In This Space Where I Can Breathe

Snape pushes you back against the bed, breaking contact. He looks down at you, completely horrified.

"Mr. Potter..."

"I...erm..."

He closes his eyes, as he steps away from the bed. "You cannot continue this."

"I...I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm doing," you say, still breathless.

"That much is obvious."

'But...you kissed me back."

"Merely a reaction, I assure you."

You don't try to hide your disappointment.

"I am not your type, Mr. Potter. Why don't you go out and find someone who...?"

You cut him off and yell, "How do you know what my type even is?!"

"It is not the tall, dark, and greasy type, I'm sure. Aside from the fact that I am as old as your father- " Snape spits out the word father like it's poison, "-I refuse to be the butt of a joke between you and your immature friends."

Your mindset is somewhere between completely confused and astonishingly outraged.

"What are you on about? I haven't seen my friends since..." that day.

He waves his hand at you, dismissing the entire conversation. "You are obviously delirious. You need some rest, Mr. Potter."

He sweeps out of the room, robes billowing behind him. But you won't let this go. You get out of bed and follow him.

"You know, you can't pretend to care about me one minute, and then the next turn back to being the cold heartless bastard you are want me to think you are. It's very unnerving and very confusing."

"My apologies, Mr. Potter. I mistook you for someone with a modicum of intelligence."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He stops just before reaching the front door. This whole conversation thus far has been very surreal. You don't know whether to pinch yourself to see if you're dreaming, or check Snape for signs of Polyjuice Potion usage.

He almost looks as if he is going to lean down and kiss you, but you know better than that.

"Caring is such a harsh word," he says in a near whisper. "I prefer to call it looking out for your best interests."

"Oh, that's bullshit and you know it," you say. "You won't come undone because you feel something for someone. It won't kill you."

He looks oddly bemused for a moment, but it disappears rather quickly. He reaches out for the doorknob, and a pang of pain stabs your chest.

"No! Please. Don't go," you say, panicking. "I'm sorry, I take it all back. We can just go back to the way things were before."

"Before you tried to kill yourself, Mr. Potter? Or before you kissed me?"

You take a sudden interest in your feet. You hadn't thought about cutting yourself in a long time. You had hoped that maybe you were over that, but sudden feelings come rushing back and you realise that maybe you never will be.

"My reply was uncalled for. My apologies," he says softly, then moves to stand in front of you. "Harry, look at me."

You do, though you're not entirely sure you want to hear what he's got to say.

"Do not dwell on the past. You've made progress, Mr. Potter. And suffice to say, this too shall pass."

It seems Dumbledore's use of riddles rubs off if you come too close.

* * *

Snape does leave that day, and has you in a right fit about it, but he comes back later that night with several packages that he takes immediately to his room, and shuts the door behind him without even acknowledging your presence.

You go barrelling into his room without even knocking. He takes out several potions ingredients and freezes when he senses you standing in the doorway.

"Can we talk?" you ask.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because there is nothing to talk about," he says, nonchalantly returning to his work. You grow extremely frustrated, and without even thinking about the consequences, stalk over to the desk and grab the first bottle you can reach and whip it across the room. The vial shatters against the wall, bright purple liquid coating a lovely spot on the dingy wallpaper. Snape's face is nearly that very same colour.

He grabs you by the collar and drags you out of the room, then slams the door in your face and casts such a powerful ward that the door glows a bright blue before returning to it's normal oak finish.

* * *

You can't help but want to prove Snape wrong. You haven't made progress. Your whole life is one big bloody mess and it's not going to get any easier. You'll show him. You'll show him...

It's the memory of dragging cold metal against warm skin that brings you to your kitchen, searching for the sharpest knife you can find. You can feel anticipation fluttering in your stomach like a lovesick butterfly.

Taking a double-sided paring knife out of the drawer, you quietly slip out of the back, not bothering to close the door behind you. You sit down against a tree in your backyard, moonlight beaming on your face like a spotlight. You think of Remus briefly, wondering where he is this full moon.

Coming back to the task at hand, you look down at the knife that you're gripping like a lifeline. Which is pretty ironic, considering what you're about to use it for. It's startling how much you've missed the feeling of adrenaline as you drag the metal against the inside of your arm. The knife slices, deeper than you've ever gone before. You watch blood appear...like magic.

