Three-and-a-half weeks. Three-and-a-half-bloody weeks and still Harry Potter shows no signs of recovering. If anything, we are delaying the inevitable. Harry's magic is drained, his physical strength is non-existent—he can't even lift his head up anymore—and any touch to his skin is so excruciatingly painful as to be completely intolerable. Whatever curse the Dark Lord cast in his final moments was clearly meant to take The Chosen One with him. Although the evil wizard failed initially, if something doesn't change—and soon—there is no doubt that Harry will follow Voldemort into death.
The mere thought of it has Severus Snape pacing his quarters, desperate for a solution, any solution. He can't imagine his life without the younger wizard. Not after all they've been through. No longer a student—now the DADA professor at Hogwarts—Snape had finally been persuaded to give the young man a chance. Their relationship had been rocky in the beginning, but Harry's patience and perseverance managed to break down Snape's barriers.
They both knew the risk they were taking—getting involved during wartime. Neither were guaranteed to come out alive, and they, more than most, were likely to be killed. Which was only one of many reasons why Severus had been hesitant to encourage the younger man's folly. But, Harry Potter is nothing if not persistent, and so here Severus is, in love with the Boy Hero who is teetering on the razor edge of death, no cure in sight.
Severus has been working tirelessly day and night, brewing potions each morning in his private lab, helping the healers in the afternoons in the hospital wing, spending his evenings tending to his partner, and devoting his nights trying to think up new ways to help the young wizard—all to no avail.
Exhausted, he collapses onto his sofa and lets his head fall back onto the cushions. Ancient spells, revered rituals, immensely strong potions—all have failed. He needs to think beyond the wand, beyond normal means, for neither Voldemort nor Harry Potter could have ever claimed normalcy.
As he drifts unwillingly toward sleep, he thinks of the late Albus Dumbledore. He would have found a way to help Harry, Severus thinks. He would have known what to do. He always had the answer. Or at least some workable theories. As Severus's mind wanders aimlessly in sleep, he finds himself caught in a kaleidoscope of stressful memories—scenarios thrown to the forefront by his already over-taxed and anxious mind: trying and failing to discover how Black is breaking into the castle, chasing fruitlessly after Quirrell's unworthy goal of capturing the Philosopher's stone, worrying over his strengthening Dark Mark and the inevitable return of the Dark Lord, arguing with Dumbledore over orchestrating said friend's and mentor's demise, desperately trying to hide his true loyalties from the Dark Lord, searching the castle in vain for the Chamber of Secrets only to find Slytherin's long-lost bathhouse.
Severus bolts upright, his heart pounding, adrenaline coursing through his veins. It's fool's gold; a fragile strand of hope at best. But Salazar Slytherin was an exceptionally powerful wizard, and at this point, there is nothing to lose.
Dressing quickly, Severus rushes out of his quarters in search of the bathhouse. He and Dumbledore had stumbled across it six years prior in their search for the Chamber of Secrets. It had taken them several hours, and their not insubstantial combined powers, to break through the wards. The room that had awaited them had been cloaked in darkness. Even extra strong lighting charms failed to adequately illuminate the chambers. And everywhere they looked, tiny serpents decorated every light fixture, ever tap, every locked and charmed cabinet. Clearly only a Parselmouth could break through the enchantments in this room.
Intrigued, but ultimately defeated, Dumbledore and Snape had left, re-warded the bathhouse, and continued their hunt for the Chamber of Secrets. Now, as Severus searches the various corridors, his impatience grows. Where is the damn room?
It takes him nearly forty minutes to locate it, after ignoring every whispered 'not that way' and 'turn right, not left'. He has to consciously fight against the compulsion and concealment charms to locate the cunningly hidden door. Dumbledore had put up unique wards with a password, which now allows Severus to enter easily. Ensuring that the room is as they had left it, grey and dark and foreboding, Severus pulls the door shut again, placing only a simple ward on it to keep out any students wandering around after curfew. Then, he heads for the hospital wing.
"Harry."
The young man doesn't stir. Severus refrains from touching him, knowing that his touch will only bring pain to the man he loves. As he studies Harry's features, he sees the sheen of moisture on Harry's brow, his hair damp with sweat. He is burning up with fever.
Severus swallows against the panic rising within him. He knows Poppy is doing her best to keep Harry alive,but the curse seems irreversible and nothing she, nor any other healer, has done has made any difference.
