Harry didn't come out of his room the rest of the day. Severus had hoped that he would come out for lunch, but when the boy didn't, he shrugged it off, thinking that Harry would surely come out for supper. That didn't happen either. Severus was worried about him, but his version of worrying was to ignore the problem and hope it fixed itself. Would that be good enough?

Severus ate supper alone, and then dished a generous helping on a plate. He carried it to Harry's room. Opening the door quietly, Severus saw that Harry was asleep. Silently, he set the plate on Harry's dresser and cast a warming charm on it. He would find it when he woke.

There was a note with the food.

Harry,

I'm sorry about what I said earlier today. It was entirely uncalled for and I regret it deeply. I wish I knew what to do to make it up to you. You're welcome to sleep in the cot I'll transfigure for you tonight, if you so wish.

SS

It wasn't long, but it was to the point, and Severus hoped it would help melt the ice that had suddenly frozen between them. Even if Harry didn't join him that night, Severus thought he should give the boy the opportunity.

He quietly tinkered around the house for the rest of the evening, planning lessons and brewing potions in his lab in the cellar. Finally, he went to bed, though he was restless and not sleepy. After quaffing a sleeping draught, he transfigured a cot, and fell into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

The cot was untouched next morning.

"Harry, I know you're awake. Will you please come out here?" The door creaked open, and Harry slipped out of his room, taking a seat at the table, not looking at Snape. He didn't want to face the man, not after the comment, and not after disregarding the clear hint in the note to come sleep in his room that night. Harry's night had been restless at best. He felt sticky and clammy from all the crying he had done. Silent tears, ones he hoped Snape wouldn't notice. He hadn't. The pain was so intense, and he wanted it to end.

"Good morning," Snape said softly.

"Morning, sir," Harry mumbled. "Sorry for being such a brat - "

"Hardly," Snape cut him off. "I believe it is I who should be apologizing to you." He paused. "It's good to see you again." Harry nodded, but didn't reply. Snape dished him some food, but Harry didn't eat much. Hardly a bite. Snape noticed, but didn't comment on it, for which Harry was grateful.

"I will have to be gone most of the day today," Snape announced. "I need to visit the neighbors and see to a few other errands. We're running low on some groceries and I need some new quills and parchment from Diagon Alley. Would you like to run the errands with me?" Harry shook his head, not trusting his voice. He still hadn't met Snape's eyes, and he could tell how frustrated the man was getting with him.

"That's fine," Snape continued patiently. "Just stay here then. There's food in the fridge for your midday meal. Don't starve yourself." Harry didn't acknowledge the instructions, and Snape didn't press the issue. Snape got up, collected a few things and left without another word.

Harry sulked at the table, alone. He wasn't sure what he wanted from Snape. The man had apologized, had brought him his supper, and even invited him to sleep in a place of security. What else could he demand from Snape? It wasn't like they could go back in time and undo their actions, or change history somehow. Even if they could use a time-turner to go back in time, it would only make history happen. It wouldn't change it. Harry began to lose himself in a fantasy about how he would change reality given the chance, but abruptly caught himself.

Naturally, he would have not lived with the Dursleys if he could have helped it. He could have avoided so much pain and trouble if he had lived with anyone else. Occasionally, Harry wondered if growing up with the Malfoys would have been preferable. Vernon might be dead, but his actions still lived on, and Harry was feeling the pain acutely.

He couldn't go on like this. He felt like he was suffocating in the poisons of his own emotions. They wouldn't go away. He'd spoken to Snape about wanting to die; he still did, want it, that was.

It wasn't like he had much to live for, Harry thought regretfully. Voldemort was dead, or as dead as he would ever be. What else was the Boy-Who-Lived supposed to do? He had his friends, yes, but they would continue on without him. They would grow to forget about him. Sure, his death would always be an unpleasant memory for them, but time healed most wounds.

Harry felt the growing emptiness inside him, and it became unbearable. Even though he cried through the previous night, he broke down and cried again.

He had been making so much progress lately, too. It all slipped through his fingers like water. Why couldn't he just feel better all the time? A small voice in Harry's head told him that he was just too broken to fix. Maybe that was the truth. Maybe he was fated to live out whatever remained of his life as a terrified, traumatized shadow of a human being, broken beyond repair.

Harry knew he had grieved for a long time about what happened at Privet Drive. He was still grieving. Shouldn't that period be over by now? He was safe. Why couldn't he stop living in the past? Why did those memories have to push themselves on his mind every time he closed his eyes? Couldn't his uncle leave him alone, even in death?

It wasn't physical pain. Harry knew he could endure that. What he couldn't endure was the endless psychological pain, wearing away at his mind every moment of every day. During brief respites, he could sometimes remember what it was like to be normal - or as normal as he ever was. It was like these wounds would never heal, and Harry was beginning to despair. Something had to change.

Snape's comment just showed how slowly he was making progress. Even Snape was getting fed up with him, and Harry knew that Snape had the potential to be a very patient man if he wanted. It could be so easy to accept help, Harry realized blearily. Like a drowning man, he kept pushing it away, more assured of his own abilities than those of others. If only he could trust again.

