Dumbledore died two weeks before Harry's seventeenth birthday.  He'd left a series of complicated encoded directions to different Order members, which meant that Harry had followed the plan and stayed at the Dursley's until almost the end of July.

Snape, who'd disappeared the night that Draco failed to kill the headmaster, had not confirmed whether or not he'd told the Death Eaters the wrong date for Harry's escape to the Burrow.

And so on the morning of the thirtieth, at five am, Harry was more than a little skittish as he undid the latch on the kitchen door and slipped out into the garden. He didn't flinch when a fast-walking Bill Weasley joined him out of the shadows though, and together they kept a good pace as they walked towards the Little Whinging Rail Station.

The sickly sweet smell of the flowers from the perfect gardens he passed made Harry's nose twitch and his stomach feel a bit nauseous.

 "Why can't we apparate?" Harry whispered, shifting his stride. His pack was itchy on his shoulder, stuffed to the brim with his clothing and his books and wand. His broomstick had been stored in a water bottle that Hermione had spelled with a space-enhancing charm and clipped to his backpack.

"You have the trace, Harry. Ron said you were smart, you know," Bill teased, holding his wand against his trouser leg as he walked.

"Dumbledore apparated with me last year," Harry answered, as they turned the corner onto Station Approach road. There was a muggle there already, waiting for the five-twenty train to London.

"Dumbledore is a law unto himself."

It was a damp morning for July, and the stars could still be seen through the breaks in the clouds. One of the street lamps illuminating the posted train schedule board was flickering, and they walked toward it like moths to a flame. A thin wisp of air pulsed across the lane as they entered the drop-off circle, and made the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stand up. He thought he saw a shadow behind some trees to his left, but flashes of light to his right distracted him. Bill nodded up towards the upper floors of the train station, where a maintenance worker had started turning on lights in the offices.

"Relax. It'll be fine," Bill said, pulling Harry towards the automated ticket machine.  Harry knew that there were several Order members around the station, watching carefully for any signs of Voldemort or the Death Eaters, but he still couldn't wait to get on the train and get out of the open.

His relatives had left the day before, turning their noses up at Harry as they walked out without a good bye.  Harry would likely miss the town, but not his family.

"Look, the train is coming in," Harry said, pointing down the track at the approaching bright light.

"Good," Bill said, seeming more at ease now that the train was in view. The lone muggle that had been waiting seemed to perk up as well upon seeing the train, and Harry could hear other cars approaching from a distance.

Harry did one more sweep of the train station and locked eyes with what seemed to be an animal crouched by the post box a few parking spots away.  The eyes flashed at him, and a dark, imposing voice commanded the word run to flash across his mind.  Harry slowly backed away from the train as it pulled in and came to a gentle stop with the doors very close to him and Bill.

A jet of air was released as they opened, and Bill was hit immediately by the cruciatus curse.  Harry dove out of range of the door, noticing the muggle get hit by a flash of green and slump to the ground.  There were Death Eaters in almost every carriage doorway, firing off curses at him as Harry ran towards the parking lot of the station.

Order members appeared from their hiding spots and began a counter attack, hastily thrown up wards keeping whatever muggle travellers away from the station as the battle formed. Harry crouched behind a car and watched as Voldemort exited the train.

Death Eaters stormed about like Dementors, cursing and hexing the Order members that were apparating in. Voldemort walked unaffected down the platform, headed west towards where Harry was hiding. Kingsley had appeared to help Bill, and through the shouting Harry figured that they were trying to figure out where to apparate him.

"Harry Potterrrr," Voldemort called, his lips curling in distaste on the last r. He had his wand raised, and was flicking away curses directed at him as if they were specks of dust landing on his shoulder.

Voldemort came closer and closer to the car, and Harry felt panic setting in as he tried to figure out how the hell he was going to escape. He knew he'd only survived by chance at the Ministry the year before, and sheer luck at the graveyard. He didn't have Dumbledore up his sleeve anymore, and Harry wanted to get out of there.

 "Nothing to say to me, dear Harry?" Voldemort taunted, whipping the cruciatus curse at Harry. "I have a whole train ride's worth of conversation for you."

Harry shivered as the cruciatus hit the car, denting the metal framework.  He brought up the strongest shield he could muster and peeked over the driver's window. Someone in black fell behind Voldemort, and Harry scrambled to think of what he could defend himself with when Voldemort raised his wand again.

Harry looked back towards the animal that had warned him, but only saw another wizard there fighting. Voldemort had his wand high, and a chilling smirk on his face.

"I think I shall just kill you now, and spare the dramatics," Voldemort said.

Harry desperately tried to think of his happiest memory, as that was the last thing he wanted to think of before he died. He was distracted by heavy footsteps running towards him, belonging to a tall lanky figure with a cloak that made the man look like batman.  

"Expecto patronum!" Harry yelled, accidentally casting that instead of protego.

The silver stag shot forward, followed closely by a non-verbal spell the running man had cast. He crashed into Harry a second later, taking them both out of Voldemort's killing curse's range.

Harry had a sickening kaleidoscope of light flash in front of him as he was knocked to the ground, seeing curse flares, smoke, the flickering lamp, and headlights from approaching autos that couldn't get past hastily cast Order wards on the roads.

He hit the ground with a grunt, hand scraping up against the concrete and sharp bones covered in thick black cloth above from whoever had landed on him. Harry had enough time to flick his eyes towards where Voldemort had been standing, enough time to see the thick charcoal mist dissipating from where Voldemort had stood, before he felt his body ripple in pain.

The curse carried no light, but spread through his abdomen like wildfire as he groaned loudly. Going by the grunts of the man above him, who Harry knew but couldn't recognize for the pain creating starbursts in his vision, they had both been hit by whatever curse had been sent at them.

"Hold on," the man hoarsely commanded, and it was the same voice that had been in Harry's mind. There was a mind numbingly painful blink in time, in which Harry felt like his body was being ripped inside out.

They landed somewhere soft, in a dark room, and as it seemed devoid of Death Eaters and Voldemort, Harry began to fade in and out. He swore as his backpack was pulled off him, but couldn't focus enough to curse the person who'd done it.

He felt a strong ache of a pulled muscle that pulsed under his skin as his body shook uncontrollably. He felt cold as a fever flashed through him, and waves of nausea hit as two Order members ran around him. The last thing Harry thought before he passed out was that he was incredibly thirsty, and it was odd that battles felt so much like exercise.

...

"His liver's okay. They can share it."

Harry drifted into consciousness and was aware of two definite things. He was on a soft bed, away from the battlefield, and there was a large plant leaf covering his face.

He didn't recognize the female voice speaking, nor did he understand why his right side was much warmer than his left. He tried to move his head to the side to see what was going on, but it made breathing harder. He grimaced at the blurry light and gave up, turning his head back under the darkness.  The plant leaf was soft and seemed to be stroking his cheek, which felt nice, so Harry went back to sleep.

...

Harry jolted himself awake, hearing different voices this time as he tried vainly to scratch at his side. His hands wouldn't move though, and he couldn't figure out why. It was burning warm, itchy and covered by something uncomfortable that was pulling slightly at his skin.

"I've had to pin his hands, he keeps trying to pull at the stitches," a voice said, and Harry wanted to smile. Hermione was there, and surely she'd tell him what was going on and why he was getting a plant leaf facial.

"Herm," Harry croaked, his breath lifting the leaf a little. It was snatched off his face and Harry blinked at the bright light above him. It oddly seemed a bit harder to get fresh air all of a sudden.

"Hi Harry," Hermione smiled, her head hovering above him.  She fussed about with his wrists, and Harry realized that he could move them again.

"Harry mate, glad you're back with us," Ron said, sounding very relieved from wherever he was standing out of view. Harry felt his foot being patted, and he figured Ron was at the end of the bed.

Harry could hear thick concern in their voices, as well as the breathing of other people in the room and one person unusually close to his right side.

"You sound like you weren't sure I'd wake," Harry said feebly, attempting a joke. 

There was silence in the room, and most of Harry's body tensed.

"Hermione..." Harry started, trying to lift his head.

"Stay still, Mr Potter," a female voice said, and hands cradled the side of his head. Harry wasn't sure, but he thought it was the same voice that spoke of livers earlier.

"You were cursed by a Death Eater yesterday morning," the woman continued, her tone soothing. "Necrosis organus."

Beside him Harry heard someone suck back air.

"Wonderful," a voice croaked, a voice that sounded disturbingly familiar.

Harry felt the bed shift and then grunted in pain as a muscle in his side was stretched uncomfortably.  An echoing grunt followed his, and then panic set in as Harry realized that whomever was lying beside him was attached to him somehow. And that person sounded very much like Professor Snape.

Snape moved again, making the burning feeling worse.

"Agh!" Harry grimaced, clutching at his side. He was surprised to feel another set of hands grabbing at his skin.

"Harry! Don't move!" Hermione urged, pulling at his shoulder to get him to lay still.

"Potter!" Snape barked, his larger hands almost crushing Harry's as they both grabbed at the painful bandaged skin on their sides.

"Piss off, Snape! It's itchy," Harry winced, still trying to scratch it. He'd been trying to kick, too, but Ron was holding his feet down.

"Stop moving, you imbecile!"

"I'm not! You're poking me!"

"I'll try stabbing you in a moment," Snape hissed, slapping Harry's hands.

"Immobilus!" Hermione cast, stunning them both and stopping the struggle in the bed.

"You have to be careful, you're not fully healed yet," she hissed, giving Harry a glare.  She looked over top of Harry, to his right, and he assumed that Snape was getting the glare as well.

Another woman came into view, the one that was talking earlier about sharing a liver.

"To explain, the curse ate away at your organs, and part of your flesh. The only way to stop it in time was to remove the affected parts and, well," she paused here and sounded uneasy. "Share what was left."

"Share what was left. As in, I'm literally stuck to Snape," Harry grunted, his tone sour.

"All because Potter was too stupid not to corner himself by a car," Snape muttered.

"I wasn't cornered! And what the hell were you trying to do by tackling me? You were protecting me!"  Harry accused, jabbing his arm over the airspace above Snape' head.

"Don't flatter yourself, I tripped on the kerb," Snape snarled, punching away Harry's hand.

"Harry, Severus, enough!" Remus Lupin ordered, entering the room with heavy footsteps.

"For how long?" Snape growled, stuck staring at the ceiling.

"We don't know," the woman responded. She had thick red hair and a rounded face, and though not overly large, she was a fairly sturdy woman. "The spell hasn't been used in over two hundred years."

"Because it's dark magic and it's outlawed," Snape sneered. "And who the hell are you?"

"Hanna Prewett. Molly Weasley's cousin, and a certified Healer," the woman fired back, holding up a clipboard of notes.

"A pseudo-Weasley, fantastic," Snape said, his tone bitter. 

"Finite incantatem," Hermione mumbled, freeing them.

If Harry didn't know any better, he'd think that Snape's biting tongue was covering up for fear.

"It's either me or St Mungo's, and maybe Azkaban. Your choice."

"So I am to be stuck to Potter, for as long as it takes to re-grow a liver," Snape commented, making it sound like a death sentence.

"Amongst other things. If we can grow them back," Hanna Prewett replied in a no-nonsense tone.

There was a very stale silence in the room, and Harry hated that he couldn't sit up and see who exactly was with them. From the amount of twitching Snape's fingers were doing against the bed, he figured that it made Snape even more anxious.

"Potter, I am going to kill you," Snape finally said, seeming to have reached a conclusion.

"No you won't, Severus," Remus answered, confusing Harry. He couldn't figure out exactly where Remus was standing. "Neither can live if the other dies."

Harry had no idea if Remus had been told the prophecy, but his wording was so eerily similar that it took his breath away.  He felt tears prickling the sides of his eyes, and a very heavy feeling on his chest that had nothing to do with the healing potions they'd been given. Sometimes, when Harry had been pushed just a step over his breaking point, he closed his eyes and imagined he was a little boy again; whose only worry was the strange shadows in his cupboard. 

"I want to sit up," Harry said, in a rough tone that was mistaken for anger.

"I don't..." Hanna started, but was interrupted by Snape.

"Sit us up!" Snape barked.

It took a few minutes of discussion and a two-person levitation spell to lift them off the bed enough that they could bend forward at the same time into a sitting position. As Ron and Hermione lowered them, Harry felt only a slight pull at his side. Sitting back against the pillowed headboard, Harry surveyed the room and saw an alarming amount of medical supplies on the dresser. On the nightstand beside him was his wand, and thirteen empty potion phials. At the end of the bed, Remus, Ron, Hermione, and the healer all stared at them with curious and worried glances.

"And I suppose it was just luck that Professor Snape and I had matching blood types or whatever?" Harry asked, feeling uncomfortable and refusing to turn his head to the right to look at Snape.

"You don't, mate," Ron answered. "That's why we've been feeding you twenty different potions a day."

"Imagine that, Mr Weasley now sees a use for potions," Snape scowled.

"No thanks to you," Ron muttered.

"It won't be forever, Harry," Hermione reassured, patting his foot. "And now that Voldemort's gone, we can concentrate fully on getting you better."

"Voldemort's gone?" Harry asked dumbly, feeling Snape's body tense beside him.

"That he is, Harry," Remus said, with a soft smile. "You both had excellent timing. The patronus you sent and Severus' curse...it was like he didn't stand a chance. Just burst into black mist and disappeared."

Remus sounded relieved and tired, and Harry wondered if any Order members had gotten hurt at the train station.  He mentally reviewed what Remus said, and narrowed his eyes slightly at the wording.

"No one has found his body?" Harry asked.

"No," Ron answered, sounding happy. "He's gone."

"There's an Order of Merlin waiting for the both of you," Hermione eagerly offered, looking very proud. "Though you're still hidden away for the moment, until you're feeling better."

Snape was remaining very silent through the information overload, and Harry could almost hear the gears in his brain working.

"Just a temporary precaution," Remus explained. "Although the aurors did arrest eleven Death Eaters yesterday."

There was an awkward pause in the room before Snape spoke in a low and threatening tone.

"Get out, all of you."

 "There's still a few things you need to know," Hanna said, arms on her hips and looking very much like her cousin Molly.

"Fine. Everyone except the bossy healer, get out."

Harry watched as Hermione, Ron, and a concerned looking Remus left the room. Ron gave a small wave on his way out, and wished Harry a happy birthday.

"Explain your role in the decision to join me to Potter and then leave," Snape demanded, in his detention tone.

Hanna didn't take too kindly to being ordered around, and spoke with pursed lips.

"You were hit with a flesh eating curse. It targeted your organs, so Harry; you're missing a kidney, part of your lung, and half of your intestines. We managed to stop the curse there.  Professor Snape, you've got a damaged heart, your liver is only working at ten percent, your large intestine has been repaired, and your spleen is gone."

Harry blinked widely at the list, and felt Snape stiffen beside him.  As much of a healer he was not, the damage remarkably pretty bad.

"You have slight external scarring, as if you'd been injured by a splinching incident. Given the problems, and the small amount of time to make a decision, we decided it best to have you share your functioning organs."

"You couldn't have just given us skelegrow?" Harry asked, reading phial labels and understanding now why his stomach felt like it had been kicked repeatedly.

"It's SKELEgrow, Potter, not ORGANgrow," Snape snapped, crossing his arms. They both winced as the skin at their sides pulled.

"Precisely," Hanna confirmed, and she gave Harry a sympathetic look. "The bandage needs to stay on for another five hours."

She picked up some used linens and left, leaving them sitting on the bed in very loose muggle pajamas, pointedly not talking to each other.

The window to his left had been cracked open slightly, and Harry could hear the sounds of London in the summer. He stared up at the black ceiling above him, his eyes tracing the Elizabethan patterns carved into it. For mid-July, this had turned out to be the worst year he could remember yet.

Dumbledore had thwarted Malfoy's plans in the room of requirement, and allowed Snape to escape with Malfoy out of Hogwarts.  Without facing any major catastrophe at the end of the year, Harry'd gone home to the Dursley's, to his dose of reality check. And three weeks later the headmaster had died from the curse in his hand.

Snape grunted beside Harry, pulling a little on their shared side. He had dozed off whilst reading the healing notes Hanna Prewett had made on them.  Harry turned his head to look at him, take in the pale and relaxed skin around Snape's face.  He looked a bit different, but it was hard to tell in the darkened room, and with the cut along Snape's jaw line.  Curse scars couldn't be healed magically, and Harry was in no rush to see what additions he'd acquired.

Snape's arm started twitching against Harry's, and Harry wondered what the man dreamt of. Did Snape even dream? Or was he plagued by the same Voldemort-induced nightmares that Harry experienced?

Harry lifted up his arm and squinted at the muggle watch he wore, a gift left for him on his night table. It was hard to believe that he'd turned of age that morning, as he'd been unconscious and not had any visiting owls. What wasn't hard to believe was the level of destruction to the station in Little Whinging, where the Death Eaters had ambushed them.

