The Death of a Soul

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Chapter Thirty

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Harry made a face as he swallowed the bitter liquid. Madam Pomfrey had decided to give him another dosage of the Calming Potion after she had seen Harry's distraught expression. Whatever Snape had said to him, it had upset Harry greatly, and she was not going to stand quietly by and do nothing. So, she released Harry's restraints – knowing he wasn’t going to go anywhere in his condition – and then pulled Severus to the other side of the room.

Harry stretched his legs slowly whilst he rubbed his eyes, and then down to massage his sore wrists. He was still heavily drugged, but he took a little comfort in this small bit of freedom of movement. The medicine was quickly coursing through his veins, but Harry tried to stay conscious for as long as possible. There was much to think about.

Suddenly, Harry heard Snape and Pomfrey arguing in the background, and caught sentences here and there.

“I did not agree for you to …”

“He is my husband and it is my right …”

“Protect him? It is you that I …”

Harry closed his eyes. He didn’t have to listen to the two of them anymore. He knew Snape would eventually win the argument. Harry turned his head away, and vaguely heard another conversation going on just outside the infirmary. The voices had risen loud enough for him to determine that they belonged to Albus Dumbledore, Cornelius Fudge, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. Harry sighed. All this talk. For nothing.

There was nothing anyone could do or say at this point to stop Snape. Harry knew this. He knew it. That is why he had agreed to stay with his husband on his last night here. Besides, there was nothing Snape could do to him now that he hasn’t done already. Of course, that was before Harry tried to kill him. Was that what Snape wanted him alone for? To exact his revenge? To kill him? Harry shook his head tiredly. No. He remembered what Snape had said to him when he thought Harry was unconscious.

“Together we will help you get better…”

‘Better,’ Harry mused. ‘Better than what? Better than being the saviour? Better than the protector of the Wizarding World?’ Harry smiled weakly. Some protector. He had tried to kill the man who had protected Harry from Voldemort. And yet Snape still wanted to help him? Doesn’t he realise that Harry might try to kill him again if he had the chance? How does he think he could stop him? Containment spells for life? Daily potions for compliancy? Perhaps Snape thinks St Mungo’s will ‘help’.

Harry snorted. St Mungo’s. They’d probably lock him away for life. Either that or send him straight to Azkaban - the one place Harry had wanted to go to from the very beginning. Harry nodded to himself, remembering how determined he was to go there, and how it was going to be his decision and no one else’s. Harry sighed. Now it will be someone else’s decision yet again.

Harry began to wonder.

What if…

What if Harry was able to make his own decisions now? What would he chose? St Mungo’s? Azkaban? And if he did decide on Azkaban, what would happen to him there? Would he get the Dementor’s Kiss? If he did, he would lose all of his happy memories. His friends. Quidditch. Draco. Mum. Dad. And….

Ginny.

He would forget about Ginny. Harry’s eyes teared up, and he absently wiped them away with the back of his hand. He didn’t want to forget about Ginny. He wanted remember everything about her. The way she loved him unconditionally. Her smile, her laughter, her soft skin, her thick, curly red hair. The way she smelled of vanilla that night. Harry choked back a sob. That night. That day. She had warned him that day. She knew something bad was going to happen between them. She had begged Harry to run away with her because she didn’t want to lose him.

But she did

Harry had assured her that he wasn’t going to let anything happen to them.

But it did

Harry covered his face. If only he would have listened to her. If only he would have left with her. They’d be free. They’d be …

Together.

Harry wiped more of his tears away, and looked over at the table next to his bed. The potion was still there. The Calming Potion. Maybe if there was still some left….

Harry rolled over on his side, reached over bracing himself on his left elbow, and carefully picked up the phial. He lay back down and uncorked it. Shaking it side to side, Harry could tell there was still some left. He gingerly brought it to his lips, and closed his eyes. Harry swallowed every last drop. His arm dropped to his side, and the bottle fell from his hand.

‘Ginny…’


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Severus was feeling very smug. He finally had convinced the stubborn old Pomfrey that Harry would be safe with him. He smirked as he pulled back the curtain, but it faded the moment he looked at his unconscious husband. Something was not right with Harry. He was too relaxed. He was too… Snape gasped when he saw the opened bottle lying next to Harry’s hand.

