Here, in this run down mockery of a shop, hearts hung in jars. They lined the rotted shelves, pale and grey in a yellowed substance that gave off an odd smell. A single light, an orb attached to nothing hung in the air. It did nothing to penetrate the darkened corners of rotting, rusting material. Severus Snape shivered, a chill crawling down his spine as he felt phantom hands on his back. He didn't want to be back here.
Thankfully, this time the place was empty. But he didn't dare turn around it check. Not with the soft breaths he could feel on the back of his neck nor with the hand he knew, just knew, was hovering just behind him. Snape kept picturing ...it… there, but he desperately did not want to meet it again. Snape was thinking too much about it, and it would soon come. Snape closed his eyes and concentrated desperately on making a potion. Boomslang skin. Cut into thin strips. If it did show, would the offer be made once more? Maybe he should just accept. No! No! Add three strips. Four counterclockwise stirs. One. Two.
A hand on his arm made Snape reel back in terror. The ladle in his hand clattered to the floor. His eyes opened only to find bright green eyes looking back. They stared at one another for a moment before Snape relaxed, slumping to the ground. It wouldn't come now, not with Harry here. "Come. Let's get you back," Harry said in a quiet voice, and Snape was back in the familiar white walls of his dungeon.
Being dead did not suit Snape. Especially as Harry had seemed to have taken him up as a special case. Most of the time, he wished the brat would just leave him alone and let him get on with wallowing in his own pity in some dark dungeon. Not having some brat insist on these horrible white stones, fresh air and the whole outdoorsy feel. But there tended to be little point in arguing with the Master of Death. So Snape just stuck to sneering at Harry whenever possible. Harry was annoyingly cheerful about the whole thing.
For the most part, Snape was at least left alone. Left alone mainly to make endless potions. He could at least experiment here to his heart's content, but it tended to feel rather pointless. The dead didn't need potions. But it was all Snape really knew. And he was getting increasingly frustrated with it.
But his hands went through the motions anyway. Cauldron. Pewter, size three. One gallon of cold water. Newts eyes. Crushed, flat side of a stone knife. Snape groaned and dropped the knife. "What is it this time, Potter?"
Harry stood in the doorway. Awkward as always, couldn't hold himself properly. Dressed in black robes. Too big, frayed at the hem. "You're just going to lock yourself up again?" he asked. Green eyes bore into Snape. Why couldn't the brat have brown eyes so he could just hate him in peace and not be reminded of Lily?
"Yes," said Snape shortly. Maybe, for once, the brat would just leave him alone. He wanted to be alone, had been looking forward to an endless sleep in death. He wanted absolutely nothing to do with some brat, even if he was the Master of Death.
"But you haven't been out in ages," said Harry. Could the brat not sound actually sorry for him?
Snape took up the silver knife again. No - stone knife. He needed a stone knife. And newts eyes, not pomegranate seeds. He sucked in a deep breath. Out again. Breath. He was getting distracted. Just needed to concentrate. A hand tugged on his robes. Potter was lucky the knife wasn't now a meat cleaver.
"Just go. Leave!" he shouted, as forcefully as he could. Potter didn't move, just continued to look at him with annoyingly green eyes. "I was out yesterday. Don't make me-" He broke off. Couldn't think about it. He'd end back up there.
Breath! He felt Potter's hand tighten and he instinctively gripped it. Hating himself for being so weak. So dependent.
"Mum said she'd like to see you," said Harry quietly. Why couldn't the bloody Master of Death be someone who didn't know how to push his buttons? Someone who'd just go away?
"You know perfectly well what happened last time," Snape said.
Harry sighed. "Yes, I know," he said, "but only because you keep thinking of them."
Yeah. His fault. He'd see Lily and everything would start so well, chatting like old friends. She'd be smiling, listening and it was like they'd always stayed friends. But then the thought of James Potter would creep into his mind. Snape would find himself upside down. Surrounded by people staring. And Lily would be there, laughing at him with James Potter.