There's a fleeting moment when you think it shouldn't feel this good. Pain shouldn't feel so right.

You can feel your heart fluttering in your chest and it catches your breath in your throat. You look down at the damage. You've never seen so much blood before.

It's...you shake your head...it's dizzying.

A distant scream floods your ears.

Mm...maybe not so distant. You can't tell; your eyes don't want to open.

Someone's touching you. You hope it's Snape. You hope he feels guilty because it is clearly his fault for ignoring you, for throwing you out when you needed to talk. It's clearly his fault that you're so fucked up.

A new wave of pain overcomes you, as that person grabs your arm. They are screeching something frantically, which makes you think that couldn't possibly be Snape.

Hours go by. No, wait...probably mere minutes. Time is a convoluted thing right now, and it seems to have stopped. You hear and feel everything in slow motion.

Oh, here's Snape. But why does he sound so far away, when you can feel his callused hands touching your face? You hear him bark orders at whomever was screaming before, and then a harsh whisper against your ear.

"Daft child."

You feel him lift your eyelid, and before you can register the expression on Snape's face, a blinding light fills your vision before you slip into oblivion.

* * *

It's nice where you are, if just a little bit cold. The afterlife reeks of hospital sterility, you think to yourself.

And then you groan when you realise where you really are.

Echoing voices are at your side, touching you, coaxing you to wake up. You don't want to. Maybe if you don't open your eyes it won't be real. Maybe if you just pretend...

"I thought you said he was doing better, Severus? How could you have let this happen?" you hear Madam Pomfrey scolding him. You knew you liked the woman for some reason.

"This was not my doing. And I am not a licensed counsellor, as I've reminded Albus more times than I can remember."

"He should have been in St. Mungo's," is what you're waiting for someone to say, but it doesn't happen. Maybe that's where you are after all.

You just want to go back to sleep for a while, and deal with the world later. But there are other voices around you, voices that you don't recognize. There's someone ordering more potions, and someone rambling off stats and numbers, which make absolutely no sense to your befuddled mind.

"Harry, can you hear me? Open your eyes, dear."

"That's a lot of blood replenishing potion. Are you sure all that is necessary?" someone unfamiliar to you asks in the background.

You hear Snape's voice very quietly comment, "You weren't there."

You remembered watching scarlet rivers flow out of your arm as though it were a leaky faucet. You realise how close you came to reaching your goal. You moan aloud, berating yourself. You can't seem to do anything right...

"That's it, dear. Let me see those darling green eyes of yours."

Way to go, you think. Now she knows you're awake. Might as well...

It isn't as bright as you'd expected St. Mungo's to be. And the ceiling pattern is very similar to...

"Hogwarts?" you question aloud.

"Yes, dear. You're in the hospital wing at Hogwarts. Do you know why you're here, Harry?"

Well, that's a silly question. You lift your arm up to...you lift...

Why can't you move your arms?

Well, you're completely alert now. Trying frantically to pull at the soft restraints they have you in. Arms and legs strapped to the hospital bed like...

"No....no no no. Get me out of this. Let me go! You have to take these off! Please! I won't do it again, please, Madam Pomfrey, you have to take these off!"

Snape mutters, "I can't watch this," and stalks out of the hospital wing, while three healers are trying to control your flailing limbs, despite the fact that there is no room for your limbs to flail.

"I can't, Harry. I'm sorry. Not yet, anyway," she says, sadly.

Hot tears trail their way down your cheeks, but you're not here anymore. You're back in Voldemort's clutches. You're being tortured by Death Eaters. If only this woman knew she was doing more harm than good, she'd let you go.

"Please..." you gasp out, hyperventilating. "Please, you need to...I can't breathe..."

You barely register it when someone places the vial at your lips, and forces your head back to drink its contents. You slip into oblivion once more.

* * *

The room is suspiciously quiet when you come to, again. The first thing you do is check to see if they've removed the soft restraints yet. You whimper, because they haven't.

They couldn't have just left you to die, could they have? Stupid Snape saving your stupid life.

