Disclaimer: The characters used in this story, all belong to J.K.Rowling. They are not mine, even if I would wish otherwise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Rating: R

Pairing: Harry/Severus

Summary: After Harry defeats Voldemort, he finds himself in a strange place. To his dismay Severus Snape is trapped there along with him. Meanwhile the Order looks for a way to bring them back. HP/SS, SLASH

A/N: I want to thank my wonderful beta Kuteki for helping me with this, all remaining mistakes are solely my fault.

Strange Places

Harry began chanting the spell and suddenly there was this strange feeling. It felt like his mind, or soul, or both, were expanding, getting bigger and bigger, becoming much too large for his body, then leaving it behind altogether. For one eternal second he felt like he was one with the universe and everything in it.

It was like he was every living being at once, seeing what they saw, thinking what they thought, feeling what they felt, and it frightened him more than anything else ever had. It was bloody fantastic, but it was also too much for him, too many sensations assaulting his senses. Suddenly, there was absolute silence, it was like the whole universe had stopped for a moment, to take a deep breath and look at him, lending him its strength, readying itself for what he was about to do. He looked down and saw himself.

He looked at his body, seeing himself standing there was odd, to say the least. He heard the final words of the incantation coming from his lips. How could his body still be casting the spell, when he was here, wasn't in it anymore to command its actions? But somehow it did and as he watched enthralled, the last word of the spell was said, the hand – his hand- that was clinging to a wand –his wand- shaking with the power that was coursing through it.

There was a flash-wave of bright white light, too bright to look at, expanding into every direction like an enormous soap bubble and then, when the wave had left his immediate surroundings, there was this feeling again, as suddenly as it had first appeared, but this time it was the opposite, it felt like he was being crammed, remodelled and pushed back into his body, which he had been looking at from above, just a moment before.

He felt drawn, pulled to it by thousands of invisible ropes. A shell that now seemed entirely too small to take all of him in, but somehow it worked, because he looked through his own bespectacled eyes again, was again just Harry Potter, instead of the all encompassing being, the spell had made of him for these frightening, amazing moments.

He looked around, only now beginning to take in his surroundings. The large circle of burned grass, the crumbled form of his archenemy lying only a few feet away. A small heap of burned skin and twisted bones that could barely be recognised for having been human once. Not that Voldemort had been exactly human in the end. Since his second resurrection, he neither looked entirely human, nor was there any real humanity left in him, anymore.

Death was precisely what the bastard had deserved, for years of unfoundedly torturing and killing so many people. Just because he could do it and took pleasure in their suffering. Some of those people had been close to Harry, family, friends, all lost because a sick man wanted more and more power, wanted to rule the whole wizarding world.

But the Dark Lord hadn't succeeded. In the end Harry had won, because of his humanity, his love, his will to sacrifice himself, so that the others could survive. The spell he had used to magnify his powers could only be cast, if the caster didn't intend to use it for a selfish purpose. That was why Voldemort had never succeeded in casting it.

According to Snape's reports, the Dark Lord had tried again and again, and afterwards, angered by failing once more, he had randomly used the Cruciatus Curseon his followers, none of them were safe from his rage and they all attempted to avoid him as much as possible at such times. On other occasions when Voldemort decided that inflicting pain on his Death Eaters wasn't good enough to cheer up his mood, he did torture anybody being unlucky enough to be his prisoner at that time.

He had used horrible curses and experimental potions on the unfortunate prisoners until they were glad to finally die, their throats raw from hours of screaming and begging. Thank Merlin, that Voldemort had never achieved to get the power he was after, otherwise the fate of the wizarding world would have been dire.

But fortunately, it hadn't come to that. Harry had won their final battle. So why didn't Harry feel content? Why didn't he feel great, fantastic, happy like he always had imagined it to feel when the Dark Lord was once more defeated and this time for good? He was glad, of course, that Voldemort was finally dead, but it felt rather anticlimactic.

Harry was standing there, his robes hanging in torn rags from his lean form, with mud on his face and his right hand clutched around thin air, because his wand had shattered into tiny pieces, too weak to channel all the raw energy which had suddenly burst through it.

