Even with the extra layers under his robes, Harry shivered. He was famished and shaky, and wanted to find somewhere secluded so he could scream. But he couldn't do that until he knew it was safe.
"Snape?"
The man he called out to was leaning against Dumbledore's tomb. Both man and stones were covered in gore. Snape's eyes were shut, but he still managed to guide a bottle to his mouth with a hand that was only shaking slightly.
"Snape. I'm talking to you."
Snape finished swallowing. "Fuck off."
Harry's teeth chattered. "I won't, not until you talk to me. Let's have it out, then you can drink until your liver explodes, for all I care."
Snape's eyelids cracked open, showing too much iris and not enough pupil. "That's not very nice of you, Potter. Shouldn't you be wanting to save me? Observe," he said, his waving arm causing alcohol to slosh over his sleeve and stain the snow around him. "I'm alone, adrift, a - something. Regardless, either kill me or let me be. It's the end of the world, and I think that deserves celebrating."
"You're a fucking drama queen," Harry said, crouching down. He pulled the bottle away from Snape and tossed it to the side. Snape lunged after it, reflexes slow, fingernails scraping across Harry's face.
"Hey!" Harry yelled, pushing him away. He grabbed handfuls of material that hung loosely from Snape's chest and pulled him back in. He tried to ignore the stench of sweat and other things he didn't want to identify. "Listen to me," he said, as Snape's sour breath washed over his face. "I need to know what's going on."
Snape's head tipped back, his body halted in the act of falling only by Harry's tight grip. "What's going on, Mr Potter, is that we are doomed. And in dooming ourselves, we have doomed every single person on the planet."
Harry let go and heard Snape's head hit the edge of the tomb with a dull thunk. He let himself enjoy how that made him feel for a good hour while he sat and thought.
Harry made his way gingerly through the kitchens, making sure his body didn't brush against the bodies of the house elves that populated the gigantic room. He kept an eye out for Dobby, but couldn't see anyone wearing clothes.
It felt wrong; even worse than trying to pick his way around the frozen bodies on the battlefield. House elves were supposed to be quick-moving and sharp-witted and eager to help. These tiny creatures made Harry feel as if he were walking through a display of wax dummies. He wondered how long the elf in the corner had been making a final lunge for the upturned pitcher of milk.
He managed to find food that had not yet gone off; large bowls of fruit that still looked good enough to eat, a towering pile of bread that was only slighty stale, rows of biscuits which sat next to an urn that had a solid swirl of steam coiled above it. He filled his mouth with biscuits and his pockets with food and left just as carefully as he'd entered.
The door still swung open under his touch, even though the pear in the painting hanging on the other side hadn't giggled when he'd entered. His wand did nothing. He'd tried on numerous occasions with every spell he could remember, but it was impotent. No splutter of light or sound, no resulting action.
Nothing.
Dead.
As dead as every living thing that Harry could see.
Except for one. Snape was still out there.
"What are you doing?" Harry asked, not bothering to mask the sound of his feet crunching over the jagged pieces of rock that bordered the plots of land set aside for growing edible plants.
Snape was seated cross-legged in front of a row of tomatoes. While it was obvious that he'd stopped drinking, he still didn't look very healthy.
"I'm watching the grass grow."
"Grass, huh?" Harry replied, standing with his back to the sun.
Snape looked up at him, squinting.
Harry fumbled as he pulled two apples out of his pocket. "This is all I could find on short notice. We'll have to start thinking about what we're going to do when the rest of the food spoils."
Snape took the apples and Harry noticed how he very carefully made sure their hands didn't touch.
"That's the least of our problems," Snape said, instead of thanking him.
The flesh of the fruit was still crisp enough to cover up their silence. Snape ate his apples mindlessly, staring at the tomato plants with concentration. Harry took a last bite of his apple and wiped away the bit of juice that had spilled down his chin. "What are you expecting them to do?"
He expected a scathing reply, or no reply at all, so was surprised when Snape said, "Watch."
Snape grabbed one of the plants firmly by the base and pulled it out of the ground. He shook it, allowing the soil that clung to its roots to fall back into the hole, then tossed the plant aside.
"What are you - "
"Look," Snape said, in a tone Harry had never heard before.
Before his eyes, thin tendrils pushed their way up out of the ground; green, greedy, fighting as they raced towards the light. The plants surrounding it seemed to tremble and shift aside slightly. Within a minute, a fully-grown plant with shiny tomatoes drooping from its branches filled up the previously empty hole.
Harry felt his legs go weak and absent-mindedly threw out a hand to assist his clumsy collapse to the ground. He heard Snape's quickened breath beside him; his face pale and pinched and, for the first time in his life, Harry recognised what Snape looked like when he was terrified.
"What - ?" Harry croaked.
"I don't know," Snape said. "I don't know if they've sped up, or we've slowed down. I just know that we are no longer attuned with time."
The common rooms of Hogwarts were practically empty. The Order of the Phoenix had had enough advanced warning about Voldemort's attack to evacuate the majority of students and bring in adult reinforcements. The people who were still on Hogwarts grounds were either outside locked in battle, or piled up on the floor of the infirmary. Harry hadn't seen any ghosts since he'd taken to sleeping back in his old dormitory, and wondered if they were still there, moving out of phase so he couldn't see them.
He found Snape in the dungeons. Despite the fact that neither of them had been permanent inhabitants of Hogwarts for the last two years, they had both quickly fallen back into their old places.
Harry leaned against the door, watching Snape as he mixed something in a copper bowl. The flame burning brightly at his side wasn't magical, and Harry was shocked to see Snape's wand on top of some scrolls on his desk. He'd have thought Snape more paranoid than that. Harry kept his own wand, useless as it was, strapped snugly to his wrist.