"HARRY."
Bleary eyes blink open in the otherwise empty hospital wing.
"Sev?" Harry's voice is but a croak. His gaze tracks to the windows where only pinpricks of stars light the night sky. "What are you doing here?"
"Taking you away," Severus says, fitting the straw jutting from a cup of water to Harry's parched lips.
Harry sips greedily before asking, "Where to?"
Severus takes a deep breath. Does he risk raising Harry's hopes over something that is likely a fool's errand? He must hesitate too long, for he feels over-warm fingers grace his hand.
"What is it?" Harry rasps, wincing. It's even painful for Harry to talk these days.
Severus takes a deep breath. "There has long been a rumor that Salazar Slytherin constructed a private bathhouse in the castle. It is said that the bath fills with magical water capable of healing any ailment, any curse."
Harry raises an eyebrow, having picked up one of Snape's mannerisms during the time they've spent together. "You found it?"
"Yes."
"But?" Harry asks, clearly sensing that Severus is holding something back.
"Dumbledore and I broke through the wards years ago. However, it appears that everything within is charmed to respond only to a Parselmouth."
"Me," Harry breathes.
"You," Severus agrees.
Harry gazes intently at Severus, fear and hope and longing traveling back and forth between them.
"Even if it doesn't work…" Harry forces out.
"It has to work," Severus growls, his hands clenching into fists.
"Take me there," Harry whispers.
"I'll be as gentle as I can." Severus slides back Harry's covers. "Put your arms around my neck, all right?"
Harry keens in agony as Severus scoops him into his arms and carries him in a cradle hold.
"Hold on, love," Severus whispers, grabbing Harry's wand from the bedside table as he leaves the hospital wing.
"We're here." Snape says, waving his wand to release the simple ward and stepping inside. "Lumos Maximus."
By the light of his wand, he looks down at the broken young wizard in his arms. Harry is sweating profusely, tears streaming down his face. His lower lip is bleeding from biting it to keep from crying out in agony. Severus's heart breaks at the sight.
"I'm going to set you down near the bath," Severus tells Harry. Frowning, Severus debates where to put him. Everywhere is cold, grey stone, the same as that used to build the castle. There are no towels or blankets or padding of any sort. Perhaps he could sit with Harry on his lap?
"What… is it?" Harry asks, panting through the pain.
"There is no soft surface to place you."
"Anywhere's… fine," Harry rasps.
Carefully, Severus sets Harry down on the cold stone at the edge of the bath, near the largest tap.
Harry moans and shivers and Severus feels like an idiot for not thinking to bring a blanket at the very least. He whips off his robe and covers Harry.
"Need to… catch my… breath," Harry whimpers.
"Take as much time as you need," Severus says, sitting cross-legged by Harry's head and resisting the urge to stroke his hair. Merlin how he misses touching the man and being touched by him. He'd never realized how important Harry had become to him until he was on the verge of losing the young man.
When Harry's heart rate and breathing finally steadies, he speaks. "Need your Dark Mark."
"My Mark?" Severus asks, confusion warring with surprise.
"Need a snake," Harry forces out.
Still not sure what Harry means, Severus pushes his sleeve up, revealing his worst mistake.
Harry stares at it, and then begins to hiss.
The unintelligible sibilant sounds are gasped out and broken in places, but the room responds nonetheless. Numerous sconces flare to life, their stone façade shifting from grey to silver to gold. Their combined light casts a soothing amber glow around the large, cavernous chamber. The walls and floor, which had appeared to be pale grey stone, transform into bright white marble tiles. Veins of Slytherin green and silver race through them, but as Severus watches, the tiles seem to glow and rivers of gold overtake the silver, erasing it from sight. It's remarkable to behold.
The stone benches shift and shudder before becoming white marble padded with Slytherin green tops. They circle the bath—which now looks more like a deep, round pool. The edge of said pool suddenly puffs up with Slytherin green padding, cushioning the area on which they reside.
As Harry continues to hiss in the entrancing tongue, the shining silver taps around the in-ground pool shimmer and gold races up and over them as well, making them glow in the amber light. Between the white cabinets now edged with Slytherin green trim, doors which hadn't been present before appear around the perimeter of the circular chamber.
Severus can only imagine the treasures of Salazar Slytherin that lie beyond. If Harry lives, he'll likely explore them with the man he loves. If Harry dies, he imagines he'll curse the entire bathhouse to oblivion, one-thousand years of history and magic be damned.
