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Harry Potter slid silently behind a large oak tree, his breath obscured by the cloth wrapped around his face. The trio of black-robed wizards had almost bumped into him as they tracked someone through the heavily falling snow. Luckily their focus was on whatever they were hunting in the steadily worsening weather. Through the swirl of snow, he could just make the vague outline of a building and Harry ran towards it, keeping low. The wind howled, pushing the snow sideways and Harry lost sight of everything in the white mass twisting around him. He flung out his gloved hand, groping blindly until his knuckles collided painfully with a hard wooden surface. Relief flooded through him as Harry pressed himself against the cold, rough surface and moved slowly, trying to find an entrance.
The bitter cold had begun to seep through the warming charm on his clothing as Harry finally encountered the frame of a door. Gripping his wand tightly, he found the knob and was surprised when it turned easily. Dropping into a crouch, Harry pushed the door open and dove inside, the silence broken by the startling sound of the door re-bounding off the wall and slamming shut. Remaining motionless against a wall, Harry waited, barely breathing, until his eyes adjusted to the darkness.
The inside of the cottage was shrouded in darkness, but as his eyes adjusted, Harry was able to make out the one large room. Dark shapes appeared to be furniture grouped in several spots, and he could discern the shape of a small table nearby and a chair across the room. The lighter gray outline of several windows added definition and depth to the space, giving him a general idea of the layout of a tiny cottage. Harry listened intently as his eyes continued to sweep the room. If those were indeed Death Eaters he had seen through the blizzard, they might still be nearby and Harry knew it would be unwise to light his wand tip. Something significant had brought them out in this howling storm and Harry did not want to be caught on his own in this unfamiliar place. He slid off his gloves and slipped them into his pocket, along with the scarf he used around his mouth.
What would bring a band of Voldemort’s minions to the outskirts of Snowdonia, high in the mountains of Wales in a driving blizzard? This region was one whose inhabitants had continued to hold onto the ancient Celtic principles and ways, including its ties to King Arthur and Merlin himself and Harry hoped he would find the information that would finally end his two and a half year search for the six Horcruxes of Tom Riddle. This area of Wales, known as Eryri, was shrouded in mysticism, an area even the Muggle world believed to be a magical place and Harry had found himself drawn to it almost obsessively. He had left Hermione with a recuperating Ron, making this a solo journey.
Harry sighed, the sound unnaturally loud in the silent cottage. He was weary of this perpetual game both sides had perfected; attack and counter-attack, strike and retreat into the darkness, each side causing as much death and devastation as possible. Those who lived on the fringes of the magical world, specifically the families of Muggle-born witches and wizards, were the most frequent targets. At least Harry, Ron, and Hermione had made significant progress in the year and a half since Albus Dumbledore’s death. Five of the six Horcruxes had already been found, and four of those resided in a special room adjacent to the Headmistress’ office at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Two, maybe three of them still contained slices of Voldemort’s soul.
Dumbledore had taken the secret of how to safely destroying the organic matter within the artifacts with him to the grave. There was only one other man who might have that knowledge, but Harry had no idea if he was even alive. His hand tightened around the handle of his wand as he once again saw the image of Severus Snape fleeing across the grounds of Hogwarts that night. It had taken a long time for Harry to reconcile his bitter hatred of his former professor with the Pensieve memories Albus Dumbledore had left behind. The eloquent and profound memories, some of which documented Harry’s own discussions with the Headmaster, had exonerated Snape and woven a tale of self-sacrifice and great courage on the Slytherin’s part. The dark man remained an easy target for Harry’s grief-filled loathing, whose mind rationalized the guilt he felt as hatred at being forced to stand by immobilized while Dumbledore died.
Initially, Harry had refused to acknowledge that the anonymous tips he received frequently for the Order of the Phoenix, which provided vital inside information on Voldemort’s movements, could possibly be from Snape. The first such missive had arrived during his short stay at the Dursleys' just after the end of his sixth year. Written in an unsteady hand, it had warned of an impending attack on the Burrow in Ottery St. Catchpole. Despite his misgivings, Harry had relayed the information; the Weasleys were too important to him to gamble on their lives and the depiction of a flame-coloured phoenix in the bottom right corner of the parchment had convinced him of the sender's sincerity. The intelligence proved to be accurate
Harry had to admit to himself, however grudgingly, that the last words snarled at him by Severus Snape had made a profound impact. Occlumency had been his first priority, with both Hermione and Ron helping him learn, and in turn, learning as well. Hermione had excelled, of course, and had been able to explain the concepts that allowed him to understand what he needed to do in order to shield his mind. Harry was proud of his skills now, practicing several times a day to keep his barriers strong. The nonverbal spells and wandless magic seemed to come to him easily after the Occlumency, as if understanding the principles of magical theory allowed him to control it effortlessly. The extent of the power he had discovered within himself had surprised Harry, and he had been very careful not to display his true abilities. Hermione had even stopped him from talking about how he had Apparated Dumbledore back from the English coast the night of his death, explaining the level of power that had been necessary to do that was immense, especially by a sixteen-year-old on his first Apparation.
Standing up cautiously, Harry moved slowly along wall, feeling his way around the room. He dared not light his wand tip until he was sure that the glow would not be seen from outside. A slight noise in the far corner froze him in place. Dropping into a crouch, Harry continued along the wall listening for the noise. It came again, a soft breathy sound. The inner wall angled out around a loo or something, and Harry stopped to listen. Whatever was there did not sound good; there was a distinct roughness in the shallow noise.
His steps silent, Harry moved around the corner, only to trip over something on the floor. Breaking his fall with his left hand, Harry sprawled against a pile of wet rags, jumping back as a pain-filled gasp erupted from it. Cursing the need for dark and silence, Harry hesitantly ran his left hand over the prone figure, enough to ascertain that it was a human and obviously hurt. The smell of blood, urine, and vomit mingled with the tang of Dark magic. His fingers touched chilled flesh stretched over bone and muscle, finding a thin wrist and a faint pulse. Harry bit back a sigh. This type of complication was the last thing he needed at this point.
A thump against the outside wall of the cottage reminded Harry of the precariousness of the situation, and he froze, holding his breath. There were several low level, wandless spells he could use that would not alert anyone searching outside, although that did not include putting up a strong protective field or masking the windows so no one could look in. Pushing himself up to his knees, Harry squinted into the darkness, barely making out the silhouette of a figure, a prominent Adam’s apple identifying the gender, standing close to the window. The white swirling mass ebbed and flowed, and Harry would have sworn there was a greater force at work here than just a weather front as the snow blew sideways, throwing much of what Harry could see into a play of white and gray shades. The man turned his head, hood slipping enough for Harry to make out the familiar white mask on his face, but did not seem to be able to see the cottage, and he moved along the wall out of Harry’s sight.
Grimly, Harry turned his attention to the seemingly lifeless figure on the floor. His fingers skimmed along a sharp cheekbone and onto a stubbled cheek; a man then, Harry thought. The high-necked robes were sodden and cold, and the smell was almost over-powering. Switching his wand to his left hand, Harry swore silently, casting a wandless bluebell flame spell. It was a variation of the spell Hermione taught them as first-years; the small fire did not ignite flammables or cast light, but warmed. The man would not survive if Harry did not get him warmed, cleaned up, and healed. Setting the flame near the man’s head, Harry cast as strong a Scourgify as he dared, fingers making short work of the buttons on the outer robes. Using his hands to guide him, Harry ran his fingers down the man’s chest, gritting his teeth as he felt the numerous wounds there. More open wounds littered his arms and thighs; Harry couldn't tell, but likely the man’s back had some as well. The Death Eaters wanted this one back, Harry knew, so that they could finish the torture they had started.
Thankful for once that Hermione’s nagging had pushed him into carrying a full mission kit on what was supposed to be a reconnaissance trip, Harry slipped out of the arm straps of his knapsack. Finding the potions pouch buried in the bottom, Harry set it on the floor, wishing he could light his wand tip for just a moment. Carefully opening the charmed leather bag, he rummaged around until he found the slightly larger jar containing a powerful healing ointment. Harry set that to one side. Picturing how the various potions he carried were lined up, Harry chose three of the vials, and moved to sit at the man’s head, easing it into his lap. Uncorking the first vial he sniffed it cautiously, relieved when he recognized it as a blood-replenishing potion. Carefully, Harry tilted the head forward and poured it into the slack mouth. He cast a swallowing spell Poppy Pomfrey had taught him, fingers gently stroking the slender throat in encouragement. Setting the vial down Harry enlarged it and scooped up the bluebell flames, moving it to rest against the man’s torso. Harry repeated these steps several times, getting a general healing potion, a pain reliever, and a bit of water into the unconscious man.
Wetting the cloth that he fished out of the pocket of his jacket, Harry attempted to gently clean off the man’s face; even the dim light was unable to hide the swollen eyes and bloodied lips. The nose appeared to be broken, but even swelling could not hide the hook in it. Impossible, Harry thought, as his mind leapt to the obvious conclusion. If Snape had been discovered to be a traitor, it would explain why he was being hunted in the middle of a raging blizzard, but the likelihood of Harry coming across him in this remote area seemed ludicrous. He used a fingertip to trace over the arch of an eyebrow, the skin tingling with magic as it stroked the cool flesh, and Harry waited for the flash of hatred he had always believed would consume him the next time he faced Severus Snape. It did not come, and the battered man in his care was no less a person than any other who had ever needed Harry’s help. Carefully, Harry finished his task before laying the man’s head gently on the floor. He would worry later as to what the wizard’s identity meant.
Taking off his heavy wool cloak, Harry laid it over Snape and stood up. Cautiously looking out the window, Harry could see the snow had not let up, but darkness was creeping in, and he could feel the temperature dropping. Harry knew this man would never make it through the night in his current condition. Some bluebell flames and the cloak could only do so much, and Harry needed to heal the open lacerations, but he couldn't do it on the cold floor. Hurriedly, he continued his search of the cottage, sighing with relief when he found a small bed in the opposite corner of the room and a bathroom next to it. The alcove near the injured man turned out to be a small kitchen, complete with wood stove. Harry wandlessly cast a bluebell flame spell into it, hoping it would provide more substantial heat than transfigured potions vial. A quick Scourgify on the mattress was the best he could do in the circumstances.