A boy's shriek sounded through the window, and for a moment Harry felt a clench in his stomach. It was followed by a group of children laughing, and Harry allowed himself to relax back into the pillows. They smelled of starch and lemon, over-exuberant freshness in the heavy old house. 

The door creaked open and Harry barely managed to lift his head high enough to see who had entered.

"Harry," Hermione whispered to him, tiptoeing beside the bed and sitting down on the edge.

"Any news on the other Death Eaters?" Harry whispered back, trying to sound strong. Ever the soldier.  He blinked his eyes dry at her fond look.

"No. Ministry's in a bit of a disorganized euphoria right now. Too many people are out celebrating," she said, shaking her head in disbelief.

Harry didn't mention that the apparition of Voldemort he'd seen while falling to the ground reminded him of the thing that had escaped Quirrell's body in first year.  There was silence between them and Hermione clasped his hand. 

"It's almost over, Harry. We'll do everything to help heal you. But please go easy on Snape."

"Go easy? On Snape?!" Harry hissed.

"Harry. The spell is illegal for a few reasons. I know you've not seen much, but you've essentially become conjoined twins."

Harry's brows knit together in confusion for a moment before he realized what she said.

"Oh no. I look like him?" Harry was aghast.

"No, you look like yourself. With one or two of his features," Hermione answered thoughtfully. "Not the nose."

"So why do I have to go easier on Snape?" Harry sulked.

"Because he lost more than you.  You're both around the age of twenty-five now, so Snape lost a good thirteen years. Even if we can separate you both in a few months, he'll still look twenty-five. He has to re-experience those thirteen years."

Harry closed his eyes and swallowed hard. He was afraid to look in the mirror and see what the spell had done to him.

"I don't think 25 was all that easy on Snape the first time ‘round," Hermione whispered.

...

Snape didn't say a word an hour later when they managed to sit up unaided.  The spare bedroom into which they'd been placed had a large armoire across from the bed, and it allowed Snape and Harry their first look into a mirror. Snape had broken seven cups and saucers; along with letting loose a stream of repressed anger-magic destructive enough that Mrs Black's portrait had shut right up.

But he didn't say a word.

Harry hadn't been too disappointed upon looking in the mirror. His face had been lengthened a tiny bit (and Snape's shortened), his ears rounded a little at the tops, which made them look less like pointed elf ears. His chin had been sharpened a little to look more similar to Snape's, but his nose had been left the same. And he still had his mother's green eyes.

Snape's face had been filled out a little to look less sallow than it normally did, and his nose had been straightened. He'd lost a bit of length in his face, to better match Harry, and his very thin lips were no longer quite as thin. He'd lost a lot of the lines around his eyes and forehead, and looked a lot younger. Harry had wisely not mentioned that Snape looked more like the 15-year-old version of himself from his pensieve.

They didn't look identical, but they certainly looked like brothers.

...

"We're getting up, Potter," Snape suddenly announced. It was just three, and Harry was bored of the Daily Prophet.

"For what?" Harry grumbled, holding the papers still and glaring at Snape.

"Lupin mentioned an Order meeting in twenty minutes," Snape answered, grasping Harry's sleeve and pulling at him.

"Stop it," Harry said, slapping Snape's hand.

"I need a smoke before the meeting. Get up."

Harry dropped the newsprint and turned his head to stare at Snape.

"You smoke?"

Snape levitated and twisted them so his own legs hung over Harry's side of the bed and they could stand.

"You smoke now too," Snape said, with a grim smile on his face as he awkwardly walked Harry towards the window. Snape's clothing was somewhere in the house, as his cigarettes came when he summoned them with his wand.

Snape had been a lot calmer than Harry had expected upon waking and finding out he was stuck to his most hated student. Then again, it appeared that Snape was being dosed with calming draughts in his potion regime.

Harry ignored the smoke and squinted out the window, realizing one good thing about the conjoining spell. He had gained a bit in height, so that he was now only half an inch shorter than Snape.

...

The Order meeting was held in the kitchen of Grimmauld's. Almost all of the Order members were present, and openly staring as Snape and Harry made their way into the room. Walking was bloody difficult, as Harry was getting used to his longer legs and Snape sometimes kicked the back of Harry's right foot as they walked.  Clothing had been a bit of a struggle as well, but after Snape had finished his cigarette they'd managed to put on regular trousers and made modifications to their shirts.  Snape had spent ten minutes charming and fiddling with two robe cloaks for them to wear, which effectively hid the nine-inch strip of bandage where they were connected.

McGonagall had saved them two chairs by the fireplace, and people pointedly looked elsewhere as they fought with the chairs to get the right angle to sit down.

"Start the meeting," Snape growled, seeming uncomfortable with the attention and the itchy robe against their shared skin.

"Right," McGonagall said. "Happy birthday, Harry."

She smiled warmly at Harry, and he blushed under the congratulations from the other people in the room.

Most of the Weasleys were present, and Harry noted that both Fred and George were giving them a shrewd look.  Ginny was at the table, avoiding Harry's gaze, and Hermione had a stack of notes next to her and Ron.  Remus and Tonks were there as well, giving Harry a sympathetic look that he didn't have the stomach for.  To Harry's left, an empty portrait sat propped up against a chair. Bill was missing from the group, but Harry figured he was at home recovering from the cruciatus.

"A quick summary of the battle," McGonagall started. "Two people killed, nine cursed. One Death Eater dead, and one in auror custody.  Injuries..."

"Skip it," Snape commanded.

"Yes, well," Professor McGonagall flustered, pursing her lips as she narrowed her eyes at Snape. "An unexpected attack, but the outcome was well worth it. Congratulations to everyone, especially to Harry and Severus."

There were a few claps, though Snape's glaring cut those quickly.

"Just a temporary setback for you two, and then you can party with the rest of us," Tonks said, offering a mug of tea as a toast.

After fifteen minutes more discussion on the ministry, parties, and Dumbledore's machinations, the Order members finally left them alone; Harry to his cold tea and Snape to his misery. Harry shifted restlessly for a few moments on the hard chair to get comfortable, before he gave up and scratched at the bandage on their side. Grimmauld Place was eerily quiet, and he could smell whiskey on the table from where someone had spilled it the night before.

"Voldemort's not dead," Harry said quietly, tracing a gouge in the wooden table with his finger.

Snape paused in the Order notes he was reading but he didn't turn his head to look at Harry.

"I know."

 

"Why didn't you say anything to Professor McGonagall?" Harry asked, rolling his wand on the table.

Snape scowled at him, and appeared to be considering whether he'd bother answering Harry or not.

"It is usually beneficial to gather as much information as possible before contradicting anything," Snape finally said, slipping to another page of the notes.  He missed Harry gawking.

"Oh that's rich. This from the man who was so quick to jump down my throat whenever something happened at school."

Snape put down the papers and full-on glared at Harry.

"That's because you were usually behind what happened at school."

"I was not! You just had a blind hatred of me and zeroed in whenever convenient. You had a Potter prejudice," Harry accused, pointing his finger on the table in front of Snape to make his point.

"I have a prejudice against morons," Snape corrected, shoving Harry's hand out of his space. Harry shoved back, pushing against Snape's shoulder, and the chairs started to move as they pushed each other.

"Gentlemen," Dumbledore coughed, popping into his portrait.

Harry, who'd twisted his right arm under Snape's left and had a tight grip on Snape's collar, blushed and froze at the headmaster's voice.

Snape didn't seem to have any qualms about seeing his former employer, however, and knocked Harry in the back of the head as he moved his left arm back over their shared side.

"Headmaster," Snape greeted, steeping his fingers together and resting his hands on the table.

"Professor Dumbledore," Harry nodded. He wondered how on earth the artist had managed to get the twinkle in Dumbledore's eye painted properly.

"Let me just say, my boys, that I am very pleased to see that both of you made it out of this war relatively unscathed. I spent many sleepless nights fearing you wouldn't."

"You call this unscathed?" Snape said, in a low voice that Harry had heard before in the Order meetings. It was the tone Snape used when he thought a suggested plan of action was particularly stupid.

Dumbledore held up his hand, the one that had been blackened by the curse that had killed him. It was now a pale-ish pink colour, his normal skin tone.

"I would say so, wouldn't you, Severus?"

Chastised, Snape sat back in the chair with a small huff of breath.

Dumbledore smiled again at them, his mauve-coloured robes seeming to shimmer in the painting, as if they'd been recently dry cleaned.

"I want to congratulate you both. It appears that I was very wrong in my assessment of defeating Voldemort, and I am very grateful that you were able to still carry on in spite of my mistakes," Dumbledore said, his tone friendly and fatherly like it had been when Harry had first started at Hogwarts. This time, however, he was addressing Harry as an adult.

There was silence for a moment in the kitchen, as Harry didn't know what to say and Snape appeared to be thinking.

"Err, thank you, sir," Harry finally said, smiling a little.

"How much have you heard of what happened?" Snape commanded, his tone showing respect but his facial expressions piercing.

"Just the basics, as reported by Minerva, Severus. Young Harry cast a supremely strong patronus, which seems to have left Voldemort vulnerable to your curse that followed as you tackled Harry to safety."

"Tripped on the kerb," Severus corrected, at the same time that Harry scratched his head and pointed out that they were actually the same age now.

"None the less," Dumbledore said, fighting a large smile, "what's done is done, and you were both able to work together to accomplish it. I am certain this time spent together now will only serve to strengthen your relationship."

Harry stared at the portrait of Dumbledore, wondering how he could think that being attached to one's enemy was good for one's health.

"Yes, yes. I have already been informed that I may not kill him," Snape said, waving his hand impatiently. "But what do you make of the fact that Voldemort's body cannot be found?"

"As I explained to Miss Granger and Minerva earlier, Severus, I believe the powerful combination of both your spells simply obliterated Tom Riddle's body."

Dumbledore sounded pleased at this, but Harry could tell by Snape's stiff posture that he found the idea preposterous.

"You don't think that something should have been left behind?" Snape ventured calmly.

"Magic is strange sometimes, Severus. I think that the connection shared between Harry and Voldemort only served to ensure that when he was defeated, he was destroyed completely," Dumbledore explained.

Harry could tell that Snape still thought it was rubbish, but Snape didn't say anything else.

"In any event, I must be going. There is a long story to explain to the muggle Prime Minister," Dumbledore smiled.

"Too bad you can't bring him boiled sweets," Harry murmured, wondering how such a powerful wizard like Dumbledore could convince himself so clearly that he had all the right answers.

"I bring the second best thing, a good tale," Dumbledore chuckled. "Harry, I apologize for wasting so much of your time last year. Consider the lessons little insights now, and nothing more. Severus, I shall be forever in your debt. Good evening, gentlemen, and thank you again."

"I think you should be prepared for the possibility that he is not vanquished. He managed to return once before," Snape offered, tapping his wand on the table.

"I am researching the possibilities, Severus, but at the moment it seems that he is finally gone. The Dementors have come under Ministry control again, and the few free remaining Death Eaters have fled."

Snape looked like he wanted to interrupt terribly, but somehow he managed to keep his mouth shut. He was practically vibrating in his seat with annoyance, but Harry felt it safest not to mention that.

"For now, you should recover and stay out of the public," Dumbledore answered, and Harry narrowed his brows at the admonishing tone.

"What do you mean, out of the public?" Harry asked, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Stay in the house. It would be dangerous for wizards to know you're at a disadvantage. Most have been detained by now, but as you know, Severus, there are less scrupulous members of our society who would take pleasure in revenge."

Through the attached bit of skin Harry could feel Snape shaking in anger.

"For how long?" Snape asked, growling through his teeth.

"Until we're satisfied that they're all captured, or your bodies heal enough to be separated," Dumbledore answered. "Between the Weasleys and Minerva, someone will ensure that you have what you need to live comfortably."

Harry noted idly that not only had Dumbledore began addressing them with a collective ‘you,' but that Snape had the patience to wait until the portrait was empty before lobbing his cup of tea at it.

The fireplace roared green a few moments later, and Snape sent three rapid-fire hexes at it as the person came through. It was Hanna Prewett, and she managed to dodge the second two, but ended up with glued together fingers due to the first.

"Nice way to greet your doctor, Professor," she said, dusting off her blouse as best she could with mitten hands.

"Standard precautions. And as far as I am concerned, you are merely the sadist whom thought this would be a good idea."

"Need I remind you that without this intervention, you would both be dead?" Hanna deadpanned back, unwilling to cower under Snape's scowl.

"Some of us may have preferred that option," Snape snapped.

Harry stomped on his foot under the table.

"Speak for yourself. I'd rather live, thanks."

Hanna presented her hands to Harry for the counter curse, and placed her doctor's bag on the table. It was an old fashioned black leather one, which Harry had only seen in iconic representations of old doctors.

"There you go then, Harry. You can kill him off once we get you separated. Now, do you want the bandage removed here or upstairs in the loo?"

...

After twenty minutes of arguing, grimacing, and Snape's wand being temporarily confiscated, the bandage was off.  Hanna had dropped off several phials of potions and a special skin rub for the shared skin at their sides.  She left the house rather quickly, leaving Harry and Snape upstairs in the bedroom they'd woken up in that morning.

An intense battle of wills took place while Snape smoked a cigarette, resolved only by the fact that Molly Weasley would be stopping by later to bring dinner. The washroom nearest the bedroom was not overly large, but it was bigger than the downstairs loo at the Dursley's. Harry stared at the shower, clutching his towel and bathing kit in his hands.  Snape stood stiffly beside him, holding his own black kit tightly and trying to look anywhere but at the shower.  Medical toiletry charms took care of their more basic needs privately, but there was no substitute for a proper wash.

"Nothing to it, I guess," Harry finally stammered. "I mean, we're both men, and ... er, you're supposed to be my brother during this whole...thing..."

The shower appeared to get smaller and smaller as they stood there.

"If you dare look at my bits whilst I shower," Snape said, not looking at Harry, "I will hex your eyes out and fix it so not even Moody's magic eyeball will help you."

"Oh right, like I really want to see them," Harry muttered, throwing his shirt off. Snape followed suit and it was an awkward few moments as they tried to undress in the tiny bathroom. Snape kept twisting away, attempting to cover himself with his removed clothing, which caused Harry to crash his ribs against the towel rack.

"Snape, enough!" Harry blustered after the last poke in his side.

Snape stopped moving, one sock off, shirt clutched in front of his chest, and belt undone.

"Look. We're stuck like this for a while. Just...just get it over with."

Snape stared at him through the bathroom mirror, eyes narrowed suspiciously. Harry finally gave up and dropped his clothes.

He stood there in only his pants, staring at his own reflection. He had a splotch of discolouration on his chest leftover from the organ-eating curse, an old scar across his shoulder, an impressive and fading bruise along his upper thigh, and a jagged seven-inch vertical scar on his right side.  The skin there was flushed slightly red still, and the scar was thick and raised like a welt.  Hanna had explained that it needed to heal naturally, as any spell would attempt to separate them. At least the removal of the bandage had proven the area a bit smaller than Harry had first seen.

Snape's gaze was focused on the conjoined bit of skin as well, his eyes tracing the thick veins that could be seen just under the skin connecting their organs like a motorway bypass. He slowly dropped his own shirt, and let his sleep pants fall.

Snape had paler skin than Harry's, but he had the same jagged scar that ran along his left side, from two inches above his hip to just above his nipple. There was a bit more hair on Snape's chest, and he had bruises over his ribs and knee.  Harry noticed a burn mark on Snape's hip above his boxer line, and looked at it in curiosity.

"Muggle firecrackers," Snape offered gruffly, before poking at the scar on Harry's shoulder.

"My cousin stabbed me with a garden hand rake when I was nine," Harry shrugged.

Snape nodded at this, and bent forward a little to put his toiletry bag on the counter. Harry noticed a jagged curve of a faint scar line on the back of Snape's neck.

"What's that?" Harry asked, putting his own toiletries down and sidestepping with Snape to the shower. Harry banished their pants to the bedroom, and Snape immediately covered himself with his hand.

"My father threw a beer bottle at me when I was six," Snape muttered, spelling on the water.

"That's an odd way to teach someone how to play catch," Harry said, well aware that he was pushing dangerous boundaries.

"Shut up, Potter."

The shower was blessedly hot, relaxing, refreshing, and bizarre. Harry tried to look everywhere but down, however it was impossible not to glance at their conjoined side, where six people had spent twelve hours putting them back together.

Snape kept his hand covering his genitals for most of the shower anyway, and Harry inquisitively poked at the skin above their hips.

"This is weird," Harry muttered, surprised to find the attached bits ticklish.

"Just finish up," Snape growled in frustration, trying to wash his hair as fast as possible. "And don't do anything unnatural."