Harry's gone quiet, and when Severus glances at him, the young wizard is smiling.
It seems to take all his effort, but Harry forces out the words: "You look like… I must have looked… when I first saw… Diagon Alley."
Severus feels the color rise in his cheeks. Ignoring Harry's observation, he says, "Can you open the taps?"
Harry hisses again, and a moment later, not one, but all of the taps come to life, spewing forth putrid black water.
"Er…" Harry says.
"I imagine that water's been stuck in those pipes for over a thousand years. Let's give them time to purge themselves."
Snape casts a freshening charm over the now fetid air in the room and together they watch the sludge-filled water deluge the round marble pool. Snape wonders if all the crud will plug the drain. Come to think of it, he hasn't seen a drain. Just as he begins to debate if he should banish the foul liquid, a large bubble of air passes from each tap, and behind that comes clear, sparkling water. Then, a whirlpool forms in the center of the pool, sucking down the filth and some of the clean water as well.
A moment later, the pool is bright and clean, all remnants of aged muck gone. The hole in the center closes, and bright, bubbly water fills the tub. It is crystal clear and gurgling gently. The scent of minerals and magic fill the air.
"Help me in?" Harry breathes.
"No!" Severus shouts, making Harry jump. "Let me test it first." Severus quickly strips out of his clothes.
"Wait," Harry breathes, reaching for Severus.
Severus glances over at Harry. His cheeks are bright red in his otherwise pale face. The fever, Severus thinks. But even that can't hide Harry's worry and concern for the man he loves.
"Harry, I am the Head of Slytherin House. Surely you don't think it will reject me, do you?"
Harry looks chagrined, though still a bit nervous.
Severus dips a toe in the water—it's cooler than he expects, but comfortable nonetheless. Ribbons of green and silver dart toward his toe, touching him, dancing around him, flitting away. Bemused, he dips his whole foot in. The pool seems to beckon him forward, the green and silver ribbons darting forward and back, as if trying to taste him. Or maybe tease him. Unable to resist the pull of the water, he slides into its welcome embrace, standing up to his waist. He vaguely hears Harry's voice in the distance, but it is inconsequential now. All that matters is the siren song of the water, calling to every cell of his tired, aching body. Sighing, he slips in deeper, relishing the feel of the tingling sensation that works its way into his exhausted muscles.
The undulating ribbons are seeking—and finding—spots on his body that need to be healed. The knot of scar tissue in his once broken left foot seems to melt away, as does the pain in his knee and opposite hip, remnants of a long ago Death Eater torture session. He closes his eyes as he slides deeper, the healing waters whispering their secrets in a language he can't understand. He feels microfractures in his vertebra heal—remnants of the Cruciatus curse—the muscles easing around them, relieved of the tension of protection and overwork. He has never felt so relaxed and at peace.
He drops his arms into the water, intending to wade in up to his neck, when pain stronger than anything the Dark Lord has ever thrown at him flays his nerves. He falls to his knees, screaming. His left forearm is on fire, compressed in those silver and green ribbons. Instead of their formerly teasing, gentle touches, they wrap around his arm like a vice, constricting, causing the excruciating agony to skyrocket.
His screams soon become muffled as his head sinks below the surface. Gasping, he sucks in the bubbling fluid. As his vision starts to go hazy with pain and lack of oxygen, an image of Harry floats before his eyes. Harry. His Harry. His reason for being here. His reason to live!
He throws off the seductress holding him beneath the water and rockets upwards, coughing and spluttering, clearing his airways before gasping for breath.
"Harry," he croaks, looking around frantically as he tries to shake the tight ribbons from his throbbing arm.
Harry has pushed himself up on his elbows, tears and sweat running down his face. His arms shake terribly and his eyes scream terror.
Severus rushes to the side of the pool nearest Harry, finally freeing himself of the pesky ribbons.
"Sev…" Harry gasps. He can't get out more than that, but the stark pain and fear on his face speak volumes. I was afraid I'd lost you. Harry opens his mouth to try and speak again, but words fail him as pain racks his body.
"Shhh," Severus says, his voice hoarse from coughing. "It's all right. I'm all right. I'm sorry I frightened you. The water tricked me. It…"
The words fall away as Severus catches sight of his left forearm. Where his Dark Mark once was, only the faintest of white lines inhabit his skin, making his tattoo nearly invisible. "I don't believe it."
