Honestly, things had gone a lot better than Harry had thought it would. The image of his family, of Sirius and Remus, walking him through the forest to his death was still fresh in his mind and making his heart clench in his chest. Relieved to not have seen Snape with all the people he loved as he marched out to meet Voldemort, he believed until that very last moment as he faced him in the forest that he was leaving this world having seen Snape one last time and had done his best to make sure that the odds of survival were in Snape's favor (the most that could be said under the circumstances) but now that all the confusion and threats of impending death have ceased, something odd has happened to Harry. He's nervous. He's relatively sure that Snape didn't die in the time since he walked out of the Shrieking Shack, and Harry remembers pretty clearly how quickly Fawkes' tears did the job for his Basilisk envenomation so a few hours must have done the trick for Snape's throat. That leaves nothing to do but to either sleep for several days and leave Severus in the Shrieking Shack, unaware of the miraculous outcome of the Battle (namely, Harry still being alive – or is it alive again?) and believing that he's still a wanted man or manning up and having a conversation with the man he'd been fantasizing about since they got off together over a month ago.
Harry may possibly be thinking about the memories Snape gave him, thinking about his mother in a way he'd really prefer not to, hoping that Snape is happy to be alive and wants Harry like he did that night in the forest and it wasn't just a pity thing. Or at least not just pity. He wants Snape to want more than just stolen moments together and the fact that he feels like he shouldn't feel this way after such a brief encounter with the severe man, no matter the circumstances surrounding them at that time, makes Harry slightly uneasy. Things were so tense and awful between them for so long that Harry really wonders if one meeting, clothed or unclothed, could really change things so much between them to really warrant their 'conversation' to be far from over.
What if their connection was only feasible during extreme conditions? What if wartime was the only time they could work together? What if Snape didn't want him anymore? What if Harry was making this way worse in his head by torturing himself about details like that?
Harry feels like a complete moron, kneeling in a dirt tunnel, less than 100 meters from Snape and shaking like a leaf, unable to move forward any further. He supposes that it's normal, considering their 'encounter' was his first sexual experience ever and now he really wants to continue it (he's pretty sure, anyway) and he needs to talk to a surly, snarky, sometimes outright cruel man who he thinks might want him back but could actually not considering that he truly believed that Harry was going to have to sacrifice himself and stay sacrificed in order to save the world. Harry's life does not even resemble other people's lives.
Taking one last shuddering breath, Harry forces himself to knee-walk the rest of the way towards the Shack, suddenly aware that his clothes are singed, he's covered in dirt and blood and other unspeakable things and aware in that moment that this conversation might have been more comfortable if he'd taken a shower before leaving the castle. Bollocks.
As he nears the tunnel's exit, he can hear the sound of agitated pacing coming from the room directly outside the tunnel. It's a good sign but Harry's worried that Snape shouldn't be exerting himself this much, so soon. Determining himself against hyperventilation or fleeing and just going with the sleeping for several days plan, Harry makes sure his shuffles out of the tunnel are as loud as possible so to not startle the anxious man.
Just as he's about to straighten up and make himself known (if he isn't already noticed by the master spy) the pacing stops abruptly and silence descends. With nothing left to do, Harry stands and turns towards the shadowed room, and the dour man, in front of him.
"Hi," Harry says dumbly, internally berating himself for the millionth time.
"Did you use the Pensive?" Snape rasps, his voice a ruined growl, steel scraping against stone. Harry winces at the sound of it.
He can't see Snape's eyes, nor his face for that matter, and is totally blind to any emotions he could be feeling at seeing Harry again. Nervously fiddling with his fingers, Harry simply replies, "Yes."
"How long until… How long?" Snape forces out, uncharacteristically censoring himself. Harry feels like he's missing something important, sure his face is betraying as much, and then suddenly Snape takes three large strides out of the shadows and towards Harry. His face is thunderous and supremely sad at the same time. A snarl escapes his sneering mouth, chest almost close enough to touch Harry's own but he only grates, "I heard the Dark Lord's announcement earlier, heard him give you one hour. I couldn't have been unconscious for more than forty minutes. How much longer until the deadline runs out, Potter?"