‘Foolish child.’

Snape rushed over, gently lifted Harry's head, and peeled back one of Harry's eyelids. His pupils were dilated.

“Harry,” he sighed. “Why do you always try and take the easy way out?”


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“Harry!” a deep voice cried.

Harry snapped his head over to where the voice had come from. Severus Snape was alive, and lying in a pool of blood.

“You stay out of this, traitor!”

Harry raised his wand.

“AVADA KEDA-!”

“EXPELLIARMUS!”

“AVADA KEDAVRA!”

Everything went black.


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Harry couldn’t breathe. Something was blocking his airway. A sudden slap on his back, and whatever was lodged in Harry's throat came flying out. Harry took in a lungful of air, but instead of screaming, he instantly began coughing. He coughed so hard tears rolled down his cheek. A wave of nausea hit him, followed by a rushed sensation, and then the burning of acid as his bile erupted, landing with a splash into the commode. Harry took in another deep breath followed by more vomit spewing out.

Harry closed his eyes, and barely felt a warm flannel touch his forehead, gently rubbing across it. A slight pressure on it guided him backwards, and he noted that he was now pressed against a clothed person. Since he was able to feel the soft material so vividly, Harry knew it meant one thing. He was naked. A mental examination of his body verified it. It also told Harry something else.

Both of his wrists were confined in metal restraints.

Harry panicked.

“Shh, Harry. Relax.”

The voice was soothing, but it couldn’t stop Harry from shivering. Through blurry eyes, he noticed for the first time that his glasses were no longer on his face. He inwardly flinched when he felt himself being lifted to his feet by his underarms, and had no choice but to stand with assistance given his present weakened state. An arm wrapped behind his back, and another pushed at the back of his knees. He was about to be carried.

Before the thought of ‘where to’ entered into his mind, Harry could feel his feet slowly descend into hot water, followed by his arse, and then the rest of his body. The arms that had surrounded him left briefly, and Harry sank down into the soothing liquid. Without even realising it, he let out a sigh of contentment.

“That’s it, Harry,” his husband whispered.

Harry had closed his eyes, but they instantly snapped open when he heard Snape's voice, and gasped as his back was pushed forward, and a nude body slid in behind him.

“Shh. It’ll be all right. You’ll see,” Snape softly said. “You took too much of the Calming Potion, and I had to administer a counter one to eliminate it.” His voice was calm and even, but there was no mistaking the reprimanding tone.

Harry's head lolled back enough to press into Snape's chest, and he looked up at him. Snape reached for a bar of soap, and lathered up a washrag, ignoring his questioning gaze. He began stroking Harry's neck, shoulders and arms, cleaning away all traces of sweat.

“Why-?” Harry rasped painfully.

Harry sensed rather than saw the goblet fly into Snape's open hand.

“Try not to talk. Your throat is still too raw. Here, drink this. It is only water.”

Harry parted his lips, and sighed as the cool liquid quenched his thirst. The cup moved away and Harry whimpered. He heard a soft clink as Snape set it down on the linoleum.

“You can't have too much just yet. You will only make yourself sick.”

Harry managed a small nod, then closed his eyes. He tried to focus on what had happened recently. Fudge. Dumbledore. Pomfrey. Snape. The infirmary. He knew that he was in the infirmary when he had blacked out. He tried to remember beyond that, but his mind was too fuzzy. He tried harder. The Calming Potion. Snape had mentioned the Calming Potion, and that he had to eliminate it from his system.

Suddenly, Harry tensed, remembering. Ginny.

“Harry,” Snape said, drawing him out of his realisation. “Put your mind at ease. We will work it out… together.”

Before Harry could attempt a response, he was lifted once again, dried off and was carried into the bedroom. Their bedroom. His body melted into the mattress as soon as he was laid down on his back, and he was quickly encased within a soft duvet. The bed dipped by his side, and Harry raised his eyes to meet Snape's.

“What… why…” Harry whispered, trying to keep his voice low and relaxed.