...

It only took ten minutes to get dressed and get downstairs, which Harry considered a small victory. Molly Weasley had arrived with supper, and had brought along Ron, Hermione, and Minerva McGonagall.  Snape had kept silent through most of the meal, his lips pursed and his eyes moving furiously as he listened to everyone's conversation.  Dumbledore's portrait still sat on the table, but remained curiously empty.

"Minerva," Snape said, during a lull in conversation. "You mentioned earlier that one Death Eater was in custody, but Lupin said eleven. Which is correct?"

Professor McGonagall put her utensils down and wiped her mouth with her serviette.  She wore her regular green robes that Harry had seen her in at school on a regular basis, but also had a ruby red broach pinned to her lapel.

"Both. One was arrested in Little Whinging at the train station," she answered, looking between Snape and Harry.  "The rest were arrested late last night, at Privet Drive."

"Wait, at the house?" Harry asked, dropping his spoon into his stew bowl.

"Yes, Mr Potter. You had left, and so had the wards. Charlie Weasley was watching the house, as it was thought they might go there..."

Harry pushed a potato chunk around with the spoon.

"Is the house still standing? Did they destroy it?"

"Why do you care, Potter?" Snape scoffed, breaking off a chunk of bread and soaking up some of his stew with it.

"None of your business, Snape," Harry answered, slouching in the chair and as a result, pulling at Snape's side.

"You know, this is kind of funny. It's like you already know how to hate each other like real brothers," Ron pointed out, sticking his spoon in his mouth upside down and licking it.

"Ron, we will not speak of Percy at dinner," Molly admonished, pouring Ron more stew.

"They are, Ron," Hermione said quietly, and the look on her face is guilty.

"Miss Granger, we did not ask for your opinion," Snape said, and his voice carried finality.

"Well," Hermione flustered, "whether you want it or not, you'll have to re-register yourselves."

"Excuse me?" Harry asked, pausing with his juice glass mid-air.

Molly blushed slightly and busied herself with taking the dishes to the sink. Hermione took a dainty bite of her stew, for once not eager to share what she knew. Snape was trying to burn two holes in the table with his eyes, and Ron looked confused.

"Mr Potter, you're aware that Hogwarts keeps a register, every time a magical child is born in Britain?"  McGonagall asked.

"Yes. And call me Harry, I'm apparently twenty-five now."

"That you are, Harry," she smiled.  "In any event, the register tracks when a magical child is born, which the Ministry refers to for tax purposes every year. In the case of yourself and Severus, you are technically no longer two people, you have a new birth year, and thus will need to be re-registered."

"For...for tax purposes?" Harry sputtered, turning it into a laugh. "You're telling me that Voldemort pays his taxes?"

"Potter, stop being an idiot," Snape interjected, crossing his arms.

"Severus, I think you could call him Harry as well," Molly said, sounding as nice about it as she possibly could.

"Yeah, Severus. I think you can call your brother by his first name," Harry said, trying his hardest to look sincere.

"I could write a recommendation letter for Black's skill at becoming an animagus but I'd poison you before that happened."

"Pfft," Harry snorted, "if Voldemort couldn't kill me, what makes you think you'll be able to?"

"Potter," Snape said, looking at him with a malicious smile, "I'm the reason he couldn't kill you a few of those times."

"Yes, well. Be that as it may, there's no reason to threaten him," McGonagall said, sounding far too matter of fact. "You'll still need to re-register, though I think we can keep it out of the Daily Prophet.

"Why, though? Can't we just ignore it for now? Taxes aren't due till, when, February?" Harry asked.

"I don't think it would be a good idea to ignore the goblins, Harry," Hermione answered.

"Goblins collect taxes? I thought they weren't involved in wizarding politics."

"They're not," Ron supplied, grabbing for a hot dinner roll. "But can you imagine sending in an owl with however many galleons you owed in taxes? Much easier to pay the goblins to sort it all out."

Harry's eyes widened a little, and the image of the engraved stone outside of Gringotts flashed through his mind.

"I guess no one really cheats on their taxes, then."

...

Ron offered half-heartedly to stay behind at Grimmauld's with Hermione, just to ensure that they could be extra manpower in case anyone came to attack in the middle of the night. Both Snape and Mrs Weasley quickly vetoed him, and they'd made a quick exit through the floo. McGonagall had stayed for tea, to note down exactly what Harry and Snape remembered of the train station fight, and left shortly after nine.

Having nothing else to do, and feeling extremely exhausted from the long day and the potions they were taking, Harry and Snape returned upstairs.  On the bed was a long parchment listing all the potions they needed to take, and for the first time that day, Harry felt Snape's shoulders sag upon seeing it.

"Every time I think that I've finally gotten used to the magical world, something like this happens," Harry observed, scratching at his side where the newly healed skin was.

"I don't need your empathy, Potter," Snape said, and he sounded tired.

"I don't need your sarcasm, either, but I always get it," Harry muttered, knowing that there was no longer any volume low enough that Snape couldn't hear what he was saying.  "I just think that, with what we have to deal with, it would probably be easiest if we laid off on the loathing."

Harry was fingering his shirt collar and staring down at the parchment list. He didn't dare look at Snape.

"That is a theory I am willing to test," Snape finally said.

Harry waited while Snape folded and put his clothing away before plucking new pajama pants out the armoire. Snape spelled off the lights, and they both changed in the dark.

"What tasks did the Headmaster have you working on last year?" Harry asked, carefully shoving a foot into his pants and trying to keep balance.

"Important ones," Snape replied tersely, concentrating on his own sleepwear.

"Well I figured," Harry responded sarcastically. "He didn't make you do too much else, right? I mean, you already had the most dangerous job."

"Is that compassion I hear from you, Potter?" 

Snape sounded incredulous, and Harry carefully slipped his pants up, avoiding accidentally hitting Snape.

"He made Wormtail cut his own hand off, and I think he even liked Wormtail a little. I'm not stupid. I know you would have probably been tortured if he'd found you out."

They moved towards Snape's side of the bed and threw back the covers.

"One needn't have been a spy to have been tortured," Snape said, levitating them both and twisting them over the bed. "What little insights did the headmaster force upon you?"

Harry smiled in the dark; amused that Snape's curiosity had gotten the best of him. He pulled the blankets up over himself, after rolling a towel and putting it between their legs.

"He had me viewing memories of Tom Riddle as a child.  Had a theory that Voldemort had put bits of his soul into things. You'd have to be mad to do that," Harry answered, fiddling with the sheet and picking up his wand. "Need the washroom spell?"

Snape had pulled himself up as much as he could without wrenching on their shared side.

"What did you say?"

Harry narrowed his eyes at the dark shadow beside him.

"Do you need the washroom spell?"

"Not that, you idiot!" Snape hissed. He waved his own wand and an eerie blue-ish white light lit the room. "About the soul."

"Oh," Harry said, blinking away the light spots in his eyes. "Remember how in second year it was the diary of Tom Riddle that possessed Ginny and tried to kill me?"

Harry said this matter of factly, as if it was a normal school experience, and Snape snorted.

"Dumbledore thought from that that Voldemort had made horcruxes of himself. Took me the whole bloody year to get Slughorn's memory to confirm it."

"But that's wrong, Potter," Snape insisted, lowering the light.

"Dumbledore seems to think so now, but you and I know Voldemort isn't dead."

"Not that, Potter.  I mean that he didn't make horcruxes," Snape said impatiently, waving his hand and casting the washroom spell on them wordlessly.

"Agh, Christ Snape! A little more warning next time," Harry complained, feeling tingly in spots he thought should never tingle.

"Man up, Potter. Are you certain that Voldemort's soul was in the diary?"

"It tried to kill me. It was either his soul, or a bloody good hologram."

Harry preferred to have slept on his side, but he couldn't move that way and definitely did not want to get any closer to Snape. It was bad enough that their arms brushed slightly on their shared side.

"This may explain why he's not dead," Snape said, talking more to himself than Harry.

"Didn't you just say that he didn't make horcruxes?" Harry exhaled, dropping his hands down on top of the bed sheets.

"Mind your business, Potter, and leave the thinking to those of us with the power to do so," Snape said, forgetting all about the insult cease-fire they'd mentioned merely ten minutes earlier.

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Singultus," Harry whispered, pointing his wand at himself. He was very amused to find that not only did he start hiccupping, but Snape did as well.

"I hope the pillow suffocates you, Potter," Snape said, between hiccups.

...

They'd been staying in a smaller bedroom at Grimmauld's, the one small window behind the headboard had its blinds drawn and the door opposite was mostly closed. Pillows had been tossed on the floor during their sleep, and the nightstands on either side of the bed were littered with potion bottles and jars of salves.

"My kidney is gone, my intestines are mangled, and I'm missing half my right lung," Harry recounted, staring up at the ceiling.

"Yes, Potter. For the third damn time," came Snape's voice, far too close for comfort.

Harry ignored him completely.

"I'm sharing my liver with you, your kidney, and I am stuck permanently to your left side until god knows when."

Snape raised his right arm and made a fist, swinging it slowly towards Harry, who easily blocked it.

"Lets get up, I'm tired of the damn bed," Harry said.

They managed to maneuver their way downstairs after ten minutes, and after a morning cigarette, Snape decided that porridge would be the easiest thing to make.  Harry was tempted to just shove his hands in his pockets, as it was like being in Potions class with Snape constantly watching his every move over his shoulder. Snape's shoulder. Whichever.

They'd just managed to get settled at the table, twisting two of the chairs slightly angled away from each other to make it easier to eat, when the fireplace knocked.  Ginny flooed through, looking disheveled and uneasy.

"Harry. Professor," Ginny said, staring at them. She moved to the teapot to help herself to tea, trying to ignore Snape's narrowed eyes.

"Make yourself at home, Miss Weasley," he commented, in a tone that was anything but welcoming.

"She's my girlfriend, Snape. She can visit whenever she wants," Harry said crossly.

Ginny gave a smile of gratitude.

"I was really worried about you, Harry," Ginny said, stirring sugar into her tea. "Hopefully you'll both be separated soon."

She said the last part of her sentence while looking at Snape, her distrust barely disguised.

"I'm alright, Gin," Harry smiled, taking a sip of his tea. "And this is just a setback," he added, gesturing between him and Snape.  She didn't look as convinced.

There was fluttering at the window as Harry's owl arrived with the morning paper.  She gave Snape a very speculative look, before dropping the paper on the table and stealing some of Harry's breakfast.  Snape took the paper, and Harry continued to assure Ginny that all was well. He knew after years of breakfasting in the Great Hall that Snape was not a morning person and wouldn't be providing any conversational gems.

 "Fuck," Snape swore, nearly tipping his cup of coffee over.

"Pardon?" Harry said, twisting a little to look sideways at Snape. Ginny looked rather surprised as well.

"We have a problem," Snape growled, unfolding the paper.

"You swore," Harry said, still staring at Snape.

"Potter, pay attention. We need to move."

Ginny tried to glance at the paper, but Snape refused to move it any closer for her to see.

"But...you said fuck," Harry continued, fighting back a grin.  Snape finally turned to look at him, his expression one of exasperation.

"Shit, fuck, cock, wanker, piss, bollocks, bitch," Snape reeled off.

Harry's jaw dropped and Ginny gave a slight gasp.

"I'm human, Potter, and I swear. Deal with it or fuck off," Snape finished, jabbing his finger at the paper and drawing Harry's eyes down to where a picture of Grimmauld Place was.

"Mundungus Fletcher seems to have mentioned where Order Headquarters was. We need to move immediately."

"But, he can't have. Isn't it Dumbledore's secret to keep?" Ginny asked, snatching the paper from Snape.

"Hell," Harry exhaled, dropping his toast back onto his plate. 

"Dumbledore is dead. We all become the secret keepers," Snape replied, not quite keeping the scorn from his voice.

"Alright. Alright, well..." Harry started, his breakfast forgotten.

"We're leaving. Weasley, return home and inform your parents that Grimmauld's was breached."

Ginny took offence to being referred to solely as Weasley, and gave Snape an ugly look as she stood.

"And where can I tell them to find you?" she said, crossing her arms.

"Nowhere," Snape tersely said. "That's the point of going into hiding. Leave."

Ginny jumped into the floo, but not before giving Snape a two fingered salute. He'd missed it, having shifted his attention back to scanning the newspaper, but Harry had seen.

"Do you have a place in mind to go? This is the only house I have," Harry said, feeling odd as he said it. He owned a house.

"We're going to my flat," Snape intoned. "And we need to leave before Voldemort finds us."

"Shouldn't we tell the Order that he's not dead?" Harry asked, trying to match Snape's steps as they walked back upstairs.

"I may tell Minerva later, but at the moment, no. It's highly suspicious for a body to just disappear, Potter. They didn't question it, and just assumed he died. I don't trust them," Snape muttered, leading them into the bedroom.

"To be fair, you don't really trust anyone," Harry pointed out, withdrawing his wand.

It was the fastest packing that Harry had ever done. He and Snape shuffled from room to room, casting the same packing spell that Tonks had used at the Dursley's house the summer before. With two space-enhanced trunks packed, they cast strong wards on the house and flooed out.

......

Spinning in the fireplace as a conjoined twin was an experience Harry could do without ever having again. He landed in a darkened rectangular room, with dark furniture and what appeared to be a brick wall in front of him.

Harry barely got his foot inside when Snape had maneuvered his arm around Harry's neck and held his wand to Harry's throat, pressing them back against the wall. There was one thing to be said for side-by-side conjoinment, it made pushing someone against the wall as a threat to be rather difficult.

"This is my private home, Potter," Snape said, his eyes glinting with menace. "You will not breathe a word to anyone about its appearance, content, or location. Not a word."

"Fine," Harry grumbled.

Snape cast a spell to turn on the muggle lights, and Harry blinked as he took in his surroundings. It was a bedsit, about forty feet long by twelve feet wide.  There was a solid brick wall across from the fireplace, a slightly narrower kitchen to Harry's left, and what looked like the washroom door at the back of the kitchen. They were in the living room, which had a curtained wooden poster bed in one corner, a small sofa in another, and a desk against the wall in the middle. Outside one of the windows Harry saw the London Eye off in the distance.

Strangely, there were little piles of paperwork and objects on the floor, seemingly placed in distinct areas for Snape to locate easily.  The table held similar stacks of parchment, and there were a surprising amount of potted plants all over the room.

"It's, er, really neat actually," Harry said, eyeing the old film posters Snape had framed on the walls. "I thought you'd have a crumbly old house for some reason."

"I do," Snape smirked, looking pleased with himself. "To keep up appearances."

Snape pulled them towards the bookcase edge where the trunks were dropped.

"So we're going to hide out in the muggle world, then?" Harry asked, still checking out the window.

"Haven't you ever heard of hiding in plain sight?" Snape gruffed, flipping through a book on the bookcase.

"I hate to break it to you, Snape, but conjoined twins aren't normal in the muggle world either."

"Where we're going, it won't matter," Snape said, snapping the book shut.  "Come, Potter."

"I rather have to," Harry muttered.  They passed through the kitchen and to the front door, which was hidden behind a coat rack.

"Where are we going?"

"We are going to get confirmation on how the Dark Lord keeps surviving."

 

 

As Harry had figured, more than a few people stared at them as they walked down Exton Street towards Waterloo tube station. Snape seemed to not notice at first, steering them towards the station and trying to look menacing as they kept mostly in step. At the last corner though, as punk teenager kicked a pop can in their direction, Harry distinctly heard the tripping jinx that Snape sent the boy's way.

"Did you find Ginny's behaviour a bit strange this morning?" Harry asked, jamming his hand in his pocket to do a habitual wand-check.

Snape gave him a quick side-glance, and a small huff of breath that conveyed how ridiculous he thought the question was.

"All Weasleys behave strangely," Snape answered.

"Oh really? Based on what evidence, exactly?" Harry challenged, stomping his feet a little on the sidewalk.

"Fascination with muggle rubbish, hell-bent desire toward destruction, fang earrings, - "

"Leave Bill out of this. He just took the cruciatus curse for me the other day," Harry snapped under his breath. Snape stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, jerking them to a halt as he gave Harry a very cold stare. Disgruntled tourists shoved their way around them.

"You were not the only one who experienced pain that night in the graveyard when Voldemort returned," Snape's icy voice said. "And I can guarantee you that no one came to my side during it."

Harry blinked at Snape, noticing for the first time that Snape's eyes weren't really black and fathomless. They were an extremely dark brown, and they were filled with anger and self-defiance. Harry likened it to looking at a child who'd been abandoned, but steadfastly asserted that he could take care of himself no matter what.

"I'm sorry," Harry finally said.

Snape lifted his head slightly in inclination, and continued walking them forward towards the entrance.

