"A calamity? Do you think he managed it?"

"No. He didn't complete the ritual. Barely began, really."

Harry was sitting on a bench at the long communal table in the Leaky Cauldron, where the Auror Department were still headquartered and his middle was pressed into the wooden edge by the Aurors standing behind him, all of them crowding in to hear what happened.

A healer was sitting next to him, working on his forearm, trying to do a more meticulous job at closing it than they'd been able to on sight. He paused his wand work to glare at Dawlish, who was standing closest to Harry. "Do you mind?" he said.

Dawlish grunted and moved.

"But how can we know the energy field he was creating wasn't just enough for a breach, even a small one-"

"We would know already-"

"How on earth do you think we would?"

Snape was sitting across from him and Harry found it entertaining to watch him in this way because it felt very long since he could observe Snape's face head on in the light, his lip curling with disdain at every passing comment.

And then someone's arm was in the way as they reached in front of him for a glowing thread from a container the likes of which Harry had never seen before. It was his healer, sucking his teeth because a part of the gash had opened again. Sirius's knife had proved to be a tricky weapon.

"If they would just lower their voices," the healer muttered, putting his face so close to Harry's arm that he could feel his breath. "Or better yet, shut up."

Harry smiled, thinking maybe that would make the healer feel better. The healer didn't seem to care. Ron was joining the argument, his voice garnering enough silence that everyone could hear.

Snape was visible again, his eyes venom, curled up at the faces standing above him, his mouth a soft line.

"Maybe we all stop theorizing until Hermione, Harry, and Professor Snape finish telling us what happened?"

Hermione was sitting next to Snape. She looked covered in a film of ground dirt.

"I couldn't hear much at that point, my ears were ringing from the accident shot. But from what I could tell, he'd meant for each of us to be sacrificed to our own individual object. I think he was going to throw the objects into the water after that."

"How would he have managed the Veil? It's huge."

"He had-" Harry started

"Shh!" His healer looked livid.

"Countless muggles were doing his bidding. It would not have been difficult," Snape finished for him. "And he would have sent them running off that cliff with it."

The hush in the room was heavier at that.

The door behind the bar banged open. The witch and the two wizards from Robin Hood appeared, each escorted by their own arresting Auror.

They already looked to be under the influence of Veritaseum, their faces blank and weighted.

Kingsley called over to someone else for parchment and paper. They charmed it to take dictation. The sound of its scratching filled the space as Dawlish began the interrogation.

"What are your names?"

"Mathilda Grimblehawk."

Harry's attacker said "Grim Fawley."

The last man Harry had only seen briefly in the field, with dirty blonde hair, a sharp and dark face, replied "Talbott Winger."

"Where are we?"

They all replied in unison. "The Leaky Cauldron, Diagon Alley, London, England."

"Grim Fawley, this question is for you. Who was responsible for the use of magik mortus over the village of Robin Hood's Bay?"

"Eamon Iterper."

Dawlish moved next to Harry. He looked in time to see him tapping Jamsen's shoulder next to him, who stood up.

"Ask him to spell it," Jamsen said.

Fawley did and Jamsen left the room.

"What did Eamon want to accomplish?"

"He wanted to produce a calamity. Introduce chaos into this universe, make the secrecy of magic impossible. Change world order."

"What world order did he believe in?"

"He believed wizards are superior to witches and witches superior to magical non-humans, magical beings superior to non-magic beings. He believed in slavery for muggles. He believed in freedom for magic from time and space."

Ron asked the next question. "Why were you helping him?"

"My partner Penelope went missing 2 years ago. He said that even if she was dead, calamities can cause crosses in time. He said I could see her again, I could find her."

There was general shifting in the room, everyone sighing or elbowing the person next to them or rolling their eyes.

"The things we do for love," said Kingsley.

Dawlish carried on. "How did you help him?"

"I'm an Unspeakable. I helped him access the Department of Mysteries. I helped him move the Veil. I gave him artifacts he could use in his rituals."

Kingsley proceeded to ask for a list of everything that was given. It was short and Harry's knife was on it. Kingsley went on to ask him the particulars of the magic Eamon had been using for the rituals, but Fawley didn't seem to know.

They moved on to Mathilda.

"Eamon kidnapped me," she said. "He put me under Imperius and made me glamor my co-workers or tamper with their memories. He thought he would need me after the calamity, because of my work with magical creatures. I think he had plans for me during the ritual, plans to use a beast. But he was disorganized. I suspect the beast escaped but he never told me."