"Get out."
He thought for a moment that Harry would be stupid and insist. But he finally, wisely, left.
Snape didn't know how long he had been stuck in this hated cycle. He wasn't even sure if he could break this cycle. If anyone could, or if they were just all stuck until judgement day. He felt like he only saw Harry nowadays. He wished he could meet Lily without James bloody Potter showing up. Wished there was anyone else he could think to meet.
Then there was that offer. Revenge. Every time Snape thought of revenge, it was a different thought. Revenge against Dumbledore for controlling his life, for taking advantage of stupid, stupid weaknesses he should never have succumbed to. Revenge against Voldemort for pretty much the exact same reasons. Though Dumbledore tended to come up negatively in his thoughts more often. Harry had told him Voldemort was now spending his time in limbo, trapped as some half formed, rotten homunculus. The brat managed to actually sound sorry for a man who had spent a lifetime murdering and torturing. Snape had heard Dumbledore tell Harry that there was no hope for Voldemort. Though he wasn't sure what the use was telling the stubborn brat anything much. But he suppose there was an eternity.
Actually, revenge against Harry for ruining his nice, peaceful afterlife was a common though that cropped up. Revenge against James Potter, that was a rather obvious one. But most of all, Snape just wanted to lash out at the world - or wherever the heck he was. Half the time, he felt like just destroying everything. Smashing the stupid bottles of potion that no one needed. Useless, useless, useless! Everything he was good for was useless.
Snape snarled. He wasn't going to get any potions made today. Not that there was any point, of course. And he wasn't good for anything else.
His mind kept drifting back to that offer. If he wasn't careful, he'd end up back there. But it was so tempting. All he'd be giving up was the source of all his problems. That was all, really. No! He mustn't, couldn't think like that. But every day, the offer became more and more tempting.
His heart was the source of his problems. If he'd never cared - never allowed himself to care - he would have been fine. He could just make his potions in peace.
Perhaps his heart should join those jars. Then, then, he'd just be able to making endless (useless) potions in peace without anyone annoying him. It wasn't as if he needed them. He hated them! All of them! That stupid brat. That mudblood. That meddling old fool. He didn't need them. He needed to be alone, with his potions. Alone. A stupid, beating heart was the source of every problem he had.
And he was back.
He could see the empty jar, this time. It was just in the corner of his eye, teasing. Come, it said, this is where your heart will be. Then you'll have revenge on them.
I don't want revenge, Snape thought, I just… I just want to be left alone.
Ah. Yes. Those fools, preventing you from gaining all you desire.
All. All he desired. All he desired was to be left alone. Snape's eyes flicked over to the empty jar. His mouth felt suddenly dry. He took a shaky breath, trying to steady himself, but it did no good. He couldn't move, couldn't bring himself to move, couldn't look around. The breaths on the back of his neck had returned.
Icy fingers crawled down his back. This time, he felt them. Skeletal fingers. Cold and long rotted. His mouth was so dry. He couldn't even bring himself to move his tongue.
Wouldn't you like all you desire, Severus Snape?
Harry awoke with a start. Time had no meaning in death, so he didn't really need to sleep. But it felt nice to. He was busy, most of the time. Being the Master of Death didn't really come with much to actually do, but he preferred to be doing something. He spent most of his days visiting people. Most did, there was no sense of time here. There was a slow, lazy eternity to enjoy.
Harry had thought he'd visit Hermione today. It had been quite a while since he'd seen her. Here, she looked forty, happy with her beloved daughter thriving. Over the years, she had relaxed. Harry loved her as he had done for the longest time, as a dear sister. Harry stretched, decided it was really too early to get up and slumped back onto the pillow.
