(Present Time)

Harry shut his eyes against tears as he recalled that memory to mind. That was the first time he could say that someone honestly had taken care of him. Sure, the Weasleys, Remus, Hermione, and his godfather cared about him, but his father’s friends---though they loved him---wanted him to be more like James, and well…he was not James. Hermione and Ron, though his best friends in the entire *world*, were simply not yet adults. And Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, though very kindly people, had their own lives and their own family.

With Severus it was something entirely different. A connection existed between them, one like he shared with no other.

And now he could very conceivably lose it.

“Tsk, tsk, what a pity,” Voldemort sneered, abruptly reminding Harry of his current predicament. Quickly, he snapped his head up to face the reptilian monster in front of him, eyes alight with unbridled fury.

Still holding the curse, Voldemort lazily twirled his wand around his fingers, stalking back and forth almost idly in front of the two in the far corner of the chill stone room. “You know, Potter,” he drawled, “they say the victors write history.”

Harry, not unfamiliar with the Muggle saying, merely snarled, “Then prepare to disappear into the pages of history, Riddle!”

The Dark Wizard came to abrupt stop; only a few feet’s distance separated him from the pair before him. Eyes hard with utter loathing, the monster laughed harshly, “Overconfidence, Potter? It does not become you.”

Harry clenched his teeth. “I’m not in the market for compliments from *you*,” he growled.

Voldemort scowled. “I grow tired of this childish banter.”

The fifteen-year-old allowed himself to smirk, although his eyes held *anything* but amusement, “You’re the one who started it, not me.”

The former Slytherin’s scowl deepened. “As you seem decidedly cheeky, Potter…”

A tight whirl of his wrist and the Cruciatus Curse on Severus was canceled. But Harry was not so ignorant as to believe it would stop there. He knew what was coming next, he knew…and he did not care. Anger and a bone-deep ache had penetrated to the very core of his being. Combine that with a wizard of Harry’s level of power, and you had a very volatile mix, indeed.

So it was that in a moment of human weakness---in a corrupt being striving to become immortal---that the Dark Lord met his downfall at the hands of a fifteen-year-old boy.

“Avada Kedavra,” incanted and thrown at the teenage savior of the wizarding world and the Death-Eater-turned-spy.

Green light.

Emerald eyes narrowed.

“*Aegis*,” hissed out.

And a dome of pure white shot up around Harry and Severus.

A split second of utter rage on Voldemort’s part, which quickly turned into disbelief, then horror, as the green light impacted against the shield…and was sent hurtling back at its sender at twice the speed.

Harry, startled, stared after it.

Unable to move in time, Voldemort was hit squarely in the chest, incidentally where his heart was. A brief blood-curdling scream, and then everything exploded.

A cloud of black, roaring in agony, exited the once Tom Riddle’s body, before bursting into a million specks of white light. The final echoes of the Dark Lord’s scream resounded throughout the stone room before all fell silent. As Harry watched, Voldemort’s prone body seemed to crumble, dissolving until there was nothing left, not even a wisp of ash.

It was over. Finished.

Much as Harry tried to wrap his mind around that fact, he simply could not fully grasp it. Silence fell, pressing in on ears still ringing with the after throes of the curse. The Boy-Who-Lived did not notice as his spell disappeared. As he regained usage of his hearing faculties, muffled sounds reached his ears. But one word cut through them all:

“Harry…” the voice was weak, pain-ravaged, but it broke the silence and drew his attention back to the man he still held in his arms. Off in the distance he could hear the sounds of yelling and explosions, many unaware that the greater part of the battle had already been won. But he could not bring himself to care about that now. No. What mattered most at this moment, *all* that mattered at this moment, was the older wizard who barely clung to the last fragile threads of life.

Obsidian eyes glowed with warmth and gratitude when Harry’s own sought them. “Well done,” the Head of Slytherin rasped.

Rapidly blinking back moisture in his eyes, he managed to crack a tremulous smile. “You know, that’s probably the first time you’ve called me ‘Harry’ face to face.”

Severus managed to return it, although very clearly he was in a lot of pain. “I-I *told* you I-I would use…” he drew in a shaky breath, trying to battle the aftereffects of the bloated Unforgivable, “use it wh-when I d-deemed nece-necessary…” He trailed off into a coughing fit.

Harry tightened his arms around his mentor’s softly shaking body and leaned down to lightly rest his forehead against the older wizard’s, tears stinging at the back of his emerald orbs. “Shh, shh, you’re all right,” he murmured thickly.

Severus shook his head adamantly, still coughing. “Harry…” he wheezed when the boy’s arms tightened even more, trying to steady his breathing, “Harry, look…look at me,” he forced out between coughs, managing to pry his arms out of the slight teen’s tight hold. His hands shakily reached up for Harry’s face as his student pulled away, enough so that they could match gazes, then settled gently against either cheek.

Harry’s breathing hitched, but he allowed his head to be gently tugged down.

A soft touch to his forehead.

His eyes widened. Shimmered. And at last overflowed.

“Sir?” he choked, blushing nonetheless. His once-surly Potions Master had just kissed his forehead.

