(Maundy Thursday 1998, Evening)

He did not like this feeling, this uneasiness that sat like a bezoar in his stomach. Although unlike a bezoar, he doubted it would help him much.

For two hours now he had been fighting his way across the battlefield, engaging in duels with any Death Eaters who crossed his path. Nott Sr., Crabbe Sr., Goyle Sr., their sons—just to name a few. Usually it was because, blinded as they were by the blur and heat and confusion of battle, they saw him and registered him as an enemy.

He had seen Ron go after Avery, while Hermione went after Mac Nair. Remus had been tailing Wormtail, and the last he'd seen Draco, the blonde was facing his father.

He had nearly stopped then, unwilling that his friend should face such a difficult opponent. Not that Draco was unskilled, because he was by far one of the best duelers Harry knew. No. What was difficult about the duel was the fact that, in spite of everything, Draco still held hope that his father yet loved him, regardless of his choice of sides.

Judging from the fleeting expression of betrayal on Lucius Malfoy's face as he stood opposite his son, followed just as quickly by a look of hurt and then utter fury, Harry doubted Draco's hope would hold true.

For his friend's sake, he hoped it would.

Draco had caught him watching out of the corner of his eye, but like all good duelers, did not dare look away from his opponent. Even if said opponent was his father.

Instead, near-white faced, the blonde had shaken his head at Harry.

The Gryffindor had not been happy with that verdict, but he had understood Draco's need to do it alone.

Not that he was entirely alone, because as Harry was turning away, he caught sight of Ginny rushing to her boyfriend's side.

He could only pray that everything had turned out well.

The seventeen-year-old was running now, only pausing occasionally to insert a curse or a hex to aid someone who needed it.

He was looking for Voldemort.  Several excruciatingly long minutes later, he found him. But not in the situation he had wanted to.

When he did find him, Voldemort was locked in a duel with Severus, and had been, clearly, for a while.

Harry growled softly. "Damn stubborn prat." That in reference to his teacher, who knew full well he would not be to kill Voldemort.

He had started running towards the two men, still over ten yards away, when it happened.

Before the Gryffindor had time to give another blink, Severus was struck down. By a jet of reddish-black light.

Harry did not have time to register his movement. Within seconds he was in front of Voldemort, emerald eyes blazing. "Expelliarmus," he hissed. A stream of pure red light shot from his wand to Voldemort's hand, causing the dark wizard's wand to go flying.

In the split-second of shocked hesitation on the Dark Lord's part, the Gryffindor flung a curse at the free-falling wand. "Reducto!" he roared, eyes flashing as he tossed his own wand into the air.

Dark blue light shot from his wand-tip and hit the other wand at point-blank range.

The two wands burst into twin showers of brightly burning sparks, which quickly died out as they drifted towards the ground, finally settling into identical piles of ash.

Breathing hard, Harry snarled, "Don't touch him!"

Whatever shocked stupor Voldemort had fallen into, he now came out of it, smirking viciously, "I saw the memories, but I could not believe--"

"The hell with what you believe!" the seventeen-year-old snapped, interrupting. "I never took stock in that crap, anyway!"

Voldemort's oddly snake-like eyes glittered cruelly. "My, my," he tsked scathingly, "temper, temper."

The Dark Lord was met with an emerald gaze full of cold, hard, calculating fury. And somewhere deep within him, something twisted in a way he would never understand. But the knowledge was there—only one of them would be walking away from this duel.

For the first time, he did not honestly know which one of them it would be. "Shall we play a game then?" he spoke up, voice slippery. Abruptly, he spun to face the traitor and flung out a hand out, "Cruc--"

"Diffindo!" Harry shouted, flinging his own hand out. Orange light sliced across Voldemort's out-flung arm, effectively cancelling the other wizard's spell.

With a cry that was half-choked off, the cross between man and reptile grabbed his now severed limb which was instantly cauterized by his murmured spell. Wild, insane eyes glared into Harry's—the Gryffindor's own showed very little remorse.

"Potter, how?" Voldemort hissed in disbelief.

