Harry woke up clutching his head and feeling nauseatingly dizzy. He was warm.

 Somehow he knew it shouldn’t be warm but he couldn’t, for the life of him, remember why not.  It was only after a few minutes that the memories of last night came back to him, now a lot faster than he’d have preferred.

 Christmas Eve – The Graveyard – Bathilda Bagshot – Nagini  … then nothing.

 His mouth felt like sandpaper and he needed water. Lots and lots of water.  He opened his sticky eyes to check his surroundings. None of them were familiar and he was on a bed in someone’s living room.  Slowly and carefully, he turned his head to the other side so it wouldn’t hurt too much.  He screamed.

 There was Snape!  Sitting in a dingy armchair, wand pointed straight at Harry’s chest.

 Horrible, horrible darkness emanated from the man. So intense that it gave Harry the chills.

 Snape had changed somehow; he looked older, paler, thinner and more dangerous. 

 “Do not move, Potter,” he growled and lifted up his wand a little more to underline his words.

 Questions raced through Harry’s mind. Where was Hermione? Where was the locket? When did Snape catch them and why?

 “Where is my wand?” Harry asked.

 Snape held up the shattered remains of Harry’s most important possession.

 “I broke it.”

 Harry remained silent for a while making a  huge effort to slow down his breathing. It failed, and he started wheezing  and  choking. His eyes rolled back as his body convulsed violently.

A split second later, Snape’s ugly face loomed above Harry’s who seemed to recognise a trace of concern. Snape was probably concerned for himself, how would Voldemort react if he delivered a Boy-Who-Lived-No-More? The madman would not forgive anyone for stealing his chance to destroy Harry himself.

 Harry punched Snape in the chin with all his might, all his anger and hatred. The older man stumbled backwards, his arms flew up in order to gain balance again. Snape bumped into the table behind him but regained control unnaturally fast. Even though the convulsions had been a bluff, Harry felt far from good. Very far indeed.

 “Idiot boy!” Snape snarled and shoved Harry on the bed, none too gently either.

 Then Dumbledore’s murderer sat back down, filled a tumbler with whiskey and lit up a cigarette.

 “Those will kill you,” Harry commented and glared at the man.

 “Don’t get your hopes up, Potter,” he said, now again completely calm and superior. “Don’t you find that the older you get, the more habits you pick up from your father?” Snape spat the last word as if it was a curse.

 “No. Why, was your father a violent drunk, Snape?” He shouldn’t agitate the man so, but couldn’t help it. Snape didn’t seem the least bit bothered. He exhaled, crossed his legs and examined the boy before him.

 “You are just like James. It’s a pity, really.”

 “I don’t want to be judged by my father’s actions,” Harry said heatedly. “By things he did, I want to be judged by my own.”

 Snape raised an eyebrow. “You are not exactly helping yourself there, Potter.”

 The dark man leaned back and touched his bruised chin. It wasn’t too bad.

 “You are a weak boy. If you intend to punch the Dark Lord into oblivion, you may want to reconsider your plans.”

 Harry turned away. What were his plans exactly? How he wished Dumbledore had given him better instructions now. It was all a big mess.

 “You can’t stop me,” Harry answered with more conviction than he felt.  “I will finish my task,”

 “The only thing you can finish on your own is a packet of biscuits. Don’t overestimate yourself.”

 Harry was fuming now, it was hard not to lose control of his temper in front of Snape. Merlin, it was utterly impossible. “You are a filthy murderer. How does it feel to have my parent’s blood on your hands? Or Dumbledore’s?”

 A Silencing Charm shut Harry up and only now did he really become aware of the cold darkness emanating from the man, his presence sending shivers down Harry’s spine, making him panic and sweat.

The sound of knocking on the door woke Harry up.

 “It’s Hermione Granger.” Snape stood up in an instant, Harry wanted to help her, but his hands were magically bound. “Don’t come in!” he shouted instead. “Go away, get help or something!”

Snape sighed at so much stupidity and asked Hermione to identify herself. “I set fire to your robe in first year,” she said quietly and actually sounded a bit ashamed of herself. If confusion could cause pain, Harry would have been in life-threatening agony now.

 “Enter.”

 Hermione came running towards Harry –she hugged him and removed his magical shackles, but Harry was too shocked to react properly and just stared at her.

  “I don’t understand?” he said and shook his head.

 “He is on our side,” Hermione explained. “I trust him completely.”

 “Are you OUT OF YOUR MIND, Hermione? He – broke my wand and…”

 “I know, Harry. It was an accident. He tried to save you from Nagini.”

 “An accident? Are you serious? Was killing Dumbledore an accident, too? Did he accidentally betray my parents to Vol-“

 “Don’t say his name!” Hermione shrieked. “It is bewitched. He will find anyone who says it out loud.”

 “Fine,” Harry shouted. Nothing was fine. “Did he accidentally become a Death Eater? I never thought you were that stupid, Hermione.”

 “Spare us the melodramatics, Potter,” said Snape and lit another cigarette. “You are not exactly gifted with intelligence. In fact, if you ran into a wall, you’d keep walking.”

 Harry made a gesture to Hermione as if to say “See? He cannot be on our side.”

 “Severus, stop that. And put out that cigarette, it damages your teeth.”

 Harry shook his head in disbelief. “Damage is done,” mumbled Snape and drank more  whiskey.

 “Listen Harry, Severus had to kill Dumbledore, he was dying anyway. And he didn’t mean to betray your parents, he actually went straight to Dumbledore when he found out You-Know-Who was hunting them down because…”

 “Careful, Granger.”

 Harry tilted his head and stared at Snape. “Prove it.”

 “He killed Nagini…” Hermione answered.

“Why do you trust him Hermione?”

 Snape gave her one of his “shut up or I will make you a potions ingredient” sort of glare and she shook her head.

 “I’m sorry Harry. I can’t tell you.”

Harry’s scar was throbbing, he just could not think straight and somehow, he didn’t want to either.

 “I will not do anything to help before I know what the heck is going on here.”

  Hermione shot Snape a helpless glance, but the man shook his head.

 “I promised, Harry. Please, just believe me? Please?” Harry stood up, slowly and carefully without hurting his head any further.

 “You killed my parents, Snape.” He was shouting, but he didn’t care. Snape looked old and worn out, he lowered his wand and stepped back.

 “He killed Nagini, too, Harry,” Hermione tried to change the topic, but Harry could see that he’d somehow touched a sore spot. He advanced on the man and pushed him against the wall behind him. “Were you glad they were dead? Do you think my father deserved to die after what he did to you? What about my mother? She just tried to defend you and you called her a mudbl-”

 “Shut UP, Potter!” Snape roared, his face oddly contorted as if someone had just stabbed him. He hadn’t expected another physical attack, not now. Harry’s fist knocked the wind out of the older wizard, and so did his words: “I will never work with you, do you hear me? You are a murderer, a Death Eater, a disgusting excuse for a wizard and you are a coward!”