You open your eyes cautiously, and notice Snape sitting in a chair, awake, but completely out of it. His eyes are bloodshot, as if he'd been up all night. Or crying. But you're pretty sure that Snape is physically incapable of the latter.

"Professor..."

His full attention is on you now. You start to hyperventilate again, but you still need to somehow get across your point without making it seem like you're overreacting.

"Can you please remove the restraints? I'm trying really hard...It's reminding me of the room...where the Death Eaters had me. And seeing Draco with... I promise I'm not going to do anything. I just need to...not lie on my back."

He smiles sadly, and whispers, "I know, Harry." He slowly moves to each restraint and as each one is undone, you fumble to help him get them off of you, but he looks at you condescendingly and you stop. The second the last one is off, you curl up on your side facing away from Snape, arms over your chest. You don't think you can face him right now.

I can breathe, I can breathe, I can breathe...

"I'm sorry, Professor," you say, though you're not sure that there is anything to apologize for.

"So am I."

It takes a few minutes, but you calm down enough to realize that your actions are about to have some consequences as Dumbledore strolls into the Hospital Wing.

"Hello, Severus," the Headmaster greets in a disgustingly chipper tone. "He is awake, I take it?"

"He is. If you'll excuse me," Snape says, shuffling out of the room without taking his eyes off of the floor.

"You have been dealt a bad hand, my dear boy. For that, I am sorry," Dumbledore says as he slowly makes his way to your bed. He sits in the chair that is facing you, and folds his hands in his lap.

You shrug, not really knowing what to say in response to that, although you mentally agree with him.

"Do you know why Professor Snape was sent to stay with you, Harry?"

"You wanted someone to keep an eye on me, make sure I didn't do anything rash."

He smiles down at you, and it's the infuriatingly patronizing smile. "Partly," he says. "But mostly because I knew that Professor Snape could help you in a way that no healer or mediwitch or counsellor could."

"How's that?" You remember Snape saying that he understood what was going on in your head more than you knew. But that couldn't mean that...

"Professor Snape was once a teenager, too, Harry. Do keep that in mind."

He stands up to leave, but pauses for a moment. "Do you need anything?"

You shake your head, and watch his robes swish behind him as he exits the hospital wing doors.

Snape confuses you. One minute he's a right bastard, and the next you think he might actually have a heart inside of his chest. You knew that Snape was a teenager. You've seen it in his Pensieve. But it's still difficult to picture Snape in a similar situation. He doesn't seem the brooding type to you.

Then again...there is a lot you don't know about him.

* * *

"Do we have to do this now?" you whine. You know you sound childish, but it's only been a day, and you're still feeling a bit light-headed when you sit up. You're being fed blood-replenishers every six hours. Madam Pomfrey says that physically, you'll be all right in another day or so. But mentally...

"Yes, Mr. Potter. Now is an ideal time. You don't have a prior engagement, do you? Before last night, you assumed you would be dead...."

Well, you're glad Snape is back to his usual sarcastic self.

"You know..."

"Why?"

You roll your eyes. You hate it when he does this.

"Why what, Professor?" you say, a bit more angrily than you intended.

"You know what."

You look away. You really, really don't want to do this. You sigh loudly.

"I don't know. I just...wanted to be able to breathe. It's...suffocating, sometimes." That wasn't exactly as fluent as you were hoping it'd come out. Then again, you really weren't planning on explaining something like this, either. "I just wanted it to stop."

"What did you want to stop?"

"Everything."

"Be specific."

"What do you want me to say?" you bite out angrily.

"I want you to tell me exactly what was going through your head before you picked up the knife."

You look away. It was Snape. He was running through your head. He's always running through your head.

"I was angry with you, because I needed to talk and you threw me out. What were you doing that was so important? You were sent to stay with me to help me," you say quietly.

"Look at me."

It takes a bit for you to work up the nerve, but you do so. You see bitter grief and anger and confusion, but there's something in there, something fleeting but present nonetheless: compassion and understanding.

"If I had known, Harry...I truly do apologise..."

"Who found me?" It's a question you've been meaning to ask. "There was screaming, before you came."

"Andrea."

You can't imagine losing both of your children, one after another, and then finding you like that...

You close your eyes. "Shite. She okay?"

