As Harry left the headmaster’s office, he slipped on his invisibility cloak. He had no desire to be interrupted by the scores of people who were still milling in the Great Hall. He didn’t spare a glance for them; he had fulfilled the prophesy, he had done his job. Now, for the first time ever, his life belonged solely to him.

He wound purposefully through the corridors and down the stairs, past empty portraits and silent classrooms. He stepped over smoldering rubble and around the tattered remains of a suit of armor felled in battle. He had one last score to settle; one last thing to do before he could call an end to it all. And that task, that duty, lie in confronting the one person—perhaps the only person—who would absolutely not want to see him.

The temperature was cooler here; not that Harry minded. It felt sublime somehow, as if he were half-way to his destiny. He walked silently down the steps, ignoring the traces of blood as he trailed his fingers along the damp, cold walls. Cold as stone.

As he made his way deeper into the dungeons, he slipped his newly mended wand up his sleeve, leaving it to rest against the underside of his palm and forearm, its tip barely visible between the knuckles of the first and second finger. He would have only one chance; it would have to be enough. The only way he could win this battle was to catch his adversary off guard—if such a thing were even possible. He hoped that with the war behind them, the man might have let his guard slip, if only a little.

Harry snorted to himself; with all the enemies that man had made, the likelihood of him relaxing, even now, was slim to nonexistent. But Harry did have one thing going for him: the man thought he was a complete idiot. Harry shook his head at the man’s unabashed foolishness—the man would never even know what hit him.

Harry removed his invisibility cloak and situated himself in front of the solid wooden door, making sure his stance and aim were just right. The door was not marked, but Harry had no doubt that he was in the right place. He raised his left hand and used the serpent-shaped door knocker to announce his presence with three sharp raps. Then, he waited.

Within moments, the door was thrown open. The man didn’t even have time to snarl before Harry hit him with a nonverbal curse straight to the chest, locking the man’s customary scowl permanently to his face. Harry felt nothing.

Harry stepped inside and shut the door, locking and warding it for extra protection. Then he looked around. He was standing in a dimly lit foyer. He could see the jumping shadows of a roaring fire reflecting off the wall from a room down the hall. That would do. He took a moment to investigate the room. There was a black leather loveseat and two leather arm chairs. The furniture looked antique and was offset by a number of tall, dark mahogany bookcases, brimming with books, but in an orderly fashion. He cast engorgio on the couch, making it large enough to lay the man on. Then he made his way back to the hall where a pair of hatred-filled black eyes bore accusingly into his.

Ignoring the murderous glare, Harry levitated the man down the hall and into the study. He positioned the rigid body so that the man was laying on his back on the couch, his head resting atop an overstuffed throw pillow. Then Harry pulled over one of the arm chairs and placed it next to the couch, facing the prone man, his back to the fire.

Harry studied the immobilized man before him, all but the man’s eyes. Right now, the rage they strove so urgently to communicate didn’t matter. It was expected. Instead, Harry took in the man’s sallow, ashen complexion. His pallor spoke of misuse and abuse. He was thin, too thin, and a fine sheen of sweat clung to his skin, though Harry knew it had nothing to do with the curse he’d hit the man with. His nose was still over large and hooked. His upper lip was curled in distaste. Harry knew the man would be baring his teeth in a feral gesture if he were able to move a muscle. The black curtains of hair that framed his face looked less greasy and more lank than before. His hair was thinner too, and at this distance, Harry could see strands of silver mixed in the with black. Harry hadn’t noticed that before. A lock of it had fallen across the man’s open left eye, laying carelessly across his check. Harry could envision the way the man normally tossed his head to one side to fling any errant strands of hair out of his eyes.

With the tip of his wand, Harry moved the wayward lock off the man’s face, still avoiding the man’s gaze. Instead, he found himself taking in the man’s stern black attire—black boots, black socks, black trousers, black belt, black button-down shirt. Instead of being buttoned tightly up the neck as usual, however, it was open, exposing a set of bandages that were wound neatly around the man’s neck. That had been Hermione’s doing. Hermione. Cold as stone.

Abruptly Harry looked away, staring into the fire. Thoughts whirled in his head, making him lose focus. Shaking himself to regain his presence of mind, he stared the cruel man right in the eye. “So we meet again, Snape.” He said the man’s name with derision. He supposed he should thank the man for keeping him alive, but for what? For this?

“I suppose you’d like to know why I’m here,” Harry said, twirling his wand idly in one hand.

After a moment, he held up his other hand to stop Snape from speaking, fully aware that the man could not. “No need to interrupt,” Harry said, seeing the satisfying flash of fury in the man’s eyes. “Lucky for you, I’m going to tell you.”

Harry stared hard at his former potion’s master, his wand stilling in his hands for a moment, “You know, I never knew how expressive your eyes could be. I attributed your trademark scowl to your facial features, but I see now that your eyes alone are more than sufficient to convey your hatred of me.”

Snape looked a bit surprised on top of enraged, if that were possible.

“Not that I care,” Harry added, stifling a yawn. “As I was saying…” Harry paused and looked into the fire once again, debating if he should add more wood. It was going to be a long night after all. Deciding it could wait, he turned his attention back to Snape. “If you would have come quietly, I wouldn’t have needed to use a body bind curse. But I knew you’d never listen to me otherwise. I would say that I was sorry if I truly was, but the way I see it, you had it coming. Aside from continually underestimating me, consider it revenge for taking advantage of your position of power over me all of these years.”

Harry sat in silence for a while to let his words seep through Snape’s blind rage. The man needed to understand. He was the only one who could understand. If Harry could get him to listen, that is.

