“Fuckin’ Death Eater, got what he deserved, I say.”

Harry gritted his teeth as the words of a fellow Auror drifted over to him.

“We shoulda just left ‘em here to rot. Waste o’ time and resources, if you ask me,” Auror Banks groused.

No one is asking you, Harry replied silently. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the Auror dragging a moaning, skeletal person--Harry couldn’t even tell if it was a man or a woman--across the dirty concrete floor.

“Potter, check that last cell so we can finish up here,” Head Auror Witherskin called.

“I’m on it,” Harry replied, quickening his pace. Witherskin wasn’t terrible in and of himself, but he was no leader. Witherskin’s team of Aurors walked all over him. Ron had quit six months ago, and Harry wasn’t far behind.

After Voldemort’s demise, the hunt for escaped Death Eaters had captured the attention of the Wizarding public the way nothing else could. The Aurors had flown up to the hoop admirably at first. But over time, their overzealousness and drive for justice turned into a bloodthirstiness that didn’t seem that different from how the Death Eaters themselves had acted. It turned Harry’s stomach.

Unable to keep quiet any longer as another Auror dragged out another hapless soul by the hair, to cries of pain, Harry yelled, “They aren’t all Death Eaters! There are some Muggles and regular Wizarding folk down here, too!”

“Might as well all be Death Eaters far as I’m concerned,” Auror Jenkins replied, eliciting a laugh from Auror Banks.

Harry bit back his anger as he unlocked and entered the last cell. As in the rest of the dungeon, the stench was overwhelming. He held the fabric of his robes over his mouth and nose, breathing as shallowly as he could. He tried to block out the reek of urine, feces, blood, vomit, body odor, and decay. They’d found at least two dead bodies that had been left to rot. Harry wondered, not for the first time, who the anonymous tipster had been that had led to this early morning raid.

Harry raised his lit wand, casting it over the shadows and filth that covered the concrete floor and walls. There was a lump of blankets on the cot and, as he dragged his light across it, he saw the silhouette of a human--alive or dead, man or woman--he couldn’t be sure.

“Hello?” he called as he walked closer. He could see tangled strands of long, dirty hair hanging over the bench that the figure was curled up on. “Can you hear me?”

The figure jerked and Harry was immensely relieved that the person was still alive.

Shielding his wand light so as not to blind the prisoner in the dark cell--a courtesy the other Aurors hadn’t seen fit to offer their prisoners--Harry crouched down in front of the inmate. He raised a gloved hand to push back the clumps of hair, hoping to get a read on the prisoner’s condition.

“Can you tell me your name?” Harry asked gently.

A dirty face shifted in the blankets and obsidian eyes swiveled in his direction.

Harry reeled back in shock. A thousand thoughts rushed through him at once, stunned disbelief at the forefront. “Snape!”

Severus Snape had died in the Shrieking Shack two years ago. Harry had seen it with his own eyes. Granted, they’d never found his body, but it had been assumed that the Death Eaters had taken him, not wanting to leave any evidence behind.

Harry shook his head, unable to reconcile the man before him with the man he knew to be dead.

Then recognition sparked in that unmistakable gaze. “Potter,” the voice rasped, harsh and barely there, a broken whisper.

“Anyone in there, Potter?” Head Auror Witherskin called. “We’re ready to head out.”

Potter stood abruptly, his wand hand shaking. He glanced between Snape and the sound of the approaching footsteps. Then, with a quick wave of his wand, he cast a Disillusionment Charm on the imprisoned wizard.

“Nope,” Harry replied. “Empty.”

Any hope that Severus Snape had had of escaping this torturous hellhole vanished when Harry Potter walked out of his cell, letting the metal door clang shut behind him. In Severus’s state of delirium, seeing Potter squatting before him had seemed like a dream or a mirage. Perhaps even a spirit. After all, Potter had died in the final battle, hadn’t he? Snape had been the one to pass on the memories that would send the boy to his death after all.

Then Potter had recognized him and, for a moment, Severus had felt the tiniest sliver of hope. An hour before, he’d have never imagined he’d make it out of this place alive. With Potter’s face mere inches from his, though, long lost hope had blossomed in his chest. It had been short lived, not more than a few seconds, before Potter had seen fit to deny his very existence.

Severus knew Potter hated him--Severus had made sure of that over the years--but to seek his revenge like this? Leaving him to rot in a cell with no food or water, invisible to all who might have tried to rescue him? That was a level of hatred Severus wouldn’t have thought Potter capable of. At least not the Potter he once knew. Severus tried to shake his head but didn’t have the strength to lift his neck anymore. Even if they brought him food and water right now, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stomach it. His body was shutting down; there wasn’t much time left now. And Potter had seen to it that no one would be saving him from death this time.

Harry stood amongst his fellow Aurors, disgust welling up in him at the pile of discarded humanity lying at their feet in chains. These prisoners were near death and yet the Aurors ignored their plight, acting as if they were mere vermin to be disposed of. The lack of human compassion made Harry see red but he bit his tongue. Now was not the time to speak up. It would be useless here and would do the wretched souls they’d just managed to free more harm than good.

Harry knew that the prisoners would be transported to the Ministry, where they’d be hosed down and identified. Anyone with a Dark Mark would go straight to Azkaban, no questions asked. They wouldn’t receive medical care and they’d die soon thereafter. And the other unfortunate souls lying shivering on the ground? He had no idea. They might just throw the lot in Azkaban to avoid having to deal with them.

“Report, Auror Potter?”

Harry cleared his throat. “I assisted two prisoners from cells. One appears to be a Muggle male in his twenties, and the other, a middle-aged witch. The last cell I checked was empty.”

After all of the Aurors had reported their findings, Head Auror Witherskin began to hand out assignments.

“Sir,” Harry said, speaking up. “Forgive me, but I’m coming off a double shift here and I’m exhausted. Permit me to be excused?”

Head Auror Witherskin’s expression changed to one of sympathy. “Of course, Potter.”

“Yeah, leave us to clean up this mess,” Auror Banks snarked.

Ignoring the git, Potter nodded his thanks to Witherskin and Apparated away.

Instead of Apparating home, he appeared behind a clump of bushes about 50 yards from the gathering and quickly Disillusioned himself. Then he watched and waited as the remaining team of Aurors grabbed the freed prisoners and Apparated them to the Ministry, leaving two Aurors behind to guard the premises until the Investigative and Clean-Up crews arrived.

Raising his wand, Harry cast a spell at the far side of the compound, creating a loud boom. He watched as the guards seemed to discuss the situation. Unfortunately, only one of them walked off toward the sound. Casting another spell, Harry started a fire in the mid-section, causing the other Auror to sprint toward it.

When Severus heard the hinges creak, he knew his mind was playing tricks on him. Looking up, he saw that the cell door was now open, but of course no one was there. He knew he must be dreaming. He glanced away from the door and back again--it was still open. The irony was that even if it had been real, he wouldn’t have been able to escape anyway. He didn’t even have the strength to raise his head.

Harry cancelled the Disillusionment Charm on himself and Snape and crouched down in front of the skeletal man. “Professor, we have to go. I’ve distracted the guards, but they’ll be back soon. Can you walk?”

Snape’s black eyes swiveled to his, but Harry saw no recognition there. His gut clenched.

“Professor? Do you remember me?” Harry asked tentatively.

“Not real,” Snape murmured in his harsh whisper. “Mirage.”

“I’m real, sir. Now, can you walk?”

The man seemed to consider that before answering. “No. Unless I’m dreaming. Then I can probably fly.”

Harry snorted. “You’re not dreaming, sir. Come on, I’ll carry you.”

He cast a Featherlight Charm on Snape and then recast the Disillusionment Charms on both of them. Sliding his arms under Snape’s frail body, he lifted the wizard and carried him out of the cell.

Snape groaned at being picked up and Harry was alarmed to feel that the man in his arms was a pile of sharp bones with no padding at all.

“Shhh,” Harry whispered, hushing him.

Adrenaline coursing through him, Harry made his way up the stairs and into fresher air. He had contemplated Apparating directly from Snape’s cell, but that would be risky if they investigated the magic performed in the dungeon. It would be much safer to Apparate from where the other Aurors had Apparated with their prisoners.

Relieved to see that the guards were still occupied elsewhere, he Apparated straight into the sitting room of his home.

Harry’s mind raced with the multitude of priorities vying for his attention. The rank scent of the groaning man in his arms took precedence, though. Quickly closing his Floo connection and making sure his wards were solid, he carried Severus Snape up the stairs into his large ensuite bathroom.

The man was covered in a dirt-encrusted robe and nothing else, by the looks of it. Weighing his options, Harry shrugged mentally and stepped into the shower fully clothed. He set Snape on his feet, keeping an arm around his waist to keep the man steady. Then he waved his wand, banishing Snape’s filthy robe entirely. He nearly gasped aloud at the emaciated state of his former Potions professor. Closing his eyes in sympathy for a moment, he banished his Auror’s robes and underclothes to the laundry.

“All right, Professor?” Harry asked, closing off his palate to try and block the horrific stench.

Snape merely groaned, his whole body trembling.

Harry set his wand on the rim of the large tub and reached around to turn on the shower taps. He adjusted the water to a lukewarm so as not to scald the man. Then he positioned the spigot over Snape’s head and watched as the water ran black as it swirled down the drain.

A rasping sound from Snape drew Harry’s attention.

Harry looked up to see a grimace on Snape’s face, his brow covered in sweat, as he began to sway.

“Whoa, don’t faint on me now.” Grasping Snape more firmly around the middle, Harry grabbed his wand and conjured a bath chair before helping Snape into it.

“There you go,” Harry said, adjusting the spray from the spigot accordingly. “Just rest while I get you cleaned up.”

Snape hung his head, gasping in lungfuls of air, his body trembling violently.

Harry set his wand down again and stood by, letting the spray run over the man until the black water slid into a grubby brownish-grey color before it finally ran clear. Turning the spigot away, he grabbed his all-purpose shampoo and body wash and squirted some into his hand.

He worked the soap into a lather as he debated where to begin. “Let’s get started with your hair.” As he laid his soapy hands on Snape’s head, Snape made a startled sound and flinched away from Harry’s touch.

“It’s all right, Professor. You are safe here. No one will hurt you here.”

Harry waited for Snape’s breathing to calm before gently placing his hands on Snape’s scalp. “All right?”” he said, slowly rubbing the soap over the matted black hair. He did his best to thread his fingers into the tangled mess. He was only able to lift his fingers a half inch off the man’s scalp before he could go no farther. Snape’s hair had become impenetrable. He unthreaded his fingers and ran his soapy hands over the snarled mass instead, debating what to do.

“Cut it off,” Snape rasped.

“Are you sure?” Snape’s hair had grown significantly longer in two years’ time and Harry couldn’t imagine how he’d be able to untangle it. Maybe there was a spell?

“Off,” Snape repeated.

Not confident using his wand to do the job, Harry summoned a pair of scissors. Then he set to work cutting dark hunks of hair off near the scalp. “We’ll get you a proper haircut later,” Harry said as he hacked away at Snape’s hair. When he was done, he banished the ratty, knotted piles with his wand. He figured Snape didn’t need the reminder.

“That’s better,” Harry said as he soaped his hands once more and gently washed Snape’s scalp and remaining hair. “I’m sure we can find a spell to make it look a little less uneven, but at least what’s left is clean.”

Snape didn’t respond and Harry realized he was speaking out of his own nervousness. He reached for a flannel and added soap to it.

“I’m going to wash your face now, sir,” Harry informed him, squatting down in front of the wizard.

Snape’s eyes were scrunched closed. The man shuddered as Harry ran the flannel along Snape’s forehead, over the planes of his face, soaping up the scraggly beard that was threaded with grey. He grabbed a clean flannel to wipe soap and water from the man’s eyes.

“Do you want me to shave you?”

“Do you know the depilatory spell?” Snape’s voice was little more than a harsh whisper and Harry wondered if it hurt the man to speak.

“I do,” Harry said, and Snape nodded, leaning his head back, his body gone completely rigid, his mangled hands clenched into loose fists.

“Try and relax, Professor. I promise I won’t hurt you.” Harry cast the shaving spell and dragged his wand along Snape’s face and neck until all of the overgrown facial hair was sheared off. He looked much less ragged for the clean shave.

“Better?” Harry asked, as he rewashed the man’s face and neck, revealing a plethora of multi-colored bruises and cuts in all stages of healing.

Snape raised a gnarled hand, dragging the back of his knuckles against his smooth skin. “Much,” he forced out. “Where am I?”

“You are in my home, Professor, in the Isle of Wight.” Harry ran the soapy flannel along Snape’s shoulders and chest, cataloguing the various welts, bruises, burns, cuts, scars, and other injuries that covered the man’s body. A sharp, unnatural ridge between shoulder and neck led Harry to believe that the wizard’s collarbone had been badly broken at some point and left to heal on its own.

“Why did you bring me here?” Snape forced out. He had begun to tremble again.

Harry, who had been holding the man’s arm out with one hand to wash it thoroughly with the flannel in the other, paused.

Recognizing Harry’s hesitation, Snape stiffened.

Harry resumed washing. “I couldn’t leave you there, Professor. Anyone with a Dark Mark is taken directly to Azkaban, no questions asked. No trial and no medical care, either.” Harry swallowed, the familiar feeling of disgust welling up in his gut. “You of all people don’t deserve that.”

“I would have thought… that the word… of the Great Harry Potter… would be enough… to exonerate anyone,” Snape wheezed. “You did kill the Dark Lord, did you not?”