He didn't feel at all like a hero, like a glorious victor. In the end he'd had nothing but pity left for Voldemort. After all, in some ways he had been just another victim of unfortunate circumstances that had shaped him. Maybe if someone had taught Tom Riddle how to feel anything other than greed and hatred, had taught him what love was, had shown him some kindness while he was younger, he might not have become a dark wizard.

Harry had long ago realised that the same could happen to anyone, could have happened to him if it hadn't been for his friends, mentors and fellow brothers and sisters in arms: the Order of the Phoenix.

The Order, he suddenly realised, they had been with him to fight the Death Eaters while he was facing off Voldemort, where were they?

"Bollocks," he swore loudly. "I hope they're all right...please, let them not be dead, not them too," he quietly prayed, before he stumbled away from the still smoking heap, that had once been Voldemort, searching his surroundings for any signs of life. It would have been a lot easier if he still had his wand, but it was damaged beyond repair.

Surrounding him were bushes and trees that obviously hadn't been harmed by the magical fire, so damn many of them. They had been useful while they had waited for Voldemort and his followers to appear for their secret gathering. Had provided places to hide, while they had watched their meeting, but now they only made his search harder.

Where the hell were all the Death Eaters anyway? Had they run away, or had they continued to fight, even when it had become obvious that their leader wouldn't win. He neither saw their black robes nor the dark red ones of the Order. Nothing. Just grass and bushes and trees, no sign of anyone being there except for him.

He began to walk, with no specific direction. He let his intuition guide him, he had learned to trust it to lead him, because it was right more times than not. It could have been hours, or only minutes that had passed while he walked around without knowing where he was or where he was headed.

Finally he saw the edge of a red battle cloak. The rest of it was obscured by a large bush, so he couldn't see if there was someone there, or if it was just a discarded piece of clothing, thrown away in the heat of the battle.

Harry cautiously approached and lifted the lower branches of the bush to get a better look at what was under it. When he finally saw who the person lying there was, he didn't know if he should be relieved or frustrated, because it was no one other than Severus Snape, his most hated, greasy-haired, former Potions professor. Snape was certainly the very last person he wanted to see right now, but it was in any case better than being totally alone.

Maybe he would know where the others had disappeared to, but first Harry had to find out if Snape was still alive, because the professor had his eyes closed and hadn't moved since Harry had found him. He laid two fingers on Snape's wrist to check for a pulse and was relieved when he found it was slow but steady. Even if he couldn't stand the obnoxious git, he wouldn't have wanted him to be dead. After all, Snape was a vital member of the Order and his research had been essential for the outcome of this war.

It was just that the two of them had never quite managed to overcome the hatred, even downright loathing they had felt for each other ever since their first meeting.

He had never liked the professor, because of the unfair way Snape treated him in class and after what had happened in Harry's fifth year at Hogwarts, with the whole Occlumency disaster, he hated Snape more than he ever hated anyone else, expect for maybe Voldemort. The man had broken into his most private thoughts and had ridiculed them. Harry wouldn't ever forgive him for that. He also still blamed Snape, for not letting him attend his Advanced Potions classes, just because he slightly missed the Outstanding that was required and therefore destroying all of Harry's chances of ever becoming an Auror.

Snape had always been harsh and unforgiving towards Harry. He probably still thought that Harry was a spoiled celebrity, the bane of his existence, only being there to make his live harder. And his hatred had increased a great deal after Harry had got an unintended look at Snape's pensieve and saw that embarrassing incident from his past.

Maybe he thought that Harry was secretly still laughing over it and making fun about it with his friends, when all Harry had really felt after seeing the memory was shame, for what his father and godfather had done.

Over the years there had been countless of other things, most of them misunderstandings on both parts, to add to the bad feelings between them. After Harry had finished his education at Hogwarts and started to work full-time for the Order, they still hadn't gotten along much better.

They had come to some kind of a truce for the sake of the Order and the missions, on which they had to fight side by side and couldn't let themselves be distracted by anything at all. This truce mainly consisted of getting out of each other's way as much as - and talking as little as - possible with each other.