Harry wore his most comfortable pair of jeans, and Snape his usual black trousers, and the way they had their jackets cut made the conjoinment stand out a little less than usual. After two hours of practice the night before, they could finally walk with relative normality instead of tripping each other.

Snape reached into his pocket for tube fare, glaring at a woman who was pointing at them.  They were headed for the disability turnstile, as it was large enough to allow both of them through without getting caught in the robotic doors. Snape paid the fare and pulled Harry through by the shoulder as they passed the turnstile.  From the left, Harry saw a young bloke in a uniform twist up his face and walk rapidly toward them.

"Sirs! Excuse me!"  The man called, his hands worryingly scrunching up at his sides.  "You have to pay two fares, that's the cost if you want to ride the tube."

"Oh?" Snape said, in his calmest and deadliest voice. Harry closed his eyes for a few seconds and took a deep breath. Outside of school (and focused on someone else), Harry found Snape's vitriol to have an underlying black humour to it, one that took most of his willpower not to laugh at.

"Each person pays a fare," the employee stubbornly repeated.  He seemed oblivious to the crowd of people now staring at them, as well as the unusually close stance between Harry and Snape.

"Perhaps it may escape your notice, but we are conjoined," Snape answered dryly, pulling his body slightly to the right and causing Harry to stumble a bit as he was yanked along.  "And as such, anywhere I go, he must go as well.  What does your little rulebook state for this...occasion?"

The man looked absolutely flummoxed, and Harry fought a smirk from appearing on his face by trying to look bored. It was eerily similar to the blank looks that students gave Hogwarts professors on a daily basis.

 "I don't...Do you have a Freedompass?"

Snape appeared to be enjoying himself, and Harry could feel him rocking gently on his feet.

"I am not disabled, you inconsiderate drone. I have a parasi - my brother is attached to me. If we had one body and two heads, would you try to charge us twice?"

"Er, no, I suppose not," the employee stammered, his brows furrowed.

"Precisely. I refused to be charged for the inconvenience caused by the Underground's lack of consideration," Snape responded, reaching across his chest to grab Harry's jacket lapel. "Although I suspect in your case, a second brain would be an improvement instead of inconvenience."

He spun them towards the escalator and they marched off, Harry coughing to hide his snorts and the guard sputtering in indignation.

"That's a good point. Why should we have to pay twice?" Harry muttered, once they were on the escalator down.

"Because we take up two seats, you moron," Snape answered, with a smile on his face.  

"Prick," Harry smiled, watching the advertisement posters pass them on the walls.  A few pushy people were impatiently tapping the escalator steps behind Snape to get him to move over, but Snape refused to budge. Harry figured that they could probably fit themselves to let people through, with a small struggle, but Snape seemed to enjoy being an inconvenience to people so he didn't suggest moving.

They did indeed take up two seats on the tube, and Snape glowered at everyone who dared look at them. Harry knew from hanging around the Weasleys that twins in general attracted attention, but he hated the staring that happened once people realized they were conjoined. He was just glad that this train didn't have the silly armrests dividing the seats.

"Are you actually going to tell me where we're going?" Harry asked, relaxing against the hard plastic chair.

"We're on the Northern Line, Potter, pay attention," Snape replied.

"What a Dumbledorian answer that is," Harry muttered.  They listened to the female robotic voice warning against the gap as the train doors opened at the next station.

"In answer to your earlier question, Ms Weasley likely is uncomfortable at the thought of sharing her boyfriend with her hated professor," Snape offered.

He looked to be trying not to smirk at saying this, and Harry thought he could try a bit harder.

"Well, it's not like it's permanent," Harry pointed out, trying to justify his position.

"It doesn't matter. One way or another, something's always come up between you two, hasn't it, Potter?" Snape said, sounding slightly satisfied.

"You're saying that Ginny's mad because I can't spend every minute of the day with her?" Harry said, surprised.

"Women seem to enjoy individualized attention," Snape shrugged. "And you certainly can't give that anymore."

Harry turned and stared at him for a long minute while they pulled into Leicester Square.

"I don't like it when you sound helpful. It makes me suspicious," Harry finally said.

...

 

They found Silas Prince at Camden Town tube station, his hand stuck inside the top of a turnstile ticket reader.

"Uncle Silas," Severus said, rendering Harry speechless and Silas surprised.

"You have an uncle!" Harry hissed, jabbing Snape in the side with his elbow and staring back at Silas.

He was around sixty, dressed in grease-spotted navy coveralls that tucked into his plain brown work boots, and a very worn leather tool belt low over one hip. He had a hand-rolled fag in his ear, a dull red cardigan over the coveralls that was buttoned up incorrectly, and a corduroy newsboy cap that had been washed so often Harry couldn't tell if it had been originally blue or grey.

Silas stared them over, keeping his shock to a minimum. He seemed to be studying Harry and Snape, and Harry could see the family resemblance in the strong narrow chin and dark eyes.

"I know twins runs in the family, but last time I seen you, you weren't attached to nothing," Silas finally said, his expression neutral.

"Very funny," Snape sneered. "We require some of your time. For a puzzle...of sorts."

Silas turned away and fiddled for a moment longer with something in side the machine before shoving his screwdriver back into his tool belt and snapping the machine lid closed.  Snape stood with his arms crossed, unconcerned by the non-answer, but glaring at the muggle transit users who stared at them.

"Wave your little stick then, boy, give an old man some time off to chat," Silas commanded, though his eyes shone as he said it. He seemed to have no concern at all that they were cutting into his work day, and merely collected his tools and work jacket and turned them all towards the escalators.

"Far from old, Silas," Severus retorted, before muttering a ‘time me not' charm.  They fell into step slowly, as Silas appeared to not be in any rush and Harry and Snape were following.

"Are you a squib?" Harry asked, keeping his voice low. "I mean, you work for London Transit, but..."

They'd reached the platform and were waiting by the far wall for the train.

"No, boy," Silas interrupted. "Who are you, by the way? Other than my spontaneous fifth nephew."

"Harry Potter, sir," Harry answered, offering his hand to shake.

"Huh. How'd you get stuck to grumpy there?" Silas answered, his work-calloused hand strongly grasping Harry's.

"Piss off, Silas," Snape commanded, pulling Harry back from his uncle. "I came for your assistance, not your insults."

"Ah, Severus. Always thought you were too solitary a bugger to be conjoined.  But you look like you've lost ten years, so seems to be recommended." 

Silas had a crooked smile on his face, as he stood on the platform at a precise spot that didn't seem any different to Harry than any other tile on the platform.

"I can't say anything for the procedure," Snape answered, arranging his face into one of his better teaching scowls.

"Not just some rope holding you together then?" Silas smirked, an expression eerily similar to Snape's.

Silas nodded at Harry, and stood calmly while the train came in and stopped, door dead centre in front of Silas.

"Not a squib, boy, but my magic ain't right either.  Left Hogwarts day I turned seventeen."

The train was rather empty, and the three managed to find a bench near the connecting doors. Snape glared at the plastic armrest dividers on all the seats. 

"Polio," Snape supplied, when Harry seemed to be waiting on more of an explanation from Silas.

"Boredom and booze," Silas winked.

Harry laughed, and they kept quiet as more passengers piled on at each station.

They navigated their way through King's Cross station and jumped on the Piccadilly Line in silence, Harry watching Snape and his Uncle and noticing the shared traits.  Once the tube dumped them out at Holborn station, Silas led Harry and Snape towards the south end of platform four. They waited until the station had cleared, when only one old woman was left sitting on a bench and staring at an advert across the tracks. Silas was standing with his back against an old metal door that looked like it led to a storage unit, and Harry shifted uncomfortably as the doorframe dug into his back, Snape crowding him from the right.

Silas withdrew his wand and flicked it angrily at the door, which began to shimmer.

"Come, boys."

Harry was absolutely fascinated.  The old brick walls of the disused platform were dusty and white washed, the curved ceiling testament to the original use of the tunnel. The tracks had been cemented over, and they walked awkwardly through a narrow hallway, Harry's arm around Snape's waist to prevent either of them from scraping against the wall. Silas walked at a fast enough clip to suggest he'd been in the closed platform plenty of times.

War-green paint covered the bottom half of the walls and an industrial cream colour covered the top, leading to one large storage room and what appeared to be several small offices. The space was narrow, and Harry realized that the entire platform had been converted into an underground office bunker.

"This is platform six," Silas said, nodding to the old signs plastered on the walls, their art-deco typeface reminding Harry of his history books and lessons on the thirties.  There were war posters tacked up on the wall, their corners curling over slightly as they encouraged patriotism and keeping mum in conversation while in public and at home. Looking up into the rafters, Harry could see a few old gas masks hanging from pipes in the wall that ran next to the fluorescent light fixtures.

They shuffled over to a small cupboard door in the middle of the hall, and Silas opened it to reveal a tiny dark staircase.

"After you, Severus," Silas said, appearing both amused and curious as to how Harry and Snape would ascend.

Navigating the stairs was more of a struggle than either had anticipated, but once they'd gotten upstairs, Harry felt cold goose pimples pass over his body as they passed some sort of magical barrier.

"When was this station closed?" Harry asked, looking around the converted dormitory they'd stepped out into, that still bore marks of its old occupancy. There were groves in the plank floors from the cots that had once been lined up against the wall, hooks in the curved roof to hold cloaks and hats, and writing on the wall from bored and anxious Londoners.

"1917," Silas replied shortly, tapping a worn part of wall with his hand, revealing what his wards had hidden. "We used it as an air raid shelter in the second war."

Above all the old usage marks and stains in the paint, Silas had set himself up with a rather well-furnished flat.  There were various storage trunks placed about the room in a random pattern, and a rather large kitchen area ran along the east wall. A small sitting area took up the west wall, and two doors adorned the far wall.  Harry couldn't see where the bedroom was, but he assumed it was behind one of the doors.

"Tom Riddle was thirteen when the Blitz started. He might have come here for shelter," Snape said, talking somewhat to himself. He and Harry followed Silas through the flat to one of the doorways.

"Many of us did," Silas gruffed. "Extensions to the tube were being built when war broke out, an' many of those unfinished stations were used as shelters too."

Harry looked on in open curiosity at what was revealed as Silas opened the door.  Silas flicked on the lights to reveal a fair-sized office, a large and cluttered desk in the centre of the room with what appeared to be a year's worth of newspapers stacked around it. Silas walked around the pile, throwing himself into a battered and cracked leather chair.  To the left was a large bookcase filled with manuals and textbooks, grease-prints on the spines, and to the right was a thick-planked worktable with odd metal bits and motor parts scattered about. The walls were adorned with fliers covering the ugly pea yellow Victorian wallpaper, posters of old tube advertisements, big band concert ads, and a large advert for the first Concord's flight out of London, which appeared to have been stolen from a poster box at St Pancras station.  There were also a few posters that Harry was surprised by; retro prints from the 80's of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle comics.

"You read comics?" Harry asked, letting Snape tug him towards a wooden workbench that had just been transformed into a two-seater leather chair.

"I follow history," Silas corrected, digging through the paperwork on his desk.

"It's a bloody miracle anyone can find you here," Snape muttered, lifting a dirty work rag from the corner of the desk with his wand.

"That's the point, boy, they can't," Silas laughed. He continued searching around his desk while Harry stared around the room, leaning back and forward to look around Snape.

"So if you're here for assistance, what's the problem then?"

Snape shifted in his seat, bringing his arms up to rest his hands on his knees. He seemed to be nervous or uncomfortable, and Harry felt him pulling a bit to the side.

"Are you still collecting information on the deal-makers?" Snape finally asked.

Harry kept his mouth shut and watched as Silas smiled grimly.

"The latest," Silas said, waving at the picture of a Martin Miggs comic. "First appeared ‘round 1980."

"Knowledge?" Snape asked, ignoring Harry's inquisitive look.

"Popularity," Silas grunted in answer. He shuffled around some papers on his desk, unearthing an old hand crank torch and an ashtray with a dented wooden pipe.

"How much did it cost him?"

"Standard five years."

Harry huffed and flicked his concentration between Snape and Silas.

"What the hell are you talking about?"  He turned to glare at Snape, leaning back quickly and causing Snape's hair to sway. "And how is this going to help with what we have to do?"

Silas finally seemed to find what he was looking for, and a yellowed London Times was tossed towards Harry and Snape.

"Read the main article, then."

Unfolding the page, Harry found a picture of a human Martin Miggs sadly waving at him.

Local Man Dies In Lift Crash, Investigation Proves Freak Accident.

"I don't get it. A random muggle died, and became a wizard comic hero? So what?"

"He wasn't a muggle," Snape said, at the same time that Silas shook his head.

"Wasn't no muggle, boy. He was a wizard, and a stupid one as well. Made a deal with death ‘imself."

"And only had five years to enjoy it," Snape finished, pulling a book off a table nearest him. It was a book of London legends, and Snape flipped through to a certain page. He put the book half on his lap, and half on Harry's.

"Martin Miggs made a deal with death, a deal for popularity. Became one of the most popular wizards of ‘is time."

"Worst than Lockhart," Snape muttered.

Silas glared at Snape, before continuing his tale.

"Death gave him that long to enjoy it, he did, and then killed him. And tell me, Harry boy, did you yourself know the Mad Muggle was actually a wizard?"

Harry shook his head, still bewildered with what this had to do with Voldemort and why Snape had opened the book to the entry on Jack the Ripper.

"'course not. Miggs wanted to be popular. Death made him popular as a made-up comic book goof."

Silas sounded amused, as if he shared the same sick sense of humour as death.

"Same thing happened with Jack the Ripper?" Harry asked, glancing at the picture of the Ripper murders.

"Somewhat," Silas answered, filling his pipe with loose tobacco from tin he'd pulled out of a drawer.  He sat back in his chair, the springs protesting as he leaned backwards.

Snape also leaned back, tugging Harry with him, and settled into the couch with a measure of ease that suggested he'd heard this story many times as a boy.

"Jack the Ripper wanted infamy.  Some wizards are born twisted, boy. Whether it's the power or the magic that addles them, lord only knows.  This bloke was one of those. He wanted to be feared, reveled, worshipped for what he did. So he makes a deal with death to make sure he's fast enough and cunning enough to commit murders and not get caught."

"And death gave him that?"

"For two years," Silas nodded, puffing away.

"And then what?"

"Well that's the thing, innit Harry boy.  Do you know who Jack the Ripper is?"

"No. No one does," Harry shrugged.

"Bit of a cruel trick, eh? Infamous for the crimes, but no one knows his name."

"Sounds like death has a sick sense of humour," Harry said.

"He's not the only one," Snape muttered.

"That he does, Harry boy," Silas smiled. He puffed hard on the pipe and sent a halo of smoke up over his head like an antenna. "Strange bloke. Likes to watch cricket matches."

"How on earth would you know that?"

Silas, for the first time in the half hour that Harry had known him, looked slightly guilty.

"Because Uncle Silas here made a deal with death when he was younger," Snape said, a sneer in place that Harry had seen many times before when Snape was inspecting his potions.

"Might have done," Silas confirmed, not sounding completely remorseful about the matter either.

Harry stared at him, slightly aghast. 

"What could you have wanted that would have ever made a deal with death seem like a good idea?"

Snape, only half paying attention, continued to flip through the book of London legends.

"No? Not even if you were on the cusp of becoming a man, and lost your magic to some muggle disease?" Silas asked, and this time his eyes didn't quite match his smile.

"Polio," Harry stated.

Silas nodded, and unearthed a jar of boiled sweets from a pile of papers. He plucked out what looked to Harry like a toffee flavoured one, but it was a wrapper that Harry didn't recognize.

Harry leaned forward in the chair, earning a grunt from Snape.

"So, you think that Voldemort made a deal with death, and that's why we can't kill him?" Harry asked, looking between Snape and Silas.

"That is my working theory, yes," Snape confirmed. He snapped the book shut and withdrew a piece of paper to show Silas. "Survived a bounce back of the killing curse in 1981, brought back - "

"I know the story, Severus," Silas interrupted, emptying out his pipe.

"Wait, how exactly does a deal with death work?" Harry asked, ignoring the paper Snape held for the moment.

"Silas can best explain," Snape said, tapping the note and seeming to be working something out.

"That's Uncle Silas to you, boy," Silas grumbled, glaring at his nephew.  He turned his attention to Harry, and started his story.

"When one is desperate enough, ‘tis easy to find death. He makes all sorts of deals. Deals for the unpopular, unloved, weak, poor, sick, anyone. You get a certain amount of time, see, ‘n you can do what you want with the time. But death will come for you, he never forgets, fer two reasons. Your time's up, or your token's been destroyed."

"What token?"

Silas shifted uncomfortably in his chair, and glanced at an old muggle clock on the bookcase to his right. It seemed to be straight out of the late 1800s, glass tubes highlighting each individual numbers and wire filaments sparking light inside the tubes to tell the time.