A moment later he feels Harry's finger stroking the patch of skin. "Dark magic… tried to... fight back."
Severus gapes at Harry, realization striking. He had felt fine in the water before he'd inadvertently submerged his arms. It makes sense now. "I believe you are correct," Severus says, feeling stunned.
Harry and Severus gaze at each other, the same thoughts haunting their minds: What will happen to Harry if he gets into the water, cursed as he is with Voldemort's dark parting signature? Will Harry survive?
"We have to try," Harry rasps.
"It could kill you," Severus protests. "I nearly drown."
It isn't easy for Harry to talk, but he forces out the words. "You'll be with me."
"That doesn't mean I'll be able to save you," Severus says, staring hard into Harry's eyes.
"Sev, I'm dying." Harry coughs as his vocal chords spasm painfully. "I know it and you know it."
An unwelcome, wounded sound escapes from Severus's throat. He wants to deny it, to make Harry take it back. But he can't.
"My only chance," Harry whispers.
"I know," Severus moans.
"Do you love me?" Harry asks around another cough.
Severus scoffs. "What kind of question is that? You know I do."
"Promise me… something."
"Harry…" Severus begins, his voice portraying the wariness he feels.
"Keep me… in the water… for one hour… no matter what." Harry's voice hitches. "Even if… I beg you… to take me out… or if… I seem dead."
"You don't know what you're asking," Severus laments, fear driving shards of ice into his heart.
"I do, Sev," Harry rasps. "It's what Dumbledore… asked of me… when he drank… that poison." Harry gasps and pushes onward, his face a rictus of pain. "Hardest thing… I ever did." Harry keens against the pain of speaking too much and struggles to catch his breathe.
Severus wants to tell him to stop talking, stop straining himself, stop suffering unnecessarily. But if these are the last words he ever hears Harry speak, he can't bear to silence the man.
"Please?" Harry implores at great cost to himself. "Feels right. Necessary."
Severus bows his head. Tears in his eyes, he gives a curt nod.
"If I die…"
"Don't!" Severus bellows. "I can't… You can't…"
Silence hangs in the air as the two men stare desperately at one another. Finally, Harry whispers, "Kiss me."
"Harry?"
"Please."
"I don't want to hurt you," Severus says, but even so, he leans forward and brushes his lips softly against Harry's.
"Help me in?"
Severus rolls his lips inward, biting them, his emotions running high. He doesn't want to do this, doesn't want to risk losing Harry. But he knows he will lose Harry if he doesn't do this. This is their last hope. For salvation or damnation; Severus isn't sure which. He lets out a shaky breath. "We'll do it together."
He climbs out of the pool and sits behind Harry. Harry moans as Severus lifts him into a sitting position and leans the weak, groaning man back against his broad chest.
"Shhh," Severus soothes. "I've got you. You can do this. We can do this."
Harry gasps in labored breaths, his limbs trembling in pain. "I trust you."
Those words are like a knife in Severus's chest. For all they knew, he may be leading Harry to his death. Fighting against the tears trying to make themselves known, Severus carefully untangles Harry's limbs, trying to block out Harry sobs of agony. He arranges Harry so that the young wizard's feet and lower legs dangle in the water, Severus's legs on either side of them.
Severus longs to hold Harry tightly against him, to protect him, to keep him safe. But there is no comfort he can offer the agonized young man. His touch only causes pain on the cursed skin. That knowledge hurts him emotionally as much as it hurts Harry physically. He's never felt so helpless.
Harry's slight frame vibrates against Severus, his breath coming out in sobs.
"Does it hurt?" Severus whispers. "The water?"
"Pins and needles," Harry responds.
"Let me know when you wish to go deeper."
Harry takes a few deep breaths, then speaks, his voice breathy. "Ready."
"Hold on," Severus says, and scoots them both a little closer to the edge, effectively submerging them up to mid-thigh in a bit of an awkward position.
Harry hisses and keens in pain, though whether from the movement or the water, Severus isn't sure.
"What time… is it?" Harry suddenly asks.
Severus picks up his wand and waves it in the air. "A little after 1 am. Why?"
"One hour," Harry reminds Severus.
Severus's stomach plummets with dread as he stares into Harry's agonized gaze. "I promise," he says, against his better judgement.
"All the way," Harry says, his voice reedy.
"Now?"
"Yes. Don't let go," Harry says between sobs.