Severus found a smile for him. “Wh-when I first saw you…I-I did not expect…to fall…to fall in l-love with you.”

Harry started, tears still streaming down his cheeks. “Sev…?”

The Potions Master’s smile remained, and the teenager was astounded when a tear trickled down his mentor’s oddly peaceful, though battered, face. He gently tugged Harry’s face down again and placed another warm kiss on his forehead. When the fifteen-year-old pulled back slightly, his teacher continued, “Not…not th-that type of…love…L-Like a father might have…f-for his child.”

A sob was torn from Harry’s unwilling throat. “Sev…” Then he threw himself completely into the Professor’s arms, burying his damp face against the man’s neck as soft sobs wracked his body. “I love you, too,” he sucked in a breath, then let it out. Sucked in a breath, then let it out. “I love you, too.”

At those words, Severus completely relaxed, a brilliant grin decorating his face. Harry loved him. Harry was safe. Voldemort was gone. The war practically won…

He could go now.

And with a final sigh of pure content and relief, the thirty-five-year-old Potions Master finally released the last shreds of consciousness he had clung to, and his life fled.

Harry, where he had pressed his face against the older wizard’s neck, felt his mentor’s pulse give out. Its final beat ripped through him, tearing his soul to shreds and his heart to ribbons. Then he did the only thing that came to mind:

He screamed. “*NO*!”

Without being consciously aware of what he was doing, the teenager once more pressed his forehead against the man’s beneath him. His teacher was not breathing. Scariest of all, he could actually *sense* the older wizard’s magic retreating. Rapidly. “Don’t you *dare*,” Harry forced out through gritted teeth, then latched on to Severus’s quickly fading magic.

All went dark.

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(Four Days Later, Hospital Wing of Hogwarts)

The figure did not move from the threshold of the Hospital Wing, gazing intently at its only other occupant (aside from Madame Pomfrey). The man’s once greasy black hair now had a healthy shine and his silken locks were strewn around his head. His face looked very much relaxed and at peace, but other than that, no signs existed to prove that he was, in fact, alive.

“Why don’t you go in, my boy?” came the murmured question from behind him, causing Harry to jump as a warm, wrinkled hand was placed on his shoulder.

Quickly, the teenager glanced up at the older wizard behind him, still rather pale and gaunt from his captivity and fight. He had just been released this morning, and was still quite unsteady on his feet. Hermione and Ron had been hovering around him all day, and only now had he been able to slip away from them and come here.

And he wanted to go in, oh, *Merlin*, how he wanted to go in. But…he was afraid…Harry gave a derisive snort. He who had looked Death in the face was afraid that it had, in fact, taken away one of the most important people in his life.

Albus Dumbledore smiled gently at him, not the least bit confused by the boy’s reaction. “I think you’ll find you have nothing to fear, Harry. Go on.” The hand on his shoulder urged him ahead.

The teenager shot the venerable Headmaster a disbelieving look---and a rather nervous one at that---but nonetheless did as he had been bid. Still a bit unsteady on his feet, he wove his way over to the man’s hospital bed and there paused, struggling not to let the building heat behind his eyes fall down his cheeks.

His teacher looked so pale…

A hand was placed in the middle of his back and the Headmaster gave him a gentle nudge forward. “It’s all right, my boy,” he leaned down and murmured into the teenager’s ear.

A dry sob was wrenched from Harry’s throat. “No, it’s not!” he cried---and quickly turned away, unable to bear the sight of his mentor lifeless on the bed, making as if to bolt.

A surprisingly strong grip on his shoulder halted his flight. “Harry,” Professor Dumbledore’s voice had taken on a note of sternness.

“Why are you making me do this?!” the Boy-Who-Lived cried thickly, struggling to pull away from the older wizard. He wanted out of here! He wanted to get away! Why couldn’t Dumbledore *understand* that?!

“Because he is not dead,” the Headmaster infuriatingly serene voice cut into the center of Harry’s emotional maelstrom, freezing the teenager in place.

What…?

Apparently satisfied that the boy would not try to flee any time soon, Professor Dumbledore slackened his grip on Harry’s shoulder, hold going from restraining to comforting. When emerald eyes bright with unshed tears looked up and sought his own blue ones for the truth of that statement, the venerable Headmaster gazed back openly. “It is true. He yet lives.”

Harry pulled away from the older wizard and turned fully to face him. “How?” he choked, wincing slightly when his voice cracked. Dumbledore would never lie to him…would he?

The Headmaster gestured for him to sit on the bed. Harry hesitated a moment before complying, sitting on the edge of the pallet near Severus’s head and taking the man’s limp hand into his own. He gave it a light squeeze, leaning down and whispering in a voice thick with tears, “Sev…” A definite note of pleading had entered it. He brought the man’s hand to his face and rested it against his cheek, holding it there. “Wake up.”

Albus smiled sadly as the scene played out in front of him. For five years he had been trying to get the two to set aside their differences and see just how much they needed each other. Ironic that it took a half-year’s worth of Occulmency lessons and a brush with death to make them actually *realize* it.