"When you make the deal, death gives you a token. Little glass thing, the size of one of them tubes over there," Silas said, nodding toward the clock. 

Harry took a closer look and realized that one of the tubes was not actually part of the clock, and seemed to have more inside of it than the other pieces.

"What's in it?" Harry asked.

Silas didn't answer, however. He continued to stare at the clock, lost in his thoughts.

"The scene of his death," Snape answered, startling Harry. "That's what your token shows. Where you will die at the end of the contract."

Harry scrunched his face up in revulsion and fought the urge to look back at the clock.

"Mine just shows a tube station, eh," Silas said, giving a dry laugh that wasn't anywhere near humourous.

"If the token is destroyed, death can collect on the deal early," Snape said, looking straight at Harry. It was an open look Harry wasn't used to, one Snape normally gave to his colleagues in the Order when they were working together on a task.

"So, you think that Voldemort made a deal with death, and that he has one of these tokens. And that's why he can't die," Harry clarified.

"S'right. You can't die, then, unless your token's destroyed or your time's up. And only a fool'd keep his token on him."

"I wonder why Dumbledore was so fixated on horcruxes then," Harry said, speaking aloud to himself.

"He wasn't dead wrong," Snape mused, running his fingers through his hair. It was a habit Harry had never seen him do before in school, and he wondered if Snape was just feeling more relaxed around him now.

"But he wasn't right, either. I could have wasted a lot of time looking for horcruxes when they weren't real," Harry said, frustration lacing his tone.

"'course Dumbledore wasn't really right. He didn't make a deal, did he? Scholarly types always think the answer is found in books, but sometimes, you gotta walk to the edge and drop off," Silas said, staring up at a burnt out bulb on the wall sconce to his left.

Harry ignored the imagery of Silas' comment and took the paper from Snape, which had a list of objects Dumbledore must have thought were horcruxes.

"Alright, but you said the standard contract is five years. He's been around since before I was born, so how does that work?"

"Some of us are here for longer," Silas said, sounding slightly defensive. Snape stiffened beside Harry, and Harry understood not to ask Silas about his own contract.

"I believe he found a way to lengthen his time of borrowed power," Snape said, convinced he was right.

"Of course he did.  So we just find death and ask him to revoke Voldemort's contract. I mean, if he's cheating death, wouldn't death want to destroy him?" Harry asked.

"Never summon death on his terms, boy," Silas said, his warning strong.  He reached up towards the wire mesh light covering on the burnt out bulb and attacked the rusted screw with his screwdriver.

"I don't like where you're going with this," Snape warned, staring up at his uncle.  Silas paid him no mind, and started banging on the screw head.

"You were taught just as I, Severus-boy. He who holds the Hallows..."

"...commands Death," Snape finished, looking frustrated.

"Er. What are the Hallows?" Harry asked.

"Part of a bloody fairy tale," Snape answered, the sarcasm dripping from his voice.

"Well, fuck," Harry cursed, watching as the rusted screw finally popped out of the light holder.

"Well fuck indeed," Silas repeated. "Looks like you boys have got some treasure hunting to do."

....

Silas had effectively dismissed them, pointing toward an old elevator shaft that could be used as an apparition point.  Popping into an alley a short walk from their flat, Harry and Snape kept quiet as they slipped through the crowds. Walking fast was not only easier to keep their steps matching, but also allowed less time for muggles to notice them.

"How did Silas escape the five year standard contract? He must have made the deal decades ago, and he's still alive," Harry asked, keeping his head down.

They rounded the corner to Snape's street, walking up to the plain brown door that hid the entrance to Snape's flat.

"He cannot leave the underground stations; he hasn't walked outside in more than forty years. I wouldn't call it living."

Shut up at the idea of being stuck underground London for the rest of one's natural life, Harry didn't say anything else until they'd stepped into the kitchen.

"So, you're the logistics expert, where are we supposed to find these hallows?" Harry asked, once Snape had deadbolted the door behind them.

"Not at any shop stall," Snape grumbled, steering Harry roughly towards the kitchen. "Fill the kettle."

Harry did so; waiting in thought while Snape lit the stove element.

"It's a cloak, a stone, and a wand?" Harry asked, handing Snape the full kettle.

"So they say. Summon that house elf of yours - the one that won't slit your throat while you sleep."

Harry snorted before calling Dobby's name. He spun slightly on his feet as Snape backed up in a half circle, so they could both rest against the kitchen counter.

"Dobby is here, Harry Potter sir!"

"Good to see you, Dobby. Professor Snape needs you to do something for him."

The little elf turned eagerly towards Snape, nearly tripping on the too-long sock he wore.

"Yes sir?"

"I believe in the library of Grimmauld Place you will find an old copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard. We require it."

"Yes sirs! Dobby will retrieve that right away!"

Dobby left the flat with a resounding crack that made both of them wince.

"He's a bit - "

"What makes you think I am a logistics expert?" Snape interrupted.

"Well, you must be, to figure out those custom potions," Harry shrugged. He inched them towards the fridge for milk.  "And you chose a logic puzzle to guard the philosopher's stone."

"Indeed," Snape said, but he sounded pleased that Harry had noticed.

"Right," Harry said. "Milk or lemon?"

Snape poured the tea and paused long enough for Harry to fetch the milk from the fridge.

"Milk. A word of caution, Potter. Milk with tea is delightful, lemon with tea is refreshing, but milk and lemon with tea is a science experiment," Snape said, his voice lighter than Harry had ever remembered hearing it at school.

"Ugh," Harry responded, his stomach not liking the idea of acidic lemon and milk together.

"Precisely. Now, pass me the plate of liver in the fridge."

"You're going to eat a liver sandwich with tea?" Harry asked, his appetite shot.

"No. You are going to study the Tale of the Three Brothers, and I shall experiment on my liver and replicating potions, as I do not wish to be attached to you for a second longer than necessary," Snape answered, marching them towards the work table where Dobby was waiting with the book.

...

"I think we have a hallow," Harry said a while later. He'd finished the book and taken some notes on parchments, steadfastly ignoring the experimentation Snape was doing on his own liver.

"This is not a joke, Potter," Snape said, his hands steady as he chopped something.

"No, I'm not joking. I think we have a hallow already. Can you leave that for a second?"

"Fine," Snape huffed. His face was a mask of irritation, but he followed Harry to where their trunks were sitting.  Harry flipped the latch on his and pulled out the shimmering invisibility cloak.

"You want me to believe a Zonko's product is a hallow?" Snape scoffed. He reached to take hold of the cloak and stopped as his fingers touched the fine material.

"This didn't come from Zonko's," Harry said, "and it's survived more than a few Potters. All the way back to the Peverells."

Snape took a moment to inspect the cloak, and Harry could tell that he was starting to believe it.  Out of the corner of Harry's eye, he saw something burst on the table and a loud belching sound.

"Ah, that will be my liver," Snape commented, taking Harry and the cloak back to the bench.

"That's disgusting. I thought Hanna Prewett was working on that," Harry said, trying not to whine. He noticed that Snape had framed a photo of Dumbledore, and that it was half hidden behind a potted lily on the table.

"She thought that attaching the two of us was a good idea. I don't trust her."

"You have a point," Harry conceded.  "So we've got the cloak,"

"Might have," Snape interrupted.

"Whatever," Harry finished, waving a hand towards the lily. It stretched up to meet him, revealing more of the photograph.

"We just need to find a wand and a stone. Right, shouldn't be difficult," Harry said, his sarcasm thick.  He smiled at the photo of a much younger Dumbledore, at what appeared to be a dueling contest.

"You know, even though he was much older, at the Department of Mysteries Professor Dumbledore made dueling Voldemort seem like a playground game," Harry mused, entertained by the poses in the animated photograph.

"That's because he's never lost a duel," Snape said, pouring liquid into a small pewter container. He sat straight up after saying the sentence, dropping the glass-stirring rod onto the table.

"God dammit," Snape swore, glaring at the photo.

"What?"  Harry asked, tense at Snape's sudden anger.

Harry watched as Dumbledore twirled in the frame again, yelping loudly when he felt a painful tug on his right side.

"Stop!"

Snape had turned to his side, presumably to walk away from the photo, and had yanked Harry along with him.

"You can't just take off without telling me," Harry blurted, feeling far too close to an angry Snape for comfort. He could feel Snape's body heat through their shared stretch of skin, and smell the carbolic soap Snape used to wash his hands with.

"Then I suggest you move your arse and pay attention," Snape replied icily, once again starting to move.

"No."

Harry's voice was firm and he crossed his arms. His feet were planted far enough apart to keep him steady against Snape's movements.

"In case you have forgotten, Potter, I am your superior," Snape hissed, trying to turn and painfully tugging against their shared side.

"And it's my body too," Harry countered. It was a very bizarre sentence to be saying in front of his potions professor, and Snape seemed to realize it as well.

"We cannot divide up control of our bodies," Snape huffed.

"No, we can't. And there's no point getting all pissed off and storming off, because I have to storm off with you."

Harry had a funny image of Snape stalking down the hallways of Hogwarts, his robes billowing behind, while Harry tried to keep up and look menacing in a strange version of a three-legged race.

Snape seemed to have come to a decision, and pointed at the photo.

"Your dear Headmaster Dumbledore is holding the Elder wand."

Harry's mouth went slack as he blinked at the dueling headmaster.

"But he..."

"The only wizard the Dark Lord fears, Potter," Snape said, crossing his arms.

On the worktable, the replicated portion of liver Snape had managed to produce disappeared with a strange squishy sound.

Harry stood at the kitchen counter, measuring out a precise amount of sugar and balsamic vinegar into a cup.

"Well. At least we know where we can find another liver sample," Harry finally said, to Snape's silence. "What are you using on it? A duplicating potion?"

Snape was standing stiffly beside him, adding salt to a pot of boiling potatoes.

"Why is it that you appear to be slightly competent at cooking, when you're absolutely rubbish at potions?"  Snape finally sneered. Harry bristled, but realized that Snape was bitching because he didn't want to admit that he hadn't figured out the liver duplication.

"I'm sure I could bugger this up too if you'd like," Harry replied.  The sausages on the back pan of the stove were spitting, so he put a splatter cover on the pan.

Snape watched Harry add the rest of the ingredients to the onion gravy, the saucepan turning a rich brown and emitting a lovely stewed onions scent.

"If you fuck up bangers and mash," Snape began, taking the potatoes off the stove in order to drain and smash them, "you need to give back your British passport."

"Ha, ha," Harry grumbled.

It was much easier making dinner with a twin brother attached, as with both of them to watch over the stove things were cooked to perfection without any burning. The kitchen table was small, as it appeared that Snape lived in the flat by himself regularly, but a chair was enlarged enough for them to sit side by side and eat.

"This has been a long day," Harry said, chasing some peas into the mashed potatoes on his plate.  It had only been that morning in which they'd woken at Grimmauld Place and discovered that Mundungus Fletcher had broken the fidelius.

"Does little Potter need a nap?" Snape asked, spearing a chunk of sausage.

"No," Harry smiled grimly. "I thought you might wish one though, since you're much older than me and those injuries probably don't help with arthritis."

"Fuck you, Potter," Snape growled.  He struck like a viper and stole the remaining bit of sausage from Harry's plate.

Whatever Harry was going to reply with was lost however, with the appearance of a good-sized bear patronus in the living room.

Harry watched the bear sniff around the living room, inspecting the worktable and bed area before coming towards the kitchen. Snape had stopped eating and was watching it as well.

"Whose patronus is this?"

"I don't know," Harry admitted.  The bear seemed to be ignoring them, and was instead focused on the surroundings. It came into the kitchen and checked out the food area, eventually coming to sit before them by the table.

"Harry Potter and Severus Snape, you have absolutely no excuse for running off and not telling anyone where you have gone. It is currently eight-thirty in the evening, and I expect you both to check into the Burrow by ten at the very latest," Molly Weasley's voice said, clear through the patronus.

"As if we can check in separately," Snape muttered.

"You can tell she's raised twins, she at least considers us separate people," Harry pointed out.  "I wonder if she realizes we're twenty-five."

"We are not anything," Snape insisted. "You will send her a reply message stating that there is unfinished business. Say nothing more."

"Right," Harry scoffed. "I'll have the whole family hunting me down."

"Let them try," Snape smiled, but it was the same smile he used when he knew Harry's potion was ruined.  "We shall be going to Hogwarts."

....

Snape had the daft idea to enter the castle through a floo to his quarters, and then up to the Headmaster's office. Even though it was summer and the castle was likely to be quite empty, Harry vetoed the idea.

"We have an invisibility cloak and a map of Hogwarts," he'd argued, trumping Snape for once.  Harry planned to remember that rare victory for a while.

Especially since he'd turned out to be right.

The castle, even past nine pm, had more than a few people wandering around in it. Silencing charms on their shoes had enabled them to walk passed no fewer than four ex-students, poking through the halls of Hogwarts and looking for memories to sell to newspapers. Horace Slughorn was wandering through the lower dungeons, either in search of something or impressively lost, and two ministry officials were walking around and taking notes.

Snape had double warded the door to Dumbledore's office when they'd passed through, and Harry had gratefully thrown off the cloak.  The office looked much the same that it always did, with little trinkets covering all the surfaces, and small gadgets whirring quietly away on shelves.

"Aren't wizards usually buried with their wands?" Harry asked, as they moved around to the back of Dumbledore's desk. The chair wasn't wide enough for them to both sit in, so Snape enlarged it and they sat awkwardly.

"Would you be buried with the Elder wand?" Snape questioned.

After a moment's thought, and a quick cataloging of Dumbledore's desk, Harry shook his head.

"No. I'd probably burn it, for the trouble it seems to cause."

"Any sane person would," Snape muttered under his breath. He glanced at the portrait to his right, which remained as empty as it was when they'd entered the room.

"Knowing Dumbledore though," Harry continued, placing his hand on the top drawer of the desk, "he'd likely keep it bundled in his favourite pair of socks."

Harry pulled the drawer open and a letter appeared, rising up from wherever it had been hidden amongst the quills, ink bottles, and knitting needles in the drawer.

"To Severus or Harry,

With Voldemort's infiltration of the Ministry of Magic, I have growing suspicions that a surveillance spell will be placed upon my portrait proceeding death. As it will likely take some time for me to dismantle it, I regret to inform you that you will be working alone on this stage. Good luck, gentlemen.

Albus Dumbledore"

Harry put the paper down and scratched his forehead.  That certainly explained why Dumbledore's portrait seemed so easily satisfied to believe that Voldemort had been defeated. He wasn't quite sure who made the portraits of people after death, but Harry was certain Snape would explain it at an inconvenient time later.

Snape looked like he was going to start cursing again, so Harry dug his wand out and summoned the cigarettes from Snape's pocket.

"You may as well have one. We'll only kill each other sooner if you don't."

Snape wordlessly lit one and Harry ignored him as he looked around for a wand hiding spot.  Instead, his gaze found an ugly black stone on the desk, slightly smaller than a snitch and with a large jagged line cut through the centre of it.  He poked it with his own wand, noticing a small image inside the stone.

"That's from the ring that cursed the headmaster's hand," Snape deadpanned, blowing smoke over the desk. 

Harry ignored him and cast a quick detection spell over the stone. Satisfied that it was benign, he picked it up and peered closer at the image inside.

"It looks like there's a crest in here. And a coin of some sort," Harry said, scrunching up his face to see it better.

"There would be a crest," Snape said, his eyes closed while he smoked. "It's called a wizarding family ring, Potter."

"It's familiar," Harry said, his mind trying to remember when he'd seen the ring before.  He took another look at it, using a magnifying glass from Dumbledore's penholder.

"The coin inside, it's not part of the crest.  It says...what is that...URNT. It says URNT. And it's not...does that look like a stone to you?" Harry said, shoving the stone under Snape's nose. He received a blast of smoke for his trouble, and nearly slapped Snape while waving it away.

"A flagstone, perhaps," Snape said, taking interest.

"Death hands out tokens, with the place where that person will meet their end. What if the scene isn't that detailed? We never saw your uncle's, he just said it was a tube station."

"They'd be more detailed," Snape said firmly, putting out his cigarette with his wand.  "Detailed enough to recognize that exact moment."

"I'm surprised to see you here, boys. It's a little late," a tired voice interrupted.  Harry's eyes flew up to see Dumbledore looking down on them kindly.

"Good evening, headmaster," Snape said, nodding. He tapped the letter once with his finger, and Dumbledore nodded in return.

"It is getting on," Harry said, slightly louder than necessary.

"What are you, a nanny now?" Snape sneered, collecting the letter for his pocket.

"Harry just means well," Dumbledore smiled. "But I've always thought, Severus, that the best rest is always found at home."