Levitating the man slowly to a bed that was merely a shape in the dimly lit room was an experience that Harry did not want to repeat. Shivering now as the cold seeped into his heavy clothing, Harry brought the containers of bluebell flame over to set on the bed. Warming his hands over one of the flames, Harry gingerly opened the robes, silently cursing the multitude of buttons that ran down the front. As he carefully peeled back the layers of cloth, Harry could feel how painfully thin Snape was, and he bit his lip as his fingers finally encountered chilled flesh. Laying his cloak over the exposed lower half, he brought the flickering flames closer. Harry took a deep breath and began to run his fingers along the first slash he found, guiding his wand as he muttered the spell learned after casting Sectumsempra on Draco Malfoy in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.
It was slow going. Snape’s body was littered with lacerations and Harry had to stop several times to pour different healing potions into him as well as more water. What little light he had gradually dissipated as the sky outside became darker and night fell. Slowly, the chilled flesh began to warm and the man’s breathing became easier, but there was no sign of him regaining consciousness. Snape was malnourished, his ribs prominent under Harry’s fingertips. He worked his way down the torso, healing the lacerations he found. It was tedious; the sheer scope of injury indicating the man had been tortured for some time before he had escaped, and Harry marveled that he had been able to flee at all. Taking a chance, he whispered a warming spell to help keep the chill off as the room became increasingly colder. The flannel dipped in heated water helped clean away the grime Harry could not magic away.
Tracing his hands down one thigh and then the other in the dim light, Harry was relieved to find Snape’s legs seemed to be uninjured. He knelt on the mattress, slowly rolling the man toward him. Harry braced him against his thighs as he removed the rest of the clothing that obscured his back and was not surprised to feel more open lacerations. Laying Snape face down, Harry straddled his thighs and leaned close to cast the spell, operating almost entirely by feel. As he worked, Harry noticed his fingers tingling whenever he pressed the edges of a gash closed. It was not a bad feeling, more like the feeling of magic dancing around the man’s skin as it slowly warmed and Harry hoped that it was a good sign.
The darkness was all encompassing by the time Harry was finished, and he wrapped his cloak around Snape’s chest and torso. He had no idea how long he had been working on closing the many wounds and rubbing the healing ointment into the still-cool skin. Working by feel, Harry managed to clean his hands and warm the stew he had in his knapsack, eating the meat and vegetables before carefully tipping the broth into the unconscious man’s mouth. It was a bit messy without light, but Harry thought it was better than nothing. Moving cautiously to the door of the cottage, Harry concentrated on casting a wandless, nonverbal sealing spell that would keep out all but the most determined to get in. As he cast another warming charm over the mattress, Harry debated for a moment on his next course of action.
The temperature continued to drop, and the wizard on the bed was hardly in any shape to be a threat. Quickly stripping down to his underwear, Harry transfigured his jumper and jeans into blankets, then cast warming spells on them before laying them across the bed. Dancing from foot to foot to stay warm, Harry recast the spell for the flickering blue flames before sliding into the narrow bed. Snape shifted slightly as Harry eased against him, the first real movement he had made on his own since Harry had found him. Running his hand lightly down the thin torso, Harry was pleased to find the skin felt much warmer than it had earlier and Harry allowed himself a smile. As he closed his eyes Harry thought Snape might live until morning despite his fumbling ministrations. Harry lay on his side with his skin tingling wherever it touched Snape’s bare flesh; he was surprised to find that the distaste he might have expected did not surface.
Hermione’s lectures on sexuality, specifically his own, came to mind as Harry settled closer, his wand in its holster strapped to his forearm. He grimaced slightly at the memory of a Ginny Weasley’s tearful accusations when he refused to resume their relationship in his seventh year. Despite what he grew up to consider normal, Harry found that his eyes followed guys as often – sometimes more often - than they watched girls. But it didn’t matter; the risk of having anyone that close to him far outweighed any comfort Harry might gain from being able to hold another person. Finding the Horcruxes and defeating Voldemort were his focus and consumed every waking minute now that he was out of school. The luxury of being held by someone would have to wait until he had fulfilled the Prophecy, if he somehow managed to survive.
~~~ * ~ * ~~~
“Bloody hell!” Harry swore as he watched in vain for the thin chest to rise again. “Bugger that!”
He summoned his knapsack and dumped its contents out on the floor beside the bed. Grabbing for the small, black leather journal that tumbled out, Harry flipped it open to the section that held the healing spells he had studied since he’d been on the front lines of the fight against Voldemort. After Dean Thomas had died in his arms before anyone with healing training could get to him Harry had sworn that he would learn all he could. Hermione had shared his determination and Harry knew Ron was alive today because of that studying and training.
"Status Respiro!" Harry incanted once and then again. He put his hand on Snape’s chest, but there was no heartbeat. "Pectus pectoris suscipio pulsus!”
Golden light haloed his left hand and spread across the bare skin as Harry pleaded with the heart to start beating. Snape gasped and arched again, displacing Harry’s hand, which fell to rest on his left arm. The Dark magic fairly leapt from the arm, and Harry yanked his hand away. The bastard was torturing Snape through the Dark Mark branded in the man’s skin and Harry could see the serpent undulating inside the skull as another convulsion hit. If Harry had any doubts that this man was a spy for the Light, they disappeared in the face of unrelenting torture he could feel radiating from the Mark. Snape gasped, his breathing stopped again, and Harry recast the breathing charm.
Realizing that he had already used enough magic to make the cottage glow if it were being watched, Harry began to cast the strongest healing spells he could. Healing the broken nose and bruises, Harry worked his way down Snape’s torso, only to have the man convulse again. Snarling, he recast the breathing spell, and pressed his left hand over the Dark Mark. The palm of his hand felt like it had been dipped into a pool of acid, and Harry gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to yank it away. The Dark magic made his stomach clench and Harry gripped his wand to cast a healing spell. It fizzled as it hit the pale skin. Frustration threatened to overwhelm him, and he could see Snape had stopped breathing again.
“Get out, you snake-faced hypocrite! Leave Snape alone! Let him go, now! He was never really yours anyway, you bloody bastard, he has always been loyal to Albus Dumbledore!” It barely registered to Harry that he was screaming in Parseltongue at a wizard who couldn’t possibly hear him - he just wanted Snape left alone. “Get out and leave Snape alone, Tom; I will protect him with my very life! !”
There was a bright flash and both men were enveloped by a pulsating aura of golden light, which skimmed along their bodies to coil around where Harry gripped Snape’s left arm. The threads vanished with another flash of light, taking the Dark magic with it. Harry slumped forward feeling suddenly drained and tried to slow his racing heart. Snape shuddered and inhaled sharply, as if filling his lungs for the first time in ages. Summoning the potions pouch from the floor, Harry pulled out another general healing draught and an analgesic potion. He dragged himself up to the head of the bed, lifting Snape’s shoulders and supporting his head so that he could pour the potions down his throat. Transfiguring one of the crystal vials into a goblet, Harry filled it with water and got some of that down, too.
Exhausted, Harry cast a warming charm over the bed and crawled in, muttering “Nox” as he slid his wand back into its holster. Settling on his side, Harry gingerly laid his hand in the middle of Snape’s chest, a small smile tugging at his lips as he envisioned the biting comment the older wizard would hurl at him if he were any shape to sneer. The skin beneath his fingers was finally warm; the chest rose and fell with satisfying regularity. Snape was most probably going to kill him as soon as he was able, Harry thought as sleep slipped over him. That was fine so long as the git destroyed the Horcruxes; Snape could have what was left of him after he was finished with Voldemort.
The snow continued all the next day and Harry filled his time cleaning the small cottage and taking care of Snape. The cottage was apparently under some type of invisibility wards, as he had seen several flashes of black robes among the trees again that morning, one Death Eater coming very close to them without appearing to see the building. The best thing was that the pantry was stocked with fresh meats, vegetables, and food staples in a stasis spell, as well as a stash of healing potions, which Harry put to use. Snape looked better in the golden light from the one torch Harry allowed himself to light, as he wasn’t sure whether the light would show outside. Harry decided to go over Snape again to check the lacerations on his back and make sure he had not missed anything the day before.
Turning Snape over as gently as he could, Harry was horrified to discover dried blood and purpling of the skin around his arse that suggested he had been raped. Gritting his teeth, Harry cleaned and healed the area as best he could, grabbing the jar of ointment to rub into the deep bruises on the man’s hips and buttocks. Sliding a pillow that he had found in the miniscule wardrobe under Snape’s stomach, Harry settled between his legs and carefully spread the lotion on the purpled scrotum and anus. Harry had never seen another man’s bits this close before and watched with avid interest as the purple receded and the skin returned to a healthy pink. His cock twitched unexpectedly, and Harry suddenly felt like he was molesting the unconscious man. Shaking his head to clear the thoughts away, Harry coated his index finger with the ointment and held his breath as he slid it gently inside the bruised rectum.
A sigh from Snape startled him, and Harry pulled his finger out quickly, not knowing whether he had hurt the older man or not. Disgusted at himself and his half-hard cock, Harry continued down the length of one long leg and then the other, applying the potion where needed. Levitating Snape above the bed, Harry spelled on the sheets he had found and enlarged the bed as far as its alcove would allow. Striving at clinical detachment, Harry examined Snape’s groin for injuries, coating the front of his sac with the ointment. Snape’s flaccid cock looked thicker than Harry’s and it felt heavier as he shifted it out of the way to examine the bruised skin on one hip. The tingle of magic Harry felt whenever he touched the wizard’s skin warmed his fingertips and he watched, fascinated, as the penis in his hand twitched.
“Bloody hell!” Harry swore, quickly finishing what he was doing and settling the cock onto its nest of black curls.
Covering him with warmed blankets, Harry turned his back on Severus Snape and moved across the room, ignoring his own body’s reaction. Here was an injured man, totally dependent on Harry to provide care, and he was fondling him. How despicable could he be? And for it to be Severus bloody Snape, no less! It didn’t matter who it was, Harry told himself; it was the male body he was reacting to. How pathetic was he that his cock would respond to an unconscious man? The loneliness that he was normally was able to keep at bay welled up in him and Harry leaned on the window. The snow continued to swirl wildly through the air outside, rather like the turbulent emotions inside him.