"I've been practicing," Harry retorted, smirking, but very little amusement shone in his eyes. "Impedimenta!"

Yellow light arrowed straight at Voldemort. Sidestepping it, the dark wizard howled angrily, "Incarcerous!"

As ropes flew out of the Dark Lord's remaining hand, Harry shouted, immediately snapping up his own, "Incendio!"

Flames burst out of his hand and the ropes burnt mid-way through their course.

Voldemort smirked. "Well, well, not playing around I see."

"Shut up and fight," Harry ground out through gritted teeth, shifting into a more accommodating stance.

"Crucio!" Crimson light exploded from the dark wizard's hand.

"Protego!" The spell impacted, knocking Harry back several feet, then arrowed off, hitting one of the random Death Eaters battling in their vicinity in the back. The minion fell.

Harry did not notice, instead pushing against his shield with all his might. Soon, it went flying forwards and, in turn, knocked Voldemort back several feet.

Not giving his opponent time to recover, the Gryffindor darted forward, shooting off another spell, "Sectumsempra!"

"Protego!" Voldemort shouted, throwing up a shield. Though he did not try to shove it back at the teenager, and though his face showed another split-second of surprised recognition, he nonetheless cast another curse, "Imperio!"

Which Harry side-stepped and then fired back, twirling to one side and then another, "Reducto! Stupefy!"

Two jets of light flew forwards, the dark blue light impacting and the grey light whizzing over Voldemort's shoulder and slamming into the back of another Death Eater's head…who just happened to be battling Tonks. Unable to locate the direction it had come from, the metamorphmagus growled once at the still form before dashing off to join the rest of the melee.

Again, Harry did not notice, because Voldemort had fired off yet another spell, this one all too familiar, "Avada Kedavra!"

Harry dove to the ground to avoid it, and somewhere in the distance, heard someone cry out. But he did not have time to reflect on it.

Voldemort used Harry's prone position to his advantage, suddenly lurching forward and grabbing him roughly by the neck, jerking him upright.

Blinding pain lanced through his awareness and he barely managed to stifle his cry. Battling hard, he managed to lock his Occlumency shields in place as tightly as he could.

The Dark Lord sneered at him, although clearly, he was in pain, too. "Let's make this more interesting, shall we? And end it properly: Legilimens!"

But Harry's shields were still locked tightly in place. For all Voldemort battered and tore and clawed at his mind, nothing made it past his barriers. Never again would he let something of the same magnitude as what happened with Sirius happen again. He had Severus to thank for that, and he would do honor to the man who had taught him:

(Flashback)

Large, slim hands gently settled on either side of his head.

"Bear with me, Harry. This will probably hurt."

"What are you doing?" His voice went tight.

For all he had learned to trust the man standing in front of him, backlit by the mellow, warm light of the fire in the den's fireplace, he still hesitated to allow the Head of Slytherin full access to his mind.

That was trust on a level he had never known before and, truthfully, it scared him a little. He supposed it was the equivalent of trusting a parent.

He slammed up his shields as that thought caused blush to sear across his cheeks.

Merlin forbid Professor Snape discover he thought of him that way.

Said Potions Master quirked a bemused eyebrow down at him. "Potter?"

Shaking his head, Harry pushed those thoughts as far back in his mind as he could shove them. "Never mind. Where were we again?"

The other eyebrow rose, and the professor smirked slightly, "Apparently not here."

Harry's blush worsened.

A soft chuckle from the man in front of him and, to the Gryffindor's everlasting surprise, he leaned down to eye-level with him. Warm, serious obsidian eyes met his emerald ones, "I promise I'll do everything in my power to shield you from it."

It wasn't a promise to make sure nothing hurt. He had already been warned that it would hurt. But it was a promise to make whatever-this-was bearable.

And that, more than anything, allowed Harry to relax.

(End Flashback)

That had been the lesson Severus taught him to put a lock on his shields—securer than any locking spell could make them.

Voldemort fell for it.

Within seconds the Dark Lord was sent reeling backwards, ejected forcefully from Harry's mind and, as quickly as their duel had begun, it ended.