"Perhaps," Snape acknowledged, standing and dragging Harry up. "We shall take our leave then."

Once they'd reached the hallway towards the tunnel out of Hogwarts, Harry clued in and whispered to Snape.

"It was code, wasn't it? He wants us to search - "

Snape clamped his hand down so hard around Harry's mouth that Harry almost bit him in surprise.

....

Snape's bed was snug into a corner against the wall, and had silvery curtains around it. Harry allowed Snape to levitate them into it, and they lay awake for a while, Snape reading a potions recipe book and Harry staring at the wall.  He still thought there was something odd about the stone, something familiar about it. Snape had said it was from a ring that had cursed the headmaster, and it had a crest on it -

"You're thinking too damn loudly and interrupting my peace," said Snape, waving his potion book irritably toward Harry.

"I can't possibly be thinking too loud, unless you're using legilimency. In which case, kindly get the hell out of my head," Harry snapped back.

"I assure you, I have absolutely no desire to know what goes on in your little head."

"Oh really? Well would you like to know that the stone was a horcrux?" said Harry, crossing his arms.

"The stone was a foolishly cursed object, nothing more. Remember what Silas said, you twit, the headmaster was wrong about Voldemort splitting his soul."

"The headmaster wasn't right about a lot of things," Harry conceded, "but I don't think he was dead wrong about this.  That image that's inside, there's something important to it. I wonder if it would show up in any other horcrux of Voldemort."

"Sure it will. Along with the unicorns and sugar gumdrops of fairy tale land, they'll all wave at you as you look."

"Well. It's no mystery to why you live alone," Harry sarcastically commented. "Dobby!"

"Oh no. Potter I don't - "

"Harry Potter sir! What can Dobby be doing for you?"  Dobby eagerly asked, popping into existence at the foot of the bed.

Harry ignored Snape's muttering beside him and focused on his little friend, who had a Manchester United scarf on this evening, in addition to the tea cozies.

"Do you remember the diary that I gave you when I was twelve?"

"Yes. Dobby keeps the diary safe in his cupboard, Harry Potter. It was the greatest day in Dobby's life."

Harry blushed and elbowed Snape in the ribs for snorting.

"You be nice to Harry Potter, Severus Snape," Dobby warned, shaking his little finger at Snape.  "Dobby protects his friends."

"Dobby, it's okay," Harry assured, holding out his hands. "I just need to see the diary. Can we see it?"

"Will Harry Potter wish to keep it?" Dobby asked, sounding unsure of himself. His fingers were tumbling over themselves, and Harry knew Dobby would hand over the diary for good if he demanded it.

"No, just need to see it for a day or two. I promise I will give it back."

Dobby flashed a huge smile and disappeared, without even confirming he was going to get the diary.

Snape turned to him and frowned.

"I cannot believe you stole a Malfoy house elf," said Snape, in a mock disappointed tone.

"I freed him," Harry protested, pointing at the empty end of the bed. "Lucius Malfoy was beating him, and he'd been visiting me all year, terrified that his family - "

"Professor Snape knows, Harry Potter," Dobby said, popping back into the room, his eyes huge and his little hands clutching the destroyed diary. Harry was amused to note that Dobby had wrapped a large yellow bow around it.

"He knew?" Harry asked Dobby, accepting the book.

"Yes, yes. Professor Snape has a nasty temper, Harry Potter. But he gave Dobby healing potions," Dobby asserted, nodding his head. "Dobby will be back for the book when Harry Potter calls."

And before Harry could make head or tails of the message, or wipe the smirk off Snape's face, Dobby disapparated again.

"So after all," said Harry, flipping through the book and trying not to grin, "underneath that exterior, you're just a big old - "

"Finish that sentence and I will murder you and harvest the organs I need."

Harry laughed as the pages skimmed by under his fingers.  He finally found something very faint in the last third of the book, a page he'd not noticed when he was twelve. Either that, or ink that had leaked out from the basilisk fang's stabbing had saturate a very light sketch that hadn't been visible before.

"Here it is," said Harry, holding up the book for Snape to see. "But it's not the stone image. This looks like a weird box-building under construction. What do you think?"

Snape studied it, holding it far enough away from his face to make Harry suspect he needed reading glasses.

"You didn't notice this when you first had this book?"

"No," Harry shuddered, remembering how creepy it had been to talk to Voldemort through the diary.  "It wasn't there."

Snape spent a few more minutes tracing the image with his finger, and then searching through the rest of the book.

"It can't be a token," he finally pronounced, tossing the book back on Harry's lap.  "It's not a precise enough image."

Harry shrugged down under the covers, lying back in bed. Snape moved at the same time, and shoved a rolled up blanket between their lower halves.

"It was stabbed with a basilisk fang," Harry defended, slightly petulant.

"That is the only reason we are taking it to Silas tomorrow for consideration," Snape said in a condescending tone, killing the light.

...

Harry woke to Snape shoving him in the shoulder.

"Get up," Snape grunted. "I need to go outside and think."

"It's three in the damn morning," Harry said, not bothering to open his eyes.  He scrunched the blanket close to him, but a strong hand landed on his shoulder and pulled him up as Snape sat up.

"It's two. Get up."

Snape threw Harry a jumper that he'd summoned from the closet and they shuffled through the darkened living room towards the balcony.  Harry shivered as he yawned, pulling his sleep trousers down a bit so they folded under his cold feet.

He regarded Snape through half closed eyes, watching as Snape withdrew a cigarette from the small pack he'd swiped off the counter on the way out. He had a small bag inside the pack, with little slivers of green half the width of a toothpick.

"Since when do you add stuff to your tobacco?" Harry asked, fighting another yawn.

"It's not stuff, it's hyoscyamus niger. And it helps me think," Snape replied, deftly inserting the green sliver into the cigarette and lighting it.

"Black henbane," Harry repeated, blinking his eyes a few times. "That's poisonous, you tosser."

Harry made to snatch the cigarette from Snape, but wasn't as quick with his left hand and missed.

"Always thought you'd preferred I'd poison myself," Snape smirked, taking a long drag.

"Not when I'm fucking attached to you. Do you put that in every damn cigarette?"  Harry demanded, still reaching for Snape's hand.

"Calm down," Snape grunted, batting away Harry's clawing fingers. "I only add it once a day, and there's not enough to poison a single man, never mind two."

"Two with compromised immune systems," Harry muttered.  "It's a hallucinogen? Addictive?"

"None of your damn business."

"You woke me at two am for a smoke. I'd say it's my business, Snape."

"Potter -" Snape warned, tapping his cigarette ash over the balcony.

 "Fine, whatever. Finish your fag and tell me if you see where the Elder wand is in the smoke," Harry huffed, pulling his arms into his sleeves and closing his eyes. He couldn't sleep standing up, but he could dream a bit and hopefully pass the time faster.

"This isn't divination, twit," Snape muttered.  Somewhere in the street below a man kicked at a car door and cursed.  Snape glanced quickly to his left, and after ascertaining that Harry's eyes were fully shut, blew a thick curtain of smoke out in front of them.

It disappeared into nothing, and Snape rolled his eyes.  He withdrew the black stone from his bathrobe pocket and smoothed over the jagged edges with his fingers.

"For an omnipotent wizard, you still managed to do extraordinarily stupid things," Snape mumbled, staring at the spot where the crest mixed with the image of the flagstone. The four letters URNT reflected plainly back to him.

Snape took one last drag of his cigarette as he glared at the black stone, and suddenly blew smoke all over it.  Shaking his hand, Snape held it up to the moonlight, where the crest inside was reflected multiple times through the jagged crack.

"Sonofa," Snape muttered, before tossing his fag over the balcony and shaking Harry's shoulders.

"Wake up, Potter. Potter!"

"Feck off," Harry mumbled, shrugging his shoulders out of Snape's grasp.

"Harry."

Harry opened his eyes and blinked wearily at Snape.

"The liver cannot just be replicated using a potion or ‘geminio,' because that spell creates a worthless duplicate."

"And?" Harry asked, watching Snape hold the stone up to the moonlight again.  He was having trouble following Snape's thought process.

"And this is a worthless duplicate," Snape finished.

"Of Voldemort's token?" Harry asked, reaching for the stone and missing as Snape yanked it away.

"I believe so."

Snape sounded very pleased with himself, and Harry rolled his eyes.

"We need to get some sleep. It will be a long day tomorrow."

Snape put one arm around Harry's shoulder and started marching him back into the flat.

"Anyone ever tell you you're an arsehole, Snape?"  Harry muttered, blindly following and collapsing back into bed.

...

Harry was woken up at eight in the morning by Ginny's horse patronus.  It was almost as large as Molly's bear, and trampled down on Harry's chest.

"For chrissakes," Snape grumbled, pulling his pillow over his head to block out the patronus' light.

"We need to talk. Meet me at Le Pain Quotidien on Exhibition road at noon. Be there, Harry."

The patronus gave a stiff nod and disappeared. Harry shifted uncomfortably in bed, knowing that whatever Ginny wanted to talk about, it likely wasn't going to be pretty.

"So, I guess I'm buying lunch," Harry offered, staring up at the stuccoed ceiling.

"I require a cigarette before attending to any Weasleys," Snape finally replied through the pillow.

....

Just at ten, when they were about to leave for the tube to find Silas, a knock at the door announced the arrival of a goblin from Gringotts.

"Fantastic," Snape sarcastically said, stepping back to allow the goblin in.

"Paperwork is a necessity of life, Mr Snape," the goblin responded in a similarly nasty tone.  "If you wish this to be as painless as possible, you can co-operate and we won't need to go to Gringotts."

"Entirely unfortunate then that any money you would receive as a tip is, indeed, at Gringotts."

Harry snickered through the exchange, walking with Snape to the kitchen table.

"Here are the forms we are required to complete following your...transformation," the goblin said, and Harry saw that his nametag read ‘Indgang.'

"It's written in gobbledygook," Snape growled, and Harry glanced at the forms as well. They looked like a strange mixture of pictographs and childish drawings.

"Lucky for you I speak it then, isn't it?" Indgang responded, raising one eyebrow. Harry had never seen the goblin version of one of Snape's looks.

"Names?" Indgang asked, quill poised over the form.

"Harry James Potter," Harry answered, watching the goblin write backwards.

"Severus Snape," said Snape, pulling his sleeves down to cover his wrists.

"Middle name as well, Mr Snape," Indgang clipped.

Snape looked murderous.

"James."

Harry's jaw dropped.

"Ha! Your middle name is James?" Harry snorted incredulously. "No wonder you hated my father."

"James is a perfectly serviceable Englishman's name, regardless of the unfortunate drudgery of people like your father erstwhile attached to it," Snape replied haughtily, his fingers twitching and his wand peeking out of his sleeve.

"I think we should call you James Snape," Harry mock pondered. He winced a second later when Snape's foot came down hard on top of his own.

"I think you should keep such thoughts to yourself if you wish to reach your eighteenth birthday," Snape informed him.

"Twenty-sixth," Indgang corrected, a smile on his face as he regarded Harry and Snape. "According to my paperwork, you both now have a birth year of 1972."

"The dates have not changed, have they?" Harry asked, wondering when Snape's birthday was.

"No. You are still the thirty-first of July, and Mr Snape the ninth of January."

"Huh, not even close," Harry murmured.  Indgang continued filling out the sheet for a few more minutes while Snape tried to eye-hex him with a glare.

"I assume that you wish to retain your original surnames?" Indgang asked, without looking up from the paperwork.

"Yes," both Harry and Snape responded immediately.

"There will be no mutilation of my surname," finished Snape.

"Pity. I'm certain the last name ‘Snotter' would fetch you quite a bit of attention," Indgang offered, keeping his face mostly straight.

"Yeah, funny as hell," Harry retorted back. 

Indgang retrieved one more piece of parchment from his briefcase and skimmed over it with his eyes.

"Mr Snape, shall we be taking your taxes on a monthly schedule as per usual?" the goblin asked.

Harry felt Snape tense in the chair beside him.

"No," Harry interrupted, earning a jab from Snape. "You'll be taking it from my account, all at once."

"Well that is very generous of you, Mr Potter," Indgang said, politely ignoring Snape's scowl.

"Yes it is," Snape intoned, his body tense. "And completely unnecessary. The previous arrangements stand."

"Oh, for the lov -"

"Keep your nose out of my affairs, Potter," Snape warned.

"They're mine now too, you git. It wasn't my choice either!"

"Explain to me how this is any of your concern," Snape growled. He'd shifted on the chair so he was facing Harry at a 45-degree angle - the best he could do given their attached side.

"Can you teach right now?" Harry challenged. He was sitting up with his wand in his hand, a lesson learned from the last time they fought.

"You know I cannot," Snape answered, gritting his teeth.

"Right. The taxes are being paid by me then."

"I don't need your help, you little cretin."

"Litt - we're the same damn size, Snape. We're bloody conjoined twins!"

"In spite of that, it's fortunate I won't feel the side effects of this. Cru -"

"Gentlemen!" Indgang coughed, his hand raised.

"Cruditas!" Snape finished, satisfied when Harry clutched at his stomach and grunted.

...

The café was in a busy part of London just south of the Natural History Museum. It was rectangular, with large picture windows, and had tables jammed in and around large potted plants inside.  It attempted to look trendy, and had several posters advertising free trade coffees and cookies, with outrageously expensive tiny packages of food pictured.  Harry and Snape maneuvered their way into a corner table, where Snape pulled his chair to the side and sat angled away from Harry.  The waitress brought each a drink while they waited, and Snape stared at the foot traffic on the street.

"She's late," he said, not glancing at his watch.

"Maybe she couldn't get away," Harry answered, leaning forward as far as he could without jostling Snape, resting his arms on his knees.  He looked to be staring at the door, but at a quick glance Snape saw that he was actually gazing past, at the floor.

"She'll be here. It was her idea," Snape said after a moment, sipping his coffee.

"You sound like you know why she wanted to meet me.
 Harry said, turning to look towards Snape. He didn't get a reply, however, as Snape removed a pair of disposable earplugs from his pocket as soon as Ginny Weasley walked into the cafe.  She didn't bother to get herself anything, which made Harry suspicious, but simply walked over to their table. 

Harry and Snape rose as if on cue, and Ginny gave Harry an awkward one-armed hug.

"Everyone is worried about you, Harry," Ginny said, giving him a once-over.

Snape took this as his cue to put in the earplugs, but Harry couldn't tell if Snape was actually deaf to their conversation or still listening in.

"I'm fine. We're fine," Harry smiled. He offered her his cup of coffee, but she refused with a small hand wave. "We needed to get away, to work on a few things."

"Yes, well. We've been busy too, with the congratulation ceremonies and reporters."

Ginny kept glancing towards the window, and Harry turned to see if he could spot what she was looking at.

"That's not...How are you doing? Is the family alright?" His hands bounced on his knee, as if he wanted to reach forward and grasp her hands, but couldn't. Instead, Harry wiped his palms against the rough denim.

"Mum misses you and she's pretty annoyed," Ginny deflected. "How long do you plan to be away?"

Ginny's eyes were mostly focused on Harry, but she stole glances towards Snape every now and again, little jabs of anger.

"Gin, you need to understand that not everything was cleared up with Voldemort.  I need to, we can't rest yet."

"You don't have to do everything, Harry," Ginny exhaled, sitting back in her chair and moving out of Harry's immediate vicinity. "There are other people willing to help you."

"I'm not," Harry asserted. He held up his hands and tried to explain, but Ginny interrupted him.

"It's okay, Harry. I think you were right anyway."

"I ..what? Right about what?"

Snape shifted ever so slightly in his seat, unseen by anyone but felt by Harry.

"In June, when you said we should take a step back. You have this business, and Snape, and it's your focus. I don't want to distract you," Ginny said, smiling at him. It wasn't the type of smile she'd ever given him before, and Harry was confused by it

"What are you talking about? You don't distract me, Gin," Harry laughed. He reached forward and did take her hand in his.  "And yeah, I have to work with Snape for a little bit, but he's a good -"

"Harry, you're attached to him!" Ginny exclaimed, keeping her voice to a minimal level. People were staring enough at Harry and Snape.

"Only until our organs are fixed!" Harry hissed in return. Snape continued staring out the window, but his whole posture was stiffened.

"And when will that be, Harry?" Ginny shook her head with a smile. "You need to concentrate on yourself and whatever this last thing is you need to do. Once you're done, and you're free of Snape, you can have any girl you want, and devote your whole attention to her. You were right before, and I won't push you into a relationship that you're not ready for."

"But, I thought you wanted to be that girl," Harry said, sitting back and looking confused.

Ginny stood up and gave him another half hug.

"I'll be a best friend, as always. Good luck, Harry," Ginny said, kissing his forehead. She turned and walked back toward the door.