"As well as can be expected, I suppose. It was quite a nasty shock for her, I imagine. She said she was just turning off the porch light."

"Okay, I get it," you bite.

"No, I don't think you do, Mr. Potter. Do you even care in the slightest bit how your death would have affected those around you? Do you ever think before you act? Or are all your actions based solely on a fleeting thought inside your head?"

"Please stop," you beg softly.

"I will not stop. I will do no such thing until you understand that your actions have consequences. You don't understand..."

"No! You don't understand! And you never will! You think you know what it's like inside my head? I dare you, Professor. You wouldn't last a day."

Snape grabs your good arm roughly, bringing you face to face with him. "Nor you in mine, Potter. You think I don't know what it's like to want to die? You think I haven't been face to face with demons? You haven't got a clue, do you? Oh yes, I used to beg for death, Potter. So don't you EVER tell me that I don't understand. I comprehend death more than your pathetic brain ever could." The look on his face is somewhere between pure hatred and

You can't...you're just in complete shock. He lets go of your arm and you fall back into bed. He stands suddenly, and heads for the door.

"Get some sleep, Potter. I'm not through with you yet."

You swallow loudly. If this is what a counselling session with Snape is going to be like, you're not sure you can handle it.

You dream of Draco that night. Not the flashbacks you usually have. This is a new dream.

"I don't want you here, Potter."

"Draco?"

He's actually sitting on your bed. The one you had at the Dursleys. His hair has a purple hue to it, which cements the fact that this is just a dream.

"What are you doing here? Uncle Vernon is going to have a fit..."

He shakes his head and smiles at you. "Poor Potty," he says, snaking out a hand, lightly touching your cheek. "You need him."

What?

"What are you on about, Draco?"

He pulls you towards him, places a stoic kiss on your forehead and lets you go.

"Don't go," you say, suddenly. You know that this is the part in the dream where he is supposed to fade away, but he's still here. Solid as ever.

"I never have."

"Yes, you did. You left me. It's all my fault. I should have..."

He presses two fingers against your lips. "You should have lived your life, Harry."

You shake your head, his fingers falling to your chin.

"Draco. I have to tell you something. It wasn't me who..."

"Shh. I know, love. I've known all this time. Is that why you wanted to join me? To tell me that it wasn't you who raped me?"

God, how could he talk so openly about it? You nod, unable to form words.

He takes you up in his arms, rocking back and forth slightly to pacify you. "My love. I know. And now you do as well. So go on, Harry. Go back and live. He needs you as much as you need him."

You wake up crying out Draco's name. It sounds so pitiful when you hear it come from your mouth. But you can't help the silent tears that fall down your face.

* * *

Snape comes back the next day, much to your dismay.

"Morning, Potter," he spits out, as though someone were behind him, forcing him to be civil.

"Morning, sir."

He holds out a rather large vial. No doubt another blood-replenisher...

"Drink this. Don't spill any of it."

"What is it?"

"I don't have time for an inquisition. Just drink!" he orders.

You down it in several gulps, knowing that it is the best way to take a Snape potion. But this one doesn't taste half bad. You sense a bit of cherry and mint.

"Not bad. What was it?"

"An antidepressant. You will be taking one every day for the next several months."

"Why? I don't need it. I'm better."

He eyes you, like you've just grown three heads. "Oh, really?"

You nod. "Draco came to me last night. In a dream." Dear God, why are you telling him this? "He said he knew. He knew it wasn't me."

Oh, yes. Why don't you tell him the part about when he said that Snape needed you as much as you needed him, and watch how fast you get thrown in with Lockhart?

"While I am certainly thrilled that your conversations with a dead man have completely cured you of your disease, I advise you to get some rest. The potion is heavy, and will undoubtedly throw your system off. It will try to reject it. And it might be an entire week before you're back to yourself," Snape explains.

"I don't want to take it, though."

Snape rolls his eyes, and sits down on your bed.

"Harry, you need to. Term starts in a week. I cannot..."

"You're leaving? Just like that?"

"You knew it would only be temporary."

You nod, because you knew. You just didn't think it would happen so fast.

He takes the arm that's wrapped in bandages and starts to take them off. You wince, as dried blood catches the gauze and opens a fresh spot. "Don't move," he says quietly, as he gets up and goes to one of the medicine cabinets. He comes back with a jar of some sort of salve.