Snape sighed and looked away. It seemed as if he was deep in thought. After a few moments, he looked back at Harry then reached over to retrieve Harry's glasses.

“I know you have a lot of questions, Harry,” he began, sliding on Harry's glasses. “Take a small sip of this, and it will soothe your throat temporarily. Enough to speak without discomfort.”

Harry swallowed what he was offered, then nodded that he had received enough.

When the phial was taken away, Harry whispered, “Why are you doing this to me?” Harry was beyond fighting. He only wanted answers.

Snape inhaled sharply then let it out slowly. He gazed into sad, pleading emerald eyes.

“Please, Severus. Tell me the truth. Why? Why me?”

Snape quickly responded, “Why? Harry, do you really think so little of yourself?” Harry frowned, confused. Snape shook his head in disbelief. “You are well-loved, well-respected, honourable, courageous, and,” he paused to add a small smile. “strikingly handsome.”

Harry looked at him pensively. “So,” he began slowly. “You wanted me because of what I represent?”

Snape smile turned into a full grin. “No, Harry. I just wanted you.”

Harry’s eyes hardened. “Without any consideration to what I wanted,” he said, now angry. Snape continued to smile. “And you used that day to obtain what you wanted.”

“It was my right, was it not?”

“Why did…” Harry stopped to control his breathing. “Why did you turn into such a… bastard?”

“And what about you, Harry?” Snape countered. “Why did you keep fighting me? Fighting the truth? If you would have just accepted your responsibilities, we wouldn’t be where we are now, now would we?”

Harry glared at him defiantly. “You turned into a selfish bastard.”

“And you turned into a spoiled child,” Snape quickly retorted. Harry clenched his jaw but said nothing. “You behaved worse than that of a two-year old. Did you honestly think I was going to commend you for that?”

“You treated me like shit.”

Snape sat back and smirked. An uncomfortable silence past before he spoke again. He leaned over so that his body crossed over Harry’s, placing a hand on either side of Harry’s face. “I would have treated you like a king if you’d have let me.”

Harry clenched his jaw again. He looked away thinking, then glanced back over, moving just his eyes. “And that’s why you treated me the way you did,” Harry went on, ignoring Snape's so-called admission. “You were only happy when you got what you wanted.” It wasn’t a question.

Snape arched a brow, and slightly pulled back. “Of course. It’s human nature, is it not?”

Harry closed his eyes and swallowed hard. “Happy when I pleased you, and angry when I didn’t,” he said – more to himself than to Snape. Harry inwardly shook his head. “Your obedient husband,” Harry whispered. “Your…property.”

“Contrary to what Mr Malfoy said,” Snape interrupted angrily. “and you should know this as well as I, he is a rich, spoiled brat, and is only jealous of the fact that I have something he cannot. He is used to getting his way, no matter the consequences.”

Harry raised both brows, mockingly.

Snape bent over until his face hovered above Harry's. “But his intentions were not honourable, Harry.” He gently caressed Harry's cheek. “Mine are,” he whispered. “He would have used you, and then spat you out once he was finished. I, on the other hand,” he said, wetting his lower lip. “am willing to give you anything you want - so long as I can call you my own.” Snape pulled back just enough for Harry to focus properly. “And I’ll do anything to make you happy.”

“Even share me,” Harry said bitterly.

Snape rose to his arms, hands aside of Harry’s face, and bowed his head. A slow and unsteady breath was heard. When Snape had finally managed to look at him, Harry noticed the tear tracks.

“I am so sorry, Harry. I should have never said that. I was… desperate. I thought I was losing you, and I would've said anything to keep you,” Snape said, looking away. He turned back, leaned down, and looked straight into Harry's eyes. “I love you, Harry. I live and breathe for you.” He bent over, and brushed his lips against Harry's. “I’d die for you, Harry Potter.”

Harry's eyes widened, and watched as Snape lowered himself, and gently lay across his chest, making sure not to put too much pressure on him.

“Don’t leave me, Harry,” Snape whispered. “I’ll do anything you want. Just don’t leave me.”