Harry grimaced. “I did, but I sort of had a mental breakdown after that. And, er, I’m afraid it ruined my credibility a bit.” Sighing, Harry pushed away the memories of himself screaming and raving like a lunatic in the days after the final battle. Grimacing, he added, “I’m more like a fallen hero now.”

Snape grunted.

Harry waited until Snape met his gaze. “I am truly sorry, sir. If I had known you were alive, I would have stopped at nothing to find you and clear your name.” Harry stared into that dark, fathomless gaze, his hands stilling. “I saw you die, sir. How is it that you are alive?”

Snape made a sound of disgust deep in his throat. “Death Eaters found me… shortly after you left. They… revived me. Forced potions… down my throat. One of those potions… was Veritaserum,” Snape coughed and a shiver racked his body.

Harry drew in a deep breath and continued washing the man. “I’m so sorry, sir.”

Snape said nothing more and Harry finished washing the one arm before moving to the other. After that, he focused on Snape’s sides and stomach.

“What do you plan to do with me?” Severus asked.

“Help you get better,” Harry said. “You’re a right mess, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

“And then?”

Harry frowned. “Honestly, I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

Snape snorted. “Impulsive as always.”

Harry grinned. He moved to washing the man’s thighs, leaving a dirty stretch in the middle that still needed attention. Harry glanced once more at Snape’s mangled hands and doubted the man could use them for much.

Snape seemed to sense his discomfort. “Just get it over with, Potter.”

“Sorry, sir,” Harry said, as he slid the flannel between the man’s legs and washed him thoroughly before continuing upward to wash the rest of the man’s private parts. Snape’s body had tensed and his breathing had broken into jerky sobs.

“You’re safe here,” Harry reassured, washing the man as thoroughly and quickly as he could. Considering the horrific state of Snape’s health, it wasn’t nearly as embarrassing as it should have been.

Harry continued downward, cleansing Snape’s legs and feet thoroughly. “Do you think you can stand for a bit so I can wash the rest of you?”

Snape grunted his assent and Harry helped him to his feet, banishing the bath chair in the process. He positioned Snape to lean with his forearms against the bathroom wall, giving Harry access to his back. The man shook like a leaf. Harry guessed it was because Snape was weak from lack of nourishment.

“I will hurry, but let me know if you need to sit down,” Harry said as he washed Snape’s back, buttocks, and the backs of the man’s thighs, unnerved by the scars and infected wounds of many a beating there, not to mention Snape’s hisses of pain. What that man must have been through, Harry lamented silently.

As with the front, Harry saved the most embarrassing bits for last. As he slid the flannel between the man’s arse cheeks, Snape jerked and made a sound so pained and desperate that it made Harry’s gut clench. Thus, it took a moment for Harry to realize what was happening. Then the unmistakable scent of shit hit his nostrils at about the same time he felt it splatter on his ankles and feet. Harry yelped and jumped back in surprise.

Snape let out a sound like a wounded animal and began banging his forehead against the wall, repeatedly, as fecal matter ran in rivulets down his legs.

Several things occurred to Harry at once, not the least of which was the training he’d received as an Auror on the after effects of rape and torture in trauma victims.

“Hey, it’s all right. You’re all right,” Harry soothed, gripping Snape’s shoulder with one hand and using his other to cushion the blows between Snape’s forehead and the wall. “I won’t hurt you and I won’t judge you.” Harry moved to rubbing light circles between the man’s shoulder blades. “I’ve had some training on this. It’s a completely normal and expected response to what you've been through.”

Snape made a strangled sound and Harry gave him a few moments to compose himself while casting non-verbal air-freshening charms around them.

“Do you want to wash yourself there?” Harry asked gently.

“Just get it over with,” Snape rasped out, his body still trembling, as tears leaked down the wizard’s face.

Nodding, Harry directed the spray from the spigot to rinse the man before going back to washing him, careful to be extra gentle and speak soothingly as he did so. Once he was done, he quickly washed his ankles and feet before turning back to Snape. 

“Would you like to soak in the tub for a while? Or would rather lie down?” Harry asked, his hand splayed on Snape’s back for support.

“Soak.”

Harry couldn’t blame him. If he hadn’t been allowed to bathe in months, years perhaps, he’d have chosen the same. Harry stoppered the tub and helped lower the man into a reclining position. Then he switched off the shower in favor of the taps. In addition to the warm water, he turned on the one for scented bubbles as well.

“It’s lavender, is that all right?” Harry asked, as he stepped out of the tub. “If the scent is too strong, I can turn it off.” Wrapping a towel around his waist, he added, “I thought the bubbles might provide you some privacy.”

“It’s fine,” Snape rasped. Then he leaned his head back against the porcelain bath and closed his eyes.

“You must be starving.” 

Snape nodded.

“I don’t feel comfortable leaving you alone here just yet, so how about some water for now?” Without waiting for a response, Harry used his wand to summon a glass from the kitchen and filled it with cool water from the tap.

Harry helped Snape grasp the glass in his mangled hands and raised it to Snape’s lips to drink. He watched as the man’s Adam’s apple bobbed in the scarred and too-thin neck as Snape swallowed.

Snape drained the glass. “More.”

Harry refilled the glass twice more before Snape settled back against the tub, seemingly exhausted by the effort of drinking alone.

When the water was up to Snape’s chin, Harry turned off the taps and debated what to do. Calling his two best friends was first on his mind, but he didn’t dare leave Snape alone. In his condition, the man could drown if he were left unsupervised. In fact, it wasn’t too much later that Snape’s head fell to the side as slumber claimed him.

Harry removed the plug and let the water drain out, casting drying and warming charms on Snape as the emaciated man began to shiver. Then he levitated Snape from the tub and into his bed. He hadn’t bothered to make it two nights ago and he hoped the sheets weren’t too ripe.

He laid Snape’s unconscious body on the mattress and was just about to cover him, when he had a thought. He summoned a pair of clean boxers and slid them over the man’s feet and up his legs until they were in place, noting that the boxers were much too large for Snape in his present condition. Then Harry covered him with sheets and blankets, adding a couple of extra layers for good measure. He returned to the bath and took a quick shower before toweling off and dressing quickly in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Then he cast a monitoring charm on the man and headed downstairs.

Exhaustion dogged his steps as the rush of adrenaline wore off, but there was still much to do. He cursed the Auror Department for having him work double shifts in addition to all of the other complaints he had about how the organization was being run under the new Minister of Defense. Shaking his head, he pulled out his wand, cast his Patronus, and gave it a message. That done, he heated up some broth for Snape, hoping it wouldn’t be too hard on the man’s stomach, which surely had become unaccustomed to food.

Hermione restacked her patients’ medical charts in front of her, having just finished updating her team on their status. Healer Jackson went next, starting with a witch in her 30s who’d been the unfortunate recipient of a hex from her drunken husband. She’d sprouted a variety of horns from her head that Healer Jackson had been able to remove, but that had re-sprouted within the hour. As the group of Healers debated what to try next for said patient, a bright, shimmering shape cantered into the room.

“Confidential Urgent Message for Hermione Granger,” it said in an official tone, bowing its head and scratching a hoof at the ground.

Startled, Hermione glanced around the room of Healers, seeing if anyone realized whom the stag Patronus belonged to. Relieved when it appeared they did not, she said, “Excuse me,” and cast a silencing bubble around her and the stag.

“Please continue,” Hermione said.

The next words were spoken in Harry’s voice and he sounded desperate and panicky.  

“Hermione, I’m sorry to bother you at work but I need you to come to my house straight away. Bring your full Healer’s kit and Ron, too, if you can. Tell no one. I’ll be waiting for you.”

Frowning in concern, Hermione nodded. The stag vanished and she cancelled the privacy charm.

Turning to the head Healer, she said, “I’m so sorry, I have a family emergency. I need to leave. Can someone cover my patients?”

Healer Jackson immediately volunteered and Hermione thanked him before rushing from the room. She Apparated to her apartment, where she Floo-called Ron at the joke shop. As soon as Ron stepped through, the two of them Floo’d to Harry’s house.

Immediately after they’d stepped out of his fireplace, Harry sealed the Floo. Hermione exchanged a worried glance with Ron.

“What’s going on?” Ron asked.

Harry ran a hand through his damp hair. He looked a mixture of exhausted and worried.

“Did something happen at work?” Hermione asked.

“Sort of,” Harry said. “We got an anonymous tip-off about some Death Eaters holed up in a cellar. We raided the place and found not only Death Eaters, but witches and wizards and Muggles, too.”

Harry met Hermione’s eyes and the sorrow she saw there stole her breath away.

“They were all prisoners, all in bad shape. Some of them had already died. They’d been starved and tortured.”

Hermione and Ron waited expectantly, matching serious expressions on their faces, knowing that whatever Harry had to say was important.

“I was helping clear out cells, and in the last cell…” Harry glanced between the two of them, despair radiating off of him. “You’re not going to believe this, but I found… Professor Snape… alive.”

Hermione gasped and covered her mouth.

“Snape?” Ron said. “But he’s dead!”

“I thought so, too,” Harry said, running his hand through his hair again. “He said some Death Eaters revived him, figured out he was a traitor, and…” Harry pressed his lips tight together and shook his head, unable to continue.

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said. “How is he?”

“He’s alive,” Harry said, “but only just.”

Harry glanced at Ron. “You know what the Aurors are like these days. Anyone with a Dark Mark goes straight to Azkaban.”

Ron nodded, looking grim.

“I couldn’t let them take him,” Harry said. “Not after…” Harry’s voice broke and he cleared his throat. “I Disillusioned him and told the other Aurors that his cell was empty. Then I went back for him and brought him here.” Harry’s desperate gaze swiveled to Hermione. “Will you take a look at him? I didn’t know who else to ask. He’s in bad shape, but I don’t dare let anyone know he’s alive.”

“Where is he?” Hermione asked, unshrinking her large medical bag.

“He’s in my room,” Harry said. “I bathed him first thing and got him settled, then sent word. I don’t know how he’ll take to seeing you,” he added.

Face set in determination, Hermione nodded.

Harry sagged with relief.

“Ron, maybe you should wait here,” Hermione suggested.

“Suits me,” Ron said. “I know we couldn’t have won the war without him and all that, but he was still a right git to us at Hogwarts.” Ron raised his hand. “Not that I’d condemn anyone to what happened to the poor bloke, I’m just saying.” Glancing between Harry and Hermione, Ron said, “I’ll make us something to eat.”

“Oh, that reminds me. I heated up some broth for Snape.” Harry grabbed it off the table and made his way with Hermione up the stairs.

Hermione felt a hand on her arm. Glancing over her shoulder at Harry, she asked, “What is it?”

“There’s something you should probably know.” Harry waved his wand and cast a Silencing Charm over them. Then he took a deep breath and grimaced. “I’m fairly certain that he was raped. We had a class on the signs and symptoms and he seems to have them all.”

Hermione put a hand on her friend’s shoulder, seeing the emotions there. She knew Harry must be feeling tremendous guilt over abandoning Snape, even if they all thought he was dead. Snape’s body had never been found, and that had always bothered Harry, but everyone thought the Death Eaters had taken the body, along with several others, as they fled after Voldemort’s downfall. “Thanks for telling me, Harry. I’ll be sure to check him over thoroughly.”

“Professor,” Harry greeted Snape, seeing that he was waking up. “I’ve brought you something to eat.” He took the chair next to Snape. “I’ve also brought Hermione Granger with me. She’s a Healer now, graduated top of her class. She’s sworn to keep your presence here a secret and I’d really like her to take a look at you, if you’ll let her.”

Snape’s gaze swiveled between Harry and Hermione and Harry held his breath, hoping the man wouldn’t be difficult. When Snape finally nodded, Hermione stepped forward and set down her bag.

“Hello, Professor,” Hermione said, reaching out slowly to lay her hand lightly atop his. “I must admit to being quite surprised when Harry told me you were here, but I’m very happy you’re alive.”

Harry felt a tingle of magic in the room and knew that Hermione was measuring Snape’s vitals via her simple touch. She really was an amazing Healer, one of the best that had come through in years, the head Healers had said.

Snape winced at her touch but Hermione remained professional, speaking softly and non-threateningly to him. Harry was just thankful that she hadn’t cringed at the sight of him. His shorn hair stuck out at odd angles. His skin was deathly pale. His face, which was merely taut papery skin over bones now, was covered in cuts, bruises, and scars, as was most of the rest of him.

Snape’s eyes bulged in his hollow face. His nose had clearly been broken and had healed at an odd angle. His hands were a mangled mess, and Harry didn’t even want to think about how that had happened. Being a Potions master, Snape likely valued his hands above all else. More than all of that, though, Snape was emaciated nearly beyond recognition. He looked like a victim of the Holocaust.

“Er… can you feed yourself? Or do you need my help?” Harry asked, motioning to the bowl of broth.

Snape studied the offering. “Straw.”

It took Harry a moment but then he realized what Snape meant. He transfigured the spoon into a drinking straw and held the bowl near Snape’s mouth, fitting the plastic straw between the man’s parched lips.

Snape drank steadily. Harry held the bowl for him until Snape released the straw and turned his head away, indicating that he had finished. Harry set the remainder of the broth on the bedside table.

Hermione had perched herself on the edge of the bed, near Snape’s hip, his hand still held loosely in hers. She looked the picture of a serene Healer and Harry was very proud of her and all she’d accomplished since the war. And, at this moment, he was beyond grateful that she was here with him.

Hermione’s voice changed from soothing to something more official. “Will you allow me to examine you, Professor?”

At Snape’s nod, Hermione continued. “And will you allow me to treat you to the best of my ability based on my findings?”

