Hanging by a Thread

It started quite harmlessly enough. Harry Potter, during his sixth year of school, resumed his Occlumency lessons with Professor Severus Snape. They met once a week, which was more than enough by both of their standards. Harry somehow managed to juggle a full school schedule, quidditch, and the resumed D.A. meetings. And Severus somehow managed not to kill the boy.

All in all, things were tolerable. Potter was finally making some progress with his mind defenses, that is- just enough to keep the professor from giving him endless lectures. He could force Snape out of his mind relatively quickly or at least before coming across some of Harry's more disturbing memories.

Yes, things were finally looking up for the Boy-Who-Lived-And-Kept-On- Living. Of course that was before the rainy night in October when things changed for Harry and his professor.

"Potter, you are fifteen minutes late. One more tardiness will see you scrubbing out first year cauldrons until your hands bleed," said Professor Snape without looking up from his papers.

"I know, sir, I had to help with Quidditch equipment pickup because of the storm and I ran all the way here," Harry said from his position in front of the dark haired man's desk.

"When I want your excuses, Mr. Potter, I will ask for them," sneered Snape as he looked at the drenched young man before him.

Harry remained silent and tried to keep himself from strangling his teacher. He was there to work and killing Professor Snape was no way to complete his lessons; and complete them he would. Harry made a promise to the Headmaster that he would finish what he had started last year.

Harry's thoughts were interrupted by Severus standing from his work, pushing in his chair, and meeting Harry's gaze steadily. The area in which the professor was now standing was beside his desk where there was just enough room to have wands fully extended. This was usually how each lesson began, Snape would intimidate- Harry would pretend to fear- and the spells would begin flying. The teacher and student were well enough away from the green jars of preserved potions ingredients along the back wall of the potions master's study to ensure any stray hexes would not ruin the impressive collection. Harry straightened up and followed the professor's example by taking his place across from him.

Without further warning except for an impressive whirl of black robe, Snape aimed his wand and said 'Legilimens'. Before Harry could compose his thoughts enough to block, Severus had already breached whatever defense Harry could muster. The spell was well aimed and wormed its way into his mind, delving into his memories. Ricocheting from one recollection to another; a zoo and a talking snake, spiders in the forest, a black flowing robe, a dream buried in the back of his mind of pale potion stained hands running over his body-.

"No!" yelled Harry forcing Snape from his thoughts more physically than magically. Somehow he had moved close enough to the man to push him off balance. When Potter opened his eyes, his professor was sitting on the floor staring up at him with glaring eyes.

"Oh god," Harry thought. "He is going to kill me. Really kill me."

Before Snape had the chance, however, Potter tried to stutter an explanation. "Sir, I didn't mean to-what I mean to say is-I didn't know-you should have-"

Anger was finding its way into the green-eyed young man's voice.

"You really should have waited 'til I was ready. I hadn't even made it to the other side of the room. It's not fair."

Snape got up off the floor, shaking with barely contained rage.

"Oh, Potter, I am so sorry," he spat with vicious sarcasm. "What was I thinking? Next time I'll make sure you have a nice cup of tea before you are attacked by the Dark Lord. Maybe a-"

"Voldemort has tried, Snape," Harry said angrily through clenched teeth. "He hasn't killed me yet has he? The only reason I'm even taking these stupid fucking lessons is because Dumbledore asked me to. He thought you and your worthless teaching would help me in some way."

The professor grabbed Potter by the sides of his robe in one swift movement and shoved him up against the rough stone wall. The rocks dug uncomfortably into Harry's back, but that was nothing compared to the terrorizing site before him.

Snape was only inches from his face breathing rattled by fury; his black eyes which had reminded him of beetles for so many years now looked like magma. His eyes had turned into raging orbs that glowed like hot black rock.

"'My worthless teaching' you ungrateful little son-of-a-bitch could have saved a life. Oh, yes, you remember your mangy cur of a godfather." Snape lowered his head even further until his lips were almost touching Harry's ear.

Harry could do nothing; he was transfixed by the words.