Perhaps the Dursleys were right, Harry thought, his breath catching painfully in his chest. While he knew that he was not the freak they had maintained he was for so many years, Harry also knew that there was something abnormal about him. Everyone he loved was either dead or distanced themselves from him. Remus Lupin had given the impression that he cared about Harry while Sirius was alive, but in the wake of his godfather’s death, Lupin had abandoned him. After Bill had been mauled and Percy killed, Arthur and Molly Weasley had begun to avoid him. Harry understood better than anyone that his friends became targets, and could not blame them. He found himself alone more often than not, isolated from everyone except Ron and Hermione, who refused to be pushed away. The Order of the Phoenix continued to wage war against Voldemort and his Death Eaters, but Harry had concentrated on the search for the Horcruxes, meeting only with Minerva McGonagall and Kingsley Shacklebolt. This visible absence from the fight had concentrated the anger of the magical community on him, courtesy of the Daily Prophet, and he hoped to stop the attacks on his friends and fellow students. It did not seem to deter Voldemort’s plans to wipe out everyone Harry might care for: Ginny Weasley had been kidnapped from Hogsmeade just a week ago and brutally tortured. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had gone with the Order to rescue her, and Ron had nearly been killed.
Who would want to love him? Harry thought bitterly. It wasn’t like he was going to survive the final battle; add to that the fact that he was a scrawny teenager with a scarred face and an uncertain future. Just once before he died, Harry would like to know what it felt like to be loved; to be held by someone who truly wanted to be with him, to be loved by someone who saw past the Boy Who Lived tripe and the façade he had to live behind. Someone who wanted just Harry.
~~~*~*~~~
“Albus,” came a choked whisper, “no, please – anything but this… Albus…”
A wave of his hand lit the torch on the wall, exposing Snape's anguish. A single tear trickled down the sallow cheek and the lines in his face seemed deeply etched in the shadowy light, giving him a haunted appearance. Grief tore through Harry as he saw the raw pain on this usually impassive face. Without thinking, Harry leaned over and wrapped his arm around Snape, his hand cradling the man’s head. A sob wracked the thin frame.
“… I can’t… Albus, please…”
Struggling not to shed his own tears, Harry moved until he could lean his forehead against Snape’s. He knew now that Dumbledore had made Snape swear a Wizard’s Oath to him. An oath to do what ever the Headmaster deemed necessary to win the war against the Dark, but Harry had not stopped to consider what that might have cost the Slytherin. Harry flashed suddenly on that June night, before he and Dumbledore had left for the coast. Dumbledore had refused to take Harry without a promise to do exactly what the Headmaster ordered, no matter what. Harry closed his eyes briefly as he remembered the horror of pouring that shimmering emerald potion into Dumbledore’s mouth, even as the man begged him to stop.
“… Albus…”
“Shhh, it’s all right, Sn—Severus,” Harry’s tongue stumbled over the unfamiliar name, his own voice rough with emotion. “Everything will be fine.”
“Albus… please, I can’t do it…”
Harry entwined his fingers in the lank hair and allowed himself to relax into his embrace of the older man. “It will be all right, Severus, I promise I will make it all right.”
Snape seemed to lean into the caress as well as the comfort that was being offered, settling back to sleep. The haunted look remained even after the body relaxed and Snape’s breathing evened out. Sleep eluded Harry for a long time, as he rethought everything he knew about the older man. The contrasts and contradictions that Snape had been for the six years Harry had known him as a teacher were extreme; he had always seemed especially nasty and cutting to Harry, but he had saved Harry’s life on several occasions. He acted like he hated Harry, yet had sworn to protect him as a member of the Order. Snape had been relentless when he was trying to teach Harry Occlumency, seeing enough in his memories to further ridicule Harry, but had never said a word to anyone.
Severus Snape was definitely not the coward Harry had accused of being as he chased the Death Eaters across the Hogwarts grounds. It took a man of uncommon courage to have fulfilled the act that Dumbledore had demanded of his friend. Harry did not know if he could do the same. If Ron or Hermione were fatally injured and begging him to put them out of their misery, would he be able to cast the Killing Curse? Honestly, Harry did not know, and he fell asleep still carding his fingers through the greasy hair, holding Snape close.
~~~*~*~~~
~~~*~*~~~
One hand wrapped tightly around the jar, Harry jumped off the bed. “Professor! How are you feeling?”
“Well enough, in light of the fact that I did not believe I would survive the night.” The older man eyed him with suspicion, lip curling in a sneer. “I can not fathom why you have not killed me yourself, Potter.”
Snape’s voice was still raspy. Ignoring the comment, Harry set the jar of ointment on the floor and retrieved some water. Sliding an arm under Snape's shoulders, Harry eased him into a sitting position and helped hold the goblet as the man drank deeply. The goblet almost fell from his suddenly clumsy fingers as Harry returned it to the small kitchen, those dark eyes never leaving him. Feeling like he was a first year again, Harry fumbled the jar as he picked it up and gestured at Snape as he lay silently watching, his face set in its most impassive mask.
“I need to check to make sure the wounds on your back are healing, sir,” Harry told him as he once again sat on the side of the bed. “I just need to turn you over.”
Harry concentrated on spreading the ointment on the few gashes that still needed it, and not on the nervous ramblings that spilled from his mouth. The magic tingling the tips of his fingers seemed stronger this afternoon, but he ignored it as he explained to Snape how he’d come to find the cottage three days before. The storm still hadn't let up, he relayed as he worked his way down Snape’s back. He did not miss the way the older man stiffened as Harry pushed the bedding down past his arse and carefully began to spread ointment on the fading bruises. His words trailed off as Harry got closer to the lingering evidence of rape and he glanced up at the dark head buried in the small pillow. Snape hadn’t tried to kill him yet, had not even ripped his head off with his usual vicious sarcasm. Ah, well, in for a Knut in for a Galleon, Harry thought.
~~~*~*~~~
The young man’s magic was incredibly strong and Severus could feel it pulsing in the hesitant fingertips that spread healing potion across his back. Something deep within him seemed to be drawn to the magic, took comfort in the light touch on his skin, and Severus frowned. This was a person Severus had thought would look on him with nothing but loathing and hatred. To awaken and find Dumbledore’s Golden Boy tending his wounds in an isolated cottage in the mountain of Wales surprised him. He was infuriated at himself for being susceptible to the relief that flashed through him at the realization. Albus had always said that Potter had an enormous capacity to care, had told him that of everyone, Potter would be the one to understand and support him.
The moving fingers hesitated for a moment before venturing lower, making Severus stiffen. A soft touch spread his thighs, and Severus clamped his eyes closed. It had not been an erotic dream. Careful fingers slowly spread ointment where Severus knew he would not be able to reach at the moment. His humiliation was surely complete: the Chosen One was treating the evidence of his brutal torture at the hands of the Death Eaters, their statement on his sexuality. The touch hesitated again, and he heard Potter suck in a deep breath, no doubt repulsed by what he was doing.
“Just get on with it, Potter! This can not mortify you any more than it does me,” he snarled through clenched teeth, hoping only that the boy was gentle.
“I’m sorry, Professor, I…”
Mercifully, Potter shut up and proceeded to spread the ointment on his scrotum. Severus was thankful for the gentle touch as one finger pressed into him and coated his anus with healing ointment. Once he had recovered enough, Severus could apply a stronger healing potion himself, as he was certain there had been quite a bit of tearing, most of which he thankfully could not remember. Potter covered him with the blanket, and Severus almost laughed when he saw the high color staining the boy’s cheeks. When Potter resumed his annoying babble as he fetched several potions and another goblet of water, Severus listened with half an ear.
“…and I was sure you were dead then, but the spell I used restarted your heart…”
The words stunned Severus, and he reacted without thinking, grabbing the teenager by the front of his jumper. “I died? I died and you brought me back to this miserable existence instead of letting me slip away? How dare you make that decision, Potter! How dare you have the arrogance to believe you had the right! Haven’t I suffered enough in this life?”
The startled green eyes searched him face frantically. “You were dying, sir! Voldemort was torturing you through the Dark Mark and I couldn’t let him cause you any more pain! You… you have suffered enough….”
The voice trailed away and the boy’s eyes dropped. Severus tightened his grip, appalled by his lack of strength and the fierce emotion that struggled to break free. Something monumental had happened, something Potter seemed embarrassed about, and he pulled the teenager closer. They were practically nose to nose before Potter looked up in panic.
“You could not begin to fathom what I have suffered, Potter, nor could your miniscule brain ever understand why!” Severus snarled, disgusted at himself as his attempt to use Legilimens on the boy failed. “What did you do?”
“I…” Potter took a deep breath before meeting his eyes, the familiar defiance suddenly flashing in the depths of green. “He was torturing you through the Dark Mark, so I… I broke the link. Voldemort no longer has a hold on you.”
Severus blinked at the boy’s face. No, not a boy any longer, he thought abstractly, a man. There was strength in the lines of the face that was no longer a carbon copy of James Potter; Severus could see Lily Evans in the clean lines and eyes filled with determination. Slowly, he raised his left arm, turning it so he could see his forearm. Surprise and shock gripped him – gone was the ugly black skull and the now green serpent lay coiled under the protection of a flame-coloured phoenix.
His grip loosened. Potter took the opportunity to take a step back, but otherwise held his ground. Dumbledore had again been proven right; this young wizard was indeed as powerful, or more so, than his mentor. Not only had Potter broken the bond he had with the Dark Lord - the how was beyond Severus’ understanding - he had also sworn an oath of protection to Severus, probably without even knowing it. And Severus had no plans to explain to him what the long lasting effects of that might entail.
“Does your idiocy know no bonds, Potter?” The biting snarl came out as a whisper, and Severus suddenly felt exhausted by the emotional turmoil.
“Apparently not, Professor,” came the quiet reply. “I’m sorry if I did something wrong, but I… I need you too much to let you die just yet.”
Dragging his eyes away from the new Mark on his arm, Severus was too tired to hide the surprise in his expression. Potter shifted under his gaze.