Snape held Harry’s arms, but didn’t hurt him, just prevented him from hitting him again. The closer Harry physically got to Snape, the more his head hurt. The man was practically leaking darkness out of every pore.

 “I can still hear her, you know,” Harry whispered. “when Dementors come anywhere near me, I can hear her scream and beg for my life. And for mercy. I hear her sobbing and dying and it’s your fault.”

Snape looked murderous, Harry felt stupid for not being scared right now. Instead, he freed his right hand from Snape’s grip and smashed the man’s head against the wall, wondering if there would be a grease mark.

 “Touch me again and I will put you in a full body bind, Potter.” Harry let go, but not because of the threat.

 “Stop hurting him, Harry.”

“What is going on?” Harry was almost begging now. Snape sat back down in his chair, his head buried in his hands, white fingers clutching the greasy hair.

 “Out!” he demanded. “Get out of here. Both of you. Go somewhere safe, just get out.”

 For the first time ever, Harry would have gladly obeyed the Potions Master, but Hermione seemed to have other ideas. Instead, she knelt in front of him and grabbed his hands.

 “I am not leaving you… like that Severus.” Harry had missed the point he’d become Severus to her, like he had missed many things, obviously.

 “Go! How many times do I have to say it?”

 “As often as you like. I am not leaving.”

“What did I do?“ Harry asked and felt suddenly like a very stupid little boy who’d done more damage than he could comprehend.

 “You have no idea, Harry. Just stop right now.”

 “Then talk to me, Hermione. He killed my parents and Dumbledore and-”

 “I couldn’t save them,” Snape interrupted dully. “I tried.”

 “I don’t believe you.”

 Snape looked up, still looking furious, but his eyes shocked Harry and  made him feel as if he was made of lead or something equally heavy. They were like two dark wounds, gaping, seeping. Harry saw desperation of a magnitude he hadn’t even believed possible.

 “Talk to me,” Harry whispered. “Just explain…”

 Snape let out a long, shuddering breath and answered. “I can’t.”

 “Let me tell him, Severus.” Hermione put a hand on the man’s shoulder, but he jerked away. “Don’t fucking touch me, Granger.” He growled and buried his head in his hands again.

 “Severus… you have all the Horcruxes on you!” Hermione suddenly shrieked. “You know what that does to you? We need to destroy them.”

 “You have the Horcruxes?” Harry asked, feeling dumb yet again.

 Snape pulled out the locket and a goblet and handed them to Hermione. “It is Hufflepuff’s Cup,” Hermione explained. “Bellatrix Lestrange gave it to Severus so he would put it in her vault. He never did.”

 “Uh,” said Harry.

 “Astute as ever, Potter.” With the objects not touching him anymore, Snape seemed to have regained control of himself. Unfortunately that obviously meant he was able to insult Harry even more.

 “Severus made a potion that contains basilisk venom. He also worked on securing the cauldron so there wouldn’t be any nasty surprises. It is ready, actually, we can do it now.”

 Snape shot up, seemingly glad that the topic had been changed, stalked past them into a large room that had a huge silver cauldron in it.

 “We cannot do it yet,” he announced. “First, we have to find the last one. If we destroy them now, the Dark Lord will notice and will keep his last Horcrux safer than it is now.”

 “How do we know that you are not just saying that in order to keep them safe?” Harry asked.

 “Because I trust him, Harry. I will hear no more of this.”

 Harry found that she rather sounded like Dumbledore whose trust in the dark man hadn’t got him very far at all. 

Harry felt as if they were walking in circles, never getting to the point that really mattered. So far, he hadn’t had any real proof that Snape was really on their side. He might have confounded Hermione somehow, although Harry would have spotted the signs a mile away after seeing this dumb, confused look on the magically confounded Muggles during the Quidditch World Cup. But then… Snape was a powerful wizard and a good actor - he had been able to fool Dumbledore. Or Voldemort, Harry wasn’t sure any more.

 “I’m sorry,” he said to Hermione. “I am not willing to give in on this. I don’t trust him, full stop. You are going to have to give me a better reason to do so.”

 Snape stopped in his tracks. “I am afraid you are out of choices, Potter. Your friends Lovegood and Thomas have been caught and are currently in Malfoy Manor, under the watch of Death Eaters, probably being tortured insane. You have to get over yourself and work with me.”

 Hermione nodded. “It’s true, Harry.”

 “I tried to save your parents. I tried to save Dumbledore from this deadly, spreading curse. I might have succeeded, you know, if you hadn’t poisoned him before his death. I saved your sorry arse every single school year, sometimes twice and you never spared a thought as to why.”

 “Severus!” He whirled around to shout at Hermione, but seemed to rethink and then turned back to Harry. “You have no real plan, Potter. Albus’ heritage is meaningless. He left Granger a fairy tale book, what did he think you were intelligent enough for? What did he leave you? The Learning to Count trilogy?” Snape sighed as if Harry was a hopeless case and picked a book out of his book case. “Has it never occurred to you that his plans have flaws? They always did, he was absolutely insane.”

 And with that, the man sat back down and furiously stared at the book as if it was personally threatening him.

 “Why should I trust you?” Harry asked again - if anything, he was stubborn.

 The man rubbed his forehead, stood back up, snatched his book and left the room. He returned a few seconds later to grab his cigarettes and whiskey bottle.

 “You can break your promise, Granger. It means nothing, anyway.” Then he left for good and went upstairs.

  Hermione put the kettle on, put her hair back and looked as if she was getting ready for a battle. Then she sat down next to Harry, passed him his cup and started talking. After what seemed like hours, Hermione had finished telling perhaps the most tragic story in this war against Darkness and Harry realised that he was crying.

 His vision was blurred, he was tired beyond exhaustion, and yet Harry decided to follow Snape upstairs.

Slowly, hesitantly, he knocked on the only door upstairs that was shut. In the meantime, he looked around himself. It was obviously a council house, and not one of the good ones. It was cold, draughty, and every door had cheap plastic handles. The carpet was brown with many stains on it.

 No answer came.

 Against better judgement (as usual) he tried to open it, only to find that the door handle didn’t budge.

 “Let me in!” Harry demanded.

 “No. Get away from the door.” Instead of doing that, Harry just stood there and waited. He heard Snape swear, but no movement.

 “I need to apologise to you, Professor.”

 “For whose sake, Potter? And I am not your professor.”

 Harry didn’t really see much chance of getting inside, but he wasn’t giving up, either.

 “I am sorry. I shouldn’t just have presumed-”

 “You were supposed to, Potter.”