Snape nodded again, his gaze never wavering. Harry wondered if some sort of magical contract was taking place. “Thank you for your trust,” she said. “Anything I find, or any treatments you receive, will be strictly confidential. I will not discuss your condition with anyone without your permission. Including Harry.”

Snape looked surprised and Harry wanted to protest.

“Healer’s Oath,” Hermione responded. Turning to Harry, she said, “Harry, I’m going to have to ask you to leave while I examine Professor Snape. I will fetch you when I have finished.”

Harry glanced between Hermione and Snape and then took his leave. He felt uneasy. He trusted Hermione completely, of course, but Snape was his responsibility, had been since the second he’d chosen to conceal Snape from the other Aurors and take him into his home in defiance of Ministry protocol.

“I’ve been kicked out.” Harry told Ron once he’d arrived in the kitchen. “Patient confidentiality or some tripe,” he said, sliding into a chair and resting his head on the table. He was exhausted.

Ron slid him a cup of tea and a plate with a ham and cheese sandwich on it. “Bad luck, mate, but I’m not surprised. You know how Hermione is about rules.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, raising his head and wrapping his hands around the hot mug.

Ron sat down at the table across from him. “She’s a damn fine Healer, Harry. You couldn’t ask for anyone better. And you know she’ll help Snape without prejudice. Not all Healers would, I expect.”

“I just wish we’d have known he was alive,” Harry lamented. “I feel so guilty. To think of him held prisoner for two years, Ron. And the things they did to him.” Harry shivered and sipped his hot tea. “It’s a miracle he’s still alive. And sane.”

It was nearly an hour later when Hermione entered the kitchen.

“How is he?” Harry asked immediately.

Hermione had been preparing herself for this conversation but the look of hope and trust on Harry’s face made her falter. It was a hard enough conversation to have with strangers, much less friends.

“He’s not well,” Hermione said, sitting beside Harry and accepting the mug of tea and the sandwich that Ron offered. “In fact, he couldn’t be much worse.”

“But you can heal him, right?” Harry asked.

 “Physically, I can heal him,” Hermione confirmed. “But that is the least of his problems right now. His magical core is severely depleted and his body is shutting down. Unless he gets an infusion of magic, he will die within a fortnight.”

Harry choked on his sandwich and Ron looked stunned.

“How can we fix his magical core?” Harry asked.

Hermione met Harry’s gaze, refusing to look away or be anything less than honest. Sugarcoating the truth would help no one. “It takes a very powerful wizard to do a magical core infusion.”

“I’m a very powerful wizard.”

“Yes, you are, Harry,” Hermione said, hesitating.

“So how do we do it?” Harry asked, setting down his sandwich as he leaned toward her, his gaze filled with determination.

“It’s not that simple,” Hermione said with a sigh. “There are spells, enchantments, but they are ancient and the risks are very high.”

“What risks?” Ron asked.

Hermione hesitated. “Very few magical infusions have been successful, likely because few witches or wizards have enough magic to share. In most cases, the person trying to infuse their magic with another’s ends up draining their own core.”

“What happens then?” Harry asked.

“They die,” Ron stated grimly.

“They both die,” Hermione clarified.

Harry looked undeterred. “Tell me about the successful ones. How do they work?”

“Well,” Hermione said, taking a sip of her tea. “In order to do a magical infusion, the witches or wizards must be bound together. This involves a complicated ritual involving bodily fluids. Lovers accomplish this by mixing semen or vaginal secretions during intercourse. Family members or comrades in battle typically use blood. The stronger the bond, the more likely the infusion is to succeed.”

“So we could use blood, then,” Harry surmised.

“No, Harry, you couldn’t. Blood works between individuals who are already related by blood. It can work for close comrades who were injured together in battle, making them similar to brothers. The close bond would have to already exist, and they’d have to have been injured in a shared experience that could drive the bond.”

“So, if not blood, then what?”

Ron coughed and looked away.

Hermione stared at her cup of tea in silence.

“Hermione…” Harry said, his voice demanding answers.

The young witch took a deep breath. “The best chance of a ritual working between two non-related wizards where no close bond already exists would be an exchange of life-giving fluids. As you would be the one seeking to give Snape your magic--and, in essence, to give him life--" Hermione paused, biting her lip. She was under no illusions as to how Harry would receive her next words. “It would mean your semen, Harry. It would mean penetrative sex on your part. With Snape.”

“No,” Harry said immediately. His eyes were wide and pleading, his bearing one of distress. “Hermione, you know what happened to him. I won’t do that to him.”

“I know, Harry,” Hermione said softly, covering his hand with hers. “I know.”

Harry swore. The events of the day, not to mention his utter fatigue, were making his emotions run high. “He’s not dying. He can’t be. I just found him!” Harry slammed his fist on the table. “If he was meant to die, why not die there, in that horrible place? Why…” Harry’s voice broke as his eyes filled with tears. “Why let me find him just to have him die anyway?”

Hermione pulled Harry into her arms. “I don’t know,” she whispered.

Ron pulled out the chair on the other side of Harry and sat down, patting Harry’s back. “Maybe it was so he’d know he wasn’t alone. If he has to die, better he does it surrounded by people who care.”

Two years. Two bloody years. He’d never had any hope of surviving. Everyone thought he was already dead. The fact that no one would have been able to find his body meant nothing when there were three eyewitnesses to his death--and the Golden Trio, at that. No, he was certain he’d die in that hellhole. It was just a matter of time.

To be rescued at the eleventh hour, and by Potter no less, only to realize that he’d die anyway due to his diminished magical core was beyond ironic. His mouth twisted in wry acknowledgement of his predicament. Some would find his torture and death justice for the sins he’d committed. It didn’t matter that he’d repented, that he’d done his best to keep the boy safe, to feed Dumbledore information so that the war could be won. The mark on his arm, on his very soul, could never be erased.

The only consolation in all of this was that he would die in considerably more comfort than he would have otherwise. He’d have sustenance and pain potions. He wouldn’t die alone. That had to be better, didn’t it?

Severus watched as Potter entered the room. His eyes looked puffy and red. His shoulders drooped and his back was bowed as he hunched in on himself. He nodded once at Snape and then averted his eyes, as if the very sight of his former most-hated professor in his home disturbed him.

“Harry, you need to sleep,” the Granger woman said, following him into the room.

“I…” Potter began, but Granger’s face took on a fierce expression and pointed to the bed.

Potter glanced between Hermione and Snape, and then, shrugging his shoulders, he kicked off his shoes, shrugged out of his jeans and jumper, and crawled into bed on the opposite side in his boxers, his back to the other occupants in the room.

Granger went over to him and whispered a few words that Severus couldn’t hear. She stroked his hair and kissed him on the temple, looking like a mother soothing a child.

Severus frowned, wondering what was wrong with the man. Potter had looked well enough earlier.

“Is there anything I can get you, Professor?” Granger asked, coming to stand at his side of the bed.

“Tea,” he forced out, his throat aching from having spoken so much in the last couple of hours. He had said more words in that time alone than he had in the last year.

“Of course, Professor, I’ll be right back.”

The sound of Potter’s uneven breathing filled the room and it took Severus a moment to realize the young man was weeping. Confused, he glanced over, watching as the man’s shoulders shook. Severus wondered more than ever what had happened.

Granger returned, carrying a tea service, which she set down carefully on the bedside table.

“Let me help you sit up,” she said, sliding an arm behind his back and adjusting the pillows. “Would you like milk or sugar in your tea?”

Severus shook his head and then gestured to the other side of the bed. “What’s wrong with Potter?” he forced out, his throat protesting.

Granger looked between the two of them, her expression sad. She studied Snape a moment longer, then sat on the bed beside him. In a quiet voice, she whispered, “He is upset about you, sir. He feels terribly guilty that he didn’t search harder for your body. And he also feels guilty that he wasn’t able to clear your name afterwards.” Granger glanced at the young man again.

“He tried, Professor. But he was having a hard time of it after the war, and the Press and the Ministry were hounding him constantly. It was all too much. He… well… he had to take a break for a while. He bought this place and fixed it up and shut himself away from the world. Eventually, he did return to complete his Auror training. But things haven’t been going well there, either. He was on the verge of quitting when he found you.”

Granger paused, handing Severus his tea and helping him to hold the mug. “When I told him of your condition…” She grimaced at the words before continuing. “He doesn’t want you to die, sir.”

Severus was shocked. Potter was mourning him? “Why would he care?”

“After he saw your memories, a lot of things fell into place for him,” Granger said, as Severus sipped his tea with Granger’s help. His coordination wasn’t what it used to be, what with his disfigured hands.

“He mourned you then, too, sir, when we thought you were dead. He thought he failed you. And then finding you alive only to realize that you cannot survive in your present condition…” Granger glanced over at Potter. “He feels as though he’s failed you all over again.”

Severus took another sip of his tea, his hands shaking with the strain of holding the cup. He was completely dumbfounded. He’d never liked the boy and had made sure the boy didn’t like him as well. To think that Potter had forgiven him so easily, and grown into a man that cared whether he lived or died, was unthinkable. Staring now, he realized that Potter’s breathing had evened out; he’d finally fallen asleep.

Granger’s words pulled him from his thoughts. “He won’t let you go easily, sir. He’ll want to do everything he can to try and give you a second chance at life. He worked a double shift, so he hasn’t slept in forty-eight hours, but once he wakes up, I imagine he’ll be like a crup with a bone.” Smiling sadly, Granger said, “You should probably rest while you can.” Then she winked at him.

Harry lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. He had wanted to brainstorm ways they could help Snape but Hermione wouldn’t hear of it until he’d had some sleep first. Harry had thought briefly about sleeping in one of the guest rooms but, in the end, he’d collapsed on his own bed next to Snape. It was a huge bed, so it wasn’t as if they were crowded in there together. Ron and Hermione could have slept between them with room to spare.

As morning light filtered into the room, Hermione had Snape sitting up in bed as she fed him porridge and spoke softly to him. Snape’s gnarled hands were clenched, a sour expression on his face, the keloid scars standing out rigid and white against his neck. Harry knew that Snape must absolutely hate being in this situation, stuck in his former most-hated student’s home with said student’s best friend spoon-feeding him. It would have been amusing if the situation weren’t so dire. Harry didn’t dare glance over at them. He didn’t want to add to Snape’s humiliation.

Closing his eyes once more and feigning sleep, Harry wondered if Snape was as at peace with the thought of dying as Dumbledore had been. Perhaps after all he’d been through, he was tired. Perhaps he was ready to shed the body that had been so abused and move on. If that was the case, was Harry selfish to want to save the man? Was he doing it for altruistic reasons, as he liked to think? Or was he really doing it as a means to assuage his own guilt over abandoning the man that had saved his life more times than he could count?

Groaning in frustration, he punched his pillow into a more comfortable shape and rolled over, away from Snape and Hermione. He needed to talk to the man, see what Snape wanted. And if it was Snape’s wish to die, then what? Could Harry just stand by and let that happen? Keep the man comfortable until his body shut down? It was a cold, awful thought: one Harry didn’t wish to dwell on. Swallowing against the lump in his throat, Harry reflected that there was nothing worse than feeling utterly useless.

“Blood, sweat, and tears,” Harry said. “And we’d have to live together, for life.”

“Don’t forget semen,” Ron added, and Harry was reminded of Fred and George, having a laugh at his expense.

“And saliva,” Hermione added.

“You said blood wouldn’t work,” Harry commented, “and semen is out,” he said, giving Ron a censuring look. “Sweat would be difficult to obtain in any quantity. Tears might work, though. Or saliva.”

“I’m not sure saliva would be strong enough. There’s no emotional connection with saliva.”

“Tears, then,” Harry said.

“Except I don’t see Snape shedding any tears over you, mate,” Ron said.

“Snape could use saliva,” Hermione said. “It’s Harry’s offering that needs to be as powerful as possible as he is the one who is sharing his power. Snape just needs to accept it.”

Harry frowned, contemplating his options. “What else does the bond require?”

“There is a proximity requirement,” Hermione said. “So living together, yes, but also you couldn’t travel independently of each other, at least not very far and not for very long. Eight to twelve hours in completely different locations would probably be about the most you could manage.”

“What happens if we exceed that?”

“Oh not much,” Ron said, leaning back in his chair. “Just that your magical cores will get ripped from your body in an attempt to connect with one another. What’s a little pain when it’s for the git who made your life hell for seven years?”

“Ronald,” Hermione scolded.

“What?” Ron said, sitting forward. “Harry is considering giving his life for Snape of all people. He should know what he’s getting into!”

Harry grimaced. “I know you think I’m mad, Ron. But Snape saved my life more times than I can count. And you didn’t see his memories.” Harry shook his head. “He’s a braver man than I could ever be, and he doesn’t deserve to die.”

Ron clenched his jaw and pressed his lips together. Clearly he wanted to argue.

Hermione leaned forward and placed her hand over Harry’s. “Are you sure about this?”

Ron pushed up from his chair and went to stand by the sink, staring out the window.

“The thing is, Harry, it’s not just a matter of rebuilding Snape’s core. You will be bonded to him for life. There’s no undoing this once it’s done.”

“He’s suffered more than anyone should. First from Voldemort--which admittedly was partially his own fault…”

“Partially?” Ron stuttered.

“Everyone makes mistakes,” Harry continued.

Ron snorted with disbelief.

“But after that, he did what he could to make up for it, even if he wasn’t very nice about it. And Voldemort tortured his most loyal of followers. I can’t even imagine what it was like afterwards, when we all thought he was dead. Snape knew that no one was looking for him, and no one ever would.”