"I'm going to Hogsmeade," he said without preamble. "I think we should see how far this has spread. Coming?"
"Afraid you'll get lost?" Snape muttered as he picked through a pile of weezlewood.
Harry shrugged. "Fine," he said, and pushed off the door.
"Wait," Snape called after him. He blew out the flame and set aside the bowl. He placed his wand deep within his robes. "I'm ready."
The closer they got to Hogsmeade, the more obvious it was that whatever had affected Hogwarts had also affected its surroundings. The only moving things during their walk to the wizarding village were themselves, and the white puffs of air that escaped their mouths as they breathed out.
They passed a wizard in a field, stuck as he threw a stick towards a leaping crup. On the outskirts of town, they stepped around a group of young girls skipping rope, pigtails pointed up towards the sky.
They moved from place to place; looking through windows, inside carriages, listening for any sign of movement.
Harry stopped in front of the post office. He unselfconsciously knuckled tears from his cheeks as he looked at the hundreds of owls nestled together on their perches. With their frozen expressions and beady, bright eyes, it looked as if the world's craziest collector had commissioned a roomful of stuffed birds. He cleared his throat, thinking about Hedwig, wondering where she'd gotten off to. He hoped she hadn't been caught in the sky. The image of her flying up towards the sun for eternity made his chest ache.
He heard Snape's quiet exclamation.
Snape was standing in front of a witch who was slightly taller than Harry. Her hair was pulled back off her face in a bun, but some wisps had escaped and curled around her ears. She carried a red-faced toddler in her arms.
She was looking back over her shoulder, one side of her skirt flaring up as she'd half-turned to the man walking behind her. He was smiling; one arm filled near to overflowing with bags, the other wrapped around the shoulders of a teenaged boy.
Snape moved forward, stopping close enough so that his face would fill her field of vision. His eyes seemed to trace the edge of her hairline, the slant of her nose, the curve of her mouth. He raised a hand to her face and ran his thumb over one sharp cheekbone.
"You haven't changed a bit," he said, softly. His eyes shuttered and he drew his hand away, rubbing it against his leg as if to warm it. He looked up and caught Harry staring.
"Who is she?" Harry asked, unable to hide his curiosity.
"None of your concern," Snape muttered. "We need supplies."
As he watched Snape enter Dervish and Banges without a backwards glance, Harry took the opportunity to scan the woman. Her forearms were covered, and she wore a gleaming gold band on her left hand.
Harry stared at the children. Neither of them looked like Snape.
Harry hummed the jingle to a television commercial he vaguely remembered. He found himself repeating the same line over and over again so paused, and tried to think of another ad. He couldn't think of any.
Snape spent his daylight hours circling from vegetable plots to dungeons to library and back again. They didn't want for fruit or vegetables, but the meagre supply of tinned goods Harry had scrounged from the surrounding Muggle houses had run out. The lack of fat in their diets made their bodies leaner; the muscles under the skin of their arms bulged out in thick cords as they gathered their crops.
They'd searched the Forbidden Forest, but had been unable to find any animals that were alive and suitable for eating. Snape had done his best to supplement their lack of protein by growing a greater variety of edible plants. Rows of peas twisted their way up stakes hastily made from broken furniture. Lentils popped up almost before their eyes, leaves burnt around the edges by frost.
The seasons changed. The sun continued to rise and fall in a predictable manner. Night was still dark and all-consuming, and the moon continued to shape-shift. Harry and Snape couldn't work out why.
Snape was researching in the library that morning and Harry didn't feel like climbing up impossibly tall stacks to reach musty, useless books. He followed his own routine.
He circled around McGonagall and Sprout, their bodies pressed back-to-back. Some of Sprout's hair had escaped out from under her cap and formed a frizzy halo around her face, while McGonagall's eyes were narrowed in feline delight as she searched for the next Death Eater at which to strike.
He walked past Neville, body curved in the shape of the letter C. The spell blast had hit him in the chest, throwing him back and out. He was anchored to the ground only by one heel.
Harry dodged around Mad-Eye Moody, both eyes missing as he crouched inside a circle of older students whom Harry didn't recognise.
He stepped over Hagrid's torso, thankful that his beard still mostly covered what was left of his face.
He'd thought about covering up his friends since he'd been unable to shift them from their locations, but didn't have the heart. They would look ridiculous swathed in mismatched sheets and tablecloths.
Harry walked up the path leading to the lake. He rested near Dumbledore's tomb; it was a good place to sit and enjoy the silence, even if there was too much of it.
He thought he heard something, then shook his head. Impossible. But there it was again.
A bell?
He jumped to his feet and scanned the skyline. Maybe somebody had broken into a church tower and was pealing the bells in order to grab someone's attention. Why hadn't he or Snape thought of that?
"Harry?"
Harry screamed and fell back onto one foot, wand out in the defensive position even though he knew it was useless. He felt his mouth drop open.
"Per...Percy?"
"Merlin," Percy said. "It really is you!"
Percy stumbled off his bicycle, letting it crash to the ground as he staggered over and threw his arms around Harry. He smelt, like he'd not bathed properly in weeks, but Harry hugged him back just as hard.
"Percy," Harry exclaimed. "You're alive. You're alive!"
They made no sense for the next few minutes, both of them crying and laughing and talking over the other as they tried to make sense of what each had been up to. Eventually they broke apart, and Harry wasn't ashamed to wipe tears off his face. "It's good to see you."
Percy grinned. With his unkempt hair and dirty clothes, he looked like a castaway. "I knew you'd be here," he exclaimed. "I just knew it. Ron wouldn't tell me where you'd gone after you left Godric's Hollow, and I didn't think you'd be at the Burrow."