 Harry continued. “I shouldn’t have presumed from the beginning. I shouldn’t have looked into your Pensieve and –I”

 “Go away. For heaven’s sake.  Go downstairs.”

 “I just wanted to say… I forgive you and-”

     “I don’t want your forgiveness, boy.”

 “You mean you think you don’t deserve it?”

 There was silence. Then Harry heard short, heated gasps. “Can I come in?”

 More silence. More gasping breaths. “Are you crying, Snape?” It felt oddly wrong to address him by his second name now.

 “You would love that, wouldn’t you? Snivellus’ ultimate humiliation. Go away, Potter, I am in no shape to talk to you right now. Go. Please.”

 Harry was completely distraught, but it was Snape’s last word that finally made him give up.

Harry did not sleep well that night. Hermione kept watch while he got a couple of hours sleep, then they swapped. She mumbled something in her sleep, kept complaining that she was cold so Harry lit the fire and waited for the morning.

 Finally, at seven, he woke her with coffee and they sat in the kitchen, staring gloomily into nothingness. “You should eat something,” Hermione offered him some dry toast, it was slightly burnt. She’d never been able to produce anything decent to eat. Harry took a polite bite and then stared back into the fire. Between the two stood the now empty whiskey bottle, like a big, unspoken problem.

 Then she pulled out the damn story book that Dumbledore had given her and began to read. She must know it by heart now. Harry fidgeted in his chair when he heard heavy footsteps in the hall.

 A very, very moody Snape appeared, he looked rough and tired. “Tea,” he spat and Hermione jumped up straight away. She obviously didn’t mind being treated like a house elf.

 “Would you like some anti-nausea and some headache potion, Severus?” she asked politely and handed him two phials.

 “I can decide perfectly well for myself if I am in need of any potions. I do have some experience, Granger.”

 He accepted anyway and drank his tea in silence.

 “Do you have any particular tasks for us, Severus?” Hermione asked and sipped on her coffee. Harry stared at her in bewilderment. He wasn’t used to adults being charge and he wasn’t sure if he liked it. Maybe Voldemort could locate Snape like he did Karkaroff? It was not safe to be with a Death Eater, but Harry didn’t want to discuss this right now.

 Then Snape let out a hissing breath and clutched his arm. “Damn it,” he spat and stood up so fast the chair fell.

 “Are you being summoned?” Harry was scared. And maybe a little bit worried.

 “Your ability to grasp a complicated problem astounds me every time,” Snape spat and splashed cold water in his face. 

 “Shouldn’t we try and free Luna and Dean?” Harry asked hopefully. He was already fed up of sitting about.

“Don’t you dare! Let me deal with this. Stay here, stay safe and don’t move.”

 “Yes, Sir,” Hermione answered and a worry line appeared on her forehead. “I will worry about you.” Snape stared at her and Harry added: “Be safe.”

 Now the older man looked puzzled, as if they had spoken a language unknown to him.

 In a way, they had.

“We are down to the last Horcrux,” Harry started as he sipped his tea. It was a perfect cup, not too strong, hot, very milky and sweet. He felt more hopeful than he had in quite a while. They had finally made some progress; they were being proactive and they had more help now than they’d had the entire school year (funny, Harry still thought in school years, even though he hadn’t been to Hogwarts for months now).

 Then his head started throbbing painfully. He didn’t want to tell Hermione, but Voldemort was angry. Furious, in fact.

At some point, the pain got so bad that she noticed and her frown deepened.

 “Is it your scar again, Harry?”

 “Yes, I… He is so angry. Something didn’t go well for him.”

 Hermione rubbed her nose thoughtfully and bit her lip. “Severus has several books on Occlumency here. I have read that… if you cannot clear your mind, try and focus on an emotion your intruder cannot cope with. Just try it. I will go upstairs and talk to Dumbledore.”

 “What?” Harry asked, feeling left out again.

 “There is a portrait of him upstairs. He can maybe help us figure out the last Horcrux or maybe he can tell us what to do for a change.”

 Harry nodded. He didn’t really feel like talking to the old man anyway.

 An emotion. Harry tried love. It wasn’t too easy to feel something so powerful, so positive, and it didn’t work because Voldemort knew love in a way. He loved magic and power too much. Something else… grief. He thought about his mother, Cedric, Sirius… Sirius. Hedwig. The pain slowly subsided and Harry felt like a human being again, albeit a very miserable one.

 Someone knocked on the door. Firmly. Once, twice. Then again. Hermione’s bushy head appeared on the stairs and she signed for him to be quiet. It couldn’t be Snape, and Harry was sure as hell that he didn’t want to see the man’s pals right now.

 They froze, hoping the house was protected enough and only now realised that they actually had no clue as to where they were.

“It is Luna,” they heard a dreamy voice. Hermione shook her head and they both remained silent. “And it’s cold.”

 There was silence for a while and Harry wondered if he shouldn’t ask her to identify herself. Whoever it was, was here anyway, but Hermione put a finger in front of her lips and they waited.

 “Perhaps I should talk a little. Well… let’s see. Harry, do you remember that in your fifth year you and I could see the Thestrals but most of the others couldn’t?”

 Harry was still not sure, Luna had been imprisoned by the Death Eaters for a while and they could have got the information out of her. Harry felt as paranoid as good old Moody.

 “Okay,” Luna continued. “I suppose I will just keep talking until you are convinced it is me. I know it is not easy to be convinced of things like that, especially in these days... It is a strange Muggle town. I’ve never been to one. Professor Snape’s Patronus lead me here - did you know it is a doe? It is very beautiful, but I kept losing sight of her. When I tried to cross a very busy road, a strange man came up and told me that there was a zebra crossing a hundred yards up the road. Well, I do hope the zebra had more luck than I…”

 “It’s her!” Harry exclaimed and grinned from ear to ear. They were both so fast trying to open the door that they bumped into each other, stumbled and sat on the floor giggling. It felt so good.

 The three friends spent ages hugging each other.

 “How are you, Luna?” Harry finally managed to ask.

 “I’m okay, really. Severus protected me the whole time and claimed I was his.”

 “We missed you. We were so worried.” Hermione said.

 “Oh thank you! I am very glad I found this place finally. Harry, I brought you something Severus gave to me.” She pulled a wand out of her robe and handed it to him.

 “Whose is it?” Harry asked and accepted. A small shadow fell over Luna’s face.

 “It was Dean’s.”

 “Where is he?” Harry asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

 “Actually, Harry, that is a very good question. I have always wondered where people go after they die.”

 Heavy silence hung between the three of them. Another man down. They’d all liked Dean, he was loyal, bright and brave.