“I… I need you to teach me how to destroy the Horcruxes,” he said in a rush, and Severus blinked, which Potter obviously took as encouragement. “The Head—Headmaster never showed me how to destroy them and we’ve found all but one, but it doesn’t do any good if I can’t destroy them!”
Severus just nodded and closed his eyes, too tired to acknowledge the statement further. Of course, Harry Potter wouldn’t lower himself to care for Severus Snape as a person; like everyone else in his life, it was only his abilities the Chosen One wanted. No one but Albus had ever cared for Severus himself, no one…
~~~*~*~~~
“Professor, do you know anything about this cottage?” Harry asked quietly, not wanting to set the older man off.
“Order safe house, Potter. You can use magic and the wards should mask it. Just don’t go overboard...”
Snape’s voice trailed off and Harry stood for a moment to reassure himself by listening to the man’s steady breathing before he moved back to the tiny kitchen. If it were a place the Order of the Phoenix had set aside, then it had to be safe, Harry decided, his eyes still focused on his former professor. Severus Snape was an enigma to Harry; someone who had always been able to stir violent emotions in him without Harry understanding why. Yet, there had been those rare moments of clarity and understanding between them, which pointed to similarities. For the hell that had been Occlumency lessons, those sessions had exposed enough for Harry to realize that one did not have to lose their parents to have an unpleasant childhood.
Glad for a chance to keep his hands and mind busy, Harry began to use his magic to make the cottage more livable. Using the strongest cleaning charms he had learned from Mrs. Weasley, Harry made the cottage sparkle. With his hands busy, his mind wandered to the question that had occupied his thoughts increasingly more as he searched for the final Horcrux. Dumbledore had had suspicions about the large snake that was Voldemort’s familiar, but had not been completely convinced that Nagini was a Horcrux. Hermione argued that it should not be possible to make a living thing into a Horcrux, as the sharing of a soul would be painful and damaging to the host.
When the silver inkwell of Rowena Ravenclaw had been discovered as the fifth Horcrux, Harry was sure the last Horcrux had to be connected to Godric Gryffindor. Unable to find any Gryffindor artifact that was unaccounted for, Harry had decided to journey to Wales, hoping to check on the information that the Hogwarts founder traced his linage back to Merlin himself. If Voldemort had been able to secure an artifact that had once belonged to the great Merlin, Harry knew he would have made it into a Horcrux. He needed to get to Merlin’s castle, Dinas Emrys, and see if he could determine whether anything was missing. Harry had no idea what he might be looking for; he could only hope that he would be able to sense the Dark magic.
The snow still swirled outside the window he was cleaning, as the thoughts that Harry was trying to evade finally caught up with him. Harry had long suspected that he was the final Horcrux. Most likely an unintentional one, maybe even an incomplete one, but Harry knew that there was something in his curse scar that had given him some of Voldemort’s power. There was also the excruciating pain he suffered whenever he was anywhere near Voldemort or connected to him. He had come to the shocking realization as he sat in the ruin of his parents’ house in Godric’s Hollow the summer before his seventh year, the images Harry had seen in dreams over the years played in his mind.
Tom Riddle had come hunting him in response to hearing half a prophecy and he had planned to create a Horcrux with Harry’s death. The vessel, Ravenclaw’s inkwell, had already been prepared, and may even have caught part of the Voldemort's soul when the Killing Curse rebounded. Harry knew that was when his scar was formed and the transfer of power happened; the only explanation he could find was that a sliver of that torn soul hit him and lodged in the wound the rebounding curse had left. So many different scenarios had played out in his mind at odd moments since, some that allowed him to live after his battled what was left of Riddle, but most were more realistic in nature, those in which he died.
"…and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives.”
Harry pushed his maudlin thoughts away and looked around the dimly lit room. He had cleaned everything he could in the cottage, but sadness and resignation still tugged at him as his thoughts swirled around his future. His hunger had fled, and Harry felt weary as he moved back to the kitchen area. Casting a stasis charm on the soup, Harry cast a warming charm on the enlarged bed and without stopping to worry about any of the consequences, Harry stripped down and crawled in. Scooting close enough to feel the warmth of Snape’s body, he curled up under the bedding and closed his eyes, wanting only to sleep and forget.
For the third morning in a row, Severus Snape had awoken with the lithe, warm body of Harry Potter curled against him, before the young man had scooted away. The previous two days had passed as the first had, with the teenager quietly taking care of him and the chores about the cottage, with the blizzard still swirling outside. Severus had managed to take a bath with Potter’s assistance, bristling at the weakness he felt and taking it out on the boy. Severus stoically endured the hesitant touch, clenching his teeth to keep the groan of pleasure from escaping. Potter had been quietly introspective, pointedly ignoring his own flush of arousal - a surprise in itself - and Severus’, as he helped wash him.
The sexual tension was high, and Severus found his eyes followed the young man as he moved about the cottage, putting together their evening meal. The young man had displayed a surprising lack of animosity towards him, despite the bastard Severus had been to Potter and the majority of the other students at Hogwarts. Potter, it seemed, attributed his being singled out for harsher treatment to the sins of his father, and had accepted that James was a bullying prat in his own student days. That had been a portion of it, but in equal measure, Severus had resented the pampered, privileged life he envisioned the Boy Who Lived had enjoyed, with the Potter inheritance and the acclaim for an involuntary act of a fifteen-month-old baby.
No one knew much about Potter’s upbringing, except for the rumors that had flourished at Hogwarts, although Severus suspected Albus Dumbledore was aware of the circumstances. Hagrid had alluded to problems with the boy receiving his Hogwarts letter, but had been unusually tight lipped about the matter. His eyes watched the teenager moving around the kitchen area giving every appearance of cooking something, with a wonderful smell permeating the cottage. Potter had a thoughtful expression on his face, and every now and then he flashed a look toward the bed, as if checking to make sure Severus was all right. Severus stared, shocked by the realization that there was no one who truly knew Harry Potter.
Potter set the plate of roast beef, potatoes, and vegetables on the tray he’d conjured across the older man’s legs. “I thought you might feel up to some real food, sir, and the pantry is well-stocked.”
Severus eyed the steaming plate of food with suspicion. Since when did the boy have enough skill to cook? After five abysmal years of teaching him potions, where the boy had not displayed a whit of ability, Severus had a hard time believing that Potter had cooked it. More like he had used magic to make it. Really, Dumbledore’s Golden Boy lowering himself to cook and wait on him!
“I find it hard to believe you, of all people, prepared this dinner,” Severus sneered.
The teenager smiled at him hesitantly. “I had a lot of practice growing up, sir.”
The sudden image of the lavish dinners at Malfoy Manner and Draco’s princely upbringing leapt to mind and quickly morphed into the bloodied and lifeless face of the teenager he had vowed to protect. His emotions felt raw, his nerves taut, and he lashed out without thought.
“Yes, along with being regularly beaten and forced to live in a cupboard by your Muggle relatives, if the Slytherin rumors are true!”
All color drained out of Potter’s face as if the words struck him a physical blow, and Severus froze. There was something wrong in the teenager’s reaction to the spiteful words of propaganda, unless…
“How did you find out?” Potter whispered in an agonized voice, embarrassment filling the green eyes before they drop to gaze at the floor. “Occlumency…”
There was a terrible, pain-filled pause, and Severus watched with dawning horror. The images he had seen during their ill-fated Occlumency lessons three years ago had seemed like disjointed images of extreme punishment, not the boy’s daily existence. He had dismissed the vague rumors of hardship Minerva McGonagall had mentioned as simply an effort to drum up sympathy for the pampered and spoiled Harry Potter.
“I never told anyone about what I saw that afternoon, or during any of our lessons,” Potter said in a hoarse voice, attempting to suppress the mortification Severus could feel radiating off of him. “I was ashamed and appalled by the actions of my father and godfather towards you, and devastated to learn they were no better that my bullying cousin. I am sorry I violated your privacy, sir, and apologize for…”
The teenager turned away as his voice broke, and Severus watched him move towards the far wall of the cottage, the plate of food he’d dished up for himself untouched on the small table in the kitchen. Ignoring him, Severus took his knife and fork in hand, determined not to let the pain he’d seen in the boy’s face affect him. Potter stood at the far window, looking out into the blackness with his arms wrapped around his waist. A niggling thought jabbed at him, reminding him that the boy could have let the Dark Lord continue his torture, could have left him to die.
“Potter, I…” What did one say to excuse such rudeness?
“I did learn to close my mind, sir, like you said. I don’t have the visions any longer,” Potter said, still staring out the window. “I just need to know how to destroy the Horcruxes, and I will never have to bother you again. I know I have to kill the bastard and after that I doubt I will be around any longer to annoy you.” He laughed without humor. “Believe me, I have no illusions about surviving the battle. It will be for the best anyway, I suppose, no one will have to worry about me anymore and people will be able to get on with their lives.”
Swallowing the bite of meat that stuck in his suddenly dry throat, Severus leaned down to take a sip out of the goblet that was too heavy for him to lift in his weakened state. “Playing the martyr again, Potter? I don’t—”
Severus stopped abruptly as his sarcastic words fell flat. The boy had not asked for the burden he had been forced to shoulder, had not asked to be the Boy Who Lived. Realistically, Harry Potter’s odds of surviving yet another encounter with the Dark Lord were against him. Severus slowly examined the young man again, noting the absence of self-pity in his expression, a look of resignation and determination that was almost haunting in its lack of resentment. Potter had accepted his fate, it would seem, with a maturity that Severus would never have given his credit for.
“I’m not trying to be a martyr, sir,” Potter responded quietly, without the defensiveness he would have expected, “just accepting fate, I guess. It doesn’t really matter, does it, in the end?”
Severus, for once, did not have an answer to the statement. He found that his appetite had fled, and he started to push his plate away until he saw the look on the young man’s face. Feeling compelled to appease Potter; Severus cut off a slice of meat and ate it slowly. A small smile curved the young man’s full lips and Severus felt a tendril of pleasure in his chest, immediately dropping his eyes to his plate as he slowly ate. He did not want to analyze the feeling too closely.