Harry shuddered. “He didn’t deserve that. He has a right to a life. And if I can give him a chance at that, I will.”

Ron turned back to face Harry, his arms crossed over his chest. “Let’s say you’re right, mate. This thing works. Then what? It’s not like Snape can go walking around Diagon Alley. He’d be thrown into Azkaban the moment someone saw him.” Ron raised a finger into the air. “And then, you’d both die an exceedingly long and painful death because you couldn’t remain separated for that long.”

“Ron’s right,” Hermione whispered, squeezing Harry’s hand.

“One problem at a time,” Harry said. “Snape could disguise himself. Or he, we,” he corrected himself, “could leave England. Go to the Americas, or Australia, or somewhere.” Turning to Hermione, Harry asked, “Do you think tears will be strong enough?”

Ron swore and turned his back on Harry.

Hermione took a deep breath. “I don’t know. But before we get too far into this conversation, we need to ask Snape what he wants. If he’s not willing to do this, it’s a moot point anyway.”

Harry nodded, and seemed to have deflated some.

Ron turned his back on the window, his arms still crossed over his chest. “I’d love to hear that conversation. So, Professor,” Ron said, mimicking Harry’s voice, “I was just wondering if you wanted to bond with me so you could live. I mean, I know how much you like me and all. I’m sure you’d really love to spend the rest of your life with me.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “It’s not like that, Ronald, and you know it. It’s not as if they’d be mated or something.”

“Maybe not,” Ron said, stepping forward, more serious now, “but they’d be bonded just the same. And Snape could mess with Harry if he wanted. Screw with his power, take more than he needed. Drain him even, if he wanted to be a right bastard.” Ron nodded at the startled look Harry gave him. “All I’m saying is, you better be damn sure you know what you’re doing, Harry, before you put your trust in him.”

Silence lingered as everyone digested Ron’s words. Then Hermione sighed. “Even if Snape does agree, there’s no guarantee this will work. I haven’t been able to find enough about the enchantment, outside of lovers, relatives, and comrades in battle, to know if other bodily fluids will even work. It seems as though they should, but this is old magic. There’s no way to be sure without trying it.”

“You’re a better man than me, Harry,” Ron said. “I wouldn’t bind myself to that git.”

“Yeah, well, he didn’t save your life several times over,” Harry replied.

“True, that,” Ron said, dropping back into his seat at the kitchen table. “Now the question is, who’s going to break the news to him?”

Harry and Hermione exchanged a glance.

“I’ll do it,” Harry said. “It’s me he has to bond with. Might as well be me to tell him.”

“I’d love to be a kneazle in the room for that conversation,” Ron said.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I could go with you to discuss the finer points of the ritual,” Hermione offered.

Harry shook his head. “That can wait until after. If he agrees.”

“Better you than me, mate,” Ron repeated.

Harry pushed to his feet with a sigh. “No time like the present.”

Making his way up the stairs, Harry felt as though he was walking to his doom. When he pushed open the door, it was to find Snape sleeping.

Harry puttered around the room for a few minutes, banishing bits of dirty clothing to the laundry and kicking his shoes into the closet. Once everything was tidy, he sat in the chair that Hermione had used earlier, the one positioned near Snape’s head. Dropping his head into his hands, he debated what to say. It’s my turn to save you. I owe you this much at least. Let me help you for once. Are you really ready to die? You can curse me afterwards. They all sounded so lame, and that didn’t even touch upon the bonding part of it.

Harry didn’t know how long he sat there, head in his hands, before a voice dragged him from his stupor.

“I can hear you worrying.” Snape’s voice was barely above a whisper.

Harry jerked upright. “Sorry, sir,” he said automatically, meeting the man’s steady gaze. Snape’s eyes stood out like Luna Lovegood’s due to his sunken face and emaciated state. “Just trying to think of the best way to say this.”

At Snape’s questioning look, Harry pushed forward, rushing to get the words out and put everything on the table, just to get it over with. “Look, Hermione knows a ritual. I’m not quite sure how it works, but there’s a way that I can share my magic with you. It’s not usually used this way. Well, I guess we don’t know that for sure. It’s really old, so it’s hard to say, but Hermione thinks there’s a fair chance that it could save your life. If it works.” Harry ran a nervous hand through his hair.

Snape was staring hard at him and it was disconcerting. Harry couldn’t tell whether he was attempting to tell if Harry was serious, or if the idea repulsed him.

“I guess, the first question is, do you want to live?”

That got an incredulous look out of the man and a sharp nod.

Harry breathed in relief. “Good, that’s good,” he said. “So, er, I guess I should tell you the rest.” He met Snape’s glittering eyes briefly before glancing at his feet. He forced himself to speak clearly when he’d much rather mumble. “It’s a bonding spell. We’d be bonded, sir. For life.”

Harry glanced up to see the horrified look on Snape’s face.

“Not like that!” Harry said quickly. “I mean, I don’t think like that, anyway. Hermione can explain it better than I can, but it would be like flatmates. Just flatmates. And if we went anywhere, we’d probably have to go together.” Harry looked up at Snape through his fringe, trying to judge the man’s reaction to a life bound to Harry Potter.

“The ritual itself requires bodily fluids, but I can use tears and you can use saliva. If you want to try it, that is.” Harry took a deep breath. “There’s no guarantee it will work, but it’s better than…” Harry swallowed, not wanting to say the word aloud. “Than not living,” he hedged.

Snape was studying him but Harry thought the man looked more confused than anything.

Finally, Snape spoke. “Why?”

“Because it’s the only thing we can think of that might save you,” Harry said.

Snape shook his head. “Why would you want to help me?”

Harry didn’t look away as he spoke. “Because you’ve saved me more times than I can count? Because you risked everything to help us win the war? Because you are as much, if not more, of a war hero than I am? Because I’m the only one who can? How many reasons do you need?”

Harry watched Snape process his words.

“I don’t need you to play the hero…” Snape began.

“This isn’t about me!” Harry snapped. Snape’s eyes narrowed and Harry instantly regretted his tone of voice.

Running a hand through his hair, Harry gathered his thoughts. In a calmer voice, he said. “This isn’t about me, sir. You’ve done more for me than I ever knew. You weren’t always nice about it, and I certainly didn’t always appreciate it--especially then--but I do now, Professor. I didn’t understand what your life was like then, and I’m sure I still don’t. But I do know that you didn’t deserve what happened to you these last two years. You deserve to have a life, one without Voldemort or his followers haunting your every move. I can’t change what they did to you. I can’t take away your suffering. I would if I could, sir.” Harry gazed steadily into Snape’s eyes, beseeching him to understand. “But I can do this. Please, let me try. Let me help you for a change.”

Snape grunted and glanced away.

Getting to his feet, Harry laid a gentle hand on Snape’s shoulder, pulling it back quickly when Snape flinched. “Just think about it, all right? I’ll send Hermione up with dinner in a bit. She’ll be better able to explain the details.”

Harry left the room and went to rejoin his friends in the kitchen.

“Didn’t take him long to kick you out,” Ron commented.

“How’d it go?” Hermione asked.

Harry sat down at the table and pulled a mug of tea toward himself. “We’ll see,” he said. “I told him the basics. I said you’d explain the rest later to him later, Hermione.”

“Well,” Hermione commented, “at least he didn’t say no outright.”

“And for Snape,” Ron added, “that’s almost like saying yes.”

Hermione seated herself at the table with Ron and Harry, who were engaged in a game of chess. “I explained the bonding ritual to him.”

“Yeah? How’d it go?” Harry asked.

“Fine, as far as it went.” Hermione grabbed an apple from the bowl in the center of the table. “He listened to what I said, asked to see the book with the ritual in it for himself, and wanted to know if the bond could be broken at a later date.”

“That is a good question,” Harry said. “Can it be?”

“Not that I know of,” Hermione replied. “In the cases I’ve read about, it wasn’t mentioned. Plus, rituals like this--ones that require so much power and are so ancient--were typically made to be unbreakable.”

“Well, mate, if you manage to save Snape, I’m sure that will be the first item on his to-do list once he’s well enough,” Ron said, nibbling on a biscuit. “I can’t imagine he’d want to stay bonded to you any more than you would to him.”

“If it keeps him alive, I’ll do it,” Harry said softly. “I just can’t stand the thought of anyone else dying. Even Snape. Especially Snape.”

Harry paced the tiled floor of the WC, muttering to himself about mad ideas and life bonds and how angry Snape would be if he ever found out what Harry was considering doing. Assuming it even worked, that is. It was a mad idea, he knew it was. But what choice did he have?

Snape was dying. His body was shutting down. Hermione had thought they’d have a fortnight but, after just two days, Snape had taken a turn for the worse and now they were counting his labored breaths in minutes and hours, not days, much less weeks. Harry had one shot to get this right.

The thought of Snape moaning in pain, his very life seeping out of him, in Harry’s own bed no less, was easily enough to bring tears to his eyes. Harry tipped his head forward and let them fall into the glass beaker Hermione had given him.

It wasn’t fair, dammit. After all Snape had given for the war effort, and then after all he’d suffered unbeknownst to anyone who might care, he now lay at death’s doorstep, struggling to maintain the consciousness he would need to aid in the ritual. At least he’d agreed to give it a try.

Harry thought back to the pitiful condition the man was in when Harry had taken him from that putrid cell. The thought of what Snape had been forced to endure--alone and in great pain--made Harry want to howl in indignation. He dredged up every single heartbreaking moment and memory to drive his tears. He would need them to save Snape’s life. And if that meant suffering on the man’s behalf, he was more than willing to do so.

Sitting on the closed toilet, he bowed his head and let his tears fall. He cried for Snape, for lost time, for himself, for all of the casualties of the war. He cried for the unfairness that had been his life and Snape’s. He cried for the time they had had together, short and strained as it was, and the future they wouldn’t have if this didn’t work. He cried for his parents, for Sirius and Remus and Tonks. He cried for Fred and all the friends he’d lost. But most of all, he cried for Snape’s solitary suffering. He wept knowing that Snape had lived two horrendously awful years with the knowledge that the world thought him long dead and that no one would ever come looking for him.

Harry stared into the beaker, the crystal clear tears shimmering in the bright light of the loo. Would they be enough? They were only tears. They were hardly his strongest bodily fluid. It was a mad idea, really. But Snape was so close to death. What if the tears weren’t enough? What did he have to lose?

Clutching the beaker tightly, hands shaking, Harry exited the loo. Snape lay stretched out on the mattress wearing only a pair of Harry’s boxers, shrunk to fit his emaciated frame. Harry, too, wore boxers, but he had a loose robe draped over his shoulders and tied about his waist as well. This, Harry knew, was going to be awkward. He could only hope that Snape would be able to tolerate his proximity, given what he’d been through.

Harry squared his shoulders and told himself to get on with it. He’d only have to do this once, assuming it worked, and they could deal with the consequences later.

Hermione sat near Snape, speaking softly to him about what was to come.

“Professor,” Harry said with a nod as he crawled onto the mattress and sat cross-legged next to Snape’s hip.

Snape’s eyes were stony with pain, his mouth twisted with distress. A fine sheen of sweat coated his skin and his heart was beating overtime to keep his body alive.

Harry knew Hermione had given him a pain potion, but clearly it wasn’t working.

“Since we haven’t had time to practice, I will be walking you both through the ritual.” Hermione met their gazes. “Before we commence, I need you both to confirm that you are knowingly and willingly entering into an ancient and unbreakable magical contract that binds two magical individuals together with the intent of one person sharing their magic with the other to save that person’s life. As this ritual is untested in the given situation, there are no guarantees that it will work. Furthermore, you recognize that it may actually cause harm to one or both of you.”

Snape nodded.

Harry, staring intently at the man, nodded as well. Then he held up his wand. “I hereby state that I offer my magic to Severus Snape in an act of good faith and pure intention with the hope of saving his life. I understand that there may be unforeseen consequences and I am willing to live with them, whatever they may be.”

“Good,” Hermione said. Turning to Snape, she said, “Professor, I do not wish to make you speak any more than you must as I know it is difficult for you. Do you agree to a magical infusion from Harry Potter given in an effort to save your life, knowing that it will create a bond between the two of you for life, and that there be other effects that we are unaware of?”

“I do,” Snape rasped out.

“Very well,” Hermione said, standing to her full height. “Then let us begin. I will be doing the necessary wand work. Harry, you will need to repeat after me and draw the runes on Professor Snape as we discussed. The last step will be Professor Snape accepting your magic to seal the bond.”

Both men nodded.

As Harry stripped out of his robe, Hermione cast a warming charm over both of them.

Harry knelt next to Snape’s head, beaker in hand. In his nervousness, he had the insane urge to say, ‘Wish me luck, Professor,’ but refrained. The situation was much too dire for such glib words. Instead, he said simply, “Stay with me, Professor. I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

Then, to his surprise as much as Snape’s, Harry leant down and placed a kiss on Snape’s forehead. Not daring to meet Snape’s eyes after that, and feeling his cheeks warm, he turned to Hermione and nodded for her to begin.

Both men watched as she began chanting in Latin. Harry had no idea what she was saying but Snape appeared to be following along. She waved her wand once and a soft peach-colored light enfolded both Harry and Snape.

“All right, Harry,” Hermione whispered. “Repeat after me. Then you are going to use your essence to draw the FA rune on Professor Snape’s crown chakra. I will draw it in the air with my wand so you know what it looks like.”