Harry watched her exit the café and tie her scarf loosely around her neck as she headed east. He thought he saw Terry Boot waiting for her, leaning against a post box, but he wasn't sure.

Snape nudged Harry with his elbow, poking him in the ribs. He held a small rolled cigarette in his hand, a peace offering.

"I'm fine," Harry said, but his voice said otherwise.

Snape said nothing, and kept his offering out.

"You knew she would do that," Harry said a moment later, taking the cigarette and sticking it in his pocket. They stood up together and made to leave.

"I had an idea."

At the front of the shop was an old regular, by the looks of the set up he had at the table with his piles of newspaper. He sneered at Harry and Snape, his knobby nose holding up broken dirty glasses and obscuring a scraggy face.

"Women don't want no freaks, you know."

"Fuck off," Snape sneered, tipping the man's newspaper pile over as they walked by.

....

They had enough luck taking the tube from South Kensington to find Silas within an hour, hanging out at a newsstand in Embankment station.  Silas didn't have time to go back to his home office at the closed platform, but he did take them into a small employees-only lounge. Harry sat quietly, mulling over what Ginny had said, while Silas inspected the diary and the stone.

"What's wrong with'm?" Silas asked, nodding at Harry.

"Nothing," Harry responded, shoving his hands in his pockets.  Silas looked expectantly at Snape, but Snape merely shrugged his shoulders.

"We don't share a mind, thank god," said Snape.

Harry felt like kicking him, but figured that Silas would be much more curious if he did.

"Well, I got good news for you boys anyway. This is part of a token," said Silas, putting the items down on the desk.  He had a crooked smile on his face, and a smudge of grease high on his cheek.

"It has to be Voldemort's," Harry said, making a fist in his lap with his hand. "If he replicated his token, would that explain the distorted image inside it?"

Silas rubbed his chin, and Harry could hear the scratching where the rough skin of his hands brushed against the stubble on his face.

"Yeah. Might explain s'well how you're not able to kill ‘im. If he has a few copies of his token, it's no loss if one gets destroyed."

Silas looked slightly bothered by this, and Harry figured he was itching to get back and check on his own token's safety.

"So, Dumbledore was right about Voldemort making horcruxes to become immortal. Sort of," said Harry, smiling a little.  No matter Dumbledore's faults, he wanted to retain a memory of him as a man who he'd looked up to as a child new to the wizarding world.

"Do you know where the word horcrux comes from, Harry boy?" Silas asked, grinning.

Harry shook his head. Snape sat quietly beside him, sketching out a rough image of both elements the diary and stone contained.

"These tokens. There's that saying about selling your soul to death, or as muggles call it, ‘the devil.'  And that's what the deal is, you get your special wish, and after you're done, death gets your soul. During the height of the witch-hunt in the 1600's, there was all the talk and yelling about religion and the devil going on, people accused of selling their souls. Witches and wizards used horcrux instead when they talked about death's deals, to avoid persecution. Got into the books some how, got twisted along the way, and now you got scholars tellin' us horcruxes are made by ripping the soul in half."

Harry was staring at Silas.

"Really? It's been in use that long? And how'd it get so changed from the real meaning?"

"Half the time he's full of shit," Snape said, not looking up from his sketching.  He missed Silas giving him a rude salute.

"Meanings change through word of mouth, and you don't get many scholars making deals. Not all deals with death are bad, Harry. Remember that."

"How can they not be?" Harry asked, disbelieving. "And how do you know all this?"

He knew that Snape, though a sarcastic and mean-spirited man, was very intelligent, and figured it ran in the family. Silas seemed to be no-exception, though while Snape had his brain stuffed with stratagems and potion properties, Silas was full of random facts.

Silas didn't answer, however, preferring to watch Severus' work instead.

"Figured it out yet, boy?" Silas asked, sounding amused.

Snape leaned back, showing his sketch of the stone and the under construction building with a blue banner. He'd managed to make out two of the letters on a banner that was attached to the side of the building, which read OD.

"There's not much to work with," Snape said, testily.

I thought you always liked puzzles," Silas smirked, and then nodded at Harry.  "He looks like he's had a rough day though, so I'll not make you suffer."

Harry scowled slightly at the comment, but even he knew he'd not make any sense of the image they had at the moment.

"You'll find that spot at the cross of Bayswater and Edgeware," Silas said, standing up from the chair he was sitting at. "Where the old Tyburn Tree used to stand."

Snape's head snapped up at the words, staring at his uncle with widened eyes.

"The old Tyburn Tree..." said Snape slowly, shaking his head at Silas' smile.

Confused, Harry pocketed the stone and diary, checking that his wand was still in his side pant pocket.

"You and death must get along well. Same sick sense of humour," Snape said, as Silas kicked them out of the office.

 "Not so much," Silas said ruefully, heading for the southbound platform. "He likes the wrong cricket team."

Snape had pulled a tube map out of the holder on the wall and was searching for the streets Silas had mentioned on it.

"What's your choice, Potter? Find the wand and stone, or go after countless tokens and destroy them?"

Harry leaned back against the wall they were standing by, and Snape did the same.  Around them people were rushing about, not paying them any attention.

"This is like a bad card game that you never run out of chips for," Harry said.

"Stupid analogy, but make your choice," Snape commented, folding up the tube map.

"The hallows, I think. But, why did your uncle say Voldemort's token is for Tyburn Tree? There wasn't a tree in those images at all." Harry murmured, watching the crowd.

"It's not a tree, Potter. It was the wooden gallows where they used to hang murderers, highwaymen, traitors, and prisoners of Newgate and other gaols."

Snape pushed them off the wall and they walked out of the underground station, Harry stewing over what Snape had just said.  Death did sound like he had a sick sense of humour, and for once, he was glad Snape was stuck to him. At least this time he wouldn't have to face death all by himself, as it were.

 

The train, a mid-morning non-commuter one, wasn't filled to capacity.  Harry and Snape managed to find a section of four empty seats together, and settled themselves down on one bench.  Snape smirked at getting the window seat, and Harry grumbled as he discreetly spelled the seat divider away.  A spare jacket was placed between them, and the conjoinment was hidden.

"Are you sure we'll have luck there?" Harry asked, unfolding the Daily Telegraph and wincing at an unfortunate photograph of Prince Philip.

Snape had his own small journal out, in which he was writing notes. He had his right foot propped up on the heat register against the train carriage wall.

"Yes. The hea...he moved to your birth town as a boy. I believe for security's sake that any keepsakes were left in his own town of origin."

"This would have been a lot easier if he'd left us a map while he was alive," Harry grumbled. 

The train pulled out of Paddington station, and Harry watched London speed by as Snape read the notes from McGonagall of Dumbledore's passing.  They were detailed in her neat cursive writing, and they confirmed that when Dumbledore had died, his wand had not been with him. That detail had not been made public, but it didn't help Harry or Snape figure out where the wand had been hidden.

"So once we get there and find Du - his keepsake, we'll be able to just pop back to London, right?" asked Harry, focusing on the empty seat in front of him. Watching the houses go by too fast had made him feel slightly ill.

"Correct. Once cannot pop anywhere without co-ordinates or prior knowledge of said place," Snape answered.

The businessman sitting in the four-seater section across from them gave them an odd look, but then returned to his paper at Snape's glare.

"You know," Harry said after a few minute's silence, " I had no idea that his family lived in Godric's Hollow with my parents."

"Well, he didn't live with your parents," Snape snidely said.  He sounded a bit put out that his family was not from the same eminent town as so many notable wizards, and Harry was surprised.

"Are you actually jealous that your family isn't from the same town that Godric Gryffindor is from?" Harry asked, incredulous.

"Drop it, Potter," Snape warned.  "Put your brain to use. We need to find the two hallows yet."

Harry spent the next fifteen minutes of the train ride writing out every possible place he figured the headmaster would hide his wand.  Snape thought that an advanced displacement spell had been used, which activated itself as Dumbledore died.

Harry heard the train announcer calling for the first stop at Reading, and hastily scribbled down ‘sock drawer' before hiding the sheet under Snape's newspaper.  Harry stared out the window at the people hovering around the platform, some wandering aimlessly, some looking for relatives, and some trying to push their way through to get on the train before it left.

He looked back towards the aisle in their compartment at the precise moment the train whistled, and dropped his pencil.  Two sections of seats ahead stood a portly and cross-looking woman, dressed in a garish purple dress and carrying large flower-patterned luggage.  Her eyes scanned the carriage as she scowled at its occupants, before spotting the empty bench across from Harry and Snape.  Her face lit up into an ugly, cold smile as she recognized Harry.

"Well, well, I didn't know they allowed mongrel like you on the train, boy," Marge said, maneuvering herself and her luggage into the seat in an undignified way that even Snape couldn't help but watch.

Harry was suddenly grateful that he'd started dressing in a more respectable manner, like Snape did.

"Good morning, Aunt Marge," Harry said, not bothering to respond to her remark.

"Marge?" Snape asked, his own eyes narrowed maliciously. "As in a tub of margarine?"

Marge stopped fiddling with the collar of her dress and gave Snape a withering look. She seemed to be cataloguing his appearance, attire, and closeness to Harry.

"You watch your mouth around your elders, you nosy parker," Marge huffed.

"No one asked you to sit here," Snape said, looking down his considerable nose at her. "And yet, like an ill-mannered boar, you have crashed in uninvited nonetheless."

"Another one that needs a proper thrashing, just like this brat," Marge hmphed, her fingers clutched white around her purse handles.

Harry raised an eyebrow at her, happy to find himself no longer cowered by her. Whether it was the absence of the dogs, or the fact that he'd spent three days attached to the rather moody Severus Snape, he found Marge's insults and red-faced spittle rather pathetic.

"I think that's called child abuse now, isn't it Severus?" Harry asked, looking troubled.

"Spare the rod, spoil the child," Marge snapped. She didn't notice that she had the audience of a few other train riders, but Snape's sudden bark of laughter caught her attention.

"Your uncle is the same size as this behemoth, correct?" asked Snape, his eyes glittering.

"Yup," Harry answered cheerfully.

"Spoiled, spoiled, spoiled," Snape tsked, shaking his head and sitting forward. "I think we'd need a rod as big as a tree trunk to unspoil you by this point."

Marge's eyes widened and Harry bit his lip to stop from smiling.

"Well, I never!"

The train had pulled out of the station ten minutes earlier, and their compartment was rather full. Marge seemed to have originally been looking forward to spending her trip sniping at Harry, but she'd not expected Snape's vitriol.

"I'd like you to meet my brother, Aunt Marge," Harry smiled sweetly, noticing her eyes widen.

"Vernon never mentioned you having a brother, you little leech!" Marge hissed, keeping her voice down to not attract the attention of the rest of the train. "Where did he go then, when your parents were dumb enough to kill themselves?"

Harry felt Snape's body tense, and saw him reach for his hidden wand pocket.

"You've a funny definition of leeching, Aunt Marge. Cast-offs, cupboards, and leftover scraps," Harry said coolly, trying to keep himself calm.

A National Rail employee entered the compartment and started checking tickets. Beside Harry, Snape was looking pissed off.

"It was better than you deserved," Marge haughtily replied. "Coming from such bad stock that you did."  She looked between both of them with a snobbish air, as if she was much further up the class scale that they could ever hope to be.

Snape leaned forward and mumbled something in Latin just as the ticket collector arrived at their seats.  Harry had theirs ready, and handed them over. The collector barely glanced at him, but zeroed in on Marge.

"Madame, this ticket was for yesterday," the collector said, tapping the ticket against his machine.

Marge sputtered and snapped her purse shut in protest.

"Impossible! I purchased it at Reading before stepping on!"

Harry leaned back in his seat and mostly closed his eyes, pretending to be polite enough to not listen in on the entire conversation taking place right in front of him. Snape didn't keep the same reservation, a nasty smile on his face as Marge protested and claimed innocence.

"Sirs?" The collector asked, turning his attention to them. "This woman states she knows you. Can you verify if she purchased the ticket today?"

"I have never met her before in my life," Snape said, sounding mock troubled.

...

Marge was led off the train at the next station, Swindon, and they spent the rest of the trip trying to guess where the resurrection stone and the elder wand were.  Harry argued that Dumbledore likely didn't have the stone, as if he had, he would have given it to Harry to help him defeat Voldemort.

"And how would that have helped, Potter? You would have thrown the stone at him?" Snape scoffed, leading them down a smaller lane in Cheltenham. Dumbledore's old home was only a ten-minute walk from the train station, if Snape's directions were correct.

"I don't...I would have asked my parents questions, or seen Sirius again," Harry responded weakly. 

"That's exactly why he wouldn't have given it to you," said Snape, leading them to the front door of the home. "We need a soldier, not a sniveling, distracted child."

He held a key up to the door, one that Dumbledore had left in his desk at Hogwarts, and pushed them into the house.

"You're a real fucking arse, Snape," Harry finally said, swinging his arm down and punching Snape hard in the thigh.

Snape grunted at caught Harry's wrist before he could punch again.

"Of course I am Potter, it's called survival of the fittest."

The downstairs of the home was searched, and Harry even tried summoning the wand. It was a tiny cottage that the Dumbledores had lived in, and it appeared to have been kept up in memory by the headmaster for all the years that the family hadn't lived there.  Harry thought the bedroom of Dumbledore's sister seemed to be set up more like a shrine than a regular room, but Snape moved him past before he could inspect it.

The headmaster's boyhood room was small, with a simple single bed, a dresser, a nightstand, and a large bookcase. A checkers set and a spinning top lay on one of the bookcases, and there was a first edition of A History of Magic on the nightstand.

Harry, who'd not spoken a word to Snape since punching him, flipped through the book.

"Potter. How did you know the cloak went back to the Peverells?" Snape asked, standing beside Harry and checking in the nightstand drawer.

"Looked it up," Harry shrugged.  "This book has a family tree of some of the most famous wizarding families."

Harry put the book back down on the dresser and flipped through to the family tree page.  It was a fold out page that was stitched together, and had a gnarled forest portrayed, with several prominent families listed.

"The Potters are at the very bottom of this tree," Harry said, pointing his finger at the bottom of the Peverell tree.  He traced his fingers up through the branches; some broken where information was missing or the line died out, and traced it back up to Ignotus Peverell.

"Cor..." Harry exhaled, his finger landing on the small Peverell crest on the top of the tree.

"What?" Snape asked, distracted by a stack of books under the bed. He straightened up immediately when Harry stuck his hand in Snape's outer jacket.

"Remove your hand, before I do it for you."

"Where's the stone? I know you brought it," said Harry, ignoring Snape's threat. His hand was slapped away and Snape slowly withdrew the stone from another pocket.

Harry snatched it and held it up to the light, instantly finding the crest inlaid in the stone. Even with the jagged crack down the middle, there was no mistaking that the crest matched the one in the book.

"This is the damned resurrection stone."

Snape's eyes widened slightly, before he was able to school his features into nonchalance. He couldn't conceal the thrumming of his body however, and he grabbed for the stone before Harry could stop him.

"Let go, Potter! God knows what you'll summon holding it."

"No! I figured it out, I'll hold it!" Harry grunted, wrestling with Snape's arm. He was using his right to Snape's left, and for once had the upper hand.  Snape stomped on his foot, though, and they twisted together and fell back onto the bed.

Harry managed to elbow Snape in the gut, causing the professor to curse and gasp for air. He was about to go for a second hit when a female voice sounded out and stopped them dead.

"Boys, I think that's enough."

They shot up on the bed, and Harry dragged them back against the wall. Somewhere in the fight he must have turned over the stone a few times and activated it. That was the only reason he could think of to explain why his mother was now standing in front of him.

It was clear she was a ghost, as her skin was very pale and her eyes didn't shimmer. She was dressed in a simple pair of slacks and a long sleeved shirt, with a plain necklace. Her hair was down, and Harry was taken back by his own features he could see in her. Everyone told him he always looked like his father, but Harry thought that he had his mum's ears, and maybe her forehead too.

"Lily," said Snape, frozen beside him.

"Hello, Severus," Lily said, giving Snape a kind and genuine smile. She turned to Harry and gave him a very fond look.

"Hello, my little star."

"Mum?" Harry asked, feeling his eyes start to sting.

"I don't have much time, Harry," Lily explained softly, moving closer to them and putting her hand out to stroke Harry's cheek.

"You have been incredibly brave through all of this, and I could not be any prouder of you than I am."

She turned to look at Snape, giving Harry enough time to blink away the tears that had formed.

"And you, Severus. You could lighten up, but you have done a wonderful job of protecting Harry," she said, half teasing.

Snape didn't say anything, but he held his hand up to Lily's and Harry suddenly got the feeling that he was intruding into a very private moment.  He felt a little saddened, at the realization that Snape had known his mother far better than he ever had.

"You have been a wonderful best friend, Severus. You are worth every argument we had, though I forgave you long ago."