~~~*~*~~~
He shook his head. It was too late now to worry about the gossip that Malfoy and his cronies had spread about him during his school days. Those days were over and gone, buried like the young Death Eater, who had not lived to see his eighteenth birthday. Moving to the small bathroom, Harry spelled a tubful of water hot and quickly washed. Conflicting emotions continued to swirl inside him, but his focus had shifted to Severus Snape. He didn’t know what the sardonic man expected from him, or why Harry felt safe whenever he was close to the older man. Harry could have transfigured another bed, instead of crawling in beside the injured man. More surprising was Snape’s lack of insistence that Harry sleep somewhere else, as well as the older man’s acceptance of his intimate touch in taking care of him.
Yet there was something powerful in what Harry felt when he lay close to Snape at night, something that reassured him and made him feel protective as well as protected when he awoke in the morning curled around him. His body had certainly stood up and taken notice of the older man, sprouting an erection at the least opportune moments.. Moving to the side of the bed, Harry looked down at the reclining figure. There was a vulnerability to the older man that Harry had never glimpsed before, a vulnerability that had nothing to do with his recent injuries. Perhaps it had always been there, but Harry had not cared to notice it. It seemed the harsh judgments he had made as a child were wrong, colored by prejudice and lack of understanding. Harry also realized that the animosity he had felt towards Snape had been a reflection of what the man had projected to him. Now, in the absence of that hatred, a feeling he didn’t readily recognize oozed in, filling the void.
Harry shook his head to clear it and quietly crawled into the bed. Snape stiffened slightly as Harry threw caution to the wind and scooted against him. While there was no welcoming move, the older man did not move away and Harry could feel him slowly relax as he did his nightly meditation. As he drifted off to sleep, it occurred to him that neither of them had had a nightmare since that night Severus had cried. That in itself was reason enough to cuddle further into the warmth.
~~~*~*~~~
Dragging his eyes back to the angular face, Harry was stunned to see naked hunger in the dark eyes, along with something raw that he could not identify. Snape seemed to devour him, his eyes dropping to where Harry’s hand pressed against his boxer-clad cock. The older man lifted his head suddenly, meeting Harry’s eyes, and blinked. In that instant, the emotions were shuttered and a mask of disdain replaced the arousal Harry had seen, and he yanked his hand away from his groin.
“If you are going to continue your quest for the remaining Horcrux, Mr. Potter, I would suggest we proceed to the Fort of Ambrosius.”
Harry frowned. “The Fort of Ambrosius?”
Snape stepped gingerly toward the bed, and Harry wondered if the older man should be up and about. “Dinas Emrys means Fort of Ambrosius, Potter, as Merlin was also known as Ambrosius, although he is thought to have been named Myrddin Emrys at birth, as Merlin, short for Merlinus, is one of the Latinized versions of Myrddin. The fortress on the hill in Snowdonia has a long and storied history; suffice to say that it is acknowledged as the place where Merlin first became known as a seer.”
Harry watched muscles play across the pale arse as Snape wound into a lecture as he began to dress in the clothing that Harry had transfigured for him, only half-listening to the diatribe. The legend of Merlin had fascinated Harry, so he was well versed in the history of the sorcerer. He also knew that the fort that was referred to was little more than ruins, but there was a legend that said Merlin put his greatest treasure in a golden vessel and hid it in a cave near Dinas Emrys. He knew if Voldemort had a target, it would be that treasure. It was the last place he could think of to look for any indication that a sixth Horcrux was actually completed; if there wasn't one there, Harry would have to admit to the inevitable.
Striving for as nonchalant an attitude as Snape, Harry eased out of bed as the older man continued his lecture on the origins of Merlin and the Lady of the Lake. He dressed quickly, giving a stern internal lecture of to errant body parts and became lost in going over what had happened mere minutes ago. Finally noticing the silence in the room, he looked up, red-faced, to find Snape glaring at him.
“I just need to go to the site, sir, and make sure Voldemort,” Harry ignored the hiss of breath, “did not create and leave a Horcrux there.”
An eyebrow arched. “Then I suggest you get a move on, Potter. We are not that far from the hill in question.”
The words had an ominous ring and Harry froze. “What were the Death Eaters doing here, Snape?” Fear added a snap to his voice and made his stomach clench.
The dark eyes narrowed at him, but Harry stood his ground and held his Occlumency as their eyes locked. “They were here to protect the Dark Lord, who was on a quest known only to himself. I was attempting to procure a means of communicating with you when I was discovered.”
Harry relaxed a fraction, as he knew that he could trust the answer.
Snape was still not completely recovered form his injuries and Harry frowned as he watched the older man make his way to the kitchen. The former professor had only been out of bed for short periods in the past few days and Harry doubted he was ready for an excursion up the steep hill the Dinas Emrys was built on. Hurrying through his morning ablutions, Harry moved back into the main room and returned the bed to its original size with a flick of his wand. He had been there for much longer than he had anticipated being away. There was a task that had to be done, and if Voldemort had shown an interest, then Harry might already be too late. He would have to take Snape with him, as the man would not be safe on his own – whether from the Ministry, the Order, or the Death Eaters – and Harry had sworn to protect him.
The vow he had made the night he’d broken Snape’s bond with Voldemort was not a true Wizard’s vow or an Unbreakable Vow, Harry was sure, but he was not willing to test it. Besides, somewhere, somehow, in the past ten days, something had developed between the two men that Harry was not ready to give up. Perhaps he could work it out if he could keep Snape with him for a little while longer. Perhaps he could persuade the older man to take a more active interest in what Harry had seen reflected in his eyes that morning. He knew that the time was short for him, and Harry did not want to go to his death without at least experiencing an orgasm by means other than his own hand. Snape would not hurt him, of that he was certain, and his fierce pride would make him a perfectionist as a lover, Harry was sure.
If only he could convince the man.
~~~*~*~~~
Pausing to eat two more pieces of specialized candy, Harry stepped to where Severus Snape sat resting on a boulder, well away from the eyes of any Muggle tourist. He felt somewhat disappointed that there was no magnificent castle sitting on the top of the mountain: a part of him had hoped Dinas Emrys would be like Hogwarts, which was charmed to look like ruins to the Muggles. It was not the case here.
“If you will hold on to me, sir,” Harry whispered to the invisible man, “I can Apparate us to the ruins at the top.”
Snape wore his weariness like a cloak, wrapping it around him, but refused to admit the weakness. Grateful that Snape had no energy to argue with him, Harry slipped underneath the cloak.. A shiver of awareness ran through him as Harry stepped close, and he took a deep breath as he closed his eyes. Harry found that he was only a bit shorter that the older man, and would be able to kiss him without either straining their necks. He crushed that wayward thought immediately. Without thinking of the harsh remonstration he would face, Harry wrapped his arms around Snape and Apparated them to the top with a soft crack.
As they re-appeared on the windswept top, Harry heard the sound of a bell ring. Snape froze. Harry moved out from under the cloak and dropped to a crouch, wand in hand, but he could see no one there. They waited for several tense moments before Harry cautiously slipped behind a tree. Scanning the area visually, Harry was alert as he moved forward, looking for anything out of place. The remains of an ancient stone wall sat in star relief against the pristine snow, and Harry walked toward it, feeling compelled to touch the weathered gray surface. Ancient magic resounded through the stone, swirling up his arm and around his body, a welcoming warmth that embraced him. Filled with a peaceful feeling of wellbeing, Harry looked back to where Snape should still be standing.
“Come, Professor, everything is fine,” Harry called softly, his words carried on the wind.
Snape removed the invisibility cloak with a flourish and a scowl, marching toward him. As he drew level with Harry, the older man tripped over half-hidden stone and stumbled. One hand grasping at Harry’s arm, Snape caught himself on the time-weathered wall. Harry felt the magical wind whip around them, turning bitter cold as it spiraled around Snape, before warming again, and he slid a steadying arm around him. The wind swirled and shimmered, gentling to a warm caress around then, as Harry heard the bell ring again. With a frown, Harry tried to identify the source of the sound and glanced at Snape, whose expression had change to a curious mix of disbelief and apprehension.
Snape cleared his throat and pointed towards another section of the ruins, a circle of stones. “Potter, I need you to walk over there.”
The haughty tone irritated Harry, but he took a step, his hand tugging on Snape’s arm. The older man was not volunteering any information, but he obviously knew more than he was telling Harry. Taking a deep breath, Harry kept walking, trusting the man not to send him into danger. His former professor and protagonist fell into step behind him, and together they moved toward the ring of stones, which stood dark against the wind-blown snow.
Harry stepped onto a flat stone at the outer edge of the circle and the hilltop shuddered. Startled, Harry stumbled back, grasping the front of Snape’s cloak as a low rumble vibrated the ground. Harry watched in fascination as a boulder to his right slid back, revealing the entrance to what appeared to be a cave.
Over the noise, Harry heard Snape muttering. “Should have known it would be Harry bloody Potter!” He gestured towards the darkness. “Well, go on!”
Harry stood his ground, his frustration growing. He ground his teeth together in an effort not to snap at the older man, striving for a moderate tone.
“I’m not going anywhere until you explain to me what is going on!”
They glared at each other for a long moment and Harry could feel his magic rising, swirling with the warm magical wind still swirling around him in a comforting manner. Harry knew Snape felt it as well, , as he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“All right, Pot—Harry, but inside the cave, if you would.”
Blinking in astonishment at the use of his given name, Harry did as he directed. A soft light flared as he stepped into the opening and into what looked like a passageway, Snape right behind him. The boulder slid back into place, Harry jumping at the noise, trying to tap down his apprehension, but Snape was a surprisingly reassuring presence beside him. A brighter light flared a short distance ahead.
“What have we found?” Harry asked softy.
“If you have studied Merlin, then you are aware that he is said to have been, among other things, the guardian of the Holy Grail and other priceless treasures.”
Harry nodded, his stomach clenching as his apprehension grew.
“Local legend proclaims that Merlin’s rightful heir will be the only one who will be able to find the treasure,” Snape snorted softly, his dark eyes on Harry. “It is said the heir will be ‘golden of hair and blue of eyes’ and will be drawn to the cave hiding the treasure by the ringing of a bell.”
“Bloody hell!”
Overwhelmed, Harry clamped his eyes shut. Gods, he hadn’t asked for this! Wasn’t being the bleeding Boy Who Lived bad enough? Hot tears prickled. No amount of treasure would bring his parents, Sirius, or Dumbledore back.