"Were you there?" Harry asked.
Percy shook his head, saying, "I had just left the Ministry. I stopped past the Burrow on the way here but..."
Harry swallowed. "Nothing? No one?"
"Mum's there," Percy said, voice tight. "And Ginny. Fleur was just about to give birth."
"I know," Harry replied after a few seconds had passed. "Bill? Your dad?"
Percy shook his head again. "Do you - what about Ron and the twins?"
Harry picked up Percy's bike. "I'll show you.
Percy trailed behind, knapsack thrown over his shoulder.
"Is that - ?"
"Yeah," Harry said, flicking the kickstand down and setting the bike aside carefully. He felt the need to do everything carefully, slowly. He didn't like coming to this part of the grounds.
"The Dark Lord," Percy said with wonder, stumbling on his feet. Harry kept an eye on him. He was used to seeing this but didn't know what Percy would do.
Voldemort's body had been frozen mid-collapse; shattered pieces of flesh cascading away from a core of bones and falling towards the cracked dirt under his naked feet. What was left of his head was thrown back in a paroxysm of agony; lips curled back over sharpened teeth, tongue dangling from his mouth.
Above his head, a wisp of smoke and light strained towards the sky. Inside the smoke was a phantasm of Voldemort's face; a small and aborted piece of his soul.
"Did you - " Percy asked, sounding like he was about to retch. "Did you do this?"
Harry stared at the bare patch of ground between Percy's and Voldemort's feet. "Yes. Well, not all by myself. Nothing I was doing was slowing him down enough, until Snape lay down a spell that froze him and I backed it up with - "
"You fucker!" Percy roared, face red, tendons in his throat bulging. "You fuck!"
The air rushed out of Harry's lungs as he hit the ground. Percy had surprised him, but within seconds Harry was squirming, trying to find enough purchase for his feet so that he could push himself out and away.
Percy's fists rained down, smashing into his chest and face. Harry threw his hands up to protect himself, catching Percy under the jaw and knocking him to the side. He dug his nails into Percy's cheeks, piercing the skin, trying to keep his fingers away from Percy's teeth, which snapped as he growled in inarticulate fury.
Harry's ears were filled with the sound of pumping blood. He was used to battle, used to the tingly feeling of adrenaline rushing through his arteries, used to the ultra-focussed measure of space that filled his mind, but never this close, never face-to-face, never hand-to-hand.
Percy twisted and lunged, grabbing Harry by the ankle. He pulled him down again and began to beat him around the head with determination.
"How could you," Percy panted. "The Dark Lord. Oh, my Lord, how could he do this to you?"
"Percy," Harry shouted, feeling his strength starting to fail. "Percy - don't!"
He felt one of Percy's hands push up against his stomach, digging around in his own pockets until he pulled it out and held it triumphantly above his head. Harry caught a glimpse of steel.
"Snape. SNAPE!"
Percy's grin was victorious as he plunged the knife down towards Harry's throat. He paused; a perplexed expression crossing over his face.
Harry caught Percy's wrist between his sweaty palms, twisted and thrust. Percy's expression turned to shock, then pain. He exhaled, his death gasp sweet and heavy against Harry's nose.
Harry roared and pushed Percy's body away, his chest becoming slick and warm with Percy's blood. He screamed again and crawled away, crashing into Snape's knees. He looked up and saw Snape's furious face, looked to the side and saw a gardening fork sticking out from Percy's kidney.
Harry vomited again.
"You don't have to do this," Snape said. "We can just as easily burn him."
Harry shook his head, swilling some luke-warm water from the canteen into his mouth and spitting it out. "No. I don't want to see him around. If you don't want to help - "
"I said I would, didn't I?" Snape said petulantly, throwing another shovelful of dirt to the side. They continued working in silence until Harry asked if the grave was deep enough.
Snape looked at the hole critically, assessed Percy's limp body, then shrugged. "Not that I'm an expert - "
Between the two of them they managed to roll Percy's body into the grave. Harry cringed when it made a dull noise as it hit the bottom face-first, while Snape matter-of-factly pulled his robes up over his head and threw them into the hole.
"I don't plan on wearing that again," he said in response to Harry's raised eyebrow.
Harry looked down at himself. Whereas Snape's robes had been splattered with small patches of blood, Harry's clothes were stiff with it. He shivered violently, finally becoming aware enough of his surroundings to be disgusted with the tacky feeling of drying fluid on his skin.
He ripped the clothes from his body; jumper, shirt, jeans. He fumbled his way out of his sneakers and socks, adding them to the pile before dropping his underwear. He gathered the clothes into a bundle and threw it into the grave.
Snape's eyes flickered down Harry's body. "We could still burn him."
"No," Harry said, rubbing at the goose bumps that had risen on his arms. "Let's just cover him up."
Snape's shirt hit him in the face. The material was skin-warm and soft. Harry pulled it over his head, mumbling his thanks.
Snape raised an eyebrow and continued shovelling bare-chested.
Harry poured some of the hot water boiling on the fireplace into a large bowl he'd found in McGonagall's office. After he'd tempered it with the cold water Snape had drawn from the well at the back of the kitchen, he dunked a washcloth in, using it to wipe Percy's blood off his skin. After emptying and refilling the bowl a few more times, he felt clean enough to put on the clothes he's scavenged from the older boys' rooms. Snape thrust a cup of tea at him.
"Did you see his arm?" Harry asked, blowing across the hot surface of the liquid.
"Yes."
"Did you know he'd become a Death Eater?"
"Yes."
Harry sipped his tea and wished for something stronger. "Thanks. You saved my life today."
"Again," Snape said, head tilted.
Harry grinned. "Yeah. I never thanked you for, you know - Voldemort."
