconnected from rushed in on him. He started to sob.

             “It, it just hurts so much. I can’t do this anymore. All I ever feel is pain. I don’t know why everyone hates me, I don’t even know why I hate me, but I do! If I die then at least it ends! If I go to Durmstrangs then it’s a fresh start. I, I just want it to end!” With those words, Severus finally understood his son, he had probably never known love since that awful night. He also knew what he needed to do.

             “Harry, how about we try something new? I, I can’t just sign you over to Durmstrangs just yet. But, I understand why you want to go. Hogwarts, Hogwarts is not a good place for us right now. I am due a, a sabbatical of sorts. I do not think you should be here this next semester. If you agree, why don’t we return home. I have a house, it’s in the country. I can ensure you stay up to date with your studies, especially catch you up to Durmstrang standards if that is what you chose for next year, but at my, our, home. We can spend the time talking, away from prying eyes. And, I promise, I will not be like I have been. I will be the father you deserve, the one I have failed to be. You should have been loved, taken care of, spoiled, and I have failed on all accounts. Is, is that acceptable?”

             “Harry lookup at him through tear stained eyes, and nodded. For the fist time since Severus had seen him that evening, Harry’s eyes had a bit of a spark in them. And he finally understood what that spark had been these last two and a half years, hope. And, the hope had finally come back.