What he had told Harry was true, Severus was not dead. However, he had not regained consciousness yet, either. “I am guessing you would like to know what happened,” the Headmaster remarked quietly, coming over to sit beside the teenager.

The fifteen-year-old glanced briefly up at the elder wizard and nodded. “Please,” he begged unashamedly, desperate to know why his mentor was alive when by all accounts his Professor should be dead. His eyes went back to the prone Potions Master’s face.

Albus, too, turned to look at the younger man, still smiling slightly as he watched the two. Ah, Harry did not realize how much of his power was vested in the care he held for his loved ones. “First, Harry, do you remember what shield you used to reflect the Killing Curse back at Voldemort?” asked quietly.

The boy nodded his head. “The Aegis Shield. I remembered reading about it in Sev’s library one night when we finished Occulmency early.”

The Headmaster smiled, eyes twinkling, although Harry did not see it. “Correct. And you performed wandless magic to do so, am I right?”

Another nod.

“That is something very few wizards can do, Harry. I can perform some wandless magic, so can Severus, and I am nearly certain Voldemort could as well. However, it is a rare quality to possess. And that you used it to perform a very powerful spell, says a great deal about you,” Albus explained softly.

The tiniest of smiles touched Harry’s lips. “Not really, sir,” he pointed out quietly, “I was furious with Voldemort…because of what happened to Severus. I am sure it was more that than it was any sort of power.”

“Ah? And you are sure of this?” Professor Dumbledore remarked, mirth dancing in his eyes.

Harry shot him a confused look.

“Harry,” the Headmaster continued, smile widening, “the most many wizards can do when they are angry is shatter glass. The Aegis Shield is one of the most complex and difficult spells to perform in our entire world.”

The teenager whipped around, stunned at this revelation, “But…” he tried to protest feebly.

“You said you were angry at Voldemort because of what he did to Severus, correct? However, no doubt you were also highly upset because Severus took that curse for you,” the elder wizard responded, seeing comprehension slowly dawn on his student’s face. The Headmaster’s voice gentled considerably, “So you see, Harry, you loved him enough that it manifested itself into the form of an Aegis spell.”

“Aegis spell?” the boy repeated around a suddenly tight throat.

Albus elaborated, “The Aegis Shield is one among a series of spells, the general title being ‘Aegis spells.’ These spells, Harry, are classified as neither Light nor Dark; rather, they are a class all their own. Only with an emotion as powerful as Love, can a wizard perform them. Even then, he or she must have an enormous store of power. You, my boy, performed *two* of them.”

“But I didn’t cast a…” Harry trailed off, remembering anew the fear that had seized him as he felt Severus’s magic recede and the desperate grab he had made for it.

The Headmaster slowly nodded. “The second one you performed was a healing spell, Harry. I believe the technical term for it is Aegis Remedium. Combined with the injuries you received during your duel with Voldemort, and how much your mental battle taxed your mind, the amount of power you invested in both the Shield and Remedium spells completely wiped out your magic. That is why you have been so unsteady and dizzy these past few days.”

“And I’m guessing it’s also why ‘Mione and Ron have been following me around like a bunch of mother hens,” he grumbled to himself.

The elder wizard laughed. “Your friends, one of whom is very bright, and the other who has grown up in our world, know the signs of depleted magic. *They* are simply worried about you, my boy.”

At that, Harry cracked a small grin. “I know. Sir, would you mind telling them that I’ll be staying here tonight?”

“Not at all, my dear boy,” Albus chuckled, patting his shoulder as he stood, “not at all!”

And then, still laughing, he swept out of the Hospital Wing.

Continuing to faintly grin, Harry watched him as he left. While he had been confined to a hospital bed for the past few days and had only just been allowed up this morning, he had noticed a distinct difference in the atmosphere as he wandered around. People---students and teachers alike---practically *danced* down the corridors of Hogwarts. All four of the hourglasses containing house points were filled to brimming for a great many had been involved in the final battle, the majority of Slytherin House included. Light seemed to radiate from every corner of the castle---even the dungeons were bright! And everywhere, people were smiling.

Except Filch. That man *never* seemed to be happy.

Of course, Harry’s smiles were rather toned down in comparison to others. And the reason for that lay quietly on the bed beside him…

“And y-you (cough)…y-you accuse your f-friends…of being m-mother hens,” came the rasping, but incredibly familiar voice out of nowhere.

Or not so quietly.

With a cry of utter amazement and joyful disbelief, Harry whipped around…taking a tumble to the floor of the Hospital in the process. Not that he noticed.

“Sev!!!”

Pushing himself up onto his elbows and peering down at his beloved student in great amusement, Severus Snape remarked warmly with a smirk, “I-I did not r-realize…I was *that*…spectacular.”

Harry said nothing, merely gazed up at his mentor as tears of joy started streaming down his cheeks.

The older man’s smirk softened and he rolled his eyes, holding down a slightly trembling hand to his charge. “Oh, come here,” he murmured.

And Harry complied, allowing Severus’s surprisingly strong grip to pull him off the floor and onto the bed, into his teacher’s arms. Once there, the fifteen-year-old savior of the wizarding world started crying in earnest.

But he smiled.

He smiled.