Harry was fully content to sleep for a few more hours, but something bothered him. It was like a scratching at the back of his skull. Far too irritating to go to sleep with. Harry sighed and eyes still shut, shoved his glasses on. One hand scratched his jaw, as he tried to think what was bothering him. He yawned loudly and finally opened his eyes before deciding it was too bright and closed them again.
It was decidedly to early to do anything. His feet had no intention of touching the cold floor anytime soon. His eyes were shut tight again, his head dropping towards his chest. He'd just go back to sleep for an hour and then sort out whatever it was. Harry's head hit the pillow again, and promptly, the scratching was back.
He groaned. "What?" he snapped at the room in general.
"Well, Master-"
Harry yelped and threw himself back against the headboard. Death was standing next to his bed, leaning over him. Today, he had the appearance of a rather squat, nervous looking man. He was tapping the tips of his fingers together, and looking at Harry with wide eyes.
"Honestly, it's Harry," said Harry rubbing his head, "what is it?"
"Yes, Master," said Death promptly. He really did look nervous today. "It's just that I presumed you would be pleased to have the information given to you as requested. I merely thought-"
"Alright," said Harry, exasperated at Death's rambling.
"It's Snape. He accepted the offer."
Harry was out of bed and down the hall in an instant.
"Snape?"
The door, ancient and caked in a dark red substance that looked like blood creaked open. Harry took a cautious half step into the shop. The shop was completely silent. His footsteps sounded overly loud on the uneven stone floor. His breath, misting in front of him sounded loudly through the shop, announcing his presence. The light swung slightly, glinting off the jars.
"Snape?" Harry repeated, taking another cautious step into the room. His eyes darted around, taking in the dark corners.
He tried once more. "Snape!"
The shout disappeared into those silent, dark corners entirely too fast. Harry stepped fully into the room. His hand slid into his pocket and grasped his wand, holding it out at the ready. Harry walked further into the room, eyes and wand scanning. His eyes came to a particularly dark corner in a far corner of the shop.
"Lumos!"
The light burst from Harry's wand, illuminating the corner. Standing there, eyes wide and clutching a jar with a heart still pink inside was Snape.
Fingers. Fingers on - on jar. Yes, on jar. Keep fingers on jar. Yes, can feel jar. Jar must be in fingers. Jar. Jar with - with - with... Fingers. Fingers on...feels cold. Fingers on cold thing. Cold thing heavy.
Light. Figure there. But not it. Doesn't feel like it. We listen to it. It is all we need to hear. Don't listen to others. Do what it says. Do what it says. Must do what it says. It. It. It. It. It.
Harry breathed out and closed his eyes. Snape had accepted the offer then. His eyes were blank, staring forward, looking at nothing. His mouth moved slightly, forming over silent, meaningless words.
With a shaking hand, Harry reached out for him. He gently touched Snape's forearm. "Hello?" he tried. Snape didn't answer, nor given any indication he was aware of Harry's presence at all. Keeping an eye on Snape for any reaction, Harry slid his hand down to the jar. As soon as Harry touched the jar, Snape jerked, gripping the jar and clutching it against his chest. For a moment, Snape looked scared but then his face became blank once more.
Harry glanced at the heart in the jar, as it slowly faded to grey. "Is that yours?" he asked.
Again, Snape had no response. Harry didn't think he would react favourably to being dragged out, though. But he couldn't just leave Snape here. "Death," Harry called, as loudly as he dared in the silence of the shop.
Death appeared from nothing in the doorway. Now, he was tall, cloaked in a black robe that floated around him like the blackest of shadows. He looked ethereal, almost floating, solid shadows or cloth made into mist. But he came no further into the room, hovering on the threshold. Death teetered slightly, as though he were about to step through, but he remained where he was. Harry looked at him with worried eyes. "Can't you come in?" he asked.
"No, Master." Death's voice sounded out, echoing as though it came from a place far away.
Harry's hand tightened on Snape's wrist. "What do you mean? Why can't you come in?"