"Dumbledore said that self-inflicted wounds couldn't be healed with magic."

"He is correct."

"So...how did you close it?"

"With this," he says, uncapping the jar and dipping his fingers in, before gently rubbing the area that opened.

"What is it?"

"It works much like muggle glue. It holds very few magical properties."

"My arm is being held together by glue? Wonderful."

Snape snorts a small laugh. You didn't think he knew how to laugh.

He unwraps the rest of your arm. You can tell he's trying to be gentle, but you still have to bite back a scream several times as the gauze catches a couple of different areas. You look at the long, jagged line down the middle of your left forearm. It will be a scar you'll have for the rest of your life. A reminder.

He cleans off the wound and starts to dress it again.

"Where is Madam Pomfrey?"

"Preparing things for the new term," he says, without looking up from what he is doing.

"I...I'm sorry. For scaring you."

"I do not get scared, Mr. Potter."

"Mm...okay."

"Apology accepted," he says quietly, as he finishes up.

You smile up at him, for what must be the first time in...too long to remember.

"You will be all right, Mr. Potter. I promise you."

"Yeah...I know."

* * *

He only calls you Harry when he needs to get your attention. It's a strange habit he's developed. but one you can live with. Besides...it works.

You've been in the hospital wing for three long days now. You're wondering when they'll let you go. Back to your empty house and your empty life.

Snape comes in periodically. You want so badly to ask him about his past. You want to know if it has ever been as bad for him as it has for you. You're afraid of what his answer might be. You have to know, though. Dumbledore practically invited you to speak with him about it. You might as well take the initiative...

"It was because of my dad, wasn't it?" you find yourself asking out of the blue. The look on his face, though, is absolutely priceless.

"Pardon me?" he says angrily.

"I mean...er..."

"It doesn't matter. It's in the past. What matters is that you don't make the same mistakes I did."

For some reason, you can't let this die. "It was, wasn't it? My dad and Sirius..."

"What do you want me to tell you?" Snape yells in your face. "That it was your father that drove me to this?"

He lifts up his sleeve, revealing dozens of jagged, white scars up and down his forearm. You let out a small gasp.

"Oh, yes. I was pretty handy with a knife. You should take lessons, Potter."

"Stop."

"What? Don't you want to hear how I got them? I did this one," he says, pointing to one just above his wrist, "After your precious Black told the entire school that I was a poof. I did this one," he says, pointing to one just below the crook of his elbow, "After your mother told me that she'd rather die than go to the Yule Ball with a greasy bastard like me. How about this one? You're familiar with the story. I carved this one after Albus told me that the Fantastic Four were off the hook for trying to kill me. Shall I go on? I have a whole arm you haven't seen yet."

"Please, just...I'm sorry. I..."

"Yes...you are, aren't you?"

You can't even imagine...well, yeah, you can. Draco did the same thing to you before he turned. But it was different, somehow. Perhaps it was that you were a Gryffindor and as much as it got to you, you didn't let it show.

You reach out and trace one of the scars on Snape's arm with your finger. Surprisingly, he doesn't pull away. You need this. You need to touch them, to feel them. It's as if you share his pain, his past, and his burdens.

Snape sighs.

You aren't sure why, but you look him straight in the eyes. You grab him, and before you let it register in his head, your lips meet.

You don't let it stop, though. And surprisingly, neither does he. Like the Slytherin you ought to be, your tongue snakes out, begging for entrance. Shockingly, he lets you in.

A thousand thoughts fly in and out of your mind. You can't believe he hasn't throttled you yet. Could it possibly be? Is he actually...okay with this?

The second you think that, though, you feel rough hands against your chest. They linger, for a moment too long, and you're about to reach down to take your shirt off, but then...the inevitable.

He pushes you away, hard against the bed.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, as he stands, still staring at you. You can't peel your eyes away.

His words, though. His words cut through you deeper than the knife you held in your hand days ago.

"I'm having Albus send for a counsellor from St. Mungo's. You'll be all right, Potter. I...I have to..."

He all but runs to the door, and leaves you sitting in complete and utter shock.

Snape hates you.