 “Professor Snape also told me about the last Horcrux,” Luna changed the topic. “I was thinking… You-Know-Who had tried to use a relic from each house, so maybe it is Ravenclaw’s lost Diadem?”

“Lost?” Harry asked, trying not to show his disappointment.

 “Only because no-one has managed to find it yet,” Luna answered happily. “But if we just try and think like he did, we may be able to figure it out. I am very good at riddles.”

 The three of them sat down to brainstorm. It would definitely be in Hogwarts, they all agreed on that. And somewhere Voldemort thought only he could discover.

 “The secret passageways?” Harry asked.

 “Not fancy enough for him I guess,” Hermione answered and shook her wild curls.

 “I agree with Hermione,” Luna said approvingly.

 “The Room of Requirement!” Harry and Hermione shouted at the same time and felt themselves reminded of the Weasley twins.

 “That is what I thought, too. Professor Snape also gave me this.” She opened a large bag that she’d brought and pulled out the Sword of Gryffindor. “He told me I can use this to destroy it. I hope he is okay.”

 Harry and Hermione nodded, the pain in Harry’s scar wasn’t a very good sign at all.

  “Before I go… may I have something to eat first?”

 Hermione started to jump up, but Harry placed his hand on her shoulder. He fancied something edible for a change.

 “I will do it. You two talk and figure out how to get into Hogwarts unnoticed.”

 A full English Breakfast later - Harry had made beans, runny eggs, sausages, toast, bacon and poured tea and orange juice - they were full of energy and up for anything. Harry felt bad eating all of Snape’s food, so he had put a plate with a large portion aside and placed a plate on top of it.

 Luna insisted she would go alone, because she didn’t want Snape to arrive just to find them gone and not having listened to his instructions.

 “I have Polyjuice potion,” she announced. “I will stun one of the Slytherin girls in Hogsmeade and try and get into the castle and destroy the Diadem. Harry, you should feel the pain in your scar, so as soon as you do, you must destroy the other two Horcruxes, exactly at the same time.”

 They hugged goodbye for ages, wished each other good luck and parted.

 When she was gone, Harry just stared at the prepared food for Snape.

 “I just hope he’ll get the chance to eat it,” Hermione said.

 “Yes. By the way, what did Dumbledore say to you?” Harry looked at Hermione curiously. Instead of answering him, Hermione buried her face in her hands and burst out crying.

Another hour passed and Hermione was inconsolable. Not that she would tell him what was going on, but Harry was slowly getting used to that, now.

 “It’s awful. I’ll tell you, but not yet, not yet. Oh God…” she kept repeating the same words over and over again, then they heard a moan just directly next to them. Snape was back. He must have port keyed into the house.

 There was blood everywhere, everywhere.

 “Help me”, Hermione said. “Clear the table, quick. Get me a sheet.” Harry quickly levitated the dishes into the sink (broke most of them), ran upstairs to get a clean sheet and almost fell on his way back. Hermione rolled the bleeding man to the side, and put the sheet underneath him while screaming at Harry not to use any magic - it could make him worse just now - and they lifted him onto the table (on three). How could someone be so skinny yet so heavy at the same time?

 Then she ran to the Potions cabinet and quickly read the labels. “Undress him, Harry!”

 He stood frozen, watching the blood drip down the table onto the cheap linoleum floor. It was dark red and…

 “NOW!” she shouted and passed Harry a pair of scissors. He cut open Snape’s robe and vest, took off the Death Eater mask, cut a shirt, trousers and another shirt, but left the pants on.

 A deep gash went from his shoulders to his ribs and around the torso, stopping just above the waistline. Small, deep lacerations and bruises were everywhere. How much blood could a man lose before dying? Hermione came back; she gasped, but worked quickly and efficiently anyway.

 “Rub this on the wounds. Lots of it.” Harry obeyed again and started to work. The paste was thick, purple and smelled like seaweed. It was empty quickly and Hermione handed him another bottle. “Continue. Be fast.”

 Hermione opened a phial and poured it down the man’s throat while trying to activate his swallowing reflex over and over again. Then his breathing started to crackle. He heard her swear and mutter that it went down the wrong way, Severus was too far gone to swallow.

 She ran over to the cabinet again and pulled out a small packet, then ripped out a tube. She held it to his nose, then his earlobe and stuck something that looked like tape on it.

 “What are you doing, Hermione?” Harry asked and stopped creaming.

 “I’ve seen Madame Pomfrey do this on petrified people, I just hope… Keep going Harry!”

 She wrapped the thing around her finger, placed some charms on it and then slowly inserted it into the man’s nose while holding up his chin. “Harry, levitate the table a bit. Put something underneath it or something.” He did as he was told and lengthened the table legs, then rubbed the cream onto the bleeding gashes again.

 “Okay,” she breathed and put a plaster on the man’s nose. It looked scary.

 Then she went back to the cabinet yet again, pulled out a syringe, needles and thread.

 “You need to stitch it. This is magical thread, it will help the healing process. Have you ever done anything like that?” Harry shook his head.

“Okay. Okay, I will do it.” She put the syringe on the tube and some greenish looking liquid filled the thing. She was obviously happy with that.

 “Do as I tell you,” she commanded and took some strange looking utensils out of the cabinet. “And in the right order. The syringe…” she handed him it, “should fit the top of each phial perfectly. Turn the phial around and then pull the syringe.” Hermione wasn’t even looking, she was busy stitching up Snape as if he was one of Hermione’s woolly creations for the house elves.

 “First anti-nausea potion or he’ll just vomit.” Harry picked up the correct phial, filled the syringe and then tried to attach it to the tube.

 “You have to screw it on slightly,” said Hermione, again without looking up.

 “And then slightly push, slowly.”

 “Okay. Hermione, you are a genius, did I tell you that before?”

 “Thanks. Severus told me to educate myself better about healing, he found my lack of knowledge in that area abominable. Now blood replenisher. Two phials. Then a potion against internal bleeding, it’s called hema-something. Painkilling potion. Strengthening potion. A liquid bezoar, just in case. More blood replenisher. Nutrient potion, it’s called ensure. The big bottle, yes that one. That should be all.”

 Harry pushed syringe after syringe into the man’s stomach and his colour slowly improved. Hermione hadn’t finished stitching yet, but was already telling him to get a bucket of warm water and cloths. She put sterilising charms on everything and told Harry to start cleaning up.

 “I am finished,” she announced and Harry looked at the large wound. It wasn’t pretty, it looked like a very rushed job, but it had stopped bleeding. She poured dittany and disinfectant in the bowl and they both started to wipe away all the blood from the man’s battered body. It took ages until he was clean. Snape started shivering and Harry ran up to find old, black pyjamas (he was surprised Snape even owned some of those) and a warm duvet cover.

 “You need to take his pants off, first” Hermione whispered and blushed a little.

