Proof of Life

Seven Years Later



There was blood in his dreams again. For a few months he had begun to hope that the nightmares would cease, but of course, they hadn\'t. Once again, he dreamed of Snape, drowning in his own blood, whispering his name. Once again, Harry woke up with a silent scream that never left his lips.



Next to him Ginny stirred, frowning in her sleep. He got up cautiously, careful not to disturb her. Still, her eyelids fluttered and she looked at him speculatively.



“Harry,” she murmured.



“Morning, love,” he said. “I hoped not to wake you.”



“I\'m not awake,” she mumbled, hugging the pillow. “But I should be. My team is leaving for Amsterdam this afternoon. And I need to drop Lily off at daycare.”



“Then you\'d better get your cute little arse in gear,” Harry teased.



She rubbed her eyes and gave him a pleading look. “Harry... is there some way you could come and see us play?”



Harry bowed his head. This was an important game for Ginny\'s Quidditch team, but even so, he had absolutely no desire to go. His own interest in Quidditch had dissipated completely at this point, and he could barely look at Ginny\'s Quidditch trophies without suppressing a yawn.



Then again, it\'s not like he felt excited about anything these days. Other than watching Lily, Harry corrected himself instantly.



“I\'ve got to be available to work this weekend,” Harry said in a neutral voice. “It\'s not a good idea to take time off now.”



“Oh? How so?”



“You know, the usual. There\'s a lot of pressure. After the terrorist attack last month...”



“Oh yes,” she sighed. “Well, how\'s that attack different from the one three months ago, or from the one half a year ago?”



Ginny was up and getting dressed. Harry stared at her firm, sculpted, powerful body and her long red hair, and smiled wistfully. For all intents and purposes they now inhabited two different worlds. Ginny\'s mind was immersed in family matters, their daughter\'s wellbeing, and her career, and she was doing her best to pull Harry into that blissfully simple world as well. Most days Harry felt like he was still at war, and whenever he allowed himself the luxury to start believing otherwise something happened on his job to quickly dissuade him of that dangerous illusion.



Voldemort was defeated. But as far as the good news went, that was it. Post-war organized crime flourished, taking the form of underground slave trading, contraband, and the manufacture and dissemination of illegal Dark Objects. It was hardly surprising given how many former Death Eaters had managed to escape and take over the underbelly of the Wizarding world. They were now doing what they had always done best: dismantling and undermining the fragile peace and order the rest of the Wizarding world were trying to create.



Every few months or so there was a terrorist attack and the public screamed in outrage, demanding that the Minister of Magic and the Auror Office take better measures to ensure public security. Most days Harry felt at his wits\' end, because for every attack they managed to intercept and avert, there would be another one that would succeed. He found that people expected a great deal from him, just as he found himself unable to live up to their expectations.



Harry lifted his eyes to realize that Ginny was looking at him with something like irritation.



“I told you accepting the promotion to head the Auror Office was a mistake,” she said disapprovingly. “You were much happier when you were just like Ron, out there in the thick of things, rather than dealing with the politics of it all.”



Harry chuckled quietly to conceal his embarrassment. He hated the fact that he was promoted to the chief\'s position while Ron was still just a field team leader. From his perspective it was unfair. But Ron, as far as Harry could tell, did not begrudge him his promotion, even though he had every right to. They were family now. Harry was married to Ron\'s sister. Ron was married to Harry\'s other best friend. Their lives were so entwined that it would be impossible to be resentful of each other for any significant length of time without going insane.



When he did not answer her, Ginny sighed and began to brush her hair angrily, the strokes of the brush the only sound punctuating the silence that hung between them.



“You\'ll pick up Lily from daycare?” Ginny asked finally.



Harry nodded mutely.



“Harry,” Ginny said dangerously, “please tell me that I will not return from Amsterdam after the playoffs to find out that our daughter has been babysat by my parents the entire time yet again, because you supposedly had to work nights or something.”



“You won\'t,” Harry promised. “I\'ll pick her up. I\'ll be a good daddy.”



There was probably a touch of bitterness in his voice because Ginny was now staring at him with concern.



“Harry,” she said cautiously.



“Mm?” he murmured.



“Do you love me?” she asked in an oddly vulnerable voice that he wasn\'t used to hearing from her.



“You know that I do, Ginny,” he said reassuringly. “I always will.”



She was searching his face for something else, perhaps evidence of former passion, or a sign that there was something more than a familial affection established by having a child in together and rote memory. He gave her a friendly smile, which she returned hesitantly.



“Go win that cup,” Harry urged her.



“We always do,” Ginny said a little smugly. “I just wish you were there to see it.”



“I\'ll be there next time,” Harry said.



“That\'s what you said last time, and the time before,” Ginny observed, but without accusation.



“Yeah, but this time I really mean it,” Harry protested. “Honestly, Ginny. Next game, I\'ll be there, in the front row. With flowers and shit.”



She grinned. “Unless there\'s another terrorist attack, right?”