"Never, Harry."
Severus waves his wand to banish Harry's hospital gown and then wiggles forward, sliding them both into the pool up to their hips.
Harry shrieks and goes rigid in Severus's arms.
"Harry!"
Harry mewls and shakes his head and Severus recognizes that he is trying to hold in the pain.
"Let it out, Harry," Severus says, tears clogging his voice. "Let the pain go."
After a few moments, Harry lets out a shaky sigh.
"Look!" Severus says, pointing.
All around them are those inquisitive colored water ribbons. Red and gold for Gryffindor, of course, but also green and silver. Then more join the fray. Blue and bronze, yellow and black, and finally, purple and copper. All of the house's colors, and Hogwarts as well.
"You really are The Chosen One," Severus murmurs, watching, entranced, as the ribbons dart to and fro, touching Harry's skin, skittering away, weaving with other ribbons and coming back. Severus isn't sure exactly what they are doing. At times it seems like they are holding some sort of council on how to best treat what is ailing Harry.
Still watching the display of underwater colors, Harry murmurs, "Deeper."
Eased out of the trance of the dancing ribbons by Harry's voice, Severus's heart begins to race. Every instinct tells him that this is a bad idea. The curse had hit Harry in the chest, leaving a wide, jagged scar. Severus inches them forward a few steps, careful to keep the scarred flesh above water. After giving Harry a few moments to adjust, he asks, "How are you feeling?"
"Weightless," Harry says.
"That's because I'm holding you up."
"Sev?"
"Hmmm?"
"I love you."
Before Severus can react, Harry goes limp and drops like a dead weight in his arms, effectively submerging himself up to his neck and dragging Severus down with him.
The horrific screams that spew forth from Harry—death screams Severus will think later—will haunt him for the rest of his life.
Severus cradles Harry Potter to his chest and sobs. Sobs like he has never sobbed before.
When he'd carried the young wizard from the water exactly one hour after they'd entered the pool, stacks of towels had appeared all around him, as did a large lounge chair. He had sat down with his skinny bundle of arms and legs, and held Harry to him, rocking both of them.
When Harry had intentionally dropped into the water up to his neck, the screams that had issued from Harry's mouth and echoed mercilessly around the chamber were the most terrifying sound that Severus had ever heard in his life. And if that hadn't been bad enough, the water had pulled them both under. Between the force of its will and the pool bottom seeming to disappear beneath their feet, Severus had found himself and Harry sinking well below the surface.
To make matters worse, the seemingly docile, curious, and colorful water ribbons had attacked Harry with a vengeance. They'd transformed from playful water snakes to vengeful serpents. They'd wrapped around Harry—his limbs, torso, and neck—and had pulled and stretched, yet compressed and restricted, all at the same time. They'd even wiggled aggressively into Harry's every orifice—his ears, nose, and mouth had been the least objectionable.
Severus had kicked hard, trying to reach the surface to get Harry out of harm's away. But try as he might to swim upward, invisible forces had wrapped around his ankles and held him down. Just as he'd begun to panic in earnest, the sound of phoenix song had filled his ears. Surprised, he'd opened his eyes, as if expecting to see Fawkes in front of him. The water was as clear as he'd remembered and it hadn't even burned his eyes. He had blinked, forgetting that he needed to breath, and looked down at Harry. Harry, whose eyes were closed but whose mouth was still open in a scream—now with gold and silver water snakes streaming out of it—and whose features had gone completely lax. He'd looked peaceful. Too peaceful.
Severus had jutted out a hand, first unsuccessfully trying to pull the water snakes out, and then feeling desperately for a pulse. There wasn't one.
Frantically he'd kicked toward the surface of the water again, but it was as futile as his previous attempts. The phoenix song had gotten louder, closer, as if calling for him to listen, to be still. He'd surveyed himself then and though they'd surely been under water for longer than a minute, he hadn't felt the need to breathe.
This had been his idea, he'd reminded himself. He had given his trust over to the rumored healing powers of Salazar Slytherin's bath. If he died here with Harry, it wouldn't be the worst way to go. They'd be together, and wasn't that what he'd wanted after all?
He'd closed his eyes then and gave himself over. I love you, Harry Potter: heart, body, and soul. He'd relaxed into the magical water, closing his eyes and letting the phoenix song flow over him as surely and completely as the crystal clear bubbling water had. So immersed was he that he hadn't even noticed that they'd begun to slowly drift upward.