 “I am not doing that!” Harry retorted and shook his head.

 “But I’m a girl and… oh Harry, get over yourself.”

 He sighed and started to cut away the pants, not trying to look. “You need to clean him up, too. There is blood everywhere and I… I gave him a lot of liquids, too.”

 “Oh God. Fine. But if he behaves like an arse again, I will tell him I washed said part of his body.”

 “Harry, you will do no such thing. Severus is a very proud man!”

 “All right,” Harry gave in and started to clean up and dress him. Hermione pretended to be busy with something else and didn’t look once. Then they pulled the table closer to the fire and the shivering stopped. 

“There is nothing more we can do for now,” Hermione said, looking tired. The bags under her eyes might as well have been bruises.

 “Get some sleep Hermione. You have done so well. I’ll keep watch,” said Harry.

 “Okay. Thanks, Harry.”

 Hermione’s eyes were already closed as Harry pulled the blanket over her skinny body. Harry took a book  about advanced Defence out of the case and was soon engrossed in the chapter about increasing the diameter of each spell by simply using a non-verbal Charge before firing the curse. It was fascinating and Harry wondered why Dumbledore had never taught him any of this instead of about Merope Gaunt’s stupid Love Potion. It was almost as if Dumbledore didn’t want Harry to fight and win. It was a rather disturbing thought and luckily, Snape prevented him from taking it any further.

 Speaking of Snape, the man seemed to be fighting something in his sleep.

“No. I vowed to protect him. I will not let him…” the rest was unintelligible.  Harry froze and leaned forward to understand him. “The only way?” Snape was thrashing about now, a fist raised. “I won’t. No.” he shook his head and repeated the last word over and over again, sounding more and more desperate. “No. Nonononono.”

 Harry put the book down. He didn’t dare touch the man, even though it felt wrong not to, but he tried to comfort Snape, and himself, a little. “Just a dream… shhhh. It’s not real.” Who was he trying to reassure, really?

 Suddenly, the obsidian eyes flew open and Harry stared into deep, dark, gaping wounds that were beyond any healing.

 “It is real.” Snape said, looking at Harry in horror.

 Harry gulped and handed Snape two more phials, an appetite stimulant and a pain reliever. Snape accepted, gave him a court nod and then pulled the tube out his nose, gagging a little during the process.

 “Who did this?” Snape asked pointing at the tube.

 “Hermione. She… saved your life,” Harry replied. 

 Snape stared down at himself and gave his own body the look he had normally reserved for Harry, Neville, or random Hufflepuffs.

 “And this?” Snape actually blushed a little as he motioned to his clothing.

 “I… got you changed, sir. Um. There was a lot of blood and well… Hermione gave you so many liquids, and…” Harry passed him some water and quickly looked down.

 “Oh Merlin.”

 “It’s okay, Sir. I didn’t… look or anything. By the way…” he changed the topic quickly, “Luna was here. She will destroy the Diadem. Who hurt you?”

 Snape sighed, drank some more water and then sat up, his face painfully contorted. “MacNair and Lestrange. MacNair is dead and Lestrange will be punished thoroughly. The Dark Lord feels that they are responsible for the disappearance of his prisoners.”

 Harry nodded. That would explain the anger. “How did they get out?”

 “You have a very clever house-elf, Potter,” answered Snape and checked out the wound on his torso. “What a hack job,” he muttered darkly. “I should sue that girl.”

 A sharp, stabbing pain in his scar caused Harry to screech like a girl. He only had enough time to turn away from Snape before he was sick all over the already stained carpet.

Harry was screaming, thrashing, clutching his head, and to his own horror, begging for the pain to stop. Please stop, please please, stop.

 “Give me something,” Harry screeched, his voice high and scared. “Anything, knock me out. Anything.”

 “We already have, Harry, we have. Concentrate on that emotion I told you,” Hermione said.

 Harry tried and failed. He clutched his head even harder sure that it was about to split apart.  He was sick again, his breathing was shallow and rapid, he couldn’t get enough air. Suddenly, a large, skinny hand was placed on his chest.

 “Breathe with me, Potter. Concentrate on breathing,” Snape said. 

 Harry tried again and it seemed to work a little. He imagined Sirius and the veil over and over again, but it wasn’t intense enough.

 “Potter, for fuck’s  sake, concentrate!” Snape snapped.

 Harry was whimpering now, it just didn’t work.

 “We destroyed the Horcruxes,” Hermione said. “You just need to concentrate and it will get better. Please try, Harry, please.”

 Harry clutched his hair, pulled it hard, vomited again, but could not focus on anything. Then he heard a familiar spell and there was a presence in his mind.

 Images were flashing by, moving like a badly made home movie in high speed. He saw his mother, giggling and obviously singing something silly, then lying on the floor, with wide open, green eyes, dead and unmoving. And a new feeling, also unfamiliar to Voldemort started to crush him, it was guilt: heavy and of such magnitude that it would surely kill him. But the pain subsided fast.

 He opened his eyes and saw Snape sitting on the floor, one leg stretched out, one inclined. His hair hung down, limply and wet.

  Hermione crouched down in front of him, trying to help him somehow but it seemed beyond that. The man was cursing himself “youfuckingcowardgoodfornothingstopcryingnow” and rubbing his eyes furiously over and over again. The litany wouldn’t stop “notnowyouweaklingcantfallapartnownotnow” and Harry and Hermione could do nothing but watch in horror.

 “Get away, kids,” Snape snarled, obviously having regained some form of control again. “This isn’t for your personal entertainment.”

“I am not leaving you like this, Severus. Harry, do something. Anything,” Hermione said.

 Didn’t Hermione know that he wasn’t good with those sort of situations?  “I don’t know what to do, Hermione. It’s not like I grew up… man, you do something,” Harry replied.

 They both looked down on the man who still struggling to get a hold of himself somehow. Harry stretched out his hand to help him up, but it wasn’t accepted.

 “Don’t touch me, Potter,” Snape snarled, looking absolutely murderous. He stood up on his own, wobbly at first. “Go upstairs. Go!” .

 For a change they both obeyed, glad to get away. They sat on an on the edge of the bed, not looking at each other, feeling completely useless. Downstairs, Snape seemed to take apart his house; they heard things smashing against the wall, wood cracking, shouting and more smashing. Finally, it went deadly silent and the two stared at each other in fear, both thinking the same.

 When Harry saw the cigarettes on the side of the bed, he grabbed them, stood up and slowly walked downstairs, his face expression that of a prisoner on the way from the death row to his execution. He had no idea how close to reality that was.

 The sofa was the only thing that hadn’t been broken or thrown over. Harry saw the dark head from the back and decided to pour a whiskey, no… two. He then sat down next to the man, handing him his glass and cigarettes before emptying his own glass in one gulp. At first he wanted to gag and then he felt the hot, strong liquid calming him somehow.