Shaking with sheer exhaustion from the mental warfare, he raised his hand with a final, monumental effort, and trained it on the snake-like creature across from him. By Merlin, it looked barely human!

An alien pity edged its way into the blinding, weary, desperate blur that had been the past three hours, and finally, with all that he was, with every last shred of power he possessed, Harry threw himself behind this last curse.

Images flashed before him, everyone he had ever cared about in any way: Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Draco, Neville, and Luna. His other friends. The DA. Dumbledore. The Order. Sirius, Remus, and Tonks. The rest of the Weasleys.

His parents.

Severus.

Then came the people he did not know; he fought for all of them, whether they gave a damn or not:  those who had gone before him; those who would come after him. The children his friends would have when they became adults and married. The children of the countless thousands he would never meet and their children after them. And so, onwards until the end of time.

Because these things Voldemort could never understand: Sacrifice. Innocence. Purity. Heartbreak. Devotion. Love.

And a simple need to do this because otherwise it would never end.

Not all things were immortal, and because they were so brief, they had to be cherished.

It was a lesson Harry had learned all too well, one Voldemort would never be able to.

And so, with every last ounce of that lesson, moved by a pity he did not dare try to understand, Harry let fly the final curse:

"Avada Kedavra!"

There was none of the oily wrongness he had associated with it last year when facing Bellatrix Lestrange for the last time. Only a vast, aching love for all he fought for and a soul-deep desire to end this war.

For this was the 'power the Dark Lord knows not,' and Voldemort had neither heart nor soul to contend with.

IOIOIOIOIOI

Severus Snape, where he lay sprawled on the ground behind Voldemort, slowly and painstakingly pushed himself upright to rest on his elbows, breathing heavily.

His being struck to the ground had ignited something in Potter—who, up until that point (which was now about an hour ago), had been fighting his way across the battleground.

Neither Voldemort nor Severus himself understood how he arrived so quickly, but he had, and he had faced the Dark Lord with a courage and a skill unrivaled in Severus's mind.

And now, he sought to end it.

Severus's eyes did not look at the reptilian creature who had struck him down and who had been his sometime master, but rather, traveled past its hulk to settle on the young wizard who faced it.

The emerald eyes locked so steadily on his, now that the battle of minds and the duel of curses had run their course, were eerily similar to one of the only pairs of eyes that had looked on him with kindness and compassion during his time as a student at Hogwarts. Just as they were now the pair that had, for the past seven years, made frequent appearances in his dreams. More so now that he better knew their owner.

They refocused on the monster the young Gryffindor faced a second later, pools of searing emerald containing all the power their owner was capable of giving. Power that gave a mother strength and courage enough to sacrifice herself for her one-year-old son; power that welled from the depths of a teenager's heart and soul to imbue him with strength and courage enough to defend those he fought for, to finish this once and for all.

And in that moment, a very real truth pierced Severus Snape: he loved this child.

Certainly, over the past two years respect, trust, even fondness and affection, had grown up between them. Yet, it was only now, at the crux of battle, that he truly understood the extent to which their relationship had progressed.

With that knowledge in mind, Severus, who had never been much of a religious man, abruptly found himself fervently praying to every deity he could think of.

In answer, his student cast the Killing Curse: "Avada Kedavra!"

IOIOIOIOIOI

No one on the battlefield was quite sure what happened next. Later, many would claim they had heard the most bone-jarring, earth-shattering scream fill the air, followed immediately thereafter by an explosion of green light that swept across the battlefield.

When the nearest Death Eaters were struck by that light and toppled bonelessly to the ground like rag dolls, Harry's eyes widened in alarm as he realized what the implications were.

Panicked, he did the first thing that came to mind:

With a cry, he threw himself over a very startled Severus Snape.

The air screeched as the light flew over them, sending jets of fire streaking through Harry's awareness. Vaguely, he heard the man below him hiss in pain and then felt him struggle to get his arms around the teenager on top of him in hopes of providing some sort of shield.

All that Harry remembered in the next moment was a flash of pure white light and the man beneath him screaming, before darkness claimed him.