Hermione asked the next question. She looked like she knew she wasn't supposed to, but couldn't help it. Dawlish didn't interrupt the response. "Why did you ignore me, when I tried to get your attention outside of the shop?

"I don't know how the spell works, how he was controlling those muggles. I thought he might have some way of surveilling us through them."

"Did you have any evidence for that?"

Dawlish gave her a look. "Hermione- "

"Sometimes when I tried to escape, a muggle would catch me."

Hermione relaxed back into her chair in silence.

Dawlish addressed Fawley again. "Do you know how he was doing it? Controlling those muggles?"

"No."

"You saw nothing while you were with him that might be a clue into how he was doing it?"

"I did.

"Describe it."

"He had a room that looked like it was being used to make potions."

"What potions did it look like he was making?"

"I don't know. I only got a glimpse, he was angry when I saw that."

"What exactly did you see?"

"Cleaned potion equipment."

"And you never saw him use potions?"

"No."

"Did you see him brewing?"

"No."

"Do you remember which room it was?"

Harry's wound began to itch and he looked down to see his healer, blowing a bit of ember across the length of his cut.

"The child's room on the second floor of the house."

The quill scratched the response and then stopped. Ron jumped in, taking advantage of Dawlish's hesitation.

"Why was Eamon interested in Harry?"

"He never told me."

The quill scratched to a stop again. Snape spoke this time.

"Why did he feed Potter's blood to the fiendfyre?"

"I don't know."

"Do you know anything?" Snape said, clearly irritated.

Fawley opened his mouth to respond again, but Dawlish interrupted.

"No need to answer that.

Fawley's mouth closed.

"Who else was working with Eamon?"

"Antonin Dolohov and Amycus Carrow."

Harry and Ron looked at each other. "Anyone else from the Ministry of Magic?" Ron asked.

"I don't know."

Ron didn't react and Harry trained his face into neutrality. They shouldn't have looked at each other.

Dawlish shifted his questions to the man Harry didn't recognize, Talbott Winger. He was an Unspeakable and a Hit Wizard. The Auror department often called them in for backup. Harry had thought about being a Hit Wizard, but it was a lot of sitting around waiting for a call.

"Was he using you to access the Department of Mysteries?"

"Yes," Winger said.

"How?"

"He tried the Imperius Curse, but I've been trained against it. Then I made the mistake of Transforming to escape him when he attacked me. I'm an Animagus. He took advantage of my animal state, used my weakened mental ability to cast the curse again. It worked and he took me to the village. He used my hair I think to make Polyjuice and impersonate me for access into the ministry, but I don't know for sure."

Dawlish addressed Fawley again. "Did Eamon use Talbott Winger's likeness to access the Department of Mysteries with you?"

"Yes."

The questioning didn't last much longer. When it was clear Grimblehawk and Winger wouldn't incriminate themselves further, they were sent to rest. Hawthorne and Savage arrested Fawley and left the pub just as he seemed to be gaining more control over his face.

The atmosphere afterward wasn't necessarily celebratory, but it was relaxed.

When Kingsley left and the feeling was less official, everyone had a pint or a firewhisky, and Dawlish paid. When a drink was pushed Harry's way, his healer, who was still working on him with deadly concentration, tutted and shooed it back.

It was mostly the British Aurors at the table then, the foreigners choosing the smaller tables to sit at, the bar packed. Jamsen hadn't returned from the task Dawlish had sent him on.

"What day is it?" Ron asked.

"It's Christmas," said Tom, already clearing the table of a few empty glasses.

Ron and Hermione looked at each other. "We should get going then, shouldn't we?"

"Have something to eat before you're off," Dawlish said.

"There's plenty of food where we're going," Hermione said.

"You coming?" Ron asked Harry. Harry was confused. He surely couldn't if Ginny was there.

"Professor Snape would be welcome, too," Hermione said. "With Ginny on tour, there'll be an extra place at the table."

Harry understood the invitation now but even he felt it would be too much, too soon to have Snape dine with the Weasleys. And he wasn't going to leave Snape alone on Christmas. Ron and Hermione were just being kind. It felt a bit like charity, but Harry tried to dismiss the feeling quickly.

"It's alright, you go ahead," he said. He didn't look at Snape. He felt if there'd been less people to witness it, Snape might have insisted Harry go with them.

Ron started to insist but the healer interrupted.

"He shouldn't be Apparating anywhere far. Might need to get this seen to in hospital if I can't sort it out."