Harry nodded. He listened closely to Hermione’s words and repeated them verbatim, glancing between Hermione and Snape for approval. Receiving Hermione’s nod of encouragement, he dipped his forefinger in the beaker and studied the bright blue glowing rune symbol that Hermione had drawn in the air with her wand. It looked like a wonky upside-down “F”.

Harry lifted his finger from the beaker slowly, watching his essence drip from his digit. He placed his finger on the crown of Snape’s head and drew the rune, as best he could, onto Snape’s scalp, through his short, bristly hair.

Hermione nodded and Harry let out his breath. Once again, he listened intently and repeated the Latin incantation before drawing the UR rune on Snape’s third-eye chakra. Snape’s eyes met Harry’s as he drew the rune and Harry tensed. Snape’s life was riding on Harry not screwing this up. He gave the man a shaky nod and looked to Hermione for the next step.

The throat chakra was next, yet when Harry dipped his forefinger into the beaker, some undeniable instinct made him draw the sign of the cross over Snape’s lips instead.

Snape sucked in a breath and drew his tongue across his lips. His frown of confusion soon cleared and his eyes grew wide in surprise.

Harry’s cheeks burned and he quickly glanced away, shrugging and motioning for Hermione to continue.

She glared at him but otherwise overlooked this deviation from the ritual. There was nothing to be done about it now, anyway.

Harry continued working through the chants, chakras, and runes as Hermione guided him. Snape’s obsidian eyes followed his every move, a scowl on his face. Harry drew the THORN rune over Snape’s heavily scarred throat chakra, the rune OTHIL over Snape’s heart chakra, the MAN symbol over his solar plexus chakra, UR over his sacral chakra, and HAGAL over his root chakra.

By this time, Harry was sweating freely, even though he was barely dressed. More than ever, he felt that Snape’s life was in his hands, and one misstep… No. He pushed the thought away. Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself.

He dipped his fingers into his essence once more and, on the backs of each of Snape’s disfigured hands, he repeated Hermione’s words and drew the IS rune. On the top of each of Snape’s feet, he traced the SIG rune.

Now came the most crucial part of the ceremony, the part where he marked Snape for magic transferal. He studied Snape’s pallor and falling eyelids. The man was barely holding on. As Hermione spoke the next part of the ceremony, Harry placed his hand over Snape’s magical chakra--located between his heart and solar plexus chakras--and waited for his turn to speak.

Hermione recited this part in small chunks, as Harry wouldn’t be able to remember and recite the whole of it in one go. When he’d finally said what needed to be said, he dipped his fingers one last time into his essence, coating them liberally. This time, he drew two runes: AR to strengthen one’s life force and GIBOR for the transmutation of one’s magical core.

Suddenly, Harry felt heat emanating from his own magical chakra. By the gasp that left Snape’s mouth, he guessed Snape felt it, too.

“Professor, it’s your turn now. Please repeat after me,” Hermione said.

Snape rasped out the required Latin phrases, the gist of which could be summarized in the one word Harry understood: Accipio--I accept. Then, Snape slid the index finger of his right hand into his mouth and wet it with his saliva. Harry moved closer so that Snape didn’t have to strain to reach Harry’s chest.

His arm shaking, Snape copied the runes that Harry had drawn over Harry’s magical chakra, but in the opposite order: GIBOR first and AR second.

Again, some unspoken urge drove Harry to catch Snape’s falling hand and take the saliva-coated finger into his mouth. It was only a momentary indiscretion and he couldn’t explain it, but it had felt important somehow. Hermione looked startled and Snape appeared shocked. Harry shrugged and made a face as if to say, “I don’t know what made me do it.”

Hermione’s wand hand wavered for a moment before she regained her composure. She raised her wand and cast the spell to bind them together, allowing the transfer of magic between their cores to commence.

Immediately, white light burst from the magical chakra rune marks on Harry’s chest and connected with the corresponding runes on Snape’s chest. Harry felt his magic rise up inside of him like a tidal wave and rush at Snape, connecting with his magical core and binding them together.

Harry watched as the bright light connecting them pulsed with multicolored beads of magic, rushing from Harry to Snape in a one-way transfer. He felt light-headed and in awe. An immense sense of peace and rightness washed over him, along with relief. It was working!

And then Snape let out a pained moan and his eyes rolled back in his head.

“Hermione! What’s going on?” Harry practically yelled.

“I don’t know,” she said, her eyes wide.

Then Snape’s body started to convulse.

“No!” Harry shouted.

“Quickly, Harry,” Hermione said. “Complete the ritual. I’ll cast a Featherlight Charm.”

A/N--MUST READ: My dear P&S readers, I am so glad you are enjoying this story. Now, as the author, I need to ask a favor of you--I need you to take a leap of faith and stick with me here. This chapter gets a bit “slashy” (slash is male-male intimacy), but I PROMISE you that this is NOT the direction of the story. I’ve tried several different ways to remove or rewrite the questionable-to-P&S scene in this chapter, but it just doesn’t work without this scene because it is integral to the overall story. The story is fully written and is complete in 8 chapters. So, please stick with me here, I promise it will be worth it. Once again, just to be clear, this is NOT a romance between Harry and Snape. Not not not. Trust me.

CHAPTER 5

In a panic, Harry threw himself atop Snape so that their magical chakras were touching. Hermione chanted in the distance as Harry lined up their torsos, arms, and legs, intertwining their fingers together and resting his forehead against Snape’s as best he could. The man’s skin felt ice cold against Harry’s overheated flesh.

If Snape had not been so very ill, Harry imagined this would have been quite awkward to say the least. As it was, Harry was just hoping it would be enough to save Snape’s life. The book hadn’t been entirely clear on how much skin-to-skin contact was needed, but they’d decided to go all out in hopes of upping their chances of success.

“Hold on,” Harry whispered as Snape continued to convulse beneath him. “Please, sir, don’t die. Please,” he choked out.

As Snape continued to seize, Harry let out a sob. Tears gathered between Harry’s lashes and slid from his eyes, making trails down Snape’s cheeks and wetting the hair at Snape’s temples.

“Please,” Harry begged. “Please hold on, Snape. You can do this. If you could survive two years in absolute hell, you can survive this.”

A flash of white light flared brightly, then subsided.

Snape went limp.

“Snape?” Harry asked, careful not to move off the man and thankful for Hermione’s Featherlight Charm so he wouldn’t crush the infirm wizard. He squeezed Snape’s fingers. “Can you hear me? Snape? Open your eyes!”

There was no response.

Harry bit his tongue to prevent himself from crying out. Then, with a flash of inspiration, he held his breath and went completely still. One broomstick, two broomsticks, three broomsticks, four broom… there. Snape’s chest rose and fell against his own. The man was still breathing, still alive.

“Hermione, what do we do? I think we’re losing him.”

“I… I don’t know. It doesn’t say how long the ritual will take. Can you feel your magic flowing into him?”

Harry shut his eyes and tried to focus on his magical core. He thought he felt something, but it wasn’t strong and intense as it had been in the beginning. Closing his eyes, he repeated the one phrase that Hermione had made him learn, as it needed to be repeated after each rune he drew onto Snape’s body: do magia mea liberaliter--I give my magic freely.

His eyes still closed, he repeated the words over and over, trying to push his magic into Snape. He shifted slightly as he spoke, his lips accidentally brushing against Snape’s cold, still ones. Instantly, he felt his own magic surge.

“Whatever you did, do that again!” Hermione shouted.

Harry pressed his lips lightly against Snape’s and repeated the phrase. Again his power surged and this time, Snape’s body jerked beneath him.

After three more repetitions, Snape’s eyes opened, although the man didn’t seem to be entirely aware of his surroundings.

Five repetitions later, the man’s eyes had focused.

Three more after that and he was pushing Harry away from him and rasping, “Potter.”

Harry leaned back but didn’t get off the man. He could still feel his magic flowing into Snape. “Sorry, sir. You weren’t responding and, when I accidentally touched your lips, my magic poured into you. So I kept doing it.”

Snape scowled and turned his head away.

Harry dropped his head next to Snape’s and found his ear resting against Snape’s wet cheek. “I know this is awkward, but I think we need to stay like this for a while longer. I am still transferring magic to you. Can you feel it?”

“I feel… something…” Snape forced out.

“Good,” Harry said. “That’s good.”

Snape grunted and shivered.

“Hermione, cast another Warming Charm.”

“I did, Harry. They aren’t working on him.”

Alarmed, Harry turned back to Snape at the same time Snape was turning back to him. Their lips brushed once more and Harry’s magic surged into Snape.

Snape groaned and went rigid beneath Harry. Gritting his teeth and clenching his eyes shut, Snape shuddered. “Do what you have to do, Potter.”

“Sorry,” Harry whispered, as he placed his lips against Snape’s, feeling the magic surge once more. “I don’t know why we need to do this, but it appears we do.”

Harry closed his eyes and focused on his Latin chanting--do magia mea liberaliter--trying to ignore the awkwardness of the position he and Snape were in. His neck muscles were beginning to cramp from holding his head over Snape’s. He propped himself up on an elbow so he could lean his forehead against the palm of his hand.

“How will we know when it’s done, Hermione?” Harry asked against Snape’s lips, not wanting to break the link.

“I’m not sure, but I am guessing that you’ll be able to feel when the magic transfer is complete.”

Nodding, Harry kept repeating the phrase as his mind wandered. He’d long since lost all recognition of the body beneath his, all sharp edges and prodding bones. His limbs had gone numb from not moving and he’d fallen into a sort of rote trance, his focus solely on the words he said and the magic that ebbed and flowed between them, as if Snape’s magical core was now sorting through Harry’s offering and taking only the bits and pieces it needed.

Thus, it was a moment before he realized that Snape was squirming beneath him and cursing.

Careful not to break lip contact, Harry opened his eyes. “What is it?”

Spots of color danced on Snape’s cheeks and his breathing had changed. His eyes were open but he refused to look at Harry. Then Harry felt something rigid flex against his abdomen. Once, twice.

Oh. OH! “Er, don’t worry about it, sir. It must just be part of the spell. I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything. I’m sure it will go away as soon as the transfer of magic is over.” At least Harry hoped it would.

Snape’s breath left him in a huff. “Potter, you idiot,” he hissed.

“What?” Harry said, leaning back to look at the man. He felt the magical transfer diminish and immediately pressed his lips to Snape’s once more.

“You were only… supposed to use… tears.”

Harry’s felt the heat rush into his cheeks. Oh, fuck.

Snape’s breath was coming in short pants now. “Tell… Ms. Granger… to leave.”

Harry bit his lip. “Hermione, could you give us some privacy for a bit?”

“Harry?” Hermione asked, sounding worried. “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

Harry and Snape both groaned at her curious nature.

“Please,” Harry said. “I’ll explain later. Just… just go.”

Hermione looked unconvinced until Snape rasped out, “GET OUT!”

Once she was gone, Harry said, “I’m sorry, sir. You were dying and I… well… I was worried tears wouldn’t be enough to save you.”

“Damn you, Potter!” Snape hissed, pushing his erection against Potter. “Look what you’ve done!”

Harry felt his cheeks heat even further. “Maybe it’s only temporary?”

Snape scoffed. “You used your semen, you idiot.” Snape gasped, his body seeming more insistent by the moment. “You’ve bound me to you. Sexually. For life.”

“I… WHAT?”But Snape’s eyes had slid shut and his body had begun to shake.

Harry panicked. Was Snape having another seizure? “Snape? Are you all ri…”

Harry’s words were cut off as a hand slid into Harry’s hair and pulled him down, crushing his lips against Snape’s. And then Snape’s tongue slid into his mouth. The man was kissing him. Urgently. As his body shook. Soon Snape was keening and rocking against him, hard and insistent, and… Oh bloody Merlin, the man was coming. Coming! Against Harry’s stomach. ON Harry’s stomach.

Harry froze in wide-eyed shock.

Snape’s arms fell back to the bed and his body went limp. His breathing was still labored and his face had gone slack, but a look of tranquility had stolen over his features.

Bloody fucking hell. Harry leapt off Snape and used the blanket to wipe the spunk off his abdomen. His heart raced as Snape’s disjointed words echoed in his head: bound, sexually, for life.

So distracted was he that it took him a moment to realize that magic no longer poured from him into Snape. Instead, it pulsed between them steadily, having reached an equilibrium. The bond had sealed.

Harry cancelled the Featherlight Charm on himself and stared at Snape. The wizard’s face was now flushed with color, his skin tone much more normal. His lips were burnished red. His breathing had begun to even out into sleep.

Fuck. Harry pushed himself from the bed. As worn out as he was from the drain on his magical core, and still stunned by the unexpected turn of events, he began to pace the room. Sexually bonded. For life. To Snape. SNAPE!

He pulled the covers up over the nearly naked man, steadfastly ignoring the wet spot on the man’s boxers.

What had he done? He’d saved Snape’s life, yes, but at what cost? He’d agreed to any consequences, but this? He respected Snape, he admired him even, but he didn’t want to have sex with him! And on a regular basis, no less. Bloody hell!

The worst part of it all was that this was all his fault. He had been the one to add his semen to his tears. He had been the one to break the ritual and coat Snape’s lips with his essence. He had been the one to take Snape’s saliva-coated finger into his mouth. What, exactly, had even driven him to do that?

Shakily, he went into the bathroom, took a quick shower, and dressed. He was still trembling as he walked to his bedroom door.

Hermione was standing outside Harry’s bedroom, looking anxious. She peered over Harry’s shoulder. “Is Snape…?”

“He’s fine,” Harry ground out. “He’ll be fine.” At least one of us will be. “Let’s go downstairs. I need a drink.”