"And look how well that turned out." Snape poured more tea for them both. "I had just as much interest in seeing the Dark Lord gone as you did, Potter."
Harry grunted. "So, do you think there are any other Death Eaters out there?"
Snape rotated his wrist, showing Harry the mark on his left forearm.
"Funny," Harry replied dryly. "I mean, other people, out there," pointing his chin towards the dungeon door.
Snape remained focussed on the fire. "I think that anyone who has been marked by him remains unaffected."
Harry felt his scalp crawl. "Me," he said, hand passing over his scar. "You mean me."
"You," Snape said, "and me."
"And others."
Snape nodded.
"What if...what if they all, you know, went away?"
"Like Weasley went away?"
"It could work," Harry said quietly. "Maybe that's what's needed to break the spell."
Snape glanced at him side on. "You realise what you're implying?"
Harry nodded.
Snape nodded back. "Perhaps. But I'm not in a big hurry to test out that theory until all other avenues have been explored."
"Fair enough," Harry agreed.
"Are you sure about this?"
Snape grunted, and poured the concoction evenly into two glasses. The liquid was mostly clear. He handed a glass to Harry and settled in the armchair opposite.
"Well," Snape said, adjusting the red and gold cushions against his side. "Cheers." He raised his glass in an ironic salute.
"Wait!" Harry said, just as the lip of the glass touched Snape's mouth. "Are you sure this is going to work?"
Snape rested the glass on his knee. His other hand curled into an empty fist. "I'm sure it will put us into a deep sleep."
"We've been asleep before."
"Never this heavily."
Harry waited, the silence stretching out between them. "And then?"
Snape shrugged. "And then we wake up."
"What if we don't wake up?" Harry asked, staring at his own glass. It sat on the table between them, condensation forming into little drops that ran down the side of the glass and pooled on the wooden surface. It looked innocuous, and Harry flashed back to the first time he'd heard Snape speak of his mastery in Potions.
I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death.
Harry didn't recall Snape saying anything about being able to put people into a near catatonic sleep without magic. This wasn't the Draught Of Living Death.
Harry cleared his throat. "What's in it?"
Snape's lips twisted. "As I've already told you, a mixture of Muggle depressants and a few additions from our garden. I've studied their use - "
"You don't really know if we'll wake up, do you?"
Snape stared at him, nostrils flaring slightly. "No."
"What if it's too much?"
Snape lifted the glass to his mouth and drank the contents down in one smooth movement. "Then we'll never know if we've succeeded."
"Okay then," Harry said, picking up his glass. "I just wanted you to be honest with me. His fingers tightened around the slippery surface. "What if only one of us wakes up, and everything is still the same?"
Snape leant back, positioning his head comfortably. "Then that person will be alone, and king of all he surveys."
Harry saw Snape's eyelids starting to close. He noted the pale, pinched face, the tired eyes, the disarray of his hair.
"All right," Harry said. "I'm willing to take that risk if you are."
Harry drank.
Harry groaned. He suspected he'd thrown up more times in the last four months than he had in his entire life. He swallowed, the small amount of saliva in his mouth thick and bitter.
"Snape?" he croaked, feeling next to him for his glasses. He slid them back over his ears. "Snape. You awake?"
A moan opposite him made him happier than he wanted to admit to himself.
"Fuck," a voice spat. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
"Hmm," Harry agreed.
"How do you feel?"
Harry tilted his head back; slowly, so as not to upset his equilibrium. "Like my hangover has a hangover."
Snape looked pasty. They'd both started to get a bit of colour in the face due to the amount of outdoor work they'd been doing, but the slight tan on his face had receded. "Drugs. Worse than any hangover caused by alcohol."
Harry breathed in deeply through his nose, not agreeing or disagreeing. The few times he'd been drunk in the past had never made him feel like his head was stuffed with wool-tipped spears. He poured a glass of water for himself, drank, and only spilt a bit down his chin. He refilled the glass and passed it over to Snape, who groaned as he reached across the table.
They waited a few minutes. When it became apparent that neither of them was going to be sick, they made their way out of the castle, walking carefully.
"What do you think? Any change?" Harry asked, the early morning sun causing his eyes to water.
Snape looked closely at Voldemort. He took his time, observing the frozen Dark Lord from all angles.
"Nothing."
"Fuck," Harry sighed.
Harry sorted through the paraphernalia by his side a fourth time. He ran his hands over each piece compulsively; a new packet of razor blades, clean tea towels, the largest bottle of disinfectant he could find, a large bowl of hot water. A poker lay with its tip in the fire, glowing red and ready.
"Stop fidgeting. I'm ready."
"Are you sure? I mean, are you sure we should do this?"
Snape sucked on the homemade waterpipe. The water at its base bubbled merrily and the pea-sized piece of opium in the cone sparked and cracked with the movement of air.
"Do it. I'm relaxed enough."
"Take off your robes."
Snape unsteadily put the waterpipe to his side and pulled his robes off. He was shirtless underneath. He took one last hit of the opium-laced tobacco; sucking hard and deep. He held it in his lungs for a long time then released the air, making the already smoky room more pungent. Harry waved his hands about his head and coughed.
Snape lay back and presented his left arm, dark mark facing upwards. Harry rolled up his sleeves and unwrapped one of the sterile razor blades. He held it over the bowl and splashed some disinfectant on it, just to be sure.
"Do it, Potter. Stop stalling."
"I'm getting to it," Harry mumbled. "Hold your horses."
Harry wasn't sure if the funny feeling in his stomach was from a lack of food or nerves, but he ignored it as he positioned himself over Snape's body. One of his knees pressed down on Snape's open hand, the other on his shoulder. He poured disinfectant over the mark.