"Perhaps a portkey could be arranged," Snape said. Harry looked. He was glaring.

"Merlin! No," the healer said. "That would rip this right open."

"We could stay with you," Ron said.

"No, go. It's alright. Give everyone my love."

Dawlish and Ron shook hands, Hermione holding his other. She approached Harry to hug him goodbye, but the healer's loud "No, please," stopped her. After the door swung behind them, there was a faint sound of Apparition.

Snape left for his room immediately after. Harry sat at the table trying to stay still and Dawlish and the healer worked together to protect him from anyone else's conversation. In the hour and a half he sat there, people came and went from the bench in front of him, at the bar, in and out of the loo. When each person left, they said their goodbyes. The bar nearly empty and the healer nearly done, Dawlish began his exit.

"You alright?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah."

The healer stood, flexed his neck. He was petite and looked like he was made of bird bones. "I'm finished. If it opens again, go straight to St. Mungo's."

"He'll take you?" Dawlish said, pointing up at the ceiling. "If anything happens?" Harry knew he was probably eager to get to his family. When Harry had been with Ginny, he remembered the nights he couldn't come home; but it never seemed to matter because she was always away too.

"Yeah. Go home."

"Alright. Take care."

Harry took to the staircase immediately, ignoring the few people left to call out to him by name. There'd maybe be a quote in an article one day about how he'd been too good to respond to someone's call in a bar. He didn't care. He was exhausted, down to his bones.

He remembered the room number; 214. He knocked, heard nothing for a moment and then footsteps. A turning lock, and he was inside.

When the door closed behind them, they looked at each other.

Harry pulled Snape into his arms. Snape was stiff but his face went into the crook of Harry's neck and he took a big sniff. Harry's heart sped up to match his longing. He was embarrassed by how loud it must be.

And then Snape pulled his head by the hair, backwards, to bear his throat. He took the edge of Harry's jaw in his mouth and sunk his teeth in.

Harry couldn't move his mouth to say words. He hissed through his teeth.

Then Snape freed him, whispering a muting spell at the door. Harry's back was pounded against it suddenly. He lost his breath for a moment.

He was confused.

Snape was never rough.

Then he was excited.

They both smelled like shit. It was brought to his attention when he reminded himself to inhale. Then he just smelled skin. Snape's nose was in his eye and then their mouths latched. Snape's hands were fisting his shirt. He pulled Harry back from the door and slammed him back into it, unkissing them.

Harry made a sound, like a hiccup. He leaned his head back against the door.

Snape looked like he was grinding his teeth. "Fuck you," he said.

Harry's hands were over Snape's, pulling them down but not trying to make Snape unhand him, just trying to rip through his own shirt.

Then Snape did. He took the collar and he ripped. It was magic, it was energy pent. Snape mouthed his shoulder and bit as Harry shrugged out of what remained of the fabric. The saliva was cold on his skin. His hips in heavy hands, his bum pulled and then slammed back against the door.

Harry grabbed him by the hair. He tried to get their mouths together but Snape resisted, his marred neck paying the price of a bad angle for it. His hands were under Harry's armpits, pinning him back. Harry let go of his head and clawed at his face instead. They stared at each other while Harry mashed Snape's cheek with one palm, pushed into his chest with the other. Snape worked his weight out along his arms to pin Harry's elbows, catching his hands, eventually making him useless.

They panted in each other's faces.

"What are you going to do to me?" Harry asked. "What are you going to do about it?"

Snape grabbed his face, forced his jaw down. Then he spit in Harry's mouth.

Noise again. Harry swallowed and writhed, pushing his chest out. Snape's hands came down around it, sealing his lips around Harry's nipple, and Harry stopped struggling while those cheeks hollowed, sucking. Snape drew his thumb along the other nipple, chilling it to stone. He lifted his mouth, tongue slipping out for last licks at the hardened nub. His hands moved down to Harry's belt, undoing it.

"Turn around," Snape said.

Harry did, slowly. His trousers and pants were whipped off of him in one-go, his bum goose-fleshing in the cold. He braced against the door and arched back, hoping to feel something. Then Snape took a cheek in one hand and spanked the other, hard.

Harry gasped and bit himself, the fleshy part in the crook of his elbow. He said, "Do that again," into his arm, unashamed.

"Shut up," Snape said.

He held on tighter to his fistful of Harry's ass, spread him, pushed him so his face pressed against the wood. Another spank hit Harry's other cheek and he flexed, trying to feel all the pain. Then another one, then another, an inconsistent beat in between that had Harry gasping each time, his balls tensed up, his cock jumping.