 “Thank you,” Harry heard the man say in a brittle voice, almost broken. “You’d better get the whole bottle, I need to talk to you.”

 The calmness went away just as quick as it came and he jumped up and he got the bottle with the golden liquor and poured two generous helpings. Snape actually offered him a cigarette, but Harry declined politely.

 “They are bad for your lungs,” Harry said earnestly. The answer was a deep, low chuckle that sounded more like a sob than anything. “Are… are you okay, Snape?”

 The man snorted, exhaled the smoke slowly and stared at Harry.

 “I don’t think I have ever been further from ‘okay’ in my life.” The obsidian glare was too much to take; Harry fidgeted with his glass and then emptied it just as quickly as the first one. “Potter,” Harry turned to him again. “Do you trust me?” The black eyes were curious, sad and full of some other emotion Harry could not identify. It made him nervous.

 “I do,” Harry replied.

 The older man scrutinised him, Harry almost feared he would use Legilimency on him again.

 “Are you absolutely sure?”

  “Yes, Sir. I am. Especially after… well… after what just happened.”

 Snape nodded thoughtfully, a calculating look took over his harsh features.

 “Then listen now. Listen carefully Potter, because as of now, there will be no more secrets.”

By the end of the conversation Harry ended up accepting the cigarette, after all, it didn’t matter anymore if his lungs got destroyed. Harry couldn’t even be angry, he wasn’t surprised much either. For Neither Can Live While the Other Survives… It made so much more sense now that Harry wasn’t trained well, that he wasn’t supposed to be strong and prepared. He quickly gulped down more whiskey, wishing that it would help him accept the fact that Dumbledore had betrayed him. It didn’t.

 “How do we do it?” Harry asked quietly, hoping that he didn’t sound too scared.

   Hermione was standing in the doorway now, listening to the two of them.

 “We were thinking…” she started and fiddled with one of her curls, “that maybe we could just not do it and find a way to get the Horcrux out of your head.  Ignore Dumbledore and get away?”

 “No,” Harry said firmly. “Enough people have died and now that I know a way to prevent it I can’t… I can’t just leave.”

 “You are not serious, Potter. I am not allowing you to sacrifice yourself. I’ve spent years trying to save your sorry arse from the Dark Lord,” Snape said.

 Harry shrugged, as if his life really didn’t matter that much.

 “There is no other way. Dumbledore is correct. Vol-“

 “Don’t!” Hermione said hastily.

 “You-Know-Who will locate you, Snape, like he did with Karkaroff. You have the mark. He will kill hundreds of people, the students at Hogwarts, he won’t stop.”

 Harry stood up, his decision made. With that decision he was finally able to clear his mind, to think properly, cold and calculating.

 “Bring me to him!” Harry demanded. “If you bring me to him, it will be easier.”

 “For you perhaps,” Snape said and rubbed his forehead.

 “Don’t pretend you give a shit,” Harry said, trying to get the man out of his reserve. “You hate me, just stick to that and it won’t be that hard.”

 “Harry,” Hermione whimpered. “This isn’t right. No-one can ask that of you.”

 “It’s fine, really. I think I’ve known for a long time that this thing in my head is killing me. It is getting worse by the day. I don’t even think I’d survive another one of those… attacks.”

Harry continued, now sounding more desperate, “Please… help me. Hermione, you can use my cloak if you want to come. Snape, you won’t be in danger if You-Know-Who still thinks you are on his side. Please… I am dying anyway, I know it. Let me finish this, once and for all. He will make new Horcruxes, he will find other ways, he will reign forever, and it will be my fault. And yours.”

“Have some of this,” Harry said, offering Hermione some whiskey.

 “No thanks. I need to have my wits about me,” she replied.

 Harry nodded and went to put on his clothes. It was the last time he’d put on clothes so he tried to enjoy it. He also poured himself some of the ever-hot tea in his house and sipped slowly, his eyes closed.

 “Would you like to eat something before we leave?” asked Snape  as he pointed to the plate with the food Harry had cooked earlier.

 “Actually, yes,” Harry said before he devoured the runny eggs, the spicy sausage and the wonderful bacon. He left one slice until the end; bacon had always been the favourite part of that dish.

  Hermione turned away from him and blew her nose noisily while Harry crunched the last slice noisily, smacked a little and licked his lips.

 “Okay, I am ready. You need your mask, Sir, you look like shit,” Harry said.

  Snape raised an eyebrow but  went to get his mask anyway.

 The three of them walked into the cold winter night, Harry breathed in the lovely fresh air, looked at the stars and suddenly regretting not knowing most of them.

 “What is this one called?” Harry asked as he pointed at a particularly bright one.

 “Are you kidding, Harry? That’s Sirius, you should know that,” Hermione replied.

 Harry nodded. “I know now. I’ll see him soon. And my parents, too.”

 They walked in silence; Harry took in everything around him as if it was a miracle.

 “We will Apparate now. Potter, pass me that wand. You won’t need it anymore,” Snape said.

  Harry nodded and did as he was told. For a split second he doubted what he was doing but pushed to the back of his mind. He’d never liked to Apparate but the whiskey in his blood made this one even worse.

 When they arrived, Harry went to the ground and held his stomach. He looked up and a few hundred metres away, the large mansion, Malfoy Manor glowed in the dark.

 “You are such a lightweight, Potter,” Snape growled as Hermione helped Harry up.

 “Will those be your last words to me, Sir?” Harry asked and felt instantly silly. What did he want to hear anyway?

 He hugged Hermione tightly and then shook Snape’s hand. “Be careful,” Harry whispered to them both.

 “Take care, Harry,” she sniffed and then put on the cloak.

They walked slowly towards Malfoy Manor and were greeted by Lucius Malfoy: a very much bashed looking Malfoy with haunted eyes, hollow cheeks and greying hair.

 Snape whispered something to the man who then nodded. Then he grabbed Harry and held his black wand to the boy’s throat.

 “Move, Potter,” Snape barked as they entered the large house.

Harry walked along the carpet realising that he’d never walked on anything that expensive and comfortable before. He savoured that feeling. The walls were decorated by pale-faced portraits; each of them following the small crowd curiously.

 As they came closer to the large drawing room Harry could feel Snape’s arm tighten around his chest, his wand digging a little further into his neck. Only the slight tremble reminded Harry that Snape really was on his side.

 Lucius opened the door and luckily there were not many people: Nott, Narcissa Malfoy, Bellatrix Lestrange,  Antonin Dolohov and of course- Voldemort.

 “My Lord,” Snape started, his voice sounded firm and superior. “I have brought you the boy.”