Finally, Harry sighed and dropped the façade. “I have no intention of harming you, Snape. At least not yet. I just need you to listen. And the way I see it, this is the only way you’d give me the time of day.” Harry yawned widely. It occurred to him tangentially that yawns were contagious. He wondered what it would feel like for Snape if the man had the sudden urge to yawn but could not.

“I feel like I’m talking to myself,” Harry mumbled. “I think I’m a bit barmy from lack of sleep. Maybe I should nap for awhile.” He looked over at Snape’s horrified glance and nearly laughed.

“Just kidding, Professor. I am feeling pretty punch drunk though.” Harry waived an airy hand. “Nevermind, Muggle expression.”

“Anyway, why am I here. Why am I here?” Harry mused. “As I said, I’ve got something to say and I need you to listen. That’s why I’m here. Really, I should be sleeping, but there’ll be an infinity of time for that later.”

Sighing, Harry continued. “I saw your memories. I’m guessing Dumbledore put you up to it. I can’t imagine you volunteering your secrets without being coerced.” Harry briefly met Snape’s stony gaze before looking away again.

“Dumbledore asked me to forgive you. Can you believe that?” Harry snorted. “I understand what you did and why you did it, I get that you protected me for my mother’s memory. But forgive you? Hardly. Oh, I’ll make sure you’re exonerated, and that you get your due—Merlin First Class or whatever, but personally, I could care less if you rot in hell. You’ve been nothing but a cruel bastard to me, even if you saved my life more often than I realized. You’d have just as soon seen me die if you hadn’t been beholden to Dumbledore.”

Harry gazed deep into Snape’s eyes, feeling the shards of ice crystallize around his heart. “Don’t worry, you’ll get your chance to set that to rights soon enough.”

Harry noticed that Snape’s gaze had banked into one of constant loathing. Flames of fury no longer flickered beneath the black surface. Obviously the man had settled in for the long haul of what he must have perceived to be Harry’s deranged rantings.

“You might be surprised to know that I have a proposition for you. I had no more intended to survive this war than you had. We were both destined to die. And both of us were robbed of that mercy.”

Harry stood up and started to pace the small study. “I never wanted this, any of this,” he said, stuffing his wand into the back pocket of his jeans and running his hands through his hair. “I never wanted to be the hero. I didn’t relish in my fame as you so liked to believe. It was as much a curse as anything to be known as the boy who lived—to be famous for something I couldn’t even remember.”

Harry stopped and stared directly at Snape. “But you didn’t care about the truth, did you? Was it jealousy? Were you cheated out of accolades and fame?” Harry snorted. “Well you could have had mine. Still can. You are welcome to it—all of it,” Harry said with derision as he began to pace again. “You never understood that about me. You always thought I was just an attention seeking kid, when in reality… in reality…” Harry paused, bone weary, and plopped back into the chair facing Snape.

“None of that matters anymore,” he said, dropping his head into his hands. “We are both still alive, and our masters are dead, both of them. We owe nothing to anyone anymore.” Eyes closed, Harry whispered, “Nothing.”

Harry woke with a start as one of his elbows slipped off his knee and his body lurched forward. He jerked upright to find Snape staring at the ceiling. He wondered how long he’d dropped off for. No matter. Neither of them had any place to be. Harry got up to pace so he wouldn’t nod off again.

“Hermione saved you, you know,” he said, not looking at the elder wizard. “And here you thought I had the ‘saving people’ complex.” Harry snickered. “That was all Hermione.” He picked up a poker and stirred the charred wood, adding another piece to keep the fire going.

“Hermione used your absence to break into your potions stores,” Harry relayed. Ron had been in the Chamber of Secrets gathering basilisk fangs and Hermione had taken the opportunity to infiltrate Snape’s most guarded potions. “We knew we’d be up against that basilisk sooner or later, and Hermione deemed it prudent to be prepared. She figured with as closely as you worked with Voldemort, you must have developed an anti-venom for the monster.” Hermione.

Shaking his head, Harry continued. “She was right. She was always right.” Harry cleared his throat. “She found a small bottle of phoenix tears too, and some blood replenishing potion, and some anti-scarring cream. Merlin knows what else she found, but she had an armload of stuff which she charmed with anti-breaking spells and stuffed in her robes.”

He raised a sardonic eyebrow at Snape. “How fortunate for you, eh? Just what you wanted, to be saved by Gryffindor’s know-it-all, and by your own potions no less.”

Snape looked back impassively. Harry smirked.

“I was given a choice to come back, did you know that? I could have stayed dead after Voldemort killed me in the forest. My mother and father walked those final steps with me, as did Sirius and Professor Lupin. I could have stayed with them. Could have stayed where it didn’t hurt to breathe. Where pain couldn’t reach me. But I came back.”

Harry ran his hands through his hair again, feeling more at loose ends than ever. “I came back. And for what?” With a deep breath, he sat down in his chair again. “For what?” he repeated in a defeated whisper.

 “Everyone I care about is gone… Hermione, Ron, Ginny… Neville… Luna… Fred, George,  Lee Jordan… Tonks and Professor Lupin… everyone… dead…” Harry looked imploringly at Snape, desperation as clear in his words as in his gaze. “I don’t want to live any longer. I don’t think you want to either.” Harry sat forward in his chair, staring intently at Snape. “I can’t cast Avada Kedavra on myself, it won’t work. I know, I tried. But you could. We could cast it on each other at the same time. Or you could give me a lethal potion. Either way,” Harry said, shrugging.

 “I don’t want to face hoards of idiots out there who view me as a hero. I don’t want to live in a world where everyone and everything I ever loved is gone. I’ve had enough.”

Harry pulled his wand from his back pocket and flicked it at Snape, silently releasing the wizard from the body bind curse. Then he dropped his wand to the floor and spreading out his hands before him in open invitation. He’d welcomed death an hour before out of necessity for the greater good; now he welcomed it like an old friend waiting to embrace him.