~~~*~*~~~
“Please, sir, promise me that you won’t tell anyone!”
Potter’s eyes had begun to return to their natural color, and the emerging emerald beseeched him. Severus was thunderstruck by the genuine distress that he could read easily in the teenager’s eyes. Harry Potter did not want to capitalize on the fact that he was the heir to Merlin, the greatest sorcerer of all time. Any normal wizard would be honored to bear that title!
“Please, sir, it isn’t right! It is just another thing that I did not earn! Please!”
The young man stepped closer, his hand reaching towards Severus in a silent plea of understanding, and Severus slowly nodded his assent. Something within him tilted as Lily Evans’ face emerged from her son’s and he finally realized that Harry was the son of the girl he had loved. This boy was the flesh and blood of the one of the few people in his life that had ever cultivated his friendship and treated him with kindness and caring, and very much like his vivacious mother. James Potter might have expected Severus to taunt and torment his son, but Lily would have never stood for it. The fiery temper he had seen in the beautiful young witch would have erupted had she known the contempt in which he had held Harry. Lily, who had forgiven him everything, would not have forgiven that.
“You have my word, Mr. Potter that I will not speak of this without your permission,” Severus told him quietly.
“Thank you, sir,” Harry responded, equally as quietly, a stunned look of relief lingering on his face. “Do you know what we will find in here?”
His mother’s fanciful stories about the legend of Merlin flashed through his mind, and he felt the corner of his lips twitch. “I am not completely sure, but legend has it that Merlin hid all his treasure in a golden vessel and set it on a golden chair in this cave. Some believe this golden vessel is a bowl which, in reality, is the Holy Grail. Others believe the vessel is a golden cauldron which belonged to Bran the Blessed and is said to have otherworldly powers, including the ability to raise the dead.”
Potter stared at him for several long minutes, mouth open in disbelief . “Well, I suppose there is no sense in staying here.”
Taking a deep breath, Harry stepped towards the glowing light, Severus following closely behind him. As they rounded the corner, the passage opened up into a cavern-like room reminiscent of the inside of a Gringott’s vault. Piles of golden coins filled the far corner; on the adjacent wall ceiling high shelves were full of books and stacks of scrolls, while in the center stood a large golden chair, and next to that was a golden cauldron. Severus stopped as he took in the large open area in front of the treasures, watching as Potter looked over the artifacts but made no move to touch them.
Swaying slightly as his body reminded him of its weakened state, Severus glanced around for somewhere to sit down. Suddenly the air beside him shimmered and a black leather couch, exactly like the one that had been in his Hogwarts rooms, appeared. He shot a scowl at Potter only to see dawning recognition chase the startled look off of the boy’s face, making Severus feel foolish in his ignorance.
“What is it?” Severus snapped as he gingerly lowered himself onto the couch, his legs trembling with fatigue.
“It’s like the Room of Requirement at Hogwarts, it gives us whatever we need,” the teenager said as he trailed fingers over the soft leather, a small smile playing on his lips. “You must have thought that you needed this, just as I am now thinking that you need something to eat and drink.”
Instantly, a table shimmered into existence in front of the couch, laden with fruit, sandwiches and flagons. A pot of hot tea stood within easy reach and Harry silently handed him a vial of potion that had materialized in one of the two tea cups. He accepted it as he remembered Draco mentioning the room that had adapted to his needs when he was repairing the vanishing cabinet. A pillow cushioned the small of his back, and a warm blanket draped over his lap.
~~~*~*~~~
“You are, though, dear boy.”
The bemused voice sounded loud in the silence of the cavern, and Harry’s head snapped up. He quickly located the source of the deep voice, as a large portrait on the far wall gave off a soft golden glow. A man in wizard robes with a long white beard and hair, very much resembling Albus Dumbledore, smiled benevolently out at him. The back of Harry’s neck prickled, and he knew that Severus Snape was watching the exchange intensely. The man held a staff in one hand and stroked his beard with the other.
“You are much like Galahad, I think, pure and untainted by the evil that you have encountered in your many endeavors. You are the Potter, then?”
Harry nodded slowly, knowing without a doubt that it was Merlin the Sorcerer in the painting. “Yes, sir, Harry, sir. I must tell you that I am not – untainted and pure – I mean, I have… I have tried to cast an Unforgivable on someone...”
The memory of his failed attempted to avenge the death of his godfather flashed through his mind, as did Snape’s flight across the lawns of Hogwarts the night Dumbledore died. He had really wanted to make both adversaries suffer, but had not been able to cast the curse.
“Ah, but you could not, could you, Harry?” Merlin’s eyes glowed for a moment. “And you must remember that you will never be able to cast a spell of evil, but I will teach you what you need to know in order to defeat the evil wizard you seek.”
All of the legends and myths about Merlin flooded into Harry’s mind and he swallowed hard. Part seer, part sorcerer, Merlin had made Arthur King, dabbled in potions, and had been the most powerful magical being in a millennium. Harry slowly nodded, instinct telling him to trust the essence of that magic, which had been left behind to animate the portrait. Snape coughed behind him.
“Please, sir, my… er, companion is still recovering from injuries, may he… may we rest here?”
A large four-poster appeared in the area adjacent to the couch. A fire flickered in a fireplace that appeared in the cavern wall, as well as a large bath and toilet further along the curving wall. Harry held his breath, waiting to see if a separate bed would appear. When it didn’t, he turned questioning eyes to the smiling portrait.
“Surely, Harry, you have heard of the fame that surrounded my birth? I was known as ‘the boy with no father’," Merlin said quietly, his eyes twinkling. “I was conceived in pure love by two witches, a princess and a nun, and understand the pull of love between two very different people. You should act on your desires, my boy, or you will always regret the lost opportunity.”
Harry felt the weight of Snape’s stare, as well as a rush of arousal at the portrait’s words. “He is still healing, sir, and I really don’t… uh, don’t think he is interested in me, anyway—”
“Nonsense,” Merlin cut him off, “he will be fine, Harry, and is much of the same mind as you. You simply must convince him of your sincerity.”
The painting pointed towards the golden cauldron. “Take your young man a goblet of water from the Cauldron of Life, Harry, and then we will look into the Mirror of Avalon.”
A crystal goblet suddenly appeared in his hand, and Harry only just managed to hold on to it. He turned back to the cauldron, now filled to the rim with shimmering liquid. Carefully, Harry filled the goblet, the water giving off an iridescent shimmer. The magic in the liquid tickled his fingers as he carried it to where his former professor sat on the couch. An eyebrow arched as Snape stared at him over the proffered goblet. With a sigh, Harry brought the crystal to his lips and took a healthy drink. The magic fizzled in his mouth and down his throat, warming a path to his stomach.
A chortle of laughter sounded from the portrait, but Harry ignored it as he held the goblet out to Snape again. Emerald engaged onyx without flinching, challenge issued and accepted as the older man reached out. A spark of magic raced up his arm as their fingers brushed, and Harry was sure his face reddened as well. Snape held his eyes as he sniffed the contents once before drinking the enchanted water. Taking the empty goblet and setting it on the tray, Harry silently helped Snape settle into the large bed. He was relieved when the man fell immediately to sleep. Harry had things to discuss and plans to make.
~~~*~*~~~
Which, of course, Harry bore stoically for the most part.
Severus studied the profile that had the same high cheekbones and chin of the witch who had befriended him. He knew that he had allowed his hatred of the boy’s father to color his opinion of the son. In the time Harry had taken care of him, he had done so with the same caring touch that Lily had always shown him, without any ulterior motive. A shiver ran through him as he remembered the brush of magic in the young man’s fingertips every time they touched, and his body’s response. His balls tightened and he shifted restlessly, scolding them for their wayward ambitions. Young men like Harry Potter did not seek out men like Severus for their pleasure.
“Sir?” Harry had noticed he was awake and moved to his side. “How are you feeling?”
“Surprisingly well, Harry,” Severus told him quietly, meeting the once again well-guarded eyes.
The young man smiled at him and nodded. “Merlin said the water had restorative powers, and that you should be much better when you woke up. I save you a bit of roast beef for dinner, if you are hungry.”
Severus discovered he was ravenous as he ate his fill, Harry a mostly silent but comfortable companion. They talked quietly about the cavern and the portrait of Merlin that sat in a now dark alcove. After a long bath, Severus stretched out in the large bed as the teenager took his turn. Severus frowned as he thought of the next duty they needed to accomplish, realizing suddenly that the portrait had not made any mention of the last Horcrux. That meant the Dark Lord had only been in the area for some other purpose, possibly unrelated to what had drawn Harry to Snowdonia, although he believed the evil wizard had also sought Merlin’s treasure. It was troublesome that Severus had not been able to secure that information before his true loyalties had been discovered.
Severus was still lost in thought when the bed dipped beside him. Turning his head, he could make out Harry’s tense form in the soft candlelight before he slid into the bed. In this place that had the ability to give them anything they wanted, Severus was surprised that the Gryffindor Golden Boy would not choose to have a bed of his own. It could not possibly be because Harry actually wanted to be near him, could it? He studied the younger man’s profile, his cock telling him how much he appreciated Harry’s proximity.
“Prof… I… can I ask you something?”
The teenager’s soft voice shook and Severus felt a flicker of trepidation as he turned his head. “You may.”
“Would you… could you please teach me how to… uh, have sex? I haven’t ever… I mean, I would like you to be the first.”
Harry spoke as he stared at the stone ceiling of the cavern, and Severus was dumbfounded. Surely the boy didn’t mean that he’d never… that he was still a virgin! Severus shook his head; it should not surprise him that Lily Evans’ son was as chaste as she had been, as he remembered the merry chase she had led James Potter.
“Please sir… er, S—Severus!” Harry turned toward him, misinterpreting his reaction. “You are a teacher, please could you just teach me? I know I am not much to look at, but… if you will have me.”
Severus turned on his side towards the teenager, examining the young profile. “You should save this for someone who means something to you, Harry,” he said softly, attempting to ignore the heat in his groin.
“I… you do mean something to me!” Harry said fiercely. “And my time is running out.”