"Ready?" Harry asked, looking at the light gleaming off the razor's sharp blade.
"For Merlin's sake - I'd do it myself if I didn't think I'd know where to stop. Do it, Potter. You know it's the only way."
"We don't know if it'll work!" Harry stammered.
Snape closed his eyes and tilted his head back. It was an oddly submissive position. His throat was long and vulnerable. "There's only one way to find out."
"Okay," Harry said, transferring the blade to his other hand and wiping his sweaty palm against his leg. "Okay. Let's do it."
He held the blade carefully pinched between his thumb and first finger, resting the heel of his hand against Snape's forearm. He paused, took a deep breath, and began to cut.
Sweat trickled into his eyes and he blinked it away, delicately tracing the edges of the mark. A thin line of blood followed each pass of the blade. Snape mumbled something and Harry made a conciliatory sound. When the blood was flowing so freely that it obscured the magical tattoo, he patted it gently with a tea towel.
It was slow, so slow. Harry didn't want to cut too deep. He was aware of the fact that Snape's veins ran close to the surface of his skin, and close to the edges of the mark. Snape hissed and Harry put more of his body weight onto his right knee, pinning him more effectively.
"Don't move, Snape," he warned. "It's fine. Everything's fine."
Snape flinched and Harry cursed. If he wasn't careful, he'd cut in the wrong place and Snape would bleed to death. While that was another way of testing their theory, it wasn't something he wanted to do unless it was a last resort.
He finished tracing the outline; following the curve of the snake, chipping away at the skull. He placed the razor on an angle and began to pull it towards him, taking off the top layer of skin.
"Hurts," Snape muttered calmly.
"No, it doesn't," Harry said, getting the hang of it. "You don't feel a thing."
"Can. Hurts. Give me some more."
"You can't get up to smoke it. Just a little more, I promise." Harry threw the blade to the side and quickly unwrapped another, splashing it with disinfectant and continuing to strip away bits of flesh. "Just...a little while...longer."
"Don't like it," Snape said, licking his lips compulsively. "Blood. Smells bad."
"Shhh," Harry said and, with a final pass of the blade, sat back on his heels. "Don't move."
"'M going to be sick."
"No, you're not!" Harry said, wrapping a towel around his hand and grabbing the end of the poker. "Just hold still. One more thing and we're finished, I promise."
"I think - "
Snape whimpered a little when Harry pressed the tip of the poker onto his arm, but didn't thrash, so Harry suspected that the opium hadn't worn off. The smell of cooking flesh filled the air and Harry turned his head away, embarrassed by the wave of hunger it prompted. He moved the poker, making sure to lay a strip of heat over every bloody gouge. When the skin between Snape's wrist and elbow was black and burnt, Harry threw the poker aside and vomited. Over his retching he could hear Snape starting to groan, so he pushed out with his shoulder, rolling Snape onto his side so he wouldn't drown in his own vomit.
"Shit. Fuck. I never want to do that again."
"Water."
"Yeah." Harry rinsed his mouth, gave the bottle to Snape so he could do the same, and doused Snape's wound with water they'd boiled the night before. Snape mumbled again and appeared to drop off to sleep. Harry contemplated moving them both away from the piles of vomit, but gave it up as a bad idea. He was mentally and physically wiped out, and Snape was too heavy to move without assistance. Harry put his head on Snape's hip and passed out; the sweet, pungent smell of opium filling his nostrils and smoothing his way to sleep.
Harry found Snape resting near the lake.
"I'm going," he said forcefully.
Snape opened his eyes. "Where?"
Harry clenched his fists. "Out there. Edinburgh. London. Maybe further."
"Can one ask why?"
Harry shrugged casually, even though he'd been thinking about this on and off for weeks. "I want to see how far this thing goes. I need to see it with my own eyes. Maybe I'll bump into someone, and if I do - "
"Death to the Death Eaters?" Snape smirked.
"Yes," Harry bit out.
"And how will you...how shall I put this...relieve them of the unnecessary burden of life?"
"A gun. A knife. My bare hands. Whatever it takes."
Snape pushed himself to his feet. He leant in and spoke directly into Harry's ear. "Even if you kill them all; even if, by some miracle, there are no Death Eaters in America, or Africa, or Australia, there will still be me. I'll still be here."
Harry turned his head. His cheek brushed against Snape's. "I'm counting on it."
Harry woke suddenly, too unlearned in the art of stealth to hide the fact. He heard a shuffle and wondered what had woken him up in the first place. The same noise? A whisper of air?
He fumbled with the items on his bedside table; small, important things that he wanted to make sure he remembered to take on his journey. His fingers slipped over then recognised the barrel of the torch. He thumbed the button.
The hard circle of light illuminated the large Gryffindor quarters, moving around the room until it stopped at Snape, who was standing at the foot of the bed, a pillow clutched between his hands.
"Snape?" His voice sounded thin in the bare room. Even though he was more shocked than scared, he heard how it wavered at the end of Snape's name. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, making the torchlight shake minutely.
"What are you doing, Snape?"
Snape was motionless, and for a moment Harry felt his stomach drop as he imagined that Snape had been overcome by the same spell that affected everything else. Harry's eyes adjusted to the light and he could see Snape's eyes were fixed firmly on his face.
"Were you planning on killing me?" Harry asked.
Snape's left arm twitched. A small dot of blood marred the cloth wrapped around his forearm.
Harry sat up and back, moving very slowly. He rested his hand on his knee. "There are easier ways to kill a person than suffocation. You've had plenty of opportunities to poison me. Or you could have stabbed me, or hit me on the back of the head, or - "
Snape took a step forward.