 Voldemort stood up and came closer. Harry’s scar now burnt, his whole head wanted to explode again.

 “I am very pleased, Severus. Sit down. You may want to watch,” Voldemort hissed .

 “You are very gracious, my Lord,” replied Snape as he bowed.

 Voldemort’s wand was pointed directly at Harry’s chest but Harry didn’t move.

 “Why aren’t you defending yourself, Harry?” Voldemort inquired curiously and tilted his head in an unnatural angle.

 “Snape broke my wand,” he seethed and tried to calm himself and his poor head. He was actually looking forward to dying now if it meant that this pain  would stop.

 “Is that so, Severus?” the snake man asked, never taking his eyes off the boy.

 “Yes, my Lord.” Snape pulled out the broken remains and showed them to his Lord.

 “Such a faithful servant. I just wish there was more of your kind.” Voldemort looked at Lucius, who flinched a little and at Bellatrix, who seemed devastated not to be the highest in his favour.

 Harry lifted his hands slowly, closed his eyes and thought about his giggling mum and Sirius hugging him. The deadly curse came towards him, he could feel it and then…

  There was nothing.

Harry didn’t bother to talk to Albus Dumbledore, he just turned around and went on his way. The old man’s tears did not convince him, and his superiority and arrogance just frankly pissed him off. He didn’t need any more riddles and silly answers, he wanted to see his parents and Sirius, he wanted to apologise to Cedric and Dean and whosever else didn’t survive the last few years because of him.

 Dumbledore followed him though, and gave him the choice to go back. Harry, ever the Gryffindor, of course chose the more difficult path –and did. 

 He woke up to the sound of curses whizzing past, deadly curses, stunners and others Harry had never heard. Voldemort was hunched over; breathing but unconscious, until he was hit by a Sectumsempra. His whole head flopped to the floor and the simple thud was the last sound that ever came from the snake man.

 Dolohov and Lestrange were both petrified and a very sweaty Nott magically bound the two.

Harry crawled over to the decapitated Voldemort; there was very little blood, the red slits were side open. Harry closed them and then turned around.

 Hermione was weeping while Snape, Lucius and Narcissa had a heated discussion about weather or not to call the Aurors.

 No-one seemed to notice that Harry was moving, he felt strangely giddy, breathed in the air as if he hadn’t done that for years.

 “Hello?” he asked as he stood up. 

 Suddenly the room went quiet. Hermione was beside him in an instant, hugging him so tight it hurt a little.

 “You are alive?” Snape asked dully although relief was written all over his face.

 “Astute as ever Snape,” Harry replied.

They didn’t call the Aurors after all; the Malfoys just didn’t trust them enough. They preferred Harry to inform the Order and clear them all of all charges. Snape had actually agreed with this course of action and Apparated Hermione and Harry back to the little house they’d spent too much time in recently.

 Harry sunk down on the sofa; he didn’t think he’d ever been that tired in his life. Hermione offered tea which was gladly accepted. Snape took the whiskey and sat down on the comfy chair closest to the fire.

 “So,” Hermione started, she’d already found some new book to study. “What are we going to do now? I think I will go back to school and finish my N.E.W.T.s and then I might study at a good Wizarding University.”

 Harry nodded absently and sipped his tea. “I don’t know what I am going to do. It’s like… I don’t know, I have been working towards this one thing for so many years and now it’s over and… um. I just don’t know.”

 Snape turned towards Harry and raised his glass to him. “I could have said it better, however, I agree, as much as it pains me.”

 There was a silence, only interrupted by the sipping of tea and whiskey.

 “You shouldn’t drink so much, Severus. It’s not good for you,” Hermione said.

 She earned herself a humourless chuckle and Snape lit a cigarette, probably just to infuriate her. “Granger, you are so naïve. I honestly cannot remember the last time I did anything that wasn’t self-destructive in some sort of way.”

 The confession hung in the room like a very bad smell and they were silent for a while.

 “I should go and check on my parents,” Hermione said. “And restore their memories.”

 Harry suddenly felt terribly alone. Apart from Ginny there wasn’t really anyone waiting for him and he didn’t even know if she was okay, if she was alive. Maybe he could send owls to Hogwarts and to the Order and ask how everyone was.

  He did exactly that, describing what happened and then sat back down on the sofa. Hermione had fallen asleep, lightly snoring. Harry watched her and thought about Ron: how stupid he was leaving them like that, he didn’t deserve her anyway.

 Harry felt the obsidian glare on him and when he looked up, he saw the all too familiar sneer on his former Potions Master.

 “It’s not like that,” Harry said quickly. “She is like my sister. I love her, but not in that way.”

 Snape snorted. “I didn’t need to know that, Potter.”

 The man was slurring his words considerably and with the precision of a very drunken man, squinting, he tried to pour himself another glass and failed miserably. He chucked the glass behind him and just drank from the bottle.

"Can I have some of that?" Harry asked as he stretched his hand out for the whiskey.

Snape squinted at the bottle, then at Harry, before handing it over.

"Fine, but don't overdo it. I am not in the mood to clean up your vomit tonight."

Harry laughed and took a big sip.

"If anyone is going to be sick tonight, it will be you." He took another large gulp and then felt brave enough to ask what he wanted to know. "Can you… maybe tell me things about my mother?"

He knew it was a sore topic for the older man but if now wasn't the time there never would be. Harry handed the bottle back, watched the man light a cigarette and cross his legs. A pained expression fleeted across his face before the unreadable mask was back in place.

"No, Podder," He found himself unable to pronounce Potter right. "I don't think I can do that."

This time the silence was heavy and uncomfortable. Snape made an effort to get up groaning as he nearly fell over and sat back down.

"You have done really well today. You deserve to know more about… about her, but I can't. I am not even able to bring myself to say your first name."

Harry sighed and stared back into the fire. Maybe one day he would feel ready although Harry doubted that.

"I'm not a strong man Potter."

Harry took the bottle again and took another swig. He felt wonderfully drowsy now, relaxed and most of all, pain free. "I disagree."

The obsidian eyes rested on him, they were only half open. Snape shook his greasy head as if Harry had said something very stupid and then lit another cigarette.

"Whose house is this?" Harry asked, eager to change the topic.

"It was my father's until very recently. He moved in here after he left. Bastard."

Harry remembered the screaming man he saw in Snape's mind in his fifth year. "Did he hit you?" He had no idea why he was asking that, he had no right either.

"Why on earth would you be interested in such things Potter?" Snape threw the cigarette into the fire and supported his head with his hand. "And yes, he did. He drank, smoked and hurt people. You know what they say, the apple and the tree. For fucks sake, why am I telling you this?"

"Because you are drunk. And because I asked. And I know where you are coming from. I don't want to be like my father, he was a bully. I am sorry for what he did to you. I really am."