"It's passed already," Harry mutters, staring up at Severus in the gloom and trying to piece together an explanation that might make sense to the other man. Snape opens his mouth to most likely begin yelling, face contorting with several emotions at once but Harry raises his hand to stop him and continues uninterrupted. "I understood your message perfectly. I went to meet Voldemort in the forest and I let him kill me. I guess it didn't stick."
"Oh," The taller man replies, his mouth opening and closing several times after the last sound escaped him before he blinks hard and leans heavily against a barrel with his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. Harry tries to get his thoughts together enough to say something meaningful, or even something to reassure Snape that Voldemort was dead for good, but he seems unable to get himself to focus on anything other than that Snape's alive. Touch him. It's all over now. Snape's alive. Touch him. Harry manfully resists and tries to gather himself better than he has done thus far. He feels justified in his distraction since he did just kill the most powerful dark wizard since Grindelwald. He's bloody tired. Oh, right, Snape might like to know that bit of information. God, he's having trouble focusing. How long has it been since he slept?
"I…I killed him, Severus," Harry declares, trying to sound less like he's still a first year in detention despite the fact that his head is hanging down like he did something wrong. Harry's pretty disappointed with himself, truth be told. He is a grown man, yet Snape has the ability to break down all the usual barriers that Harry keeps in place to convince everyone that he is a well adjusted, emotionally healthy person.
Snape's head snaps up, seemingly struck dumb for several long moments before some alien sound erupts from his newly repaired throat and he abruptly turns away from Harry with a swirl of his ruined robes. He is silent for longer than Harry knows what to do with, and just as Harry's about to go lay a hand on Snape's shoulder in camaraderie, Snape suddenly twists around and starts for Harry at breakneck speed.
Unsure what's happening, Harry is extremely surprised to be swept up into a bone-crushing hug before he knows what hit him. Underneath the coppery bite of blood, Snape still smells of cloves, Valerian root and old parchment mixed with something that can only be described as 'Snape'. Harry chokes back a sob and locks his arms tight about Severus' neck as he's twirled around with his feet swinging out behind him. Harry never wants to move again, to feel anything other than this unfettered delight and childlike giddiness. It's over, Snape's alive and everything will, somehow, be alright.
With an embarrassed cough, Snape puts Harry's feet back on solid ground and moves to pull away but Harry claws his nails into the other man's blood-tacky shoulders and holds on until Snape stops trying to move. Before the man can say anything rude or ruin the moment, Harry forces himself mumble, "I missed– er… I was really worried about you," Harry finally mutters, still determined to keep the taller man pressed to him as long as possible. "I thought you were going to die and there was nothing I could do."
So quietly Harry almost misses it, Snape grits out, "You did die."
"Seems like it didn't stick this time either," Harry says lightly, trying to keep Snape from dropping into one of his moods. It's too happy of a day to be anything but exhausted and joyful despite all the mourning everyone will have to reckon with tomorrow.
Snape barks a surprised laugh, the first real laugh Harry has ever heard from the man, and Harry wraps his arms even tighter around him in response as he lets out a little laugh of his own. There is a deep inhale against the top of his head and Harry braces himself for something bad. Nothing happens except that Snape seems to be tightening his hold on Harry as he quietly asks, "He's really dead? The Dar – … Voldemort?"
"Really, really dead. I'll tell you the whole story another time. Right now, I'd rather just…well, this is actually perfect. Let's keep doing this," Harry replies softly, burying his nose into the previously shredded side of Snape's neck. The other man only nods slowly and holds on just as tightly as Harry is.
A/N: I hope this can tide everyone over until I get back from work tomorrow. I just couldn't leave everyone without posting a little more before signing off for the day. Please let me know what you think! I have been working on this story for so long that I honestly can't tell if things are making sense anymore. I would really appreciate your feedback. Please hit the review button and just drop me a quick line. I love you guys! I did all this for you, so you only have yourselves to blame if everyone hates the idea of a sequel once it's posted. lol I hope I haven't let anyone down.
Oceans of Love,
Kitty Hazard