Then lips on his spine. Just at the curve, where he was bent. He hung his head, breathing hard, trying to behave, trying to stay still. Kisses in a straight line. Wet tongue, in short, tight little sashes. The skin around his shoulder blades in between Snape's teeth when he mashed them together to try to catch the feeling.

A warm trickling down his raised arm. He looked and saw blood on his bicep. It brushed his nose. His wound had reopened and was dripping in a light but steady stream down his back.

He tried to will Snape's attention away from it.

"Fuck." Snape saw. Harry felt the hands come off him.

"Don't stop."

For once, Snape listened to him.

His pants were down. Snape let him reach his good arm back, so he could rest his hand on the nape of Snape's neck.

He was whispering filthy things in Harry's ear.

"You're a slut. Is that the sort of shit you want me to say?"

"God, yes," Harry said. "I want your dick. Oh my god."

"Shh."

He felt impatient.

"Didn't you spell the door?"

"I can't stand it when you make noise."

"Severus."

"Shut up." It sounded violent.

"I know you like it when I say your name."

"Don't talk back to me."

He felt the flesh of Snape's hips and balls. He pushed back against the root of Snape's dick, moaning.

"I'm not talking back," Harry said. Snape's tightening hand found his face and he fucked him.

Harry's blood was everywhere, in that way that blood usually has. Their fingers interlaced at Harry's hip, wet with it. Harry tried to lift a knee, to rest it on some phantom surface, but his trousers restrained him- they were still only pulled down to his thighs. Snape began little tugs at his nipple.

It embarrassed Harry, to keep saying it, but he did because he knew Snape was a liar.

"Severus-," he voice caught. He relaxed his muscles and it felt a bit like his life force was leaving him but it was unspeakably gratifying. Arms came to cross around his chest to hold him in place, a thumb in the dip of his collarbone.

He turned for a kiss. He opened his mouth to ask for one and couldn't figure out how to because Snape changed his angle and left him breathless.

He moaned around senseless words.

Snape's lips against his stubbled jaw. The smell of his own blood. "That's right, that's what I like, when you can't say fuck all."

He heard himself asking for spit in his mouth again.

"You weren't meant to like that." Snape's hot breath on his cheek.

"Says who?"

Snape made a sound then, like an "aah", softly, on a short exhale. Harry turned his head again, to catch that open mouth. He was fed a hot, slippery tongue and he held on to Snape's shirt front, so sorry he wasn't touching more skin. Snape slowed his pace, wrapped both hands around Harry's throat.

They slowed, still, to look into each other's eyes.

"Yeah?"

Harry shut his eyes in pleasure, the mark of Severus's face stamped in his vision, Harry's blood on his eyelids, his dark hair, his shirt straining down into twisted fingers. "Yeah."

He opened his eyes to find Snape's again, but Snape was pulling him closer until they were back to chest and he was forced to look forward as he was absolutely ruined.

When it was over, Snape seemed to pull it together faster than he could. Harry heard him zip and belt himself back up. Then Snape cleaned him, trousered him, mended his shirt, while he was still catching his breath.

"Go back to the healer."

Harry's just-cleaned hands were soiled again when he touched the knob. He shook his head, showed Snape his red hand.

"Have to go to St. Mungo's, he said."

Snape grabbed his coat. Harry remembered he left his downstairs.

"Let's just go back to the castle," Harry said. "Madame Pomfrey will sort me out."

"And if you splinch yourself?"

"I'll do side-along."

"And if you pass out?"

"You can do magic now," Harry said. "I'm sure you'll figure it out."

Snape conjured a piece of cloth to soak up the blood while they traveled. When they got to Hogwarts, they both went straight to the Headmistress's office. It being Christmas, the castle was empty. McGonagall had clearly come from bed to her office to greet them but seemed to expect this as she appeared in her dressing gown. She looked relieved to see them and then disturbed at the bloody rag over Harry's arm.

"Get that seen to this instant, Potter," she told him.

"It's not as bad as it looks."

They were urged to sit and then told her the whole story.

"The morbidity of imagination…"

"Yeah, it was fucked up," Harry said, and then sat up straighten up in the chair in front of her desk, faltering when McGonagall gave him a withering look. "I mean- terrible. Sorry."

"I am glad you've both returned relatively unharmed."

"Despite Mr. Potter's efforts," Snape said.

