Author: Tasha911. Link to the original fic may be found in my profile.
It is an AU. Written on the 20th of July 2007.
Translated from Russian by Kehlen Crow.
Translator's disclaimer: not mine. Characters belong to JKR, idea belongs to Tasha.

"Won't kill… Won't kill… Won't kill…" Harry repeated this mantra rubbing at his scar. He was used to it being on his forehead and now the mere existence of this garnish was under question.

"Potter, shut up already!" Snape sat in the opposite corner of a room with many doors glaring at him.

Since the Professor's behaviour was absolutely 'normal' even on the eve of the great event Harry decided not to show sympathy towards the potential victim and destroy his image.

"Well Snape, it doesn't look good for you."

"For you neither," scowled the Professor.

Harry shrugged.

"According to our bookmakers I've got a chance and you're dead even in the most doubtful versions of the book. If they are true…"

Snape shuddered.

"No, not that again!"

"Afraid to turn out not quite such a bastard, eh, Snape?"

"Professor Snape, Potter."

"Well, at least you don't demand I called you Prince. By the way, why are you so opposed to heroically dying from…"

Snape looked like he was seriously considering which of the Unforgivables to cast on Potter, but visibly restrained himself. Nothing was going to happen to the bespectacled idiot till midnight GMT, after all.

"I don't want do die a heroic death, Potter! And I don't want to die at Voldemort's hand, either! I don't want to be in love with your mother! I want…"

Intrigued, Potter moved his chair a little closer. It looked like the long wait had almost worked the Professor into hysterics.

"What do you want?"

Snape gave a weary sigh.

"I never thought I would envy Black."

"What is there to envy?"

The Professor shrugged.

"He's already through with this. Even in death he's ahead of me, the mangy mutt."

"Is he through, now? He's been resurrected like thousand times and what was it the ficwriters did not make of him!"

"Yes, the ficwriters. They will resurrect all of us." A shadow of hope flitted across Snape's face and immediately disappeared. "No, they are even worse than She is."

"What are you talking about?" Harry also looked more cheerful.

"Imagine just how they are going to do that."

Potter tried to imagine it.

"Necromancy?"

"Sane ficwriters, yes. And the other ones? They might even go with necrophilia." Snape snorted. "Or even Snarry. I feel revenged for all the years I had to endure your existence imagining how they will make you do it to my dead body to resurrect me with your love."

Harry felt thick.

"Oh, shut it Snape, I am about to loose my dinner. May be all will end well? You turn out to be on my side, we become friends and build the rosy magic future?"

"It's me who is going to be sick now. I wouldn't have had such illusions, if I were you, Potter, we deal with a bloodthirsty woman."

One of the doors opened and a dead drunk Draco Malfoy entered the room.

"Scorpius," moaned Draco, beat his head on the wall and exited through another door.

"What's with him?" asked Potter.

"Read too many spoilers. He now believes that one of them is real, and tries to imagine what has fallen on his head to make him name his son so."

"And you think Draco sounds better?"

"I think Draco is a bit more constrained than his father and is not about to make his own children pay for the mockery of his parents."

Hermione looked through one of the doors.

"Krum has not come yet?"

"We haven't seen him."

"What does she need Krum for?"

Harry shrugged.

"Well, do it quickly before the hard luck ties her for life with Ron Weasley."

The Professor nodded his understanding.

"And by the way, about hard luck. Potter, in spite of sitting here, may be you should go get some practice making Albus Severuses."

The boy shook his head.

"Won't do it till I have to."

Snape nodded almost good-naturedly.

"Right you are."

"And what about you? Don't you want to get a drink? Or have some fun? I could hold the post alone."

"No, thank you. I've had fun in the fics to last me three lifetimes. Why do most authors think I am a drunkard?"

"That's not too bad. They make me forever bothered. What about a drink, nonetheless? Voldemort had a good cognac here somewhere."

"Not anymore. Tom drank it all when Lucius beat him up for trying to call the last meeting before the book is out."

"Why bother? We don't decide anything anyway."

Snape nodded.

"Exactly." He pondered than conjured a glass and bottle of Firewhisky. "You, Potter are still underage…"

Harry bristled.

"What are you going to do, stop me from drinking?"

Snape started to nod, than shook his had.

"To Rowling with this", he conjured another glass.

"What are we drinking to? So all lived?"

"Not all. Will do well without Tom."

"Yeah, we do well without Albus after all. To us?"

Snape shrugged and Harry took a swig.

"Albus Severus," said Snape vindictively. Potter choked on his drink.

"Cough… What are you… Cough…"

Severus saluted to the huge door with the "Canon" sign on it.

"Potter, there's but one thing we will drink to together."

"To what?"

"To definiteness."