Harry rose and left the house by means of the front door. He knew he shouldn't be going out alone, but everything in Spinner's End reminded him of Snape, which reminded him of the previous day, which reminded him of Privet Drive. Harry needed a break from the house, and if Snape wasn't going to be back till supper, that left him plenty of time for a walk. He was careful to bring his wand. Anxious as he might be for the pain to end, somehow, he didn't want it to be at someone else's hand.

Harry spotted a church not too far out of his way. He decided to see if the door was unlocked. It was. It was a small, simple church. Much more modern than St. Paul's had been. It was set up in a half circle with the altar as the focal point. In the back, there was a fountain. It was large, perhaps the size of a small table. A wall rose about a foot from the floor, and the highest point of the water was about the Harry's waist.

It was so quiet and peaceful in the church. He knelt on the floor next to the fountain as he watched his reflection. He frowned, trying to keep reign on his emotions. Dipping his hands in the water, Harry envisioned his life slipping through his fingers just as the water did. He closed his eyes and prayed. When he opened them, he saw another figure in the water.

Harry jumped and screamed, but calmed himself when he saw it was only the vicar.

"I'm sorry I startled you," the man said softly. "I've never seen you around before. What's your name?"

"Harry, sir."

"Are you new in Wolverhampton, or just wandered in?"

"I'm staying for a few months with...my family," Harry ended lamely. He sucked in his breath. "Adopted."

"Ah," the vicar replied knowingly. "Might I know them?"

"Severus Snape," Harry choked out. He felt a stray tear run down his face.

"I know of the man," the vicar said, smiling. "Cold, but kind at heart. He comes every so often, to Mass, I mean." Harry nodded. Unconsciously, Harry submerged both his hands in the water and began to pour the water over his arms, even rubbing at them a bit. "What seems to be troubling you?" the vicar asked quietly.

"I had a fight," Harry murmured, unsure why he was willing to open up to a stranger. Maybe it was the environment. It was almost like confession. "Snape, he - he said some terrible things. We've hardly spoken since." Harry turned away, still pouring the water over his arms.

"Still on a last name basis, then?" the vicar asked casually.

"He's never invited me to call him anything else," Harry whispered. "He took me out of duty. I had no where else to go."

"You don't believe he loves you, then?"

"I think he's grown to, in his own way," Harry said, a bit more confidently, but not much. He was still rubbing at his arms. "It's complicated."

"Most things are," the vicar agreed. "Aside from a few cruel remarks, has he been good to you?"

"Yes, too good," Harry answered quickly. "He's given me more than any other human being."

"Severus is a strange man," the vicar said slowly. "No one knows much about him even though rumor says he grew up here."

"He treats me fine," Harry muttered sullenly. Snape's comment played in his head again, bringing with it a fresh round of emotion. "I just - I just - " Harry began to break down. His tears rolled down his cheeks, and into the holy water. They formed little ripples the faded into the large pool. Harry didn't notice. Few people notice the large effects a small action can have on the world.

"You just what?" the vicar prompted.

"I just want it to stop," Harry sobbed freely.

"You want what to stop?" the vicar whispered, laying a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder. He jerked away suddenly, whimpering.

"Don't touch me, please," Harry begged, squirming away like a wounded animal.

"I'm sorry," the vicar apologized. "I didn't mean to scare you." The man kept his distance after that. "What do you want to stop?" he asked again.

"Everything," Harry choked out, his voice hoarse from the tears. "I don't want to exist anymore. It hurts too much."

"What hurts?"

"My heart, my head," Harry answered, tears streaming down his face and into the pool. He stopped pouring the water, but left his hands submerged. "I just want things to go back to the way they were."

"Did you lose someone, Harry?" the vicar asked.

"Yes, but that's not what I meant," Harry answered. "Terrible things, vicar. Why are people so cruel?" Harry looked up at the man and searched his face. "How can people be so selfish?" The vicar didn't answer right away.

"I don't know," he finally said. "Perhaps it's because that's where their first priorities lie - with themselves. I don't know how the screams of the innocent can fall on ears that deaf." Harry began to cry harder. That wasn't an explanation he had hoped for. "This is a question that has haunted the human race for generations, Harry, and this is a question that each must answer for himself." They sat there together for some time. Harry continued to weep, and the vicar didn't admonish him in any way. As Harry gained control over himself again, he began once more to absently pour the water over his arms.

"That's entirely unnecessary, Harry," the vicar whispered, carefully lifting Harry's hands from the water. Harry didn't flinch this time. "Let me assure you that you are already quite clean." He spoke the words pointedly. Harry nodded and rose from the fountain.

"Try to forgive Severus," the vicar instructed, also rising. "What he said must have hurt you a lot, I know. It's not good to harbor ill-will, though."

"Thank you, vicar," Harry whispered. "Thank you for listening to me." The man nodded his reply. Harry saw himself out of the church.