Harry didn't think he would be able to drag Snape, even the short distance across the shop. But now Death was worrying him. There should be nowhere Death could not go in his own realm. So, what was keeping him from walking into a single shop? Death again looked as though he was about to step into the room, but faltered.
"I...I cannot," he said hesitantly.
At once, Harry wished to stay near Snape and come closer to Death. He was slowly coming to realise he was not safe here. There was a feeling creeping down his back. A feeling of another presence in the shop.
"How do I get Snape out of here?" Harry demanded. Suddenly, he knew he needed to leave. He could not stay, even if Harry wasn't sure why that was. In the doorway, Death had settled, his cloak solidified around him, falling in tattered black layer. Harry could just see Death's pitch black eyes in the depths of his hood, shining out. There was the sound of breath sucking in and then, Death inched one foot just over the threshold. Harry's eyes flicked from the foot to Death's eyes. "So you can come in," Harry said.
A thrill went through his skull. A prickling at the back of his head. Harry looked at the distance between them. It really wasn't that far, they should be able to make it easily.
"Please," Harry said, "we'll be out of here soon enough."
Why was Death hesitating so? The other presence pressed out of the black corners, the light swaying slightly in a nonexistent breeze. Something large, pacing restlessly behind the wooden walls. The wall seemed to breath, leaning outwards as though trying to contain what was within them. The ancient wood creaked outwards with a monstrous snarl. Whatever was there, it was close. This - whatever it was - this was that Death feared.
They had to get out of there, and quickly.
"Death!" Harry shouted. He needed him, here, now. Harry knew Snape would stay, unmoving and be taken by the pacing monster behind the wall. The shout seemed to invigorate Death into action. He surged forwards, gliding above the ground. Together they grabbed Snape and started to drag him towards the door. Snape's feet dragged across the stone, his legs frozen him place. Snape's entire being seemed focused on the jar in his hands, clutching it tightly against his chest.
A great, guttural snarl crept through the room. The door was so far away, a patch of light in the distance, between rows and rows of jars. Snape felt so heavy in Harry's arms, even with Death assisting. A leaden weight he was barely able to drag forwards. Harry could hear the growling snorts of breath, wetly emerging from dripping lips, warm and bloody red. The sounds of saliva rolling around and ratting whispers of words. Just the suffocating presence. Harry wanted to drop Snape and run from the door, weighed down, feeling as though he were dragging Snape through some thick liquid, icy fingers grabbing to pull them back. With a shout, Harry get Snape a heave, pulling him yet another step towards the door.
Harry could feel the rotting, bony fingers just grazing over the back of his neck. He could hear wet breaths from a mouth he did not want to see. Only a few steps. They only needed to go a few more steps and they would be out. Hands grabbing at his cloak tried to drag Harry back. The snarling breaths filled the room, heavy footsteps against the stone, long sharp claws clicking against it. Rotting flaps of skin sliding against each other.
All at once, the door seemed to burst forwards and they were out, back in the familiar white stone of Snape's dungeon.
Snape was laid in his bed. His eyes stared at a single spot on the ceiling, hands still tightly clutching the jar. The heart inside was now a sickly grey tinged yellow by the liquid it floated in. He hadn't moved at all though the night.
Harry had barely slept all night. "Can he recover?" he asked Death.
Today, Death again had taken the appearance of a nervous, squat man. His hands worked in front of him, looking as though he were washing his hands. He remained silent, although something was clearly troubling him. "I must go," he said, "there are duties I must attend to."
Harry nodded, sinking down into a plush armchair beside Snape's bed. "Is there nothing…" He gestured towards Snape's unmoving form.
Death hesitated in the doorway, glancing back at Harry. "Perhaps some familiar faces?" he suggested, and then he was gone. Harry let his head fall back. He knew that Death knew far more than he was letting on. That was quite ordinary, but Death was rarely so skittish. He had refused to answer Harry's questions about what exactly had been in that shop, only saying that it should not be spoken of. At least he had given Harry a place to start trying to help Snape. Though there were few people Harry could think to bring to Snape to try and get a reaction from him.