Hermione frowned but said no more as Harry closed the door behind him.

“Oi!” Ron said, jumping to his feet, taking in the bewildered expression on Hermione’s face and the chagrined one on Harry’s. “What’s going on? Did Snape come through all right?”

“Oh, he came all right,” Harry muttered. “I need a Firewhiskey.” He went to the cabinet over the sink and pulled down the strongest and oldest bottle he had. He chugged one whole tumbler full and poured himself another as Ron and Hermione looked on in shock.

“Harry,” Hermione said tentatively. “If… if you are going to drink like that… you’d better have something in your stomach. I’ll… I’ll make some sandwiches.”

Harry grunted and collapsed into a chair.

“What’s going on?” Ron asked again.

“I fucked up, royally.”

“Snape’s alive, though?” Ron asked.

“Yeah, he’s alive,” Harry confirmed.

“Then what’s the problem?”

Harry laughed without mirth. “I am the problem. Or, rather, I created a problem that I am now the lucky recipient of.” Harry chugged down some more of the whiskey, wincing as it burned a trail down his throat.

Hermione set a plate of sandwiches on the table and took the chair beside Harry. “What did you do?”

“Oh, nothing major. I just bound Snape to me. Sexually. For life.”

Ron spat out the water he’d been drinking, his eyes and mouth agog.

Hermione looked startled. “What? How? The spell’s not supposed to work that way.”

“And how do you even know you’re bound like that?” Ron asked, mopping up the water he’d spilled with a towel. “Wait,” he said, raising a hand, “I don’t want to know.”

Harry began to laugh. The more he laughed, the more he couldn’t stop. It was mad. He knew it had been mad to begin with. And now, this? Bloody fucking hell!

By the time he stopped laughing, tears part mirth and part despair still leaking down his cheeks, Ron and Hermione were both goggling at him as if he’d lost his mind.

Hermione reached out a hand and set it on Harry’s shoulder. “Are you going to tell us what happened?”

“Yeah, what are you on about, mate? Did that ritual do something to your head?” Concern etched Ron’s features.

“I wanked into the beaker,” Harry said, his words edged with hysteria. “I put my semen in the beaker!” Harry chugged the rest of his whiskey. His hands were shaking.

“Umm…” Ron stuttered.

“Harry, why would you do that?” Hermione asked. Her tone was half-gentle and half-accusing, as if she was speaking to a frightened child who’d done something very bad. Or a lunatic who was about to go off the rails.

“Because he was dying!” Harry shouted as he slammed down the empty tumbler. “He was dying and I didn’t think my tears would be enough,” Harry’s last word caught in his throat and dropped his head onto the table, a great sob escaping unbidden.

So much had changed in such a short period of time. First he’d found Snape, alone and abused in the most horrible conditions imaginable. Then he’d kidnapped him and snuck him home and cleaned him up and brought in Hermione to try and heal him. But it wasn’t enough. Snape was going to die anyway. Harry had let him suffer all those years, not even bothering to look for him, and when he’d found the wizard and tried to save him, he’d failed. Then Hermione had found that ritual and it had all sounded so simple.

He’d been given a chance to save Snape after all. But then Snape had taken a turn for the worse and he was going to die anyway if Harry didn’t get the ritual right. Harry had just wanted to keep Snape alive, to give him a second chance. But he’d screwed that up too.

He’d managed to save Snape, but at the cost of tying the man to him. For life. Not as a friend, but as a partner, a slave even. Snape hadn’t asked for this. He hadn’t even agreed to it! If given the choice of dying or being bound sexually to Harry, he’d likely have chosen death! And Harry couldn’t blame the man. But now Snape was bound to him and it was all Harry’s fault!

He vaguely felt Hermione rubbing his back as he let out a wail and pounded his fist against the table. How was he going to fix this? How was he going to face Snape again knowing what he’d done? He wasn’t remotely interested in Snape sexually, yet he had bound the man to him that way and, from the looks of it, Snape was going to need him, and Harry had only himself to blame for that, too.

“Harry, mate,” Ron was saying, now on the other side of him, shaking his shoulder. “Take this. It’s a Calming Draught.”

Harry didn’t want it, didn’t feel he deserved it. He tried pushing Ron away, but Ron was persistent. Finally, Harry grabbed the vial and downed it.

“He’s going to hate me,” Harry lamented from his spot on the sofa, sandwiched between his two best friends.

“You don’t know that. You saved his life, after all,” Hermione soothed.

“Yeah, but now Snape’s going to be chasing him down to bugger him all the time,” Ron said with a snicker. “I’d prefer hatred.”

“Ronald!” Hermione shrieked.

Harry buried his head in his hands and groaned.

“Harry, what you did, it wasn’t ethical. You didn’t have Snape’s permission to…”

“I KNOW,” Harry snapped. He’d chastised himself enough, thank you very much.

“But your heart was in the right place,” Hermione continued. “Surely even Snape will be able to see that.”

Ron snorted. “As if Snape will care. Harry’s right. Snape will flay him alive.” Ron had switched to Firewhiskey and indulged a large swallow.

“Maybe I should go and talk to him,” Hermione said.

“Better you than me,” Ron said.

“Thanks.”

Hermione gave Ron a waspish look. Turning back to Harry, she said, “Let me try to explain to him what… what happened. Maybe…”

“Maybe he’ll wait to flay you until Hermione heals the rest of his injuries,” Ron added.

“You’re not helping,” Hermione chided.

“I’m not the one who wanked into the beaker. Really, Harry, what were you thinking? Don’t you know sex fluids carry more magic than any other substance on earth?”

Harry’s head jerked up. “No. How would I know that? I was raised with a bunch of clueless Muggles. It’s not like Hogwarts had a sex education class.”

“Point, that,” Ron said, saluting him with his glass. “Bummer of a time to learn it, though, mate.”

“You’re telling me,” Harry said miserably.

Hermione shifted beside him. “Harry, why did you draw a cross on Snape’s lips? And why did you put his finger in your mouth?”

“You did WHAT?” Ron exclaimed, nearly spilling his drink.

Harry waved a dismissive hand at Ron. “I don’t know. It was instinctual or something. Everything inside me told me that that was what I had to do right then. I guess I could have fought it, but I figured if it felt that important, it must have been needed.”

“First he wanks in a beaker, then he wipes his seed on Snape’s lips. And then he’s surprised to find himself sexually bonded to the man. Really, mate,” Ron said, shaking his head.

“Not helping,” Harry moaned.

Hermione looked pensive. “Ron, would you mind if I talked to Harry alone for a moment?”

Ron pushed off the sofa. “Suit yourself. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

“Ignore him,” Hermione said. “You know how he gets when something shocks him.”

Harry shrugged his shoulders.

“Before I go talk to Snape, I want you to think about something.”

“Hermione, I don’t need a lecture. I already feel bad enough.”

“It’s not that, Harry. I’ve known you a long time, and you’ve done impulsive things before, but it’s usually been when you’ve been following your instincts, right?”

“Yeah. What of it?”

“How often have your instincts led you astray?” Hermione asked.

Harry thought about it. “Not often. And never when it’s been something really important.”

“Exactly,” Hermione said. “So, what I’m saying, Harry, is that if your instinct was strong enough to compel you to deviate from an ancient ritual when Snape’s life was on the line…”

Harry looked up at her from beneath his fringe. “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m trying to say that maybe this happened for a reason. Maybe you were meant to be bound to Snape, both magically and… and sexually. Or maybe that was the only way to save him. I just don’t think it was random.”

“But I’m not even gay!” Harry protested.

Hermione shrugged.

Harry dropped his head back into his hands and groaned.

Hermione checked the sleeping man’s vital signs, his organs, and his limbs. Aside from his healing musculoskeletal tears and fractures and his malnutrition, Snape was in good condition. Harry truly had saved his life. She wondered what had inspired Harry’s urge to bind the man sexually to him. Granted that hadn’t been Harry’s intention, not consciously anyway, but something had to have driven Harry’s instincts. Either way, the two men were well and truly stuck with each other now.

While the wizard slept, Hermione began working to heal the damaged tissues in Snape’s throat. Nagini had done a number on the man, and clearly his wounds had never seen magic. While the scarring on the surface looked bad, it was the damage inside that was truly terrible. Even with spells and potions, it would take time before the man would be able to speak normally again, much less swallow pain-free. Still, she hadn’t graduated top of her Healers class for nothing.

As she magically untangled the scarred folds of his vocal chords, Snape made a gurgling sound and gasped awake.

“It’s all right, sir,” Hermione said. “I am sorry if I startled you. I was working on your larynx.”

Snape tried to clear this throat and grimaced.

“I’ve done enough for now. It’s a start. I will keep working on it a little each day.”

Snape nodded. “Thank you, Ms Granger.”

It was Mrs. Granger-Weasley now, but she didn’t bother to correct him.

“It is nice to see you alive and well,” Hermione said. “Harry’s magic saved you.”

“Or cursed me,” Snape grumbled.

Hermione ignored Snape’s comment for the moment. “Are you in any pain?”

Snape seemed to considering this. “I do not appear to be so.”

Hermione nodded. “I am pleased to hear it. Harry may have saved your life, but you are still weak. And now that your magical core has been resurrected, I should be able to heal you fully. You should be up and walking by the end of the week if all goes well.”

Snape nodded again, looking pensive.

“If you feel up to it, I’d like to begin working on your broken hands and fingers.”

At Severus’s nod of acceptance, Hermione took Snape’s right hand in hers and scanned the delicate bones and tissue that lay beneath the skin. It gave her a feel for what all needed to be fixed, as well as giving her a starting point. First, she worked to heal the tears in the tendons and ligaments, followed by ensuring that the bones were properly aligned and mended and any scar tissue was removed.

“Sir,” she said, “I’ve been thinking. About what Harry did.”

“Impetuous imbecile,” Snape snarled.

“I can see why you’d think that,” Hermione said. She meticulously mended the main part of Snape’s hand before moving on to his thumb. “But Harry acts a lot on instinct. To the outside world, it may look rash, and perhaps sometimes it is.”

Hermione used her magic to repair a nasty break that had healed poorly and Snape hissed in pain. “Sorry,” she murmured. “I’m almost finished here.” Once his thumb had been set and healed, she moved on to his fingers.

“The thing is, Harry’s instincts are solid.” Hermione moved on to Snape’s middle finger, which was badly bent. “We wouldn’t have won the war without them.”

Snape harrumphed.

“How far can you straighten this finger?”

Snape tried but scowled.

“Let me get you a pain potion before we continue.” Hermione returned with an ampule of violet potion and Snape downed it in one gulp.

Hermione sat back and waited for the potion to take effect before she continued her healing work. “I don’t know what made him deviate from the ritual, but something did. Whether it was because he subconsciously knew you’d be good for each other…” Snape snorted at this. “Or because he somehow realized that his tears wouldn’t have been enough to save you…”

“What difference does it make,” Snape remarked. “The damage is done.”

Hermione reached for his hand again and Snape nodded for her to continue her healing. It took Hermione nearly fifteen minutes of complicated spells to fix Snape’s middle finger and he was sweating by the time she’d done so.

“Only two more to go.” She was relieved to find that the next two fingers were easier to heal. Once the charms had been set, she immobilized his whole hand, fixing it into position in order to give the joints time to recuperate. Then she coated it in a healing gel and wrapped it in gauze.

“You know,” Hermione said, reaching for Snape’s other hand, which was in even worse shape, “it wasn’t so long ago that marriages were arranged in the Wizarding world.” Hermione began working carefully on the damaged nerves in Snape’s hands.

“Your point?”

“Many of those couples came to love each other over time.” Hermione continued treating his hand. When she finally looked up at him, he was looking at her agog.

“Have you lost your mind?” he hissed.

Hermione smiled. “I don’t believe so, sir.”

“Are we talking about the same Harry Potter? Savior extraordinaire? Defender of wizardkind? Vanquisher of the Dark Lord? Darling of the Wizarding world? Any of that sound familiar? And, last I knew, not gay.”

“What about you, sir?” Hermione asked, turning his hand over in hers as she continued to align and mend the broken bones.

“What about me?” Snape snapped.

“What is your sexual orientation?”

“I do not see how that is any of your business,” Snape said, turning his nose up at her.

Hermione smiled. “Harry has only ever dated witches, that I know of,” she conceded. “But the thing is, I don’t believe that his instincts would have told him to add his semen to that beaker if he was completely heterosexual.”

“That,” Snape said, “is an unsupportable assumption.”

“Perhaps,” Hermione said.

Harry walked up the stairs, carrying Snape’s dinner on a tray. He couldn’t put this discussion off forever, as much as he might like to. And now was as good a time as any.

“I brought you something to eat, sir,” Harry said, sliding the tray onto Snape’s lap while trying to avoid eye contact. Sighing, he sat in the chair beside the bed. “I see Hermione’s been working on your hands,” he said, gesturing to Snape’s bandages.

Snape said nothing.

One look at Snape’s thunderous expression, stony glare, and pinched lips had Harry sighing deeply.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Harry said, running a hand through his hair. “What I did was wrong and… and inexcusable.”

“Yes, it was.” Snape’s voice was a harsh gasp of clanging syllables.

“But I’m not sorry you’re alive.” Harry gazed directly at the older wizard. “Even if it means we have to… you know…” Harry shrugged his shoulders, trying to appear nonchalant, though the pile of snakes writhing in his stomach clearly disagreed. “I… I just need some time to get used to the idea.”