Harry opened his mouth to retort but McGonagall beat him to it.

"Luckily, I think Harry, you can promise this will be your last mission with the Auror Department?"

"Yes, headmistress," Harry said, deferential.

"And dare I say that this was an opportunity for both of you to develop a less childish dynamic?"

"I'm not so sure about that, headmistress," Harry replied.

She told them she would alert Madame Pomfrey he was headed to the hospital wing and they left her office after watching her disappear through the door behind her desk.

As they passed the landing and descended, Harry remembered something.

He looked at the eagle as it moved back into place, tense, almost ready to say the password again and run up the stairs.

"What is it?" Snape asked

"I forgot to look. To see if Dumbledore was awake."

"He wasn't."

"You looked," Harry said, taken aback by how like a traitor he suddenly felt. "You looked and I forgot to look."

"It doesn't mean anything."

"You probably never forget to look, do you?"

"I don't always look." His body was angled away from the door like he was trying to get Harry to move on.

Harry believed him and then didn't believe him.

"You never forget to look," Harry declared.

Snape looked away and locked his jaw. "Harry. It doesn't mean anything."

Harry kept walking reluctantly. Snape followed him to the hospital wing, and it surprised him when they arrived, like he'd blanked out along the way

Madame Pomfrey insisted he stay the night. Snape left him there at that.

She ordered food for Harry- bread and butter and jam- and made him describe what the healer had tried already while he ate. Then she gave him a sleeping potion and he blacked out with her working on his arm, by his side.

When he awoke, it was surprising to be alone.

He was in a black, long-sleeved shirt. The shirt he was wearing last night seemed to have disappeared. He lifted the sleeve a bit to see his forearm was covered in nude bandages, no sign of blood seeping through.

"It should be closed now," Madame Pomfrey said. She'd appeared suddenly.

"Better than the ministry healers you are," Harry said, sitting up slowly.

Her face remained stern, and Harry thought she would have rolled her eyes if she thought it was worth the energy. "They didn't realize they had to make the seal Potter-proof."

She released him, after he wore her down, but she said it was only because she knew he wouldn't be teaching.

He thought about going to breakfast, but he didn't want anyone to ask questions. The small group of people left in the castle would make it hard to avoid conversation and besides, he doubted Snape would be there.

He went down the dungeon, the halls cold as ice as if the corridors couldn't be bothered to warm themselves with the castle empty.

When he got to Snape's door, he said "Beautitudo."

The door didn't open.

Harry felt a swoop in his stomach.

Then it creaked and stood ajar, no one on the other side. Harry stared at it for a moment before entering.

Severus was sitting at the edge of the couch that footed his bed. There was no book or quill or letter near him. He wasn't doing anything. He wasn't even looking into the fire, which blazed in front of him. He looked past it, unreadable.

He looked like he was going to break Harry's heart.

Snape looked at him. "You're healed."

"Your password changed."

Snape nodded, once. "Everything is just as it should be."

Observation exchange over. The door shut behind Harry, ushering him further in with a powerful draft from the dungeon. He felt it move his hair and his hand went to fix it uselessly.

"What do you mean by that?"

Snape said nothing.

Harry tried again. "Why'd you change the password?"

"It's time. For a change, I mean."

Harry waited, but Snape said nothing more.

"Are you going to explain that or just leave it to me to make up what you mean?"

"Do you ever think about how quickly we began?"

"Began what?"

"Having sex."

"No," Harry lied. He didn't know why he did, but he did. He thought about sitting somewhere- maybe even right there on the floor where he stood but he stayed still.

"It couldn't have been more than two weeks. Isn't that unbelievable?" Snape was still looking at him.

"No," Harry said. "I'd been thinking about it without really knowing I was. For years."

"I'm going to say things you won't like hearing, now." He sounded like a doctor, letting you know the pain was coming.

Harry regretted coming in. It felt like Voldemort, the standoff of his life. What could anyone pull out of a hat to save him now?

"Would you like to sit?" Snape asked, suddenly polite.

"No."

That was when Harry noticed Snape was wearing the black tunic and dress pants he always wore under his robes. He had his formal shoes on. It was like he'd known Harry would come, like he was waiting for a guest to leave before he could really relax. His arms were crossed and he hung his head, the curtain of his hair obscuring his face then.

"Were you expecting me?"

"Yes."

Harry forced it out. "What is it you're wanting to say? Say it."

"It's unthinkable, you and I."

Harry waited.