Harry continued. "Suffocation is just that little bit more personal though, isn't it? With the right position, and the right motivation, anyone can kill someone by suffocation. And it's not as though you're a weak man, even with your arm. Did you wonder what I'd look like as I was dying?"
Snape took another step forward. He was by Harry's knee, and Harry had to lean back to look him in the eye.
"I've heard about death like that," Harry said, staring at him. "You fight back with all your strength, and you try to breathe through the pillow, but no matter what you do, you can't get enough air in your lungs, and you start to get weaker, so the person killing you can push down just that little bit easier. And then you can't struggle at all, and you piss and shit yourself, and your brain keeps working and you keep screaming inside your head even though you can't move a limb. Is that what you pictured, Snape?"
"I don't want to kill anymore," Snape said, voice gravelly.
Harry inhaled. "Are you still going to?"
The pillow dropped to the floor with a thud. Snape swayed on his feet, then sat down heavily by Harry's side. "No. It was a stupid idea in the first place. It's the - " his hand waved, wavered, then fell beside Harry's hip. "We should do it to me. There may still be some small trace of residual magic - "
"I'm not going to kill you, Snape," Harry said, turning off the torch. "Not now, maybe not ever."
"It could be the answer," Snape said, nearly pleading. "I'll let you do it. I won't even struggle."
"I couldn't do it to you anymore than you could do it to me," Harry said, rolling over and presenting his back to Snape. "I'm still going, but I'll be back."
"One day."
"Yeah, one day," Harry said, yawning. He didn't feel the bed move when Snape left, but when he woke up in the morning, he was alone.
Harry had found an old map of the local area in the Hogwarts library, and planned on stopping at the first Tourist Information Centre he saw for a clearer picture of the roads. He cursed the fact that he'd never learned to drive a car, although that wouldn't have done him much good as he weaved his way between the traffic that seemed to fill up every main thoroughfare. He rode Percy's bicycle and enjoyed the feeling of miles being crunched under his path.
After stopping at Hogsmeade for one last provision run, he rode past the base of Ben Nevis, then cut across to Fort William. He searched until he'd found a shop that contained camping material and stocked up. The nights were starting to get cooler again.
Within a week he had made his way south down the coastline and cut across to Glasgow. He rested there a few days as it had begun to rain hard; windswept, torrential sheets of water stung his eyes and chilled him to the bone. He thought he saw a flash of black from the corner of his eye and, even though he knew it was impossible, stopped and called out to Snape for ten minutes.
After the rain had stopped, it took him little more than a day to reach Edinburgh.
The streets were full and silent. People sat on benches enjoying the sun in Charlotte Square, tiny bits of rotting bread wedged between their fingers. Their clothes had begun to fade due to constant exposure to the elements.
Harry missed the drone of aeroplanes in the air, the hypnotic thud thud of tyres hitting bumps in the road. It felt obscene to be the only living, breathing, walking thing. He got sick of hearing nothing but the metallic sound of gears switching as he rode his bike, so he sang, or talked to himself, or argued with himself - anything to break up the monotony of his thoughts. Occasionally he would hold conversations with Snape, and was always pleased that he got in the last word.
After two and a half weeks of hard cycling, he made it to London. The Eye was frozen, and Harry hoped that no one had been left untouched at the top.
Harry decided to have a decent break. He found a fairly empty hotel and set up his sleeping bag in the lobby. He spent a lot of time going into supermarkets, sampling all manner of foods that were still edible. He walked past a bank and laughed as he remembered a movie he'd once seen. The man in the movie had been in the same predicament as Harry - the only living human for miles and miles - and had entered a bank's safe, throwing handfuls of bills into the air and rolling around the piles at his feet. Harry didn't feel the urge to mimic that behaviour - even when he'd had access to all the riches in his vault, he'd never wanted to swim in it.
Harry finished eating his chocolate bar and tucked the empty wrapper in his pocket so he could throw it into the first bin he saw. It was near freezing at night now, and his feet hurt and his thighs ached and he was lonely, but he didn't think he could give up just yet. Even though Snape was alone back at the castle. Harry began to doubt if he had the strength to kill someone if he found them, Death Eater or no.
He dug into his backpack, pulling out a can of baked beans. He ate directly from the can, watching the clock face of Big Ben as closely as he used to watch television. The hands didn't move. He nodded.
He would go to Dover. He could try to get through the traffic stuck in the Channel Tunnel, but the thought of being stuck underground for the hours it would take to cycle in the dark made his blood run cold. If it looked feasible, he would cross the channel by boat into France. If not, he would cut along the left-hand side of the coast and see if he could get to Dublin from Liverpool.
He packed up his things so he could return to the lobby. He'd need to get a good night's sleep if he was going to make the next leg. Whatever his final decision, it would take him at least a week to get where he was going.
Harry returned to Hogwarts at night. From the moment he stepped over the hill and saw a pale, flickering colour that signified candlelight, that signified life and warmth and home, he started jogging, almost tripping in his eagerness to be there. The bicycle got a flat about 60 miles after he'd left Liverpool, so he'd dumped it by the side of the road and carried his sleeping bag and provisions in a bulging bag on his back. His shoulders were chafed from its weight, and his feet were sore from all the walking on hard surfaces.
He cried noisily. He was home.
As he entered the school grounds, he realised that the light was leaking from gaps between the shutters of Hagrid's cottage. A quick inspection of the castle revealed no life signs.
Harry held his backpack in his hands. He wasn't sure if he should let it thud to the ground, giving Snape notice that he was back, or go in stealthily.
He chose to surprise Snape.