“You think it’s only up to you?” Snape sneered, his expression outraged. “Have I no say in this? Should I bow to you now, then? Kiss the ground you walk on?” Snape was wheezing now, but forced himself to continue. “Thank the fates that the great Harry Potter has not only bound me to him for life but has stripped me of my dignity as well?”

“I…” Harry began.

“Get out.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said. “I didn’t mean to…”

“GET. OUT.”

Harry shook his head and left the room. As he closed the door, he heard the dinner tray go flying, crashing loudly to the floor. Well that went well, he thought sarcastically. Then again, what had he expected? It was Snape, after all.

Ron was growing angrier by the day. The ungrateful git had taken over his best friend’s house, not to mention his life. His irascible presence was wearing on all three of them. Hermione, being a Healer and having become accustomed to treating all sorts at St. Mungo’s, was the best at handling the irascible man. At least Snape didn’t abuse her with his vitriol--if he had, Ron would have refused to let Hermione treat him. No, he saved his venom for Harry. And Harry, feeling guilty at what he’d done, took it. Without complaint.

Ron swore. Harry might try and act stoic for his friends but Ron knew how much it was eating at him. Harry was too soft-hearted for his own good. And as Harry came down the stairs, his shoulders slumped, his expression drawn, Ron had had enough.

Stomping up the stairs, he yanked open the door to Harry’s bedroom and glared at the wan wizard lying in Harry’s bed. “You ungrateful git!”

Snape looked shocked for a moment before his features settled into something akin to resignation.

“What do you want, Weasley?”

“I want you to stop acting like a spoiled prat, is what I want!”

Snape cocked his eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest.

“What Harry did was wrong…”

“You don’t say.”

Ron’s temper flared. “He didn’t know!” Ron bellowed. “He was raised by those god-awful Muggles. He didn’t even know he was a wizard until he was 11, and it’s not like Hogwarts teaches everything a witch or wizard needs to know. He had no idea sex fluids were so powerful.”

Ron cursed and began to pace. “He made a mistake, all right?” He turned to glare at the man in Harry’s bed. “A mistake that may just have saved your life. It’s more than I would have done for your sorry arse. More than most, I wager. ” Ron crossed his arms over his chest. “A little gratitude wouldn’t go amiss.”

Ron watched as Snape’s face darkened and his lips grew thin with anger.

“You don’t get it, do you?” Ron spat, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable, is what you are.” He advanced on Snape, wanting to wring the git’s neck. “You were slated to DIE! Either by your captors, or by the excuse for justice that the Aurors have become. Harry risked his LIFE and his FREEDOM to save you! He could have left you there to rot. He could have let the Ministry throw you in Azkaban to die. But he didn’t.”

Ron spun on his heel and began to pace again. “And yet you lie here, all high and mighty with righteous indignation, in Harry’s home. In Harry’s BED. While he sleeps on the couch and feels miserable for what he did in an effort to SAVE your miserable life.”

Ron ground his teeth and glared at the man. “He took you from that place and washed you and clothed you. He fed you with his own food. He QUIT his JOB to take care of you! He brought in Hermione--who had to take a leave of absence, mind you--to care for your sorry arse. And you have the audacity to sit here like you are the injured party?”

“I wasn’t given a choice,” Snape rasped out.

“You want a choice, Snape? Is that what you want?” Ron shoved his hand into his pocket and yanked out a crystal vial filled with an ominous black liquid. He shoved it toward Snape. “Here’s your damn choice!”

Snape’s eyes went round. “Where did you get that?”

“The evidence room at the Ministry. I was an Auror, remember?” Ron spat. “So what’s it gonna be, Snape?” Ron wiggled it, daring Snape to take it. “If the thought of being bound to Harry is so repulsive to you, then end it. Set Harry free so that he doesn’t have to spend the rest of his life in misery next to YOU.”

Ron watched as Snape stared at the black bottle, his Adam’s apple bobbing, a myriad of expressions crossing his face. Finally, he turned his head away.

“I thought so,” Ron said, shoving the deadly vial back into his pocket. “Ungrateful git.”

Ron stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

The next day, Snape requested an audience with Harry.

“You asked to see me?” Harry stood a few feet from the bed, his arms wrapped around himself in a protective gesture.

“I did.” Snape cleared his throat and pushed himself up into a sitting position. “I believe I have been remiss in not speaking of this sooner.” Snape took a deep breath before continuing. “I wish to express my gratitude for all that you have done for me.”

Harry gaped at him.

“You rescued me and took me in when few others would have. You have cared for me and seen to my needs. For that, I am most grateful.”

Harry couldn’t believe his ears. Feeling dazed, he sat on the chair beside Snape’s bed. “I couldn’t leave you there. No one deserves that, least of all you.”

Snape nodded and glanced down at his hands, which were no longer immobilized or bandaged. Then he raised his eyes to Harry’s, his expression hard. “If I was physically able, or wouldn’t immediately be thrown into Azkaban, I would leave here at once.”

Harry stared in shock, completely caught off guard. He felt as if he’d just been punched in the gut. “I see,” he said through clenched teeth. Then he shoved himself to his feet and made for the door.

“Potter?” Snape called. “Potter, wait.”

Against his better judgement, Harry paused, though he didn’t turn around. “What?” he snapped. Did he really need to stand here and subject himself to more abuse and rejection from the man he’d tried so hard to save? The man who clearly hated him for it?

“What did I say wrong?” Snape asked.

Harry snorted. “Nothing but the truth, sir.” Harry left Snape’s room, chastising himself for thinking he could help the disagreeable wizard in the first place. 

Severus sat in the bed, stunned. What in Merlin’s name had just happened? He’d expressed his gratitude to Potter and told the man he’d leave if he could. He thought it’d been the right thing to say, to perhaps heal a bit of the rift that had grown between them. Yet somehow, that had just made things worse. He shook his head in confusion, having no idea what to do next.

Ten minutes later, Hermione dragged Potter back into Snape’s room by the arm.

“Sit,” she instructed.

Harry sat, his arms crossed, his expression stiff, his gaze averted.

Hermione sighed theatrically, her hands on her hips.

“Professor,” she said, dragging out the syllables in exasperation. “Please explain why you wish to leave.”

Snape frowned. “What is there to explain? Clearly, I am a burden. I have taken over Harry’s bed, eaten his food, and monopolized his time. Surely he wishes to have his home and his life back.”

Harry turned to Snape, his arms falling to his lap, his mouth agape. “That’s why you want to leave?”

“Of course. What did you think?”

“I thought… well, it doesn’t matter what I thought,” Harry said.

“Yes, it does,” both Hermione and Snape said at the same time. Harry grimaced.

Hermione shook her head. “Can I leave now knowing that you two will have an adult conversation in my absence? Or do I need to stay and play referee?”

Harry hung his head. “You can go. I’ll try and be better about listening and I promise to ask for clarification before I jump to conclusions.”

“Thank goodness,” Hermione said, patting Harry affectionately on the shoulder. “Don’t make me remind you again.”

After Hermione left, Harry glanced at Snape. “How are you feeling, sir?”

“Thanks to you and Ms Granger, much better than I was.”

“Good. That’s good.” Harry fidgeted in the chair and waited for Snape to say something.

“Assuming I understood the exchange between Ms Granger and yourself, what assumption did you jump to?”

“When you said you wished to leave, I thought it was because you wanted nothing to do with me,” Harry mumbled, his eyes downcast.

Snape cocked his head to the side. “Even if that were true, which I assure you it is not, what difference would it make to you if I left? I have never been anything but cruel to you at the best of times.”

Harry shrugged. “I wasn’t the nicest to you either, sir.” Harry took a long, drawn-out breath. “I had a lot of time to think, after the war. And I suppose I grew up a bit.”

Harry got to his feet and tapped his wand on the teapot, heating the liquid inside. “Tea?”

Snape nodded.

Harry poured them each a cup and handed one to Snape. Then he sat back down. “I’d seen your memories by then, and things that had once seemed so black and white to me started looking a lot more grey.” Harry took a swallow of the tea, the familiar ritual calming his nerves. “Plus, after the war, I had a lot more of the pieces of the puzzle. That helped, too.”

Snape sipped his own tea and remained silent.

“I was already at odds with the Ministry by the time I’d found you.” Harry paused, gazing off into the distance. “When I was asked to join the Aurors, of course I accepted. They said I didn’t need to go through training, that I’d already proved myself by defeating Voldemort. But I insisted.” Looking back at Snape, he added, “I graduated top of the class. I was so proud to be an Auror.”

Harry sighed, remembering what it had been like. At first. “We were doing good things, worthy things. Rounding up Death Eaters, working to clean up the dregs of Wizarding society. I liked it. I felt useful. I felt like I was making a difference.”

Harry shook his head. “Over time, though, things began to change. When we were rounding up Death Eaters, we were generating a lot of good press. But as the number of Death Eaters remaining uncaptured dwindled, the powers that be got antsy. They wanted more. More bad guys. More scapegoats. Soon we weren’t just hunting Death Eaters, but petty criminals. And they were being arrested on trumped up charges to make the Ministry look more effective,” Harry said, putting air quotes around the last word.

“Ron saw the writing on the wall and got out before it went all pear-shaped. I was more optimistic. I still thought I had some control over my duties, that I could still make a difference.” Harry gave Snape a wry smile, disappointed in himself for not seeing it all more clearly at the time. “It just went downhill from there. The raid on the place where you were held was the perfect example--and the final straw for me. By that point, it didn’t matter that there were innocent people locked up and tortured there. To the Ministry, and hence to the Aurors, they were criminals by association, and undeserving of even the most basic of human rights.”

Harry took another sip of tea before setting it aside. “The only reason I am glad that I stayed on as long as I did is because I found you and was able to get you away from that horror.”

Snape shuddered. “When you said that my cell was empty and left me there…” He shook his head and swallowed loudly. “I thought you’d sealed my fate. Out of vengeance.” Snape laughed roughly, a mixture of gallows humor and sorrow. “I found it not only ironic, but deserved, for how I’d betrayed your mother and how I’d treated you.”

“Sir…” Harry said, leaning forward and taking Snape’s hand in his. Snape sucked in a sharp breath and winced. Harry immediately let go. “I’m sorry. Do you need some more pain potion?”

Snape’s eyes had gone glassy. He nodded.

Harry got to his feet and laid a hand on Snape’s shoulder. “Let me get you some. I’ll be right back.” Moments later, Harry returned with the pain-killing draught and helped Snape to drink it.

Returning to his seat, and their conversation, Harry said, “You didn’t deserve that. You spent more years than I can count spying for that madman to atone for your sins. I am only sorry that I didn’t think to look for you after the war.” Harry glanced at his feet, full of regret. “I can’t even imagine being locked in that awful place and all the terrible things you went through, knowing that everyone thought you dead.” Harry shivered at the thought.

Snape turned away.

Glancing back up, Harry said, “You are not a burden. I’m glad you are here. I’m glad I could help you.”

Snape turned back to Harry and studied him a moment before speaking. “Returning to where we started, you were upset because you thought I wanted nothing to do with you?”

Harry nodded. “I thought I repulsed you,” Harry gave Snape a chagrined look and then glanced away. “It seems I have abandonment issues,” Harry said, using air quotes.

Snape looked startled. “You thought I was repulsed by you?”

“Well, yeah. You were really angry about me binding us together… sexually…” Harry quickly raised his hands, “which was unintentional, I assure you. And, well, the rumor at Hogwarts was that you were gay. So I assumed that it was just me that was the problem.”

“Just you,” Snape repeated, deadpan.

Harry shrugged.

Much to Harry’s surprise, Snape started to laugh. He laughed so hard he held his stomach and moaned.

“Hey,” Harry said. “It’s not that funny. And you’re killing my ego here.”

Snape sobered. “Potter. You are a very handsome man. You are the hero of the Wizarding world. You are the darling of Wizarding society. Every witch and wizard in Great Britain would give their wand arm to bond with you.” Snape paused to sip his tea, his voice having nearly left him. “Meanwhile, I am a crippled former Death Eater without a penny to my name, without even a name as far as that goes. I am nothing special to look at. I’m old enough to be your father. And I have absolutely nothing to offer you. Not even a winning personality to make up for my failings. And you think that you are the problem here?”

Harry smiled sheepishly. “Well, when you put it that way…” Clearing his throat, and unsure if Snape would answer, he asked, “Out of curiosity, are you gay?”

“I… I was…” Snape said, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

“You were?” Harry asked, confused about Snape’s use of the past tense.

Snape seemed to draw in on himself. “I don’t think… after what they did to me… I…”

Harry wanted to smack himself on the forehead. “I’m sorry, Snape. I didn’t mean to...”

Snape waved a hand at him. “Leave it.”

“All right,” Harry said quietly. He shifted in his chair, unsure of how to phrase what was on his mind. “Not to bring up the obvious, but, what does it mean if we are bonded together sexually? I mean, what… what will we have to do?”

Snape grimaced. “Nothing, I hope. Especially since, unlike me, you are not gay.” Snape glanced at Harry for confirmation and Harry nodded vehemently. “Also, as I am not… inclined… to act on the nature of the bond, and nor are you, I imagine we’ll be safe enough, for now.”

Harry bit his lip. He hated to push, but the nerves in the pit of his stomach were driving him barmy. He needed to know. “Umm… what about… you know… before.”

Snape’s cheeks flushed a dull red. “Given that you modified the ritual, I would expect that that unfortunate display,” Snape said, his lip curling in disgust, “was necessary to complete it.” Snape heaved a deep sigh. “I must apologize for that, Potter. I would not have taken such liberties had I had any choice in the matter. It was beyond my control, and I assure you it won’t happen again.”