Harry held his breath for what seemed like minutes, and then released a shaky sob. So, this is what it always comes down to, isn’t it? Play the game or lose everything. Harry had both played and lost. Now what? Azkaban? Death?

Or… Survival.

“What I see is someone who is so caught up in his ‘fate’ that he’s forgotten how to live.”

Should he just accept what he cannot change? Harry sighed and looked down at the cowering figure lying across his body. Suddenly, Harry blinked rapidly as a thought occurred to him. Voldemort. What about Voldemort?

“Voldemort…I still need to…” he breathed heavily.

Snape sat up quickly, and a small smile appeared. “You needn’t worry about Him, Harry. I’ll take care of Him. I’ll take care of everything.”

Harry frowned suspiciously.

Snape reached over to the bedside table, and pulled out a small bottle. He uncorked it, and brought it up to Harry's lips. “Here. Drink this.” Panicking, Harry’s eyes widened. “Don’t worry, Harry. It’s only a Dreamless Potion. Wouldn’t want Voldemort invading your dreams again, now would we?” he said with a sly wink.

Still frowning, but too tired to fight, Harry took a small sip, and could feel the effects take place immediately. His eyes opened and closed several times, trying hard to resist. Snape leaned over and kissed his forehead.

“I promise you, Harry. Soon, you will never have to think about Him or that night ever again,” he whispered.

Harry’s eyes widened one last time before darkness surrounded him.


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Severus busied himself in his private lab, silently cursing. He should have known it would have come down to this. Voldemort was now the only thing obstructing his happiness. That creature would always be there. Between them. He needed to put an end to it.

Now

He didn’t want to have to do this to Harry. He had hoped that the concussion, and the amnesia it had caused, would have been permanent.

Snape closed his eyes and sighed.

‘Yes. He will remember sooner or later.’


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“Potter.”

Harry’s eyes fluttered open. “What…what happened? Where am I?” he gasped.

“What do you remember?”

“I…” Harry looked around, but could see nothing but sky. He winced in pain from the blow to his head. “What happened?”

“I saved you, Potter.”

And then he waited.

Harry closed his eyes and sighed. “Yes, you did,” he whispered as if he remembered.


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Severus had always had the ingredients – just in case. He couldn’t have made it though until needed. It would have spoilt in less than a day. He stared at the potion brewing, and took a deep breath. It needed an hour.

Snape silently wondered if there was a potion for guilt. He quickly shook his head, and began to stir. He loved Harry, and that’s all that mattered now.


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Harry bolted up and screamed. He held his head tightly as if it was on fire. It hurt so bad it brought tears to his eyes. But as quickly as it began, the pain subsided, and Harry collapsed back on the bed panting.

What had happened? Was he in the infirmary? Where was he?

Harry sighed in relief as he realised that he was safe and sound in his quarters. Their quarters. He sighed again.

Now there was only one last thing he had to do before resigning to his fate.

Harry rolled over, and pulled the duvet down, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He noticed that he was now fully clothed. When did that happen? Bracing himself, he stood slowly, and swayed once as blood rushed to his head. It was hurting again. But why? Shaking away his questions for the time being, he gained his bearings, and blindly walked over to the direction where he knew the door was. Harry leaned on the bedroom doorframe and blinked, trying to focus.

What was wrong with him? Was it the potion?

Harry staggered into the lounge, and made his way over to where his desk was. He climbed the three steps, plopped down in the chair, and laid his head on his folded arms. ‘Finally,’ he thought. Careful not to get another head rush, Harry raised himself slowly up, and sat back in the chair. He pulled at his desk drawer with trembling hands, and it slid open with ease. He reached in, and pulled out a piece of parchment, and his quill and ink. He stared numbly at them.

Where to begin?

His clothes? Throw away. His broom? To Ron. His money? Harry snapped open his eyes - he didn’t even realise that they had closed.

‘Must concentrate.’

Harry held onto his quill, and stared out into space. His head was still swimming.

“I saved you, Potter.”

What? Where had that come from? It was Snape's voice, Harry was sure of it. He scanned the room through bleary eyes. He wasn’t there.

‘Was it …from that night?’