Harry thought he might as well start with the most obvious person. His mother, Lily.
Lily Potter was, once again, clearing her husband and his trouble making best friend out of her kitchen. Both were streaked in the batter of a chocolate mudcake and wearing wide smiles.
"How many times do I have to tell you? Could you not wait just twenty minutes for it to cook?" she shouted at them. "No, don't you dare just wander off. Get back here this instant!"
Sirius gave James a cocky grin as he slipped out of the door. "Your wife, mate," he said.
Lily grabbed James by the collar before he could follow Sirius, yanking him back. He pirouetted backwards, spinning an arm around his wife and pulling he close to his side. "Darling, light of my life," he proclaimed, "what dost troubles thee?"
James grinned widely and gave Lily a little shake, his grin fading when Lily's glare did not fade. "Oh, come on," he said, eyes doing their best impression of a sad puppy. "It's only a cake. Cheer up!"
Lily yanked his arm off of her with a growl. "Honestly James," she said, "I've told you repeatedly not to touch my cakes."
James just grinned at her, eyes obviously following something behind Lily. "Aw, but you didn't about this one," he said.
Lily spun around. "Sirius Black!" she shouted, "you get out of that kitchen this instant. Out! Out!"
When James just continued to grin at her, she pulled out her wand and said in a deadly voice, "I want you to get out of here his instant."
"Alright, alright," said James, his hands raised in surrender. "Let's go, Siri."
Finally they left, and Lily sat down heavily at the kitchen bench. She was getting thoroughly tired of her husband's antics. He was only about fifteen here, whereas she had remained at twenty one. Those few years had a wealth of maturity James now seemed unable to access. She didn't really know if he really couldn't or just refused to. She ran her hands through her red hair and began to clean up the mess left behind. Dirty napkins, plates and spoons strewn across the chocolate streaked bench. She was beginning to doubt that James even knew the word clean, let alone how to do it. She needed some time away. Maybe she would ask Mary if she wanted to spend a few days away together. It would do her good to get away from everything. Although, she was beginning to wonder if she would be here with James forever. She was getting tired of his childish actions and she knew he was frustrated with her nagging.
Knock. Knock.
Lily threw down the cloth she held, closed her eyes and took two deep breaths. She swore, if those two were back again…
Knock. Knock.
"I'm coming," Lily snapped and wrenched the door open. "Oh. Harry, how are you?"
Harry gave her a tired smile. "I'm okay, Mum," he said and pulled her in for a hug. Lily gave her son a tight squeeze. For all he looked like his father, they couldn't have been more different. Harry pulled back, studying his mother's tired expression and said, "You okay?"
Lily sighed and forced her face into a smile. "I'm fine. Come on in."
Harry stepped into the kitchen and took a seat. Lily bustled around to the cupboards. "You want anything?" she asked. "Sandwich, crackers, I could heat up some pasta or what about some fruit?"
'That's fine," said Harry, "Dad's annoying you, isn't he?"
Lily gave a short, humourless laugh. "Just the same as usual," she said. "What do you need?"
Harry let the subject slide. His parents had been at odds with each other for ages. He loved them both, but wished his father had been given the time to really grow up and live. Harry often felt he was more an older brother to his father. "It's Snape," Harry said, "he's...ill."
Lily frowned. Her relationship with Severus was rocky to say the least. He was older and even more bitter than he had been at Hogwarts. After the incident that ended their friendship, she had presumed that he was entirely over her. He had, after all, chosen a far darker path than she could have ever lived with. Lily felt now that even if they had remained friends after their fifth year, at some point her morals would have left her no choice.
"Mum?" Harry asked gently, shaking her from her thoughts.
"What happened to him?" Lily asked.
Harry ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more. "I'm not entirely sure, Death didn't really explain things that well."