“It’s all right, sir,” Harry said. It wasn’t, not really, but there was nothing to be done for it now. It still squicked Harry out a bit, though. Still, there was one thing Snape said that Harry didn’t quite understand. “What do you mean, it was necessary to complete the ritual?”

“Do I need to spell it out for you?” Snape asked, exasperation clear in his voice.

“Er… unless you want me to go ask Hermione…” Harry admitted.

Snape sighed theatrically and Harry bit back a grin.

“Bonding rituals require that both participants contribute. And when it comes to sexual fluids, that contribution typically needs to be equal.” At Harry’s confused look, Snape rolled his eyes. “You added your semen to the ritual, wiping it on my skin and my lips, Potter. You also sucked my saliva-coated finger into your mouth. Hence the ritual required that I contribute my semen, and my saliva, as well.”

“Oh,” Harry said. His face suddenly felt uncomfortably hot. “So, maybe that’s it, then. Maybe we aren’t bonded sexually. Maybe it was just a one-time exchange thing.”

“It’s possible,” Snape replied, setting his half-empty teacup on the bedside table.

“Do you think the bond will make us do anything more? Sexually, I mean?”

A look of stark fear entered Snape’s eyes. “I sincerely hope not,” he said, his voice growing hoarse. “I don’t think I could bear it. Not… not after…” Snape squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw. He took a deep breath. And then another. Then, as if he’d lost the fight, he let out a wail and rolled away from Harry.

“Leave me,” Snape implored, his voice breaking.

Harry got up from his chair, feeling shaken by the sight and sound of Snape coming undone. Snape, who’d always been so fierce and unyielding. Harry never imagined he’d see the man so broken. He glanced toward the door, debating what to do. Hermione would likely be better at dealing with this, but sexually or not, he and Snape were bonded for life.

Harry squared his shoulders. “Unless you insist that I leave, I’d rather not, sir. You’ve had to deal with this alone for the last two years. You shouldn’t have to be alone anymore. Not… not when I’m here.”

Harry held his breath and waited for Snape to scream at him to get out. Snape of all people wouldn’t want to be witnessed having a breakdown. Instead, Snape howled even louder and buried his face in his pillow, his whole body shaking with his sobs.

Harry sat on the bed, near the man’s back, and reached out his hand. He placed it lightly on Snape’s shoulder and waited to see how the man responded. Unexpected touch tended to make the older wizard flinch and, after what Snape had been through, Harry didn’t want to cause him anymore pain.

When Snape didn’t pull away, Harry rubbed the wizard’s trembling shoulder. “I’m really sorry for all you’ve been through, sir,” Harry said. “But you’re safe here now. You’re safe with me. I promise. And you don’t have to face it alone any longer. I’ll be here for you, if you let me. As a… a friend.”

Snape let out another howl and curled into the fetal position, pulling away from Harry. Harry let his hand fall away, unsure if his touch was welcome.

When Snape’s hand reached up, fingers searching, Harry clasped it. Snape pulled their linked hands down against his chest and held on.

“It’s all right,” Harry soothed. “I’m here. You’re safe now.”

Uncomfortably twisted around as he was, Harry lifted his leg onto the bed and turned to face forward, his hip and thigh rested against Snape’s back. When Snape didn’t jerk away, Harry relaxed, staring blankly at a picture of the sea that hung over his bed.

“If it helps any, I was a right mess after the war. I cried for weeks. I just couldn’t seem to get over the loss of so many people I cared about. Including you,” Harry said, reaching out with his other hand to squeeze the man’s shoulder. “Ron lost his brother, and Hermione had wiped her parents’ memory of her to keep them safe. And yet, they still took care of me. Neville and Luna did too. Without them, I wouldn’t have made it through.”

Harry reflected on that dark time in his life. Everyone had expected him to be behave like some triumphant hero, the proud avenger of his parents’ deaths. But all he’d felt was the bleakness of loss and despair and destruction.

“I stayed in bed for days,” Harry continued. “I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep. And the nightmares,” Harry said with a shiver. “I still get them sometimes, but not so often anymore. They mostly went away after I sold Grimmauld Place and moved here.”

Without conscious thought, Harry ran his hand over Snape’s short hair. “This place is much smaller, but I don’t mind. I didn’t need all that space anyway. And this house is bright and open, not dark and closed in like Grimmauld Place was.”

Harry glanced down to see that Snape had calmed some, although tears still ran freely down his face. “It was Hermione that convinced me that I needed to relocate. She knew I needed a change. It was hard at first, but she was right.” She’s always right, he thought to himself.

Harry dropped his hand from Snape’s hair and pulled it into his lap, feeling suddenly self-conscious about touching the man so freely. “I know it’s not easy to talk about what happened, but if you ever need to, I’d be willing to listen.”

Harry felt Snape stiffen beneath him. “No pressure, Snape. I was just offering. It’s hard trying to keep it together and hold it all in. I know, I tried that.”

Harry frowned in embarrassment at the memory of Hermione finding him. He sighed and fingered the hole in his T-shirt with his left hand while he squeezed Snape’s hand with his right. “After the war, I couldn’t talk about it. Not with anyone. I felt like if I said a word, one single word, about the way I was feeling… I’d fly apart.” Harry stared off into the distance, that time seeming like a distant memory now.

“Once I’d finally got out of bed, I threw myself at all the things people expected of me in an effort to distract myself. I got back together with Ginny. I joined the Auror Academy. I gave interviews in hopes that it would get the press off my back.” Harry shook his head. “It didn’t, in case you were wondering. It just made them hungry for more.”

Harry glanced down at Snape, who seemed to be breathing a bit easier. Still, the man held onto Harry’s hand as if it was a lifeline. “I’m probably boring you to death,” Harry mused. “Do you want me to continue?” To his surprise, Snape nodded.

“Well, after one too many panic attacks, Kingsley told me I had PTSD and he put me on leave. He said, in not so many words, not to come back until I got my shit together. After that, I started drinking,” Harry said grimly. “Finally, Ginny had had enough of me, too, and she left.” Harry sighed. “It was for the best, really. I wasn’t in a good place. She got back together with Dean Thomas and they married a year later.”

He was happy for Ginny, he really was. He knew he’d have never been able to be what she needed. Still, it hurt sometimes. After Ginny and Dean had married, Ron and Hermione had taken their vows. So had Neville and Luna. He felt so alone sometimes.

“I’d pretty much driven everyone away by that point,” he continued. “Ron was at the Auror Academy and Hermione’d gone off to Australia to find her parents. When she got back to England, she came here straight away. I was in a right state when she finally found me, huddled up and sobbing in the back of a closet.” Harry let out a laugh. “Yep, you heard me right. I was cowering in a fucking closet.”

Harry was surprised to feel Snape squeeze his hand.

Harry squeezed back. “Hermione told me if I didn’t tell her what was going on that instant, she was going to haul my arse off to St. Mungo’s, where they’d lock me up for sure. The Boy Who Lived Gone Completely Batty. After that, I started talking. First to Hermione, then to Ron, then to a counselor. It was hard at first, but the more I talked about it, the easier it became. And the better I felt.”

Harry bit his lip. “I won’t pretend that I didn’t hate it sometimes. Or that I didn’t resent my friends for their constant worry and intrusion into my life. I was angry. And desperate. And I felt so damn alone. Like no one understood. Like I was a freak for feeling how I did.” He let out a long breath.

“But I wasn’t a freak for feeling as I did, and neither are you. Sometimes life deals you a shit hand, and you just have to get through it.” Harry shrugged. “At least, that’s how it was for me. And I didn’t go through one-one-hundredth of what you did.” He glanced down at Snape, startled to see the man watching him. Suddenly, it felt very awkward being this close to him.

Snape must have felt the same because he let go of Harry’s hand and scooted over, putting some space between them as he pushed himself into a sitting position. Then he cleared his throat. Looking clearly uncomfortable, he said, “Thank you, Potter. For staying with me. I apologize for that bout of weakness.”

Harry cocked his head. “You may be a lot of things, Snape, but weak is not one of them. A weak man would never have made it through what you did.”

Harry reheated and refilled their cups of tea, handing one to Snape. “And, as my counselor drilled into my head, showing emotions is not a weakness, but a strength. One that too few men are comfortable doing in our society.”

Snape harrumphed and raised the tea to his lips.

“Would you like some lunch?” Harry asked. “I could certainly use some.”

“That would be acceptable,” Snape said. After setting his cup aside, he caught Harry’s gaze. “Are you truly all right with me staying here? You don’t wish for me to find my own lodgings?”

“Well, I might like my bed back someday. But you are more than welcome to stay. There are two other rooms on this floor. You could use one as your bedroom and the other as a potions lab, if you like. I don’t have any use for them, anyway.”

Snape looked a combination of surprised and uncertain.

Harry shrugged. “Bonded, remember? Might as well make the best of it.”

EPILOGUE

By the end of the week, Snape was able to make his way to the loo on his own. He still needed help navigating the stairs, but he’d begun to join Harry for meals at the kitchen table and had taken to reading in the sitting room in the afternoons. He’d also insisted that Harry reclaim his own bedroom and relocated to the one next door. Harry decided he liked having a housemate. The house didn’t feel so lonely anymore.

Hermione had gone back to work at St. Mungo’s, stopping in every evening to check on Snape’s progress and adjust his healing potions as necessary. Ron came by after Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes closed for the evening, and together the four of them had dinner each night.

For the first time since the war had ended, Harry felt content. He had friends that felt like family and, in helping Snape, he now had a purpose.

Snape’s body was healing and he’d put on some much-needed weight, although there was still a long way to go. Harry hoped that once Snape recovered physically, he might be able to run a small mail order potions business from Harry’s home. It would give the man something to do and take his mind off what had happened to him. Harry’d yet to discuss the idea with Snape, but he would when the time was right.

Emotionally, Snape wasn’t faring as well. He suffered from terrible nightmares and insomnia, had flashbacks fairly frequently, and panicked whenever the Floo flared or the doorbell rang. A good part of that was that they were still trying to figure out how to keep the world from discovering that Snape was alive. They’d finally brought George into the fold, and he was working diligently to secure a set of papers for Snape to give the man a new identity. Which left how to disguise his appearance. Snape had taken to using a glamour most of the time, which had helped his panic attacks somewhat.

Harry had broached the idea of Snape seeing a counselor, but fear and shame disguised as rage reared its ugly head every time he mentioned it, so Harry’d dropped it for the time being. It would take time, Harry knew. Instead, he’d taken to reassuring Snape that his reactions were perfectly normal, that no, he wasn’t a burden, that yes, Harry liked having Snape around, and no, he wouldn’t get sick of him and kick him out. When all else failed, he reminded Snape that their cores were linked, that they were linked, and that Harry couldn’t kick Snape out even if he wanted to. Which he didn’t.

A month after Harry had rescued Snape, the Daily Prophet reported that the group of dangerous fugitives that had tortured and murdered a number of witches, wizards, and Muggles had been found. A great battle had ensued in which all five fugitives and two Aurors had been killed. Harry sighed with relief, hoping the news would allay Snape’s fears of recapture. Unfortunately, it had set off a chain of frightening events in Snape that Harry had not foreseen.

Instead of calming Snape’s fears, it had seemingly increased his anxiety and decreased his hold on reality. He slipped into a deep depression and Harry feared for his sanity as well as his safety. When the Daily Prophet published pictures of the fugitives, as well as firsthand accounts of some of the people who’d been tortured, Snape broke down completely. And in so doing, he began to talk. Harry had never been so relieved, and so horrified, in his life. The stories Snape told were beyond heartbreaking.  

That, it turned out, had been the turning point. The purging of emotions led Snape to a place where he could truly begin to heal from the trauma he’d been through.

With a new name (Steven Price), a new identity, and a permanent potion-wrought change in physical appearance, Snape eventually did open a mail order potions business from Harry’s spare bedroom. It became so popular that they had to buy a bigger house with room for Snape to expand. Harry didn’t mind, for he’d found another purpose in life. With his married friends now having kids, but committed to their careers, Harry had become their de facto babysitter. Surprisingly, he didn’t mind. He loved to hang out with the kids all day.

He’d also started to date Fleur’s little sister, Gabrielle, who had grown into a fine-looking witch. She was smart and witty and well-educated. Harry was smitten. As she was a Potions mistress in her own right, she and Snape got on famously. When she finally moved in, she began helping Snape with his mail order business and eventually opened a storefront in Diagon Alley. Gabrielle loved working with the customers, while Snape remained happy to brew potions from Harry’s home under his new identity.

Harry and Gabrielle went on to marry and have three children, all of whom Snape doted on. Snape dated on occasion, but Harry’s youngest would finish Hogwarts before Snape finally settled down with a man ten years his junior. Harry had felt ridiculously protective of Snape due to what he had been through, but eventually he conceded that Octavius was a decent bloke who really did care for Snape, or ‘Steven’ as he was now known as. They married in a small, quiet ceremony by the sea and Octavius moved in, expanding Harry’s family by one more.

Harry and Snape’s lifelong bond never did turn sexual. Instead, they became more like brothers than anything else. Harry’s children even called him “Uncle Steve.” Their linked magical cores were more of a benefit than a nuisance. They didn’t get sick or injured very often but, when one did, the other could share his magic to heal the linked partner. The only burden that weighed heavily on them both was the knowledge that, when one of them died, their shared magic would drain away, taking the other’s life shortly thereafter.

That, Harry decided, was a small price to pay for the true family he’d gained. And at 147 years old, he’d lived a long and happy life. When the time came, he wouldn’t mind paying that price. He knew Snape wouldn’t, either.

~Fin~