“I don’t think—”
Those emerald eyes pinned him, something burning brightly in their depths. “You know better than anyone what my chances are of coming out alive from another battle with Voldemort! I could be dead by this time tomorrow, and I just want… I just want to know what it feels like to be held and loved…”
Severus had to swallow a lump in his throat. “You are not going to subject me to any inane emotional drivel, are you?”
The corner of the young man’s mouth twitched. “I will do my best not to insult you, sir.”
Severus leaned down, all his resolve evaporating in the face of Harry’s plea, and brushed his lips softly against Harry’s. A quiet gasp escaped the full lips, and Severus took advantage of it to deepen the kiss, running the tip of his tongue along Harry’s bottom lip. Arching up into him, Severus could feel Harry slip his arms around him, scooting closer to his warmth as his tongue poked out tentatively. It was Severus’ turn to gasp as Harry opened his mouth wider, inviting him in.
Sweet and hot, Harry tasted of forbidden innocence, the type of boy someone like Severus would never normally attract. Harry threw a leg over his hip, rubbing his erection against Severus and he was lost. Gathering Harry even closer to him, Severus threaded a hand through the tousled cap of hair and thoroughly devoured his mouth, plundering the sweetness he found there. Easing him over on his back, Severus used his free hand to run his fingers softly over Harry’s warm flesh, marveling at the softness. Magic swirled around them as Severus spelled off the few pieces of clothing that separated them, sighing as he felt the heated satiny skin shift under him.
Severus slowly pulled back to look down into the comely face. “Make very sure this is what you want, Harry. I will not tolerate any recriminations afterwards.”
“Oh yes,” Harry breathed, arching up to rub his cock against Severus’. “Please don’t stop!”
There was enough golden light to make out the flush of arousal along Harry’s cheeks and Severus stopped wondering. Slowly, teasingly, he lowered himself down until they touched from groin to chest, just enjoying the sensation of skin against skin . That velvety feeling of two cocks rubbing together, their magic tingling between them, as Severus listened to the breathy quality of Harry’s little gasps. It was all so arousing, more so than he would have ever though possible. Severus swallowed hard; when had his emotions shifted so much that he could feel so much with this young man?
Pushing that thought aside, Severus began to explore the line of Harry’s slender neck with fingers and lips, savoring the taste of innocence in Harry’s reactions. He writhed and twisted beneath Severus, unbelievably responsive to every touch. Knowing that this was perhaps the only time he would every have this opportunity, Severus took his time, pinching and licking each of the flat tan nipples, laving at Harry’s navel, nipping at the inside of his thighs, before leaning in and slowly sucking his twitching cock into his mouth. Harry arched up, immediately exploding down his throat as Severus continued to suck on him gently.
Moving up to gather Harry in his arms, Severus laid back to allow him a moment to recover, cradling the tousled head against his neck. He was still so hard he ached, but it seemed that just having Harry close placated his baser instincts. Severus held him just a little tighter, determined to hang on to the special young man in his arms for as long as Harry would have him.
~~~*~*~~~
The Mirror of Avalon had confirmed Harry’s worst fears: Voldemort was set to attack Hogwarts tomorrow morning at down. It was the Vernal Equinox, where the sun’s positioning coincided with the first light of day this year, and the elemental magic created would be strong. The Mirror also proved that Harry was correct, he was a Horcrux. With a feeling of resignation, Harry had indulged in a few moments of self-pity and remorse, but knew this fit the Prophecy. He decided that he had simply been given a reprieve the night his parents had died, the night he had survived the Killing Curse, and that stay of execution, as it were, had come to an end. It wasn’t that Harry feared dying, but he did regret the fact that he would not be able to say goodbye to his friends.
Stroking his fingers as Severus had, Harry made a thorough exploration of the pale chest. Delighted by the reaction to his tentative pinching of a nipple, Harry leaned down to lick it as he reached over the tweak the other nipple, loving the groan it elicited. Severus arched off the bed when Harry sealed his lips and sucked. With a grin, Harry pulled back and attacked the other nipple until Severus growled at him. Laughing, Harry continued down the edge of his ribs and across the flat plane of his abdomen. Reaching his ultimate goal, Harry was able to swipe the flat of his tongue across the engorged tip before Severus pounced.
“You will be the death of me, Potter!”
Harry found himself on his back, his mouth being plundered as those long slender fingers stroked down his sides. Severus settled on the bed beside him, and continued to kiss him hungrily as he repositioned Harry’s legs. Even though he expected it, Harry jumped at the first brush of Severus’ fingers across his rectum. The fingers stroked him soothingly and Harry was able to remain still as a slick fingertip slipped into him. The feeling of fullness was unfamiliar but not painful, and Severus continued to distract him with his lips. A second finger had been added when the tip of one brushed something deep inside him, a sharp jolt of pleasure shooting through him. Harry arched up, trying to maneuver the fingers back to the same spot.
Severus chuckled as he nipped along the edge of his jaw. “That would be your prostate gland.”
Harry didn’t really care what it was, as long as Severus brushed it again. “Please!”
He didn’t care how needy he sounded, his body humming with desire. Harry threaded his fingers through the long, raven hair, pulling Severus mouth back to his, and he put everything he was feeling into the kiss. Severus shifted until he knelt over him, and removed his fingers to push Harry’s legs up to his chest. His chest heaving, his body overwhelmed by sensation, Harry tried to listen to Severus as he explained what he was doing. Holding the back of his thighs, Harry felt Severus slide the head of his slick cock down the crease of his thigh and nudge it against his entrance. One hand pushed his balls out of the way as he felt pressure and then a sharp stab of pain as he was breached. A hiss of pain escaped.
“Relax,” Severus told him reassuringly, his voice tight. “Push back against me if you can.”
Harry concentrated on the hand rolling his balls gently, focusing on the warmth of those wonderful fingers as he took several deep breaths. The sharp burn as Severus rocked slightly forward made his breath hitch in his chest, but the fingers continued to stroke his skin. Something loosened, and Harry took another breath before he lifted his hips, not really having the leverage to push. The motion caused him to rock and Severus to slide further into him; this time the pain muted by the feeling of fullness. They repeated the motions until Harry felt Severus’ heavy sac resting on him and groaned at the feel of hot flesh on hot flesh. The initial feeling of being split in two eased along with the pain, and Severus was moving inside him, a new and incredible sensation. Then, Severus hit that spot inside him that sent sparks shooting through his groin and Harry was lost. His mind was lost in the feelings and sensations that swamped him, overloading his senses. Pleasure spun out of control: he felt loved and protected, Severus’ scent filled his nostrils, and he could feel his climax building in his abdomen. His hands clung to the sweat-soaked shoulders of his lover as Harry felt his muscles convulse.
“Severus!” was ripped from him as Harry arched up, giving himself over to the orgasm that slammed into him.
~~~*~*~~~
When Harry did not return to bed in a timely manner, Severus threw off the bedding and padded naked to the loo. When he saw the loo was empty as well, Severus felt a dawning sense of foreboding. A movement caught his eye, and he moved deeper into the room.
“Harry has just gone,” the portrait of Merlin said to him softly, the intelligent eyes watching him closely. “You are the Prince.”
Severus blinked at the painting, as new clothing shimmered into existence on the golden chair. “My mother was a Prince, yes.”
“Indeed, young man, and in a direct bloodline which descended from me,” The portrait smiled. “Did you think Harry was the only one entitled to enter the cavern? Did the magic within not meet your every need as well?”
Understanding dawned as Severus remembered hearing the bell that led them to the entrance of the cave, as well as the way the cavern had responded to him. Astonished, Severus could only stare at the smiling portrait of Merlin the Sorcerer; he would never have imagined that he, too, was a rightful heir of the wizard. Pulling himself together, Severus bowed slightly, acknowledging his ancestor with proper respect.
“I had little instruction on my heritage, sir, as my father discouraged it. I am, however, delighted by the connection.”
“As am I, young Prince.” Merlin bowed his head, excepting the gesture.
As delighted as Severus was with this news, his worry continued to grow. “Could you please tell me where Harry has gone?”
The portrait grew solemn. “Harry has left to fulfill his destiny.”
“Left? Idiot boy!” Severus began to pull on the clothing with savage moves. “He is not yet ready to face the Dark Lord! He will get himself killed, and to no avail as the Horcruxes…”
“He is as ready as he will ever be, or needs to be, Severus, but Harry does need your assistance. You need to destroy the Horcruxes that are currently housed in the wizarding school.”
Severus stared at the painted figure, knowing Hogwart’s defenses would not be easy to breech. Time was of the essence if he was to destroy the Horcruxes in time to be of any help to Harry, but without a wand, his Apparition…
“I have a portal, Severus, which will take you right to the hidden room.”
Severus nodded; distracted by the thought of the young man he had only just begun to know once more facing the Dark Lord on his own. It seemed to be fate that had Harry fighting alone again, as isolated as he had been in most of his battles with the evil wizard. His robes on, Severus reached for his wand out of habit, remembering that it was gone. A soft bell chimed and Severus looked up as a wand appeared in front of him. The wood was light-colored, birch if Severus was correct, and about 14 inches long. He gripped it gingerly. The wood warmed instantly in his hand, and green and gold sparks shot out of the end. There had been an increase in his magical power; Severus could feel it humming through his fingertips. Whether this was the result of Harry breaking his bond with the Dark Lord or the new wand itself, he wasn’t sure.
“Severus?”
Looking up at the portrait, Severus was taken back by the grave look on the sorcerer’s face.
“Sir?”
“The Mirror of Avalon showed Harry that the grounds of Hogwarts were to be the chosen spot for the destined battle. He will need your assistance after you have destroyed the Horcruxes, Severus. You must find him and return to the cavern immediately, no matter what his condition.” The strange eyes of Merlin bore down at him. “You must swear to me, my Prince, that you will bring him here immediately after the battle. You will be able to Apparate directly back.”
“I will,” Severus promised as he drew his robes closer around him.
A wave of apprehension swept through him as he moved towards the shimmering section of wall, before anger took over. He had no intention of losing the potential at a future that he had glimpsed last night. Harry had fit perfectly in his arms, a wonderful counterpoint to his pessimistic outlook, while still showing the potential to understand Severus better than anyone else ever had. Severus knew the young fool had chosen to shield him, to return his chance at having a life by breaking the bond that tied him to the Dark Lord, unmarking him and wiping the slate clean. And he knew that he could not allow Harry to go on alone, to pay the price Harry seemed to fear would be asked of him in this final battle.