His talk with the vicar hadn't made him feel any better. Perhaps a little more calm, but not better. He still felt the gnawing emptiness inside. It was like his life was spiraling out of control. It was pouring rain when he left the church. Harry put his glasses in his back pocket to keep them from catching raindrops. He could still see well enough to continue his walk. It was a chilly rain, but Harry didn't notice. He didn't notice as the water soaked through all his clothes, to his skin, and he didn't notice when he began to shiver. Finally, after walking around for what must have been for another hour or two, Harry returned to Spinner's End. Then, he realized his clothes were dripping wet. Quickly, he changed into dry clothes.

Harry didn't feel like eating, so he passed on lunch. No reason Snape would have to know.

His mind drifted to horribly morbid thoughts. Thoughts about what it would feel like to die. A rational part of Harry's brain told him he should be concerned that such thoughts had preoccupied him all of this morning and the previous day. The voice that told him he was broken beyond repair was louder though.

Harry thought about different ways a person could die as he slumped down at the table. He could stab himself. Something clicked in Harry's mind. He had shifted from a theoretical thought about any human to a specific thought about himself. It didn't bother him though. Perhaps it should have. It brought him a strange sense of peace that a way to feel better existed.

Oh, yes, so he could stab himself. There were knives in the kitchen. It wouldn't be hard. It would be painful, slow, and bloody though. Harry decided he didn't want to feel himself die. He'd felt too much already. He'd felt his happiness die a long time ago, and that was enough for him. He didn't much care if the method was slow, as long as he didn't feel it. And lastly, he didn't want to leave a mess for Snape. He created enough of a mess by merely existing.

Harry rested his chin in his hands as he continued to think. Hanging was a possibility, but he didn't know how to tie the knot. If Snape had a car, he could gas himself to death. Jumping from the roof? Harry snorted morbidly as he envisioned falling through the roof before he could jump off it. He could always eat something ridiculously obnoxious.

He could brew himself a potion. He knew all about sleeping potions. If he altered the ratio of the ingredients just a little bit, it would send him into a coma and then death. That's why he had to be so careful when brewing his extra strong dreamless sleep. Then, he hadn't wanted to die. Well, perhaps he had, but he knew he had a mission to kill Voldemort. Dying then would have made the old bastard's job too easy.

It would be poetic, wouldn't it? Dying at the hands of a potion. Snape had to have a lab. The only part of the house that Harry hadn't explored was the cellar. He went over to the door and paused, wondering if he really wanted to go through with this. Steeling his will, because he certainly didn't want to live in pain, he opened the door and descended into the cellar. It certainly was a lab. It smelled just like Hogwarts.

Harry noticed a lone pole erected in the middle of the cellar.

Making a direct path to the lab table, Harry began to collect the necessary ingredients for his dreamless death potion. He knew the recipe for dreamless sleep by heart, and knew just how to alter it to suit his needs.

He felt more at peace than he had in a long time. For the first time in forever, he could see the light at the end of the tunnel, and that heartened him. He would enter a place where his uncle couldn't follow him.

Soon, the potion was done. Harry bottled an overdose of it and returned upstairs. It would work quickly, he knew, so he wanted to write his letter to Snape before he took the potion. It wouldn't due to leave his last thoughts half written. Grabbing the parchment Snape had used to apologize, Harry turned it over and began to write on the back.

Dear Sir,

Isn't it funny, how we've been communicating more in the written form over the last twenty-four hours than in words, even though we live under the same roof? I know that that's mostly my fault, and I'm sorry.

You're probably wondering why I did it. It hurt too much. I couldn't live this way. Don't feel bad. Your comments were only the last thing. We've talked about this before. I know you remember. I've never not wanted to die, not since last summer. I kept trying to hold it together for you. Say goodbye to Ron and Hermione for me, please. Tell them not to feel bad either. Tell them I'm sorry.

Ironic, isn't it, that I'm using a potion? I remember when, on my first day of potions, you told us we could learn how to "stopper death." Instead, it's what I've learned from you that will finally ease my pain. And I'm grateful to you for that. It's an altered version of dreamless sleep, if you haven't figured that out already. You probably have. I'm calling it dreamless death. It should be painless and not messy. I didn't want to leave you something ugly to clean up, or I would have just slit my wrists and stabbed myself. You've seen enough ugly things.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm not stronger. I'm sorry I can't do this anymore. I wish I could keep it together all the time. I wish I could just be normal again. I wish you could love me, and I wish I could trust you. I know you say you love me, and I know you believe it. I don't know how to trust it though. I want to believe it, but I can't. I'm too broken. You can't fix me. You need to focus on yourself. I'm distracting you from helping yourself. You need to work on something that isn't a hopeless cause.

Please forgive me. Please. I wish I could hear your forgiveness. I wish I could. Please forgive me. I'm so sorry.

Harry James Severus Potter Snape

Harry drank his potion in long gulp. Leaving the note on the table, he retreated to his room to die. He stretched out on his bed, hands behind his head, and began to pray for everyone he loved, and begged God to have mercy on his soul.