"Well… I got my revenge, didn't I?" said Snape as he inhaled deeply.

"What a horrible thought." Harry said.

"I am rather prone to those."

"Potter?" Snape said, now seriously slurring his words.

"Yes," Harry replied, leaning forward in order to understand better.

"Now is perhaps the time to inform you about the death of your uncle," Snape said.

Harry gasped, not that he particularly cared about uncle Vernon. Still, after everything the Dursleys went through because of Harry he didn't wish death upon him

"Did uncle Vernon get killed?" Harry asked.

The black glare stayed on him leaving Harry feeling scrutinised and very vulnerable.

"No," Snape exhaled the smoke, took another large swig from the whiskey, still staring at Harry. "He died of a heart attack after an interrogation from the Aurors."

Harry shrank a little, shook his head as if he didn't understand, hoping that he really wasn't understanding it correctly.

"Why was he being interrogated?" Harry asked.

"Oh Potter, surely you are not that stupid. He was being investigated for mistreatment of the famous Boy-Who-Lived-Twice."

Harry shrank further into the sofa, accepted the bottle gladly and remained silent.

"Why didn't you inform the headmaster?" Snape asked.

Harry shrugged.

"I did," Harry replied.

Snape shook his head in disbelief, the old sneer back in place.

"You told Albus that you were being starved, locked in a cupboard without food or even a fucking chamber pot…" Snape paused, seeming to enjoy Harry's blushing before he continued. "Hit with a frying pan, treated like one of Malfoy's unfortunate house elves, all physical and emotional needs neglected… You told him all of that?"

Harry fiddled with the bottle, drank some more before handing it back. He was drowsy, sleepy and feeling inferior.

"My Hogwarts letter was addressed to the cupboard. Dumbledore knew about the lack of food, Molly Weasley told him. I begged him to stay at Hogwarts, I took his office apart once. It was no use. He'd made up his mind and that was that."

There was silence after that apart from Hermione's light snoring and the crackling of the fire.

"I had no idea that the similarities between you and me that Albus was always so eager to point out, were actually partly inflicted by him."

Harry had a feeling the older man still wanted to add something to that sentence so he just waited patiently. After what seemed like minutes he was proven right.

"I too asked Albus every summer. He never gave in. He never even asked exactly why even though it was obvious to everybody else, especially those who were not very fond of me." Snape paused, drank more, lit another cigarette and turned away from Harry, staring into the fire. "Two long horrible months in Spinner's end, alone, with my dying, hallucinating mother who towards the end, could only scream, swear and hate. We had no money and I couldn't even afford a decent funeral."

"How old were you?" Harry asked.

"I was twelve, Potter. After that summer, he sent me back to my good-for-nothing father who had never even come for her funeral."

"Potter, I need your word on something," Snape said.

Snape was a completely wreck by now but Harry wasn't in his best shape either. Perhaps it wasn't the best time for Unbreakable Vows just now.

"What is it?" Harry asked sleepily.

"This sob story of mine… I need you to keep it to yourself."

Harry sighed.

"Which one? The one about my mum?"

Snape nodded slowly.

"Yes."

Harry thought long and as hard as he could in his state but came to the conclusion that he had to decline politely.

"I can't do that. I'm afraid your name will not be cleared if I don't say everything. The last thing you did was bring me to Voldemort," Harry explained.

Snape leaned back, a pained expression on his face and stared at the ceiling.

"I do have some pride left and do not wish to be viewed as some pathetic laughing figure."

"It's not pathetic, Snape. It's not."

The dark man sneered and glared at him again, but all Harry could see where the those deep, black wounds again.

"Not pathetic? A doe? You might as well cut my balls off, Potter."

Harry shook his head once more which caused the room to spin a bit.

"Nope. Not doing it."

Snape rubbed his forehead tiredly and then the old, calculating Slytherin appeared.

"How about a deal. You keep your mouth shut and I will leave you Pensieve memories of your mother."

Harry shook his head again.

"That is not fair. And no, I am not doing it, even for… that. You will go to Azkaban and…"

Hermione stirred slightly in her sleep, rolled over and her cover fell to the floor. Snape stood up, stumbled slightly and put her cover back on.

"Fine," Snape snarled, now a foul-mooded git again.

"I am sorry, Snape. It's just not right. I couldn't live with myself knowing you are rotting away in a cold cell – having fought on the light side for so many years…"

"Stop thinking about yourself, Potter," Snape slurred and actually had to support his own weight on the door handle in order to not fall down.

"What a strange thing to say to the Boy-Who-Sacrificed-Himself," Harry answered, his chin raised high, his mind made up.

Snape took an unhealthy, greenish colour and almost fell. Harry jumped up and stumbled towards him, supported his weight and dragged him to the downstairs loo.

"Are you okay in there? Harry asked after an eternity of retching and moaning.

"Just dandy, Potter. Go to sleep."

Harry felt wonderful. In fact, he felt absolutely divine. Next to his bed was an empty bottle of water he had drank through the night and an empty phial of one of Snape's Hangover Potions. The sun was shining outside, he loved the sun. There was snow, it was Christmas Day, the world was perfect.

He stood up, stretching, ready to sing some stupid Christmas song but he couldn't think of any because the Dursleys had never let him participate in the festivities. However, even that didn't dampen his spirit. He felt like dressing up nicely, like shaving, having a shower, having a good breakfast.

After an eternity under the hot shower (oh, how he enjoyed the feeling of being clean and fresh and no-one told him not to use too much hot water, no-one told him to get out of the bathroom) he chose the nicest robe in the wardrobe and smiled.

Downstairs waited a lovely breakfast, bacon and scrambled eggs and fried tomatoes, toast, all kept warm, just for him. Harry devoured it, every single bite. Food was lovely.

Harry Potter made plans, his own plans, for a change. He would go and visit the Burrow, see Ginny and Mrs Weasley and perhaps even Ron.

Only now did he notice that nobody was around. A large phial was placed in the middle of the table, a tiny note was attached to it.

Happy Christmas, Harry.

It was full of a smoky, silvery liquid.

Memories.

Harry smiled his broadest smile, he knew the contents, knew what it meant. Oh, and he realised how much it must have cost Snape to actually bring himself to share those memories of Lily.

He stretched, yawned, smiled, polished his boots, flattened his hair as much as it allowed him to.

He had a name to clear and a life to live.

 o o o o o O O O O O o o o o o

Merry Christmas everyone! Hope you enjoyed my little story. I had a lot of help from my two betas rosina and slashypotterness, without them the whole thing wouldn't make sense, it would be full of mistakes and generelly, quite rubbishy. THANK YOU! Also to my reviewers and the silent readers (the ones with the saver subscription), hope you enjoyed it!