"What's past between us is absurd. That it should go on is intolerable."

"Can I ask why?"

"You could." Severus didn't raise his head. "But it won't make you feel better."

"So what you said, all that stuff about watching me at the trial and being hauntingly beautiful and dying for me- what, that was a lie?"

"It wasn't a complete lie. I thought, I think that about you. But as for my feelings- I colored, I hyperbolized-"

"Fuck you and your fancy fucking 'coloring' what you did, just say you lied."

"I never-"

"Why?"

Wood snapped in the flames.

Snape visibly stiffened. He straightened his shoulders, lifted his head. "I told you a series of things, some true, some not true, so that you'd have a sense that we could pursue a real relationship if we made it out of there, alive. I needed to get you out of there alive. Because if there is one thing the Boy Who Lived will live for, it's love."

Harry hoped this was a nightmare and he would wake up soon. "And then you fucked me afterwards? For what? For sport?"

Snape lowered his gaze again. "That was- I'm sorry for that.

Severus's voice was a windmill inside him, scraping him out.

"I didn't trust you," Snape continued, "not to do something self-sacrificial and insane. And then after- after everything, still you almost died. I was angry."

"What is wrong with you? Is this all you know how to fucking do, play mind games with people? After I asked you, begged you-" Harry lost track of his words.

"You don't know what you're begging for!" Snape rose from his seat, vicious. "You're young! You'll think anyone you get an erection for is your soulmate until you grow up!"

"And you're so grown up because you refuse to give anyone an inch? Anyone a chance?"

"I'd be an idiot to take this chance." He was yelling, a finger pointed in his own chest. "It's a fool's gamble. We're too different!" He walked to the mantle, spoke into the fire. "How many improbable things would have to pass to make this work? We fight constantly. Your friends don't like me. I'm possessive and jealous and everyone within our world and without wants a piece of you."

"None of that is-"

"I'm not good enough. You think you can make me good enough." He began to pace. "I never feel worse about myself than when I'm trying to be good enough for you. Should I go on?"

"No."

"It doesn't feel good. It feels dirty," Snape said, grabbing the collar of his tunic and pulling, like it itched. "Cheap. Oppressive. Like I'm using you to feel something and I don't feel anything."

"You know what I think?"

"What?" Snape said, fast, coming to a standstill and facing him.

Harry couldn't speak for a moment. He knew the seconds passing were the ones between them and the end. When he opened his mouth, he might say something that would make it impossible for them to hold each other afterward. It was knowing that he'd have to leave after he said it, that he'd have to be alone, that almost kept him from doing it. Maybe one of them would burn the place down like last time, maybe they'd find each other after the smoke was clear, lick each other's wounds in the ashes. But maybe, too, this was the final frame.

He was so afraid.

"I think," Harry said, "you love me. I think you love me. And I think you haven't loved anyone since she died, the way you love me. And I think-"

Snape turned his back on him and stormed into the bathroom. He slammed the door behind him so hard, Harry flinched.

But it didn't stop him. He went to the door, resting his hands on either side of it over his head, losing control of his voice.

"It's easy, isn't it, loving someone who's dead?" he said, at the top of his voice. "You don't know how to love someone who's alive. Who's here, in your face, loving you back!" He kicked the door, then walked away and sat on the edge of the bed, and then decided he didn't want to be good. He got up again and shook the knob.

Then he kicked again when it didn't open. He kicked and kicked with rhythmic violence. Pressed his head to it and started to cry, tears so hot that he felt turned inside out. He hit his forehead against the wood, once, to break up the sound of his hitching breath.

His hand was still on the knob. The thought of casting even the simplest spell to try and open it made him feel sick. He wouldn't beg. He'd stop at that. He knew it would be worth using every ounce of strength he had left to be able to look back on those minutes and know he didn't say please don't leave me, out here in the cold.

He turned his back against the door and slid down it to sit at the threshold. When his voice was strong and his tears were dry he said, "I hope you suffer for this. I hope you'll be so fucking unhappy."

But it occurred to him that Snape would never again feel as alone and abandoned as Harry felt now. Perhaps the time for great love and disappointment had come and gone in Snape's life. Perhaps he was beyond dreams of belonging to someone- beyond even the sound of Harry's pain behind a locked door that was within his power to open.

Maybe this suffering was his own rite of passage into Snape's reality, where the hope they'd foolishly promised themselves as children was like a fever, a sickness they should live without.

He pulled himself up from the floor, leaving before he wanted too badly to stay.