“Right,” Harry said, heading to the shower.



He stood in the shower for a long time with his eyes shut, allowing the streams of water to erase the memories of the nightmare and wash away the cold sweat that had dried on his skin .



It\'s been seven years, he thought, and still, he had no closure, no relief, no peace when he thought back to that date. He had attempted to clear Snape\'s name, but after two years of futile efforts only a small handful of his old schoolmates and his former teachers believed him. To the Ministry of Magic Harry became a laughingstock where the name of Severus Snape was concerned, and finally, Harry simply gave up trying.



It\'s time to let go, Ginny had told him. But even if Harry was ready to let go of Snape the nightmares had a mind of their own. Seven years since Severus Snape had died and still, night after night, Harry continued to dream about the man drowning in a pool of his own blood.



At least he had learned not to scream in his sleep, Harry thought wryly. Perhaps that alone qualified as an improvement.



~*~



As soon as Harry made it to the Auror office he found himself blessing the stars that he did not ditch work to go with Ginny to Amsterdam. They had received a lead on a Death Eater compound, located in an Unplottable location in Devon.



Harry smiled appreciatively as he reviewed the information. Having a clerk at Borgin and Burkes working undercover for them turned out to be more profitable than thousands of strategically placed surveillance spells. It was amazing how much a simple shop-girl could overhear when she cared to make herself unobtrusive and nearly invisible.



Given the importance of this particular mission Harry made a quick decision to lead the team himself. At least this way if something went pear-shaped there would be no question of who was to blame.



“Harry, you look like shit,” Ron said, his stern voice tugging Harry out of his thoughts.



“Huh?” Harry was slightly taken aback. “I do not!”



“You\'ve got circles under your eyes. You and Ginny fighting again?”



“We aren\'t fighting,” Harry assured him.



“Nightmares then?” Ron asked.



Harry nodded mutely.



“Maybe you should stay in the office, take it easy,” Ron offered, but without much hope in his voice. “You really do look like the dead.”



Harry snorted under his breath.



“I\'m fine. Now, stop complaining and tell me how are we going to dismantle the wards once we get to the compound.”



Ron grinned. “Thought you\'d never ask. The first thing...”



~*~



The wards of the Death Eater compound yielded easily to the combined effort of the best Aurors in Great Britain, and soon enough Harry and the rest of the team were inside. The struggle was furious, but quick; caught unawares and outnumbered three to one, the Death Eaters and their underlings stood no chance at all. The compound was secure in less than half an hour, and Harry watched intently while the Aurors secured unconscious and semi-conscious Death Eaters, preparing them for transport to Azkaban. The rest of the team dispersed in pairs to search the compound and dismantle any booby-traps. Harry issued a sigh of relief. All in all this went well. Amos Diggory would be hard-pressed to find any fault with their performance this time.



“Mr. Potter,” he heard a voice of a young female Auror, Rose Zeller, next to him. “It\'s horrible!”



“What is?” he asked automatically.



“There are some cells here,” Zeller explained, her lip trembling a little. “I\'ve never seen anything like it... there are.. prisoners... we\'ve sent for help to St. Mungo\'s...”



Harry gritted his teeth defiantly. It wasn\'t often that they\'d discover prisoners held by rogue Death Eaters, but it wasn\'t unheard of.



“All right,” he said softly, but from the look on her face he saw that she was struggling with something else. “What is it, Zeller?”



One of the prisoners cried out your name; but it\'s odd, you see, he\'s one of them, he\'s got the Dark Mark, do you know anyone ...”



His heart sank in his chest.



“Where?” Harry asked hoarsely.



Zeller pointed.



Harry ran.



He reached the cell that Zeller had pointed out, burst through the door, and saw a bloodied human form, covered by a flimsy, tattered robe. A field medic, who was part of the Auror team, was crouched on the floor next to the victim, casting one healing spell after another.



“It can\'t be,” Harry whispered, kneeling in front of the person lying on the floor at his feet.



It\'s been seven years, he thought. It couldn\'t possibly be...



And yet, who else could it be? Harry recognized him, as he continued to stare transfixed at the pale, emaciated body and the long black hair, tangled and matted as if from years of neglect.



Against all odds the mangled person stirred on the floor, turning his head towards Harry\'s voice. Dark sunken eyes fixed on Harry.



“Snape,” Harry whispered, extending his hand towards the man he had thought dead for the last seven years.



Snape stared at him intently for a few seconds and then reciprocated the gesture, stretching his own hand forth. In horror, Harry saw that the man\'s bloodied hand had been nearly fully stripped of skin, the raw flesh and muscle visible in gruesome detail.



Harry stared at the healer pleadingly, but she ignored him, too busy scanning for internal damage and continuing to cast healing spells in rapid succession.



Snape, however, appeared to be unaware of the extent of his own injuries. His eyes continued to study Harry\'s face in absolute silence, and then the brutalized, degloved, and barely human hand reached for Harry\'s wrist and clenched around it in an iron grip.



To Be Continued...