IOIOIOIOIOI

When Severus regained consciousness some indefinable amount of time later, it was to the sound of voices calling out for him…and Harry.

Immediately, his attention went to the motionless form on his chest…which actually was not so motionless.

The Potions Master was beyond relieved when his student stirred and began frantically coughing. Even though it sounded as though he might possibly cough his lungs out, it meant he was alive.

And for the moment, that was all that really mattered.

"Easy, Harry, easy," he soothed, gently rubbing the young man's back.

"Sev…er…us?" the seventeen-year-old coughed, managing to glance down at his teacher whom he was probably crushing half to death. The man did not seem to mind.

He was rewarded with a brilliant smile. Obsidian eyes blazing with affection and pride, the older wizard replied, "Yes, child."

Harry, his cough fading, stared at the Head of Slytherin, not quite comprehending why he was receiving such a look from the man. Sure, he cared about his teacher, loved him even. But this look was not one he was accustomed to seeing on Professor Snape's face.

And it caused a funny ache to well up in his chest.

"Harry?" Someone gently tapping the side of his face brought him out of his thoughts. A note of intense concern crept into the voice, "Harry!"

The seventeen-year-old shook himself and found his gaze locked with an obsidian one directly across from his own.

Severus had sat up a few moments before hand, still loosely holding his student. Now he let out a huge breath of relief, relaxing. "Merlin's Beard, Harry! Don't do that to me!" the Potions Master scolded.

Harry stared at him for another long minute, trying to comprehend that he was indeed not seeing things. Glancing down, he noticed the older wizard's arms around him. He blushed. And shyly raising his head, murmured cautiously, "Professor?"

The Head of Slytherin House rolled his eyes fondly. "Yes, Potter, I thought we already established that."

Another moment of staring, then, quite abruptly, Harry grinned. Startling the man immensely, and not quite conscious of it himself, the teenager threw his arms around Professor Snape's neck and hugged the older wizard for all he was worth.

And to Harry, that was quite a lot.

The Potions Master sputtered, "P-Potter!"

The Gryffindor merely gave a thick laugh and hugged him harder. "We won, Professor! We won!"

For a few seconds, Severus stared at the young man as if he had three heads. Finally, with an affectionately exasperated sigh, he decided to return the gesture. After all, they had hugged before—even if those moments were slightly awkward. This time, though, he felt no such emotion. Just overwhelming relief that the war had ended, moreover, that Harry (though probably in need of medical attention) was safe.

So he hugged him, not caring that the search parties would probably find them at any moment.

He hugged him, and that was how they sank back into unconsciousness, their various individual injuries finally demanding their due.

But neither of them cared. After so long, it was finally over.

oOoOoOoOoOo

When Albus Dumbledore topped the rise, the remnants of the Order of the Phoenix and Ministry forces following in his wake, he found the two like that, hugging, even though they had since answered the call of unconsciousness.

Several cries went up behind him as Draco, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny caught sight of the two sprawled on the ground.

As Harry's closest friends rushed forward, oblivious to their own injuries and followed at slower pace by Neville and Luna who were leaning on each other, they fell to their knees beside Harry and their Potions Professor, checking for vital signs.

Dumbledore was smiling when he joined them. Placing his hand on Hermione's shoulder, whose shaking hand was having difficulty locating her friend's pulse, he reassured softly, "No need, Ms. Granger. They are alive. Nothing some time spent in the Hospital Wing won't fix."

She nodded frantically, but clearly, did not believe a word he said, or even seemed to hear him.

The Headmaster shook his head, chuckling. "Believe it, Ms. Granger. And now it seems that you six" (including Luna and Neville in that statement) "ought to head there, as well."

He nodded to the less injured Order members and watched as they helped the six injured teenagers to their feet and back to where the thestral carriages waited for them.

Then, with a wave of his hand, he levitated Harry and Severus, following after the rest of the Light Army.

Glancing back fondly at the two, he chuckled and shook his head. Oh, Severus would have a skrewt when he woke up in the Hospital Wing again. Without the fire of course.