"Yesss," he hissed to the boy. "How does it feel, Potter, to know that yet another has fallen to your idiocy? It is your fault, you know. So many people trusting the Great Harry Potter; what would they say if they knew they had a murderer as a savior? That is what you are, a murderer. Why didn't you just cast the killing curse before hand so that the other members of the Order need not have endangered their own lives while saving your worthless carcass?"

Harry listened as all the words that had been flowing through his mind since Cedric's death were finally spoken. The dark sickly cloud descended into his brain, which rendered him sleepless night after night, which made him think that maybe the world would be better without the boy who lived. He was directly responsible for the death of two people, or at least two of which he knew. There could be countless others out there fighting against Voldemort with the thought that they were protecting Harry Potter, the would-be savior of the wizarding world.

"And there are more," thought Harry, "there are the Death Eaters that one day I will fight against and be expected to kill and all the people in between that are murdered because I couldn't stop a man named Tom Riddle and a demon called Voldemort. It will all be my fault. I couldn't save my parents; I failed before the age of two. I failed Cedric and I failed Sirius- watched them die."

Snape pulled his head back to stare angrily into Potter's eyes. He expected to see defiance and hatred.

Instead, he was reminded of watching a building collapse. The sparkle of courage and determination in those glass green eyes was shattered. Harry looked glazedly beyond him.

"This isn't Harry Potter," Snape thought as he warily let go of the young man's robes and stepped back. Harry directly slipped to the floor; looking as though someone had just cut the final thread to a marionette.

"What happened to James' son, the arrogant bastard that had made his life a living hell?"

In front of him was a starved young man in clothes that were too big for him, with a scar marring his forehead, bags from sleepless nights under his dead eyes.

That was the only way to describe the look of Harry: dead. Shadows were gliding through his pupils and silent tears running down his cheeks. Severus hadn't even realized Harry was crying until he saw the streaks on the side of his face.

Professor Snape had made students cry before, obviously, but they had always been in class surrounded by other students who were ready to comfort the devastated child.

Watching Potter cry was unnerving, worse-it was down right disturbing. In all his time knowing Potter he didn't think he was capable of crying. Yelling and cursing-yes, but crying was something Harry was not allowed to do.

Severus was suddenly tired, tired of spying, tired of teaching, and tired of living. He slid down gracefully beside the crying young man whose eyes were still staring off into space. Snape crossed his legs and covered his face in his hands.

"Remember who you are sitting next to," his mind warned him. But, really, he was past caring about Harry Potter the idol and the icon. The person next to him was only mortal; he was a young man with the weight of the world shoved onto his back and having a hard time dealing with it.

"Fuck it," Snape said to himself and inched closer to Potter. He looked at Harry and did something he was sure he would regret doing for the rest of his life. He lifted his arms and placed them around the sitting young man.

Severus wasn't quite sure he was doing the hugging correctly. The last time a person had hugged him it had been Albus Dumbledore when he was twenty years old.

Harry stiffened with the thought that the professor might try to kill him.

"I'm so sorry," Potter whispered softly.

Severus answered by tightening his arms around the man and resting his cheek on the messy dark hair; still damp from the rain. It was then that Harry realized he was being hugged by Snape, and he didn't feel as disgusted as he should, didn't feel disgusted at all really.

It was different from the hugs he received from his friends for a 'good bye' or a 'hello' and was also different from the quick but warm embrace of Mrs. Weasley.

He was being held.

With that, Harry grabbed Snape's robes in his hands and balled them in his fists while he pulled the black clad man closer to him; clinging to him like a drowning man to a life raft.

Harry burrowed his head into the crook of Snape's neck as the tears continued to stream from his eyes.

Severus felt his student's body shake with silent sobs and could feel the warm tears wet his neck. Right then and there, he wanted to cry too; he wanted to cry because people had died knowing Potter and more people would die because of Voldemort and mostly because he brought the savior of the wizarding world to tears. So, he did.

They sat there like that for hours, just wrapped around each other crying because they were up against a world where nothing was fair. A world where a baby was a hero and a man who defeated one of the greatest wizards in the world was a fool and a Death Eater was trusted with the care of young minds. Harry was right; the world wasn't fair, not even close. It was hard, cold, and unforgiving. The only chance they had for survival was to hang onto each other.