Lily turned back to her son, and gave a cold, chilly kiss on top of Harry's head. It didn't feel like when one of the Hogwarts ghosts flew through him though, and Harry now had a memory of his mum kissing him.

"Remember, my star. Choose wisely today, and you will reach equality of one of man's greatest fears."

She stepped back towards the bookcase, and waved goodbye.

"I love you both, and I will be watching over you."

Lily Potter disappeared into the dusty air and Harry dropped the stone onto the bed.  The room had taken on a surreal, depressed mood, and Harry felt lost.

He'd grown up not remembering his parents, and that was somehow less painful than getting a moment's glance and having his mother leave again.

"Aren't you going to ask why she speaks so fondly of me?" Snape asked, sounding very defensive.

"You grew up in the same town as her, didn't you?" Harry shrugged, wiping the tears off his cheeks with his shirtsleeve.

"How on earth would you know that?" Snape asked, surprised.

"There's a picture of you in Aunt Petunia's boxes in the attic. I had to clean it once; it was some summer picture my grandparents took. Mum's back is to the camera, but I always wondered who the dark scowling boy was."

Snape pocketed the stone, putting it away carefully in a handkerchief.

"And I am to believe you never mentioned this once at school?" said Snape, disbelief in his voice.

"I didn't know it was you at first," Harry said. "I only suspected it after I saw, er, mum coming to your rescue in that memory."

Snape was silent, staring at the History of Magic book still open on the dresser. He picked it up and leafed through it, lost in thought.  Harry kept staring at the spot in the room where his mum had stood, staring and thinking ‘she was there just two minutes ago.'  He was grateful for once that Snape was stuck to him, as if he'd been here by himself he would have lost it when his mother left.

"We should go," said Snape, too distracted to keep searching. They struggled to sit up together, and Snape moved to return the book to the bookshelf. A slim object dropped out of the spine crease and clattered to the floor by his foot.  Both Harry and Snape looked down, staring in disbelief at the familiar thin piece of wood.

"You have to be shitting me," Snape cursed.

...

Harry had cast a spell to levitate himself at the worktable, where Snape was standing with the elder wand and the petri dish of liver bits. Harry had his eyes closed as he hovered, reliving the memory of talking to his mum, and re-seeing the only other memory he had of her: the night she died.  Snape was stalling their meeting with death, something rather uncharacteristic of him, but Harry didn't actually mind. He was fully expecting having to make a deal with death, and was working out just what he was willing to give up.

"We have to do this tonight," Harry said, not opening his eyes. He felt calm and unafraid. If he ended up losing, and dying, he'd still get to see his family in the end.

"We do not. There is no set appointment with death," Snape said, stabbing the liver with a mercury thermometer.

"What are you afraid of, Severus?" asked Harry, opening his eyes and dropping his feet to the floor.  Snape grabbed him roughly and poked a finger in his chest.

"I am not afraid of anything."

Harry looked at his fierce dark eyes, and realized that Snape was mostly telling the truth. The man was a spy, and had been a spy for sixteen years in the camp of one of the most evil wizards in history. Snape had walked a similarly dangerous path as Harry, but far many more times than Harry had.

"Don't you want your freedom, then?" asked Harry.

Snape leveled him a dark look, before returning to the liver and a sickly yellow potion he had just made.

"That is what I'm working on. Figure out your little plan, Potter, and quit bothering me."

"I don't work with plans," Harry said, poking his finger at some slimy algae Snape had used in the potion.  He ignored Snape's snort.

"And look, I know you're stalling because we've finally got all the pieces together and it's like, the one last step before a big project is done and you just don't want to do anything more. But you knew Voldemort wasn't gone, and so do the other death eaters, right?"

Snape put down the scalpel he was holding and stared straight ahead.

"Yes, they will know. The Mark is still very active."

Harry nodded and placed the resurrection stone on the table.

"We need to do it this evening. Mum even said, tonight is the night."

Snape sighed and cast some spells on his work. He looked around the table and seemed satisfied with how the experiment was progressing.

"Potter, the streets are filled with muggles right now. Do you really want to bring a showdown between death, us, and the Dark Lord into the mix?"

Chastised, Harry felt his face heat up.

"Er, right. Bad idea."

Snape opened up a jar of fermented tapeworms and slowly pulled one out with tweezers. Harry gagged for a minute before he remembered he could do a bubble-head charm for fresh air.

Snape shook his head and stretched out the tapeworm on the cutting board.

"One last day in which my survival depends on you."

...

Snape apparated them to Hyde Park a little after six in the evening, to check out the vantage points and weaknesses.  It was a hot, sticky evening, and a few families were picnicking in the park. There was a small crowd outside the Odeon cinema, waiting to buy tickets, and an impatient line of cabs waited on Bayswater Road to ferry people home or out for the night.

They walked to the cross walk and ended up on the little pedestrian island splitting Edgeware Road, Harry's toe sliding along the edge of the round stone plaque that was embedded there.

THE SITE OF THE TYBURN TREE.

It had been cracked at some point, and someone had plastered the stone back together before it was set into the ground again.

"It's rather open here, I don't like it," said Harry. There were a few trees to the west of them, but nothing good enough for a shield.

"Loathe as I am to say this, I agree with you."

Snape eyes were darting around the intersection, indexing possible ambush points as people walked around him.  He'd cast a notice-me-not spell on them before they left the flat, to avoid muggles staring and pointing out their twin situation.

Harry looked off above the park, watching some kites flying in the distance.

"Why did you join the death eaters?" Harry asked softly, expecting to be hexed.

Snape didn't quite flinch, but Harry could tell he wasn't pleased with the question at all. His hand twitched beside Harry's, and he kept his gaze on some busses waiting at the light in front of them.

"My mother always fought with my father regarding me," Snape finally said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"His family was working class; blue collar, sports, and a roast dinner on Sunday," Snape muttered, accepting the cigarette Harry handed him, and lighting it.  "As a child and teenager, I enjoyed writing as a hobby much more than any sport. My father thought me worthless for that, amongst other things."

"You can't be worthless at sixteen," Harry said, watching the amber glow of the end of Snape's cigarette.

Harry figured Snape was talking mostly to himself, but he did answer Harry.

"Depends who your judge is.  It was either join the death eaters and become powerful, or," and Snape laughed coldly as he tapped the Tyburn Tree flagstone with his foot, "hang myself."

Harry's stomach clenched and he felt genuinely sorry for Snape. Harry had at least known his parents loved him.

"You didn't...you wouldn't have, would you?" Harry asked, thinking how much his life would have changed if Snape had died. He was surprised to find that he suddenly was grateful it hadn't happened

Snape regarded him with dark eyes again, the same intense gaze he had often shown during occlumency lessons.

"Yes. I wrote a final letter as well. I was prepared."

Shrieks were heard in the park as some kids took off running after a kite shaped like a turtle.

"Wow. I wonder what your father would have said to that," Harry said, slipping his cold hands into his trouser pockets.

Snape watched the kite fly over as well, and responded casually.

"'This is the only thing he wrote worth reading,' most likely."

A gust of air whipped up in the street and people laughed as newspapers fluttered through the crowds. Harry found himself speechless, but it didn't last long.

"You didn't come to me, however. Some Slytherins are braver than they let on."

The voice was normal sounding enough that it caught Harry completely by surprise. Across Bayswater Road, just past the sidewalk and on the grass, a thin man sat in a wooden garden chair. He was dressed in old-fashioned wizarding clothes, with a long black cloak and an elegant top hat. He didn't have a cane, but a wand was in his hand and he held it up like a conductor controlling traffic. 

Snape grabbed Harry's wrist, keeping him still. Around them, the noise of the streets faded to an odd tunnel-echo.

"No. I saw no reason to."

"And yet, you are here now," said death, rising up from his seat and walking through the traffic to approach them.

Harry stiffened, standing as tall as he could and feeling blindsided. All around them muggles were passing through, completely oblivious to Harry, Snape, and death.

"Er, how's your cricket team doing?" Harry blurted, earning a curious look from death and a glare from Snape.

"They're fine, young Mr Potter," death answered. "Thank you for asking."

He had at first glance seemed to be an older person, a little spindly and frail. Harry could see now that death was spry and agile.

"But I believe we have business to discuss, gentlemen. Regarding the very person this location belongs to."

"Yes," Snape spoke up.  Harry kept his mouth shut, as Snape was the much stronger verbal negotiator.

"Were you aware that Tom Riddle had duplicated the token you gave him?" asked Snape, talking to death as if he were a colleague at Hogwarts.

Harry had no idea how Snape managed to keep his voice calm and collected.  As far as he was concerned, staring at death in the middle of a busy London intersection was worse than facing the basilisk in a forgotten chamber.

"Very good, Mr Snape," death replied, sounding completely unbothered by the fact. "If I am correct, which at last check, I was, he has made six versions of it."

"And you let him?" Harry asked, surprised. He had always figured that death would be rather vindictive about being cheated.

"Contrary to what he may believe, duplicating a token neither lengthens his contract time nor makes it any harder to kill him," death answered. He looked pleased about something however, and Harry continued on.

"Doesn't make it any harder? Are you kidding?" Harry asked, incredulous. He hardly believed that Voldemort just hadn't choked on the right chicken bone all these years.

"He bargained for power, Mr Potter. You cannot expect the fight to be easy," death replied, sounding amused.

"Easy or not," Snape said, clearing his throat, "we have had enough. I formally request that you call in his contract, and destroy the token."

"Do you now?" death asked, smiling at them. "I would have rather thought you'd barter for separation than the death of one man."

"He isn't a man," Harry growled, his lips thin. "He's a murderer."

"And we are not making that sort of deal," Snape finished.

They'd been carrying the hallows with them as they were collected, and Harry pulled out the stone and cloak, as Snape brandished the wand. The effect was immediate; the temperature around them dropped a few degrees, a small spittle of rain started, and death appeared slightly humbled.

"So mote it be," death said, staring at his items and giving a barely perceptible bow to Harry and Snape.

He snapped his wand to the air, and Harry looked up in time to see a black swirling mist hurtling through the air towards him. Harry made to take a step back, but Snape's arm across his shoulders kept him still. It looked exactly like a death eater flying towards them, but there was no mistaking Voldemort when he landed.

He appeared human, or as human as he got. Instead of the snake-like Voldemort of the train station, this one was weaker looking, and aged to a very rough 70 something. His hair was dark and stringy, and he had age spots around his mouth and nose. His eyes were duller than usual, and he had a hunch in his back from stooping over.  Parts of his skin were almost translucent, as if he were a hologram.

He also appeared to be unable to curse them, for the amount of hexing he was trying.

"The real Tom Riddle," death said, waving his hand towards Voldemort, who snarled at them.  It seemed to take him a minute to recognize where he was, and once he did, he started twisting and fighting against the invisible box he seemed to be stuck in.

Both Snape and Harry had immediately drawn their wands in defense, but Voldemort was magic-less in his confines.  Harry supposed it made sense, as his body had been destroyed at the train station and death had been the one to call him.

"When you destroy him," Snape said, his wand never wavering from its target of Voldemort's head, "ensure that he can never return."

"Consider for a moment, if you will, that Mr Riddle has reconstituted himself with Mr Potter's blood.  You could harvest his organs and separate yourselves," death said, ignoring Voldemort's hisses.

"Ugh, no," Harry shuddered. He couldn't imagine ever living with Voldemort's kidney or another vital organ inside himself.

"As you wish," said death.

Nothing happened for a moment, and Voldemort began to look smug. Harry kept a tight grip on his wand and the hallows, trying to think of what to do as a back up plan if death refused to do as asked.  He needn't have worried, however, as a moment later he saw death take a step back from their conversation.   A kite flew overhead, a small heron-shaped kite with trailing string that had gotten loose from whatever child had been flying it.

Harry only glanced up for a millisecond to watch it, when he heard a strangled grunt. Looking down, Harry saw that the string had deftly looped itself around Voldemort's throat, much like a noose would have.  Death watched on like a puppet-master, his long and thin fingers twirling and the kite rope mimicking his movements.

Harry watched with morbid fascination as Voldemort tried to pull the strings away from his throat, his fingers slipping through the braided knot. He kicked his feet as death rose him slightly off the pavement. Muggles kept bumping into Voldemort, nudging of each other's shoulders, unable to see him struggling.

Death held up his hand and a malicious smile lit up his face. He gave one final tug of his fingers, and Voldemort's struggles abruptly ceased.

Harry let out a huge gulp of air, staring at the spot where Voldemort's body was slowly crumbling into the stones of the pedestrian island. Snape's wand hand wavered as he watched the same thing, but neither of them released the hallows they were clutching.

"Thank you," said Harry, raising his hand automatically to feel for the familiar scar on his forehead. It was still there, but it didn't feel pained or raised.

"You hold the hallows," death reminded them. He seemed to be waiting for something, almost if he believed Snape and Harry wanted someone else killed.

"About that," Harry started, taking the wand out of Snape's grasp. Snape growled, but he didn't move to reclaim it.

"I believe these are yours." 

Harry returned the wand and stone to death, offering them up but not actually touching death's outstretched hands.

"Powerful bartering, Mr Potter," death purred, stowing the wand and stone in his cloak. "I wonder what you might possibly want in exchange for such important objects."

"Nothing," Harry firmly said.  He'd talked to Snape on the train about the hallows, and been relieved when they both agreed that they were nothing but trouble.

"No deals, no bargains, no favours," Snape said, eyebrow raised to make his point.

"And yet, you are not returning the cloak," death contended.

"No," Harry acknowledged, running his fingers through the material, like he had the very first Christmas he'd received it. "This has been in my family since you gave it to Ignotus Peverell. I want to pass it on, to keep my children safe like it has kept me."

Death regarded Harry, scrutinizing him and judging him with piercing blue eyes.  Harry had absolutely no doubt that death was some sort of legilimens, but he seemed to be satisfied with what he saw.

"And you, Severus Snape? You do not wish to keep any of the hallows?"

Snape lifted his head, looking down his nose slightly a death.

"I am wisest to be without such temptations," Snape finally said.

"A most astute decision," death conceded. "Gentlemen." He tipped his top hat towards Harry and Snape, turning to leave. The kite trailed after him overhead, and death stood calmly as he waited for the crosswalk light to change.

Harry and Snape turned for just half a minute, just long enough to prepare for apparition, when death hit them from behind with a dizzying spell that rendered Harry unconscious as they disappeared.

...

Harry had taken to shopping in muggle shops for the rest of the summer, having found himself hounded by wizards and witches every time he went out.  When the news had broken that Voldemort had originally survived, and then been defeated again, there was a party to rival Mardi Gras held in Diagon Alley.  

The hallows were never mentioned, nor was the fact that Harry and Snape had been conjoined.  Whether it was out of gratitude for the return of the wand and stone, or the fact that they'd not been greedy enough to demand anything else, death had seen fit to heal and separate them.

Of course, landing separately in Snape's flat had been catastrophic, and Harry had had a black eye and bruised body for a solid week.  He'd somehow managed to land on the worktable, while Snape crashed to the open floor below. Several medical charms and tests later, including some very inquisitive poking by Hanna Prewett and Molly Weasley, and they had been successfully proclaimed healed.

Snape had kicked everyone out of his flat and not been seen since, though Harry suspected the wards would still allow him entrance.

He returned his attention to the shop he was in, nodding politely to the sales lady as she handed him his bag of books on the history of London crime. He moved towards the exit, and huffed at seeing the downpour that had started.

Harry watched out the window from the shop as a man, just two inches taller than him, stepped off the front step of the café next door and into the rain.  It was a nasty grey sky that hung about London, and the man was bundled up in a high collared frock coat and held a pointed black umbrella.  One hand was shoved in his pocket, and Harry had no doubt that the one holding the umbrella was being kept warm by a spell.

Harry pulled a mobile out of his pocket and dialed a number, still staring out the window at the figure that kept his head down, lighting a cigarette.

"Hermione? Hi. Yeah, yeah I'm good. No, I'm fine, honestly. I'm ringing to say I can't make it to your place for dinner. What? No, I've got plans. Yeah. I'm going to spend time with my brother. No...shut up. Cheers, Hermione."

Harry shoved the phone back into his pocket and hurried out the shop, pulling the collar of his similar coat up and flicking open his brolly.

"Severus!"

The black figure flinched, as if expecting something malevolent to come his way, only relaxing once he'd recognized Harry.

"Yes?" Snape asked, tilting his head up inquiringly.

"Let's go get Uncle Silas drunk and play cards, yeah?" Harry said, falling closely into step on Severus' left side.

He received a twitch of Snape's thin lips, and a glint of amusement in the dark eyes.

"No strip poker."

Harry laughed as the light flashed for them to walk, and they stepped off the curb together. The rain poured harder as their footsteps synchronized, heading up the Strand to the tube.