The door didn't creak when he pushed it open; Snape had obviously been keeping the hinges lubricated. The interior of Hagrid's hut had changed. No longer were there towering piles of ratty cane baskets and obscure-looking tools. In their place lay gleaming bowls of fruit and vegetables, big and crisp. Hagrid's enormous teapot sat by a roaring fire. His huge bed had been stripped of its matted furs and replaced with yards and yards of clean linen. After sleeping for so long on the ground, the sight of fluffy pillows made tears come to Harry's eyes.
A door opened from the back of the hut. Snape appeared in a dressing gown, towelling his wet hair. He froze, face losing all of its colour as he saw Harry.
Harry took a tentative step forward. "Hello."
Snape didn't move, although his eyes darted across Harry's face as if to convince himself that what he was seeing was real.
"Um," Harry said, voice wavering. "I'm back."
He looked down at himself; clothes dirty, hands streaked with dirt, sharp bristles covering his chin and cheeks. "I guess I should have - "
The towel dropped to the floor as Snape made his way over to the other side of the cabin in three steps. Harry was instantly enveloped, Snape's arms tight and real around him.
"Hi," Harry said, hugging back just as hard. He dug his nose into Snape's neck, inhaling deeply. "Hi."
"Potter," Snape said, lips moving over his ear. "Harry."
Harry's arms wound their way around Snape's neck. He gave the man a solid kiss on the cheek. "I'm really dirty," he said, laughing. "I must stink."
"You do," Snape chuckled. "You positively reek." He leaned back in the embrace. "It's good to see you, Potter."
"I missed you," Harry said. "I didn't think I would, but I did."
Snape smiled. "There's something to be said for being the last man alive, isn't there?"
"One of them," Harry answered with a grin.
Snape let go and Harry reluctantly stepped back from the embrace. Snape's eyes travelled down his body again. "Go clean up. There's still water in the tub. It's not perfectly fresh, but it's a damn sight better than you."
When Harry returned from the bathroom he found Snape sitting on a cushion beside the fireplace, toasting some bread on a large fork.
"Bread?" Harry said, mouth filling with saliva. "Oh my god. Bread."
"Here," Snape said, pushing the browned slice onto a plate and handing it to Harry. "There's strawberry jam in that jar."
"Jam and bread," Harry moaned as he crammed his mouth with food. "You're a genius, Snape."
Snape smiled as he slipped another piece of bread onto the roasting fork. "It was just a matter of isolating the correct strain of yeast."
Every time Harry had finished the last mouthful of toast, Snape would push another slice at him until he found he'd eaten the whole loaf. He tried to look apologetic but Snape saw through him, saying, "It's perfectly all right. I have another one for breakfast."
"Merlin, Snape - you're a sight for sore eyes. And a sound for sore ears."
"Quiet, hmm?"
"Very," Harry said, grimacing as he poured himself another cup of tea. Even after a year, he still wasn't used to drinking it without milk. With an exclamation, he dug into his pack and pulled out a handful of small containers of long-life milk. Snape's eyes widened and they both enjoyed their tea in respectful silence.
"So," Harry said, eager to hear Snape's voice again. He couldn't believe he was actually home. "What did you get up to while I was gone?"
Snape propped himself up on one elbow. "The same as I did before. Growing things, researching things."
"Any luck?"
Snape shook his head. Harry was surprised to discover he didn't feel overly sorry.
"I didn't expect to see you living here, of all places."
"It's solid, and doesn't take as much effort to heat. Once I'd removed most of Hagrid's more colourful accessories, it seemed more homelike."
Harry snickered at the idea of Snape judging a place of residence based on its homeliness factor.
"And what of you and your travels, Gulliver?" Snape smirked.
Harry grunted. "Nothing. As far as the eye could see. Just the same as what we saw in Hogsmeade."
"How far did you get?"
"Dover. I'd planned on crossing to France but didn't like the look of any of the boats, and I don't know how to drive a ferry. Besides," he said, shrugging, "it looked too dangerous to do on my own."
Snape stared at the floor. "Is it worth our while going all that way, just to find out what we already know?"
Harry sighed and lay flat on his back. He looked up at Snape. "No."
"What else did you do?" Snape asked, leaning over him.
"I went to Liverpool. I was thinking of doing the same thing; going over to Dublin, checking out Ireland, but the water was even choppier."
"And then you came home," Snape said.
"And then I came home," Harry agreed.
Snape's hair was long, the ends beginning to curl up as they dried. "What's with this?" Harry said, flicking a piece.
Snape looked at the split ends with distaste. "This is something I've been meaning to do something about. Get up," he said, patting Harry on the stomach. "I've a job for you."
Snape seated himself perpendicularly to the fire, handing Harry a pair of scissors and adjusted his dressing gown, letting the collar fall back and away from his neck. "Shoulder-length, please. In a straight line, if you can manage it."
Harry stepped behind him with a bemused grin. "Are you sure you trust me with these?" he joked.
"I've trusted you with far more lethal objects which you wielded on more delicate parts of my anatomy. Hair can grow back."
Harry reached around and tugged Snape's sleeve up. "How's it looking?"
Snape's forearm was covered with streaks of pink and white tissue. It looked ugly, but free of infection.
"I shouldn't have gone while you were still healing," Harry said.
Snape shrugged, then covered the scars. "There was no guarantee that it would heal. And you needed to see. You needed to see with your own eyes."
"Yeah," Harry said, running his hand over the curve of Snape's skull.
"Do you understand now?" Snape asked softly.
"I do."
After Harry had cut Snape's hair to both of their satisfaction, he persuaded Snape to do the same to him. The abundance of cowlicks and less than acceptable showering facilities had made his unruly hair even more difficult to manage than usual. He convinced Snape of the need to cut it short all over, saying that, if they woke up in the morning to find that his hair hadn't grown back, it would be the final proof that magic had disappeared.
