Harry, his head an aching, throbbing mess, and Snape, who looked to be in no better condition, sat on the dining room floor.

“Yous needs to be closer,” Dobby insisted, “till your knees is touching.”

Harry scooted forward, bumping his bony knees against Snape’s knobby ones.

“Watch it, Potter,” Snape snarled.

Harry gritted his teeth. This wasn’t his idea, after all, and he was sure he felt as bad as, if not worse, than Snape did. After all, he’d had his whole head cracked open; Snape had only suffered a wound on one arm. Still, he listened to each of Dobby’s instructions, noting that Snape was doing the same. He found it somewhat ironic that this was the very spot that Snape and Dobby had healed him when Snape had first brought him to his mum’s cottage. He wondered if that was significant.

“Potter, pay attention,” Snape snapped.

Harry shook himself from his reverie, apologized to Dobby, and asked the elf to repeat what he had said. Harry soon found himself with both palms outstretched, almost touching Snape’s but not quite, and leaning his forehead toward Snape’s. They both cursed when their forehead’s bumped, and tried to stay still and to lean equally into each other, as Dobby had advised. Harry thought that they must look like some absurd pyramid.

Trying to sit perfectly still, Harry willed away the nausea that threatened to break the connection that Dobby was trying to establish between he and Snape. Harry was sweaty and felt dizzy, the room threatening to spin beneath him. When Dobby spoke, though, a few words that Harry could not understand, his stomach settled and peace spread through him. Harry felt the pain slipping away as Dobby placed an elfin palm on the top of each of their heads. Suddenly, Harry could feel the magic within him shifting and realigning. It swirled in his gut and up to his head, saturating his undernourished tissues. He felt as if his magic was being reborn.

“Wow,” he breathed.

Dobby continued to chant, and as he did so, white light arced from Harry’s palm to Snape’s, and vice-versa. Harry watched in amazement as the light danced back and forth. Was Dobby creating a connection between them? Or just solidifying an existing one? Were they giving each other magic? Or was their magic simply being returned to each owner after the previous exchanges that had been made, first to save Harry’s life, and then to save Snape’s? As the energy pulsed between them, rejuvenating Harry and washing away any hint that he’d ever been cursed by dark magic, he realized that it really didn’t matter. He was just happy to be alive and breathing. The Dark Lord was gone. His followers were likely gone as well. He could come out of hiding. He could return to Hogwarts. He could see his friends again. He could be free. Once and for all, he could truly be free.

Without meaning to, without even thinking about it, he lifted his forehead from Snape’s and let his fingers fall forward, lacing them tightly with the older man’s as their palms came together. He raised his eyes to Snape, full of wonder at the miracle that life and freedom were. And there, for just a moment, he saw a reflection of what he was feeling in Snape’s eyes as well; that same hope of a life all one’s own, a life not beholden to any master, good or evil. Then Dobby stopped chanting and the moment was broken. Snape’s face became guarded once again, and Harry dropped both his hands and his eyes.

“How does you feel?” Dobby asked. The elf’s voice was labored and he looked a bit drained, but his eyes shone with pride and devotion.

“As always, Dobby, your work is exceptional,” Snape said, getting to his feet and pocketing the wand which had been laying across his lap.

“Yeah, thanks, Dobby,” Harry said, getting up as well. “You’re a life saver.” Stretching, Harry added, “I feel great!”

Dobby looked ready to topple over from happiness.

“I don’t even have a headache anymore,” Harry said, reaching up to touch his forehead. He paused, and then rubbed the smooth skin where his scar used to be. “It’s gone,” he murmured in surprise. “My scar, it’s gone!” He looked up to see Snape watching him curiously.

“Is yours gone too?” Harry asked.

Snape grimaced. “Yes,” he said, and then left the room.

Harry looked at Dobby, whose eyes had clouded over a bit with sadness.

“Some scars is harder to part with than others, sir.”

“You mean he likes being marked as a Death Eater?”

“No, Harry Potter, sir. I thinks he thought it was his punishment, sir. A reminder of his failings, sir.”

“Dumbledore says that everyone deserves a second chance,” Harry mused.

“Dumbledore is a foolish old man with foolish ideals,” Snape called from the living room. Although his words might have been harsh, his voice held more folly than disdain.

Harry smiled and gave a very surprised Dobby a high five. Then he said, “So, Dobby, how does it feel to be Hogwarts’s newest Potions apprentice?”

“Assistant,” Snape corrected from the other room.

“Are you sure about that?” Harry called back.

When there was only a grunt in response, Dobby meekly reached out to give Harry a high five back, smiling as widely as Harry had ever seen him.