Harry breathed, eyes closed. He'd won. Turned out, using prior magic, using old magic, was hellaciously draining. He'd collapsed not long after Voldemort's body had been claimed by the Ministry, and had had to crawl to the nearest cot. As far as he knew, no one even knew where he was, blending in with the rest of the injured. Eventually the mediwizards would discover he was not merely a corpse, but for now he could rest peacefully. He wasn't going to sleep, not here, not surrounded by the cloying smell of death and destruction, but he could rest. He thought maybe he'd finally earned it. He had died and come back, done what he was born to do.
"Put him here. He's stable enough, we'll get him cleaned up once we've tended to everyone else. Potter will want to know we found him, assuming we ever find him. Do not tell the Aurors. Potter will have something to say about what's done with him, no doubt, and I think he's earned that right, don't you?"
"Of course, Poppy," A gruff voice murmured.
Harry failed to hide a smirk. He must truly look like hell if Pomfrey hadn't recognized him. He cracked an eye to see the Mediwitch walking off down the aisle of cots. His eye trailed down to find Snape, of all people, lying on the cot to his left. He raised a hand, which trembled horribly, and reached out to check the pulse of the other man. Stable, she'd said he was stable. But was he really? He'd been dead. Surely the miraculous resurrection trick couldn't happen twice in one night. His hand fell to the hard stone between them. He was too weak. But Snape's chest suddenly shifted in a deep breath and it was enough. Harry sighed and his head rolled back. They were both covered in blood and dirt.
Snape groaned. Harry pretended not to notice.
"Potter," That impossible voice murmured beside him. "Potter…"
Harry kept his eyes closed. He couldn't do this right now. He owed the man so much. He couldn't even muster the energy to look at him again, never mind the mountain of apologies he deserved. Long, cool fingers touched his, and he shivered. What was Snape doing? The fingers inched along Harry's hand on the cold stone, and Harry turned his hand into them. Snape sighed. Their hands clasped briefly, and then Snape's hand was gone. Harry forced his eyes open and he looked, even as he told himself he wouldn't. Snape was sitting up, the blood from his throat dried and flaking off as he shifted. With great effort, the former Potions Master and Headmaster painfully scooted off of his floor-cot, across the mere foot between them, and onto the fabric of Harry's floor-cot. Harry mustered the strength to make room for him, curious what the man was doing, what he intended.
Snape curled against Harry's side, one arm across Harry's chest to grip his shoulder, the other between their bodies and clasping Harry's hand. Snape groaned again, and Harry turned his head into the man's chest.
"My mum…"
"Does it matter?"
Harry shook his head. "Not now."
"Sleep, Potter. I will be here."
"Thank you."
"You never have to thank me for this," Snape murmured. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Harry's head.
Harry felt that now, with his own guardian, he could sleep.