Harry scrubbed his hand over his freshly shorn head. What was left of his hair felt soft, bristly, and he decided that he liked it. Snape had changed into a nightshirt and thrown another at Harry. "Bed," he said, putting a screen in front of the fire and blowing out the candles.
"Um - "
Snape got into one side of the bed. "It's huge, Potter, and you probably haven't had a comfortable night's sleep since you left."
"I did too," Harry said, whining a little. He waited until Snape's eyes had closed before shucking off his clothes and pulling the shirt over his head. It fell past his knees, was a horrid purple colour, and was the best thing he'd felt against his skin in as long as he could remember.
"Goodnight, Snape," he said, pulling the covers up to his chin. The pillow felt like heaven against his stiff neck.
Snape grunted.
When Harry woke up this time, it wasn't a noise that had startled him.
Snape was lying behind him, arms wrapped around his waist. His hips undulated against Harry's arse.
Harry lay perfectly still. "Snape?" he whispered.
Snape muttered against the back of his neck. The feeling was exquisite against his bare skin.
"Snape," Harry said, and pushed back gently.
Snape woke with a splutter, arms tightening around Harry's body.
Harry pushed back again.
Snape's breath was hot and moist against his skin, and Harry knew he was breathing just as hard.
He pushed back one last time and stayed there.
Snape groaned, and ran a hand up Harry's thigh, pulling the nightshirt up. Harry twisted, helping eagerly. After a few seconds, Snape was back in position; hard cock pressed against Harry's cleft, moving as slowly and as steadily as the tide. Harry grunted and pushed back eagerly.
His hand dropped to his own hard dick but Snape pushed it away, wrapping his delicate fingers around the shaft, tugging gently with each forward thrust.
"Snape," Harry moaned.
The next time they woke up they were both naked, and it was morning. They were wrapped in each other's arms, face to face. Their legs were entwined and it was a matter of seconds before they started rubbing up against one another.
"Kiss me this time," Harry muttered against Snape's mouth. "Kiss me."
Snape did.
The next few days were ones of leisure. In deference to Harry's hard journey, Snape was the one who would most often leave the bed and return with food. They napped and ate and talked. Harry played the 'What I Miss Most' game. He had whole lists - he found there was a sort freedom in talking about all the things that they would never see or do again.
Snape would listen; his head pillowed on Harry's stomach, but never had anything to add.
In the height of summer Harry made his way down to the cool confines of the dungeon. Snape's back was to him as he surveyed the shelves, fingers running lightly along shelves as if he were doing inventory by touch.
The room that had previously contained potions ingredients was stuffed to overflowing with jars. A myriad of produce was pickled and preserved; clear bottles heavy with vegetables and vinegar, dense, sugary liquids hiding fruits.
Snape caught sight of Harry from the corner of his eye and straightened. Harry tucked his chin on Snape's shoulder and leant over, picking up a jar of pears. He hefted it; tossing it up and catching it carefully. The sight of so much food made his chest tighten with happiness. Food was protection. Food was survival. He put the jar back on the shelf and smiled. Snape ran his fingers over Harry's mouth and said with quiet satisfaction, "We'll not go hungry this year."
They'd thrown open the shutters of the hut to let in a cool breeze. It wasn't hot enough to go night swimming again. It was peaceful, even with the absence of crickets chirping under their window.
"You know if we were real heroes we'd put a stop to this," Harry said.
Snape's hands stilled on Harry's back. Harry shrugged his shoulders and Snape began to massage again.
"Put a stop to this?"
"Not this. This."
Snape's thumbs dug into the tight muscles at the base of Harry's spine. "Is that what you want? You want this to end?"
"No," Harry said, turning his face to the side and opening his eyes. "But you didn't see them. There's millions, billions of people stuck like that. I feel selfish. The world's frozen and we're just...living."
Snape's hair brushed over Harry's eyes as he bent over and kissed him on the cheek. "It's not really the end of the world, more like a pause between breaths."
"So when is the world going to exhale?" Harry whispered.
"Whenever we want it to."
They continued living, and researching, and growing things, and talking for many years, although time seemed to pass slowly for them. They grew older, but the wrinkles around their eyes were mostly caused by laughter and exposure to the sun. Snape thought that they might be able to live like that for hundreds, maybe thousands, of years to come. Harry said that he didn't mind.
They kept Hagrid's hut as their home, but made Hogwarts their own. Different sections of the castle were put aside for different projects, and they spent nearly as much time researching in the Muggle library as they did the Hogwarts one.
Harry woke one morning to see Snape sitting up on the side of the bed, contemplatively toying with the leather strap that held a small vial hanging from his neck. Harry sat up behind him, his own deadly vial pressed into Snape's spine. It was the purest distillation they could make. There was always a chance that one of them would be mortally injured or become deathly ill, and neither wanted to go on without the other, even if it meant time returning to normal. According to their best hypothesis, death by the contents of the vial would be almost instantaneous and come painlessly.
He rested his chin on Snape's shoulder and looked over at the window. He could see their images reflected back in the smudged glass. As he looked, Snape's hands fell back onto Harry's thighs. Snape's mouth curved up at him.
Harry knew that if either had had any choice in the matter, neither of them would have chosen the other as the person they wanted to spend the rest of their lives with. But, as the years passed, they had grown to realise that they were similar enough in mind and spirit to understand what the other had gone through, and different enough to keep it interesting. Their relationship was one that allowed the other person to be as transparent as a pane of glass; clear enough to let your own light shine through, and with just enough imperfections to reflect the image of the one you love.
Harry dropped his head and nuzzled Snape's neck. His own smile was hidden from view, but he knew Snape could tell it was there, just as clear as day.