When his head broke the surface, he'd instinctively drawn Harry's head above the water too. Gulping in fresh air, he studied the limp form in his arms. Harry's mouth was closed now, the ribbons having released him. His features remained serene. The curse scar on his chest, as well as the lightning bolt scar that had marked him his entire life, were no more than faint white lines, just as Severus's Dark Mark was. Severus had assumed that the rest of the dark curse was gone too.
As he had stared into the placid face of his beloved, grief threatening to completely overwhelm him, a single odd thought came to him. Why had Salazar Slytherin's chamber changed from green and silver to green and gold? Had it recognized that the Parselmouth speaking to it was a Gryffindor? One that would have done well in Slytherin?
Severus shifts on the lounge, reaching out to grab some towels to cover Harry's naked body. He doesn't bother to cover his own chilled skin. He leans protectively over Harry, enfolding the young man securely in his arms, feeling Harry's cool, wet flesh against his own. He hadn't been able to touch Harry in so long. Now, he holds Harry's body close and sobs his heart out. There are no restrictions any longer. Now he can hold and touch and kiss and squeeze as much as he likes. He sobs even harder.
"Why are you crying?"
Severus raises his tear-streaked face. "Do you need to ask?"
Harry reaches up and strokes his lover's cheek. "I'm alive. And I'm healed. We did it."
Severus buries his face back in the crook of Harry's neck. "By Merlin, I thought I'd lost you," Severus murmurs against Harry's skin. "I thought you were dead."
Severus revels in the feel of Harry's too-thin arms wrapped around him, squeezing him tighter. How he'd missed the young man's embrace, his scent, his touch, his love. Severus holds him now as if his very life depends on it. Even the returned embrace isn't reassurance enough. Harry may be healed of Voldemort's curse, but he is still much too weak and too thin.
"I'm not going anywhere, Sev. I promise."
Severus wants to believe him.
A moment later, Harry adds, "You saved my life—again. I think you're well and truly stuck with me now."
Severus raises his head and gazes at Harry—his now healthy skin stretched taught over a hollowed out face, his bright green eyes no longer swimming in constant pain, his dry lips that frame a tentative smile. Severus chokes on a sob and leans forward to kiss Harry.
Harry opens to him immediately, kissing back eagerly. Tears still track down Severus's face, a testament to fear and helplessness. But Severus ignores them, instead allowing the love he feels for the young man to encircle them both, wrapping them in hope and belonging.
"Poppy is going to panic when she finds me missing," Harry murmurs between kisses.
"I don't care."
"She'll blame you."
"I. Don't. Care."
"Then she'll thank you."
"I DON'T CARE."
"And then," Harry says, a cheeky grin crossing his face, "she'll submit your name for a Merlin of First Class and you'll be known forever more as The Man Who Saved The Boy Who Lived, or maybe just The Savior."
"Bloody hell!" Severus pulls away from the kiss looking horrified.
Harry laughs and reaches up to stroke Severus's face. "Merlin, I missed you, Sev."
"Missing doesn't begin to encompass the fear of losing you," Severus murmurs and then shudders. His eyes gain focus and he turns to Harry, his voice fierce. "Don't you ever scare me like that again."
"Never, Severus," Harry says, sliding his fingers into Severus's silky black hair and pulling him down for another kiss.
"I suppose I'll have to carry you back up to the hospital wing like some celebrity now," Severus says, feigning being put out by the notion as he dresses first himself, and then Harry, who is still much too weak to dress himself. He doubts the young man could even stand at this point, much less walk. Harry might be cured of the Dark Lord's parting curse, but he is far from recovered.
"You could just levitate me and prod me along with your wand," Harry offers with a cheeky smile.
Severus stands tall and throws back his shoulders. In a magisterial voice, he says, "Saviors have a reputation to uphold."
Harry bursts out laughing. "I'd rather you carried me to bed," Harry says, his voice slipping into a seductive tenor.
"As soon as Madam Pomfrey releases you from the hospital wing, I will do that, and much more, post haste."
"Promise?" Harry teases.
"You have my word," Severus says. Leaning over to rest his forehead against Harry's, he adds, "And my heart, and my body, and my soul."
At Harry's astonished look, Severus scoops the younger man up into his arms, kisses him on the forehead, and carries the younger wizard back up to the hospital wing, a relieved and hopeful expression on his normally stark features.