Lily frowned. She really didn't know what to think about her son's strange relationship with Death. She was proud of Harry, but often wished he had been given the opportunity to be normal. Still, he seemed happy enough.
After a moment of silence, Harry spoke again. "You know how I told you about that offer Snape was thinking of accepting?"
Lily nodded and said, "Yes, dear, his heart in exchange for a wish, right?"
"That's basically it," said Harry, "well, as best as I get any of this. Death said that maybe having people Snape's familiar with around would help."
"Of course. I'll be happy to help," Lily said, and then sighed. James wouldn't be happy she was spending time with Severus.
Lily stared at Snape's entirely still face, lying on white sheets. If it wasn't for the rise and fall of his chest, she would have thought him dead. She sat down, stiff backed, onto the chair next to the bed. Lily opened her mouth, let a sound escape and then quickly shut it again. She couldn't make herself continue to look at Snape. She just kept her eyes trained on her clasped hands, feeling like a coward. Perhaps out of curiosity, she couldn't help but glance at Severus now and again, only to quickly look away. "Um," said Lily, searching for where to start. "Harry told me you'd been silly again."
The words reverberated in the silent room, making her feel silly. She sighed and tried again. "Oh, Sev. What on earth were you thinking? What was worth this to you? I don't think you really knew, did you? Either that or you were just being your usual, stubborn self. You really know how to hold a grudge, don't you?"
She let out a humourless laugh. "You really should let people in. I can't think what would make you do this. Harry's worried about you. Look, he hasn't really said, but I know he is. And he's doing his best to get you better. So you better thank him properly when you get better. You'll get better, Sev. You hear me? You make sure you fight whatever's doing this to you."
Lily looked up when the door creaked open and Harry walked in. "How you going?" Harry asked.
Lily shrugged and said, "Fine, I suppose."
Harry took a seat next to his mother, and asked, "Nothing then?"
Lily shook her head. "No, dear," she said, "he must be just fuming about something."
Harry gave her a tired smile and leaned on Lily's side. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him close. She dropped a kiss onto his forehead. "You alright?" she asked.
"Yeah," Harry said, "just thinking."
"What about?" asked Lily.
Harry sighed and leant further into the hug. "I don't know," he said, "just, well, I keep thinking about what's happened to Snape. There were hundreds of hearts - so where are all the others? What would have happened to Snape if we hadn't gotten him out?"
"I don't-" Lily broke off as she noticed a cloaked and hooded figure in the door. She stiffened as Death came closer to them.
"That is not for you to know, Master," Death said.
Harry groaned. "You better not be keeping anything that could help," he grumbled.
Lily tried to relax by letting out a shaky breath. She could never get used to Death being so close, and especially, she could never get used to the way Harry interacted with him. So casual. She often wondered if Harry really understood the true power Death held.
Death remained silent to Harry's question for some time. Harry eventually let out a shout of frustration. "Damn it, just tell me! Anything - please, just," he paused for a moment to calm himself, "anything - I know that you know something. Please."
Death's face had gone blank. "It matters less of where Snape actually is, and more where he perceives himself to be. He, for a lack of a more accurate term, traps himself."
"So that thing we saw," said Harry slowly, "Snape made that?"
"No, no," said Death. Fear leaked through his voice. "That is a thing of it's own. It tricked him into being this."
Harry nodded. "And familiar faces is the only thing to do," he said.
"It won't work," said Death.
Harry let out a loud groan. "But you said-" he began to say. He broke off, cowering back as Death seemed to grow, black, almost solid shadows circling him.
"I know what I said," snapped Death, voice rising, although he seemed more frustrated at himself. "It works in mild cases. Severus Snape is beset by his own demons. Every day he allows them to consume him."
"Then I'll get him out," said Harry.
Lily looked at her only child with sad eyes. "Why must you do this?" she asked.
Harry gave a tight smile. "Must be a saving people thing," he said.