Stepping through the portal, Severus found himself in a familiar room off the Head’s office at Hogwarts. It was the same room where he and Albus had worked in vain to neutralize the Dark curse embedded in the ring-Horcrux of Salazar Slytherin. It had already blackened his mentor’s ring finger by the time Severus had gotten to him. Eventually, a potion had slowed the visible spread, even as the deadly curse had continued to poison Albus internally. The Headmaster had managed to live far longer than either of them had believed possible through a continued regiment of potions and Albus’ pure determination to complete as much as he could to prepare the way for Harry. Perhaps one day Harry would tell him about the trip to the coast that night in June, and what had happened there.
The strong protective fields that surrounded the artifacts were infused with Harry’s magical signature, as was a magical barrier that shimmered in the doorway behind him. Using his new wand, Severus quickly dismantle the wards. Starting with the first Horcrux, he began to incant the complex Latin spell that would destroy the organic matter inside. Albus had created the spell in order to destroy the portion of soul infused inside without damaging the ancient artifact that housed it. A sense of urgency pressed at him, yet Severus continued to focus on the Latin words.
By the time he had begun the spell for the third and final time, Severus could feel the Dark magic pulsing in the air. The magic spiraled and shimmered before condensing into an aura of blood-red around Helga Hufflepuff’s golden cup, vanishing in a flash of fire and puff of black smoke. With a feeling of accomplishment, Severus stopped to examine each vessel in turn, making sure each was free of any remaining organic matter.
His task complete, Severus made his way through the shimmering barrier and out of the hidden room, into a hallway near the entrance to the Headmistress’ office. He moved briskly towards the staircase, debating whether to cast a Notice Me Not Spell, when an incredible pulse of magical energy rocked the castle. Severus’ mind flashed to Harry, and he picked up his pace, sweeping past several groups of panicked students at the top of the marble stairway. In the distance, he heard familiar shouts from former colleagues attempting to calm the students, which only stirred more turmoil. By the time Severus made it to the Entrance Hall, he was running, his wand in hand and fear coiling in the pit of his stomach.
Through the massive oak doors and down the steps, Severus flew through the courtyard, letting intuition to guide him out on to the snow-covered grounds. With a sense of déjà vu, Severus retraced the steps he had taken that horrible June night. Across the grounds, his breath loud in his ears despite the eerie quiet that enfolded him, Severus ran. Past the remains of Hagrid’s hut and down towards the Forbidden Forest, he could finally make out several groups of witches and wizards, some still dueling in the frigid air. A number of Aurors were descending on those last black-robed figures still resisting, and Severus headed away from them toward a circle of familiar people who stood in silence. He was able to identify several Order members, arms at their sides, and wands held with slack fingers.
Severus shouldered through the ring at the nearest point, ignoring the cries of recognition and heated shouts that followed. Bodies lay crumpled nearby, but he had eyes for only one. He looked past the rapidly withering remains of the Dark Lord, to the smaller figure who lay beyond him. Harry Potter was gray, a trail of blood still oozing from the blackened lightning-bolt scar, staring unseeing at the crystal blue sky. Severus felt his heart constrict, knowing Harry was dead before his knees touched the packed snow.
“Snape!”
Someone snarled at him, but he ignored them as Merlin’s words came to mind with chilling clarity. Severus gathered Harry tightly to his chest. The biting cold of the Scottish wind kept his head clear, the snow uneven under his knees as Severus shifted the added weight. He brought his wand up as movement in his periphery reminded him that they were not alone.
“Snape, you murdering bastard, let him go!”
One of the Weasleys made a move with his wand, only to have his arm jerked back by the diminutive figure of Filius Flitwick. Minerva McGonagall stepped forward, her wand by her side and blood staining her cheek. She studied his face for a split-second before she spoke.
“Severus, you can’t help Harry, he’s…”
The quiet inflection in the familiar voice was almost his undoing and Severus struggled to his feet with his burden, accepting the assistance of her strong hand.
“There is but one chance, Minerva, he is… we are both heirs of Merlin.” Severus ignored Flitwick’s gasp. “I must get him back…”
The Headmistress met his eyes, nodding briskly before turning around to face the rapidly gathering crowd. The Deputy-Headmaster joined her and Severus dismissed them, focusing his concentration on the cavern in Snowdonia and closing his eyes tightly. The squeeze of Apparition gripped him for a long moment before releasing him, the cold, stone floor of the cavern replacing the chill of snow.
“Severus!” The portrait’s voice was urgent. “Put him in to the Cauldron of Life!”
His overwhelming grief held at bay by a thin thread of hope, Severus staggered towards the cauldron, lifting Harry and shifting him so that he could lower his lover into the clear, bubbling waters. An iridescent shimmer of magic surrounded Harry as the impossibly small cauldron expanded to allow him to slide in easily. Severus was reluctant to allow Harry to slip completely under the surface and instead supported him with an arm looped around his chest. He was afraid that he was saying goodbye to something that had become so as necessary to him as breathing.
“Severus, you must let Harry go.” Merlin’s voice was gentle as it urged him to release Harry, sounding more and more like Albus Dumbledore to Severus' ears.
Taking a deep breath, Severus pressed a kiss to the cool forehead, heedless of the drying blood. With agonizing care, he released Harry. Something tore deep inside him as the dark head slipped below the surface. Severus sank to his knees, his hands pressed against the cold metal, resting his forehead on his hands. Harry himself had been the last Horcrux and had at least suspected it, Severus now realized. Now, the Horcruxes had been destroyed and Voldemort killed, but at what price? It was as if he had died with Harry on the snow-covered ground where the young man had faced his worst fear without flinching, alone.
It made sense now, Harry's sudden courage to approach him in the very real face of likely rejection. Last night, Harry had come to Severus to be held, to be loved for the first and last time in his life, before he had gone to willingly sacrifice himself. All for a world that had never tried to know Harry the person, yet had thought nothing of judging him by their own measures, without a care to the burden they placed on his shoulders. Severus had been no different, judging the boy by the father instead of seeing a toddler who lost everything; a neglected and abused boy; an adolescent who had to endure the weight of the world on his shoulders.
How badly he had personally misjudged Harry, Severus thought as the grief he was ignoring threatened to overwhelm his control. The death of Albus Dumbledore had been bad enough and Severus had never had the opportunity to grieve.
Now, Severus was not sure he could live under this newest burden, with his feelings so new and so raw. Harry Potter had been much too good for the likes of Severus, but he had allowed the young man to breach all his defenses. Everything they might have had together had been ripped from him, just as Harry had been taken. There was little for Severus now. Together they might have fought the prejudice, but alone he would always be known as Albus Dumbledore’s killer, regardless of his bloodline or any evidence that might exonerate him. It was all simply more than he could withstand now, and Severus did not have the strength to continue fighting.
Warm water splashed, drenching the back of his head and pouring down the back of his robes. Severus pushed back from the cauldron as water continued to overflow the rim. Getting his feet under him, Severus stood just as a figure emerged from the shimmering waters.
“Harry?”
His voice hoarse and filled with emotions he did not want to examine, Severus ran his eyes over the young man emerging from the cauldron. It was Harry, but not. This was a Harry free of the influence of Lord Voldemort’s Dark magic. There were dark auburn highlights in the raven hair, and the brilliant green eyes had more of an almond shape. Harry appeared taller, his shoulders broader, very like Severus' memory of James Potter. Recognition flashed in those eyes as Severus stepped closer, reaching a hand to cup his lover’s face. Trembling fingers brushed Harry’s fringe back, lingering over the unmarred skin of his forehead.
Severus leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the spot where the Horcrux had once been, Harry laughing as he wrapped his arms around Severus’ neck. Half lifting, half pulling Harry, the two ended up in a tangle on the floor and Severus cushioned the younger man as much as he could. Without a thought, he Apparated them both to the large bed and banished their wet, foul clothes. Gathering the younger man closer, Severus pressed his lips against Harry’s and kissed him with all the emotions he was no longer able to contain. He could taste the salt of tears, but Severus would not have been able to say who was crying.
They lay entwined for a long time. Severus was determined to give Harry exactly what he wanted. It certainly would not do for him to anticipate anything from this young man, who had done everything asked of him.
“Severus?” Harry’s voice was hushed in the huge cavern.
“Yes,” Severus encouraged him, pulling back in order to focus on Harry’s face.
The brilliant eyes watched him closely. “What happens now?”
“Anything you want, Harry,” Severus told him quietly, refusing to impose his own desires on him. “Everyone saw you die, so you even have the option of changing your identity.” Severus swallowed. “You can be whatever and whoever you what.”
The emerald eyes searched his face long enough for Severus to find it uncomfortable, but he didn’t look away. If this were a test of some kind, he did not want to fail it. Their eyes met and held, Severus purposely lowering his shields in invitation, despite the trepidation he felt. He had not been so vulnerable, so exposed, since he himself had been a teenager on the brink of a life-altering decision.
“I’d like to just be Harry.” The intense emerald gaze watched his reaction. “To travel a bit, see something of the world that is now safe, to see a beach for the first time, and walk in the sand, swim in the ocean. Eventually I would like to settle with a home and a family to love, children running around, being aggravating and just being normal.”
Severus found himself holding his breath as he waited for Harry to continue, already re-erecting the barriers and steeling himself for the rejection he knew had to be coming.
“Above everything, I want someone who will love me with all my shortcomings and irritating habits. Someone who will understand when I scream in the middle of the night because I am reliving what happened today.” Those eyes took on a pleading quality. “Do… do you know anyone who might learn to put up with a hero who has outlived his usefulness, Severus?”
Relief washed through him, and Severus let a corner of his lips curve as he wove his hands back into the wild mop of hair. “I might be able to find a willing candidate, if you are in agreement.”
Severus leaned in to kiss the Chosen One softly, putting all his hopes and devotion into it. He didn’t know where they might end up, but he was going to take advantage of this opportunity. And Severus put as much of this into his touch as he began to slowly make love to the young man who wanted to be his partner. The wizarding world could celebrate without them for a while.
Major research site: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dinas_Emrys