But now here he was and Snape was there too and if they didn't find anyone other soon, they would have to work together to survive the night, which would be freezing cold at this time of the year. If they didn't find any shelter soon, they would have to spend the night outside, without a tent or blankets to keep them warm. Something Harry most certainly didn't intend to do if it could be helped.

First he would have to get Snape to regain consciousness though, because the Potions Master seemed to be knocked out by a spell or maybe a blast to the head. Harry crawled further under the bush to get closer to the other man. He non-too-gently shook his former professor and was rewarded for his effort with a soft moan and Snape's eyelids slowly fluttering open.

"I see you're finally awake, Professor," Harry said. "Are you injured?"

Snape opened his eyes fully and gazed at Harry bleary-eyed. For a moment he seemed to be confused about his whereabouts and how exactly he had come to be in this predicament but then, realisation dawned on his face and he tried to move first his legs, then his arms. Once they turned out to be working properly, he supported himself with his hands on the ground and managed to push himself up into a sitting position. He experimentally moved his head and as it turned out to be undamaged too, his face returned to its usual scowling expression and he finally answered Harry's question.

"It seems, Potter, that I am unharmed, apart from a slight headache," Snape said. "If you would be so nice to inform me now, what has happened since that trice-damned Malfoy caught me with a well aimed curse?"

"Well, let's see. I cast the spell, felt like I was the master of the universe for a moment, there was that bright, mighty shock-wave. Suddenly I'm back in my body, dear old Voldie is nothing but ashes. Then, once I don't feel like someone has just punched me in the guts anymore, I get up and look for fellow Order members, who where nearby the last time I checked, but have all suddenly disappeared now. Expect for you, whom I found after searching for a while under this bush. Has this narration been satisfying to your curiosity, Snape?" Harry said snappishly. He hadn't intended to be this harsh, but the realisation that Voldemort was really gone for good and therefore the war was finally over, had just started to kick in and he felt overwhelmed by all of it.

Snape refrained from commenting on his tone of voice, he just raised an eyebrow and glared at him. "So the spell did work and you have achieved to defeat the Dark Lord?" he finally said.

Harry nodded his head in agreement, anticipating that it was only the opening sentence of the tirade that would certainly follow. He was proven right.

"Very well, as much as it pains me to admit it, you did something right, for once," Snape continued. "Of course, the spell was foolsafe and also don't forget, that I was the one to discover it. A spell that even a complete moron like yourself could cast," he sneered, gloating with the knowledge that he had been the one to find the spell, which had saved them all.

Harry gritted his teeth and barely managed to restrain himself from attacking the greasy bastard and beating the sneer out of him. "If you feel up to it, we should go and continue to search for other survivors, some sort of shelter for the night would also be a good idea, it's beginning to get colder," he said, trying to keep his anger in check.

"Of course, Potter, do give me a moment to look for my wand and I will be ready to leave," Snape said, scanning the ground surrounding them, with his eyes. When he didn't see it, he fumbled about the ground with his elegant hands, until he finally found his lost wand hidden under some leaves.

"Bloody Hell," he muttered. It was snapped just two inches under the tip, the damaged end hanging down limply and showing that the wand's core consisted of Thestraltail hairs, which both he and Harry could see clearly. The damage to it was probably caused by him falling on it, when the spell had hit him, bugger his rotten luck.

"I don't believe your wand survived Voldemort's demise?" Snape hopefully asked.

Harry just silently shook his head.

"Mr. Potter, it looks like we are in much greater trouble than I first assumed," Snape said.

"What should we do now?" Harry asked.

"Do use your brain for a change. We will do exactly as you said before. Search for other survivors and in case we do not find anyone we will seek out shelter for the night." Snape said sounding annoyed.

Harry held out his hand to help Snape stand up, but it was ignored like he should have known it would. Once Snape stood and the slight dizziness in his head had subsided, the two of them began to walk in silence having nothing further to say to each other at the moment.

A/N: Read it? Enjoyed it? Please review!