Harry was told over and over again that Snape had saved him. Everyone told him that. Snape was even given Veritaserum to validate it. But what…what exactly happened that night? Those last few moments with Voldemort? It was one thing that Harry had always wanted to know. He hated not knowing. No one could tell him and he never asked. Why didn’t he ever ask? Was it because he so caught up in just being alive? Or was it because he thought he would have never been able to defeat Voldemort on his own?

‘Yes.’

It was his own incertitude in himself that kept him from asking.

A glint of something caught Harry's eyes, and snapped him back to the present. He looked down at the parchment. A glob of ink had fallen from the tip of his quill, and was it quickly spreading. Harry placed the quill in his cauldron, and pulled on the drawer to retrieve a new parchment. It wouldn’t open. Harry pulled at it again. It didn’t budge. Gathering all the strength he could muster, Harry yanked on the handle and the drawer flew open. A small, clear ball with an arrow in the center of it rolled forward.

Harry blinked.

He carefully picked it up and stared at it.

“The arrow will spin if someone around you is lying.”

He was now fully awake.

“My name is Harry Potter.”

The arrow didn’t move.

“I love Quidditch.”

Nothing. Harry smiled for the first time in a long time. Enjoying his new toy, he continued happily.

“Ron hates chess.”

The arrow began spinning and Harry beamed. This was fun.

“Hermione hates Ron.” It didn’t stop. “They hate each other.” Spinning. “They’ve never kissed.”

Harry expected the arrow to stop, but it continued to spin. Harry paled as it dawned on him what that meant.

They had kissed.

‘They DID?’

Harry began to laugh. Of course they did. He should have known.

“They’ve never… shagged,” he whispered, slightly embarrassed.

The arrow stopped abruptly, and Harry exhaled loudly, but mentally shook his head as soon as he did. There was no reason for him to be relieved. That was their business, after all.

Suddenly, Harry’s face paled again, thinking of what else to say.

“Snape and I … shagged.”

The arrow didn’t move.

“He … he loves me.” Nothing. “He...” Harry swallowed hard. “He protected me.” Nothing.

Harry sighed. It was true then. Snape had saved him. His hands fell to his lap, the ball still cupped in his palm. Harry jolted when he saw Snape. Where had he come from? Was he always there? Did he hear everything? Harry bowed his head as he heard glasses clinking on the bar.

“What are you doing up? You're supposed to be resting.”

“I – I wanted to write a letter,” he whispered.

Snape turned his back to him to pour himself a drink. “Oh? To whom?”

“Uhm. To myself. Just … wanted to write some things down.”

Snape looked over his shoulder. “I see. Any particular reason why?”

Harry glanced up quickly, then back down to the ball. “No. Not really.”

He felt rather than saw Snape nod. His eyes remained on the arrow.

“Severus?”

“Yes?” Snape replied after downing a bit of alcohol.

“What… what happened that night?”

Harry peered up through his fringe. Snape had frozen in mid-motion. Several seconds past.

Finally, “What night?”

Harry took a deep breath. “That night. With Voldemort.”

He heard Snape sigh.

Snape turned around, and looked at Harry sadly. “Harry,” he began quietly. “You’ve been through quite a lot recently. You shouldn’t be worrying about…”

“I know,” Harry said, interrupting. “It’s just…. I mean I remember some things – most things – but…something’s missing.” He stared at the ball again without knowing why. “I just want to know what it is.”

“Harry,” Snape began again, this time his tone sounded tight. “I told you what happened. The Ministry told you. It’s pointless to go over it again.”

Harry nodded. “I know.”

Snape sighed loudly. “Harry, I don’t want to see you upset, but talking about it won't change anything.”

Harry nodded again. “I know,” he whispered.

A moment of silence had past.

“Harry, I’m worried about you. Everyone is.” Harry nodded, eyes locked on the ball. “Madam Pomfrey asked about you.”

The arrow spun once. Harry’s eyes opened wide, and he quickly looked up to see if Snape had seen his shocked expression. He hadn't.

“She did? Just now?”

“Yes.” The arrow spun faster. “She’s worried about you, as well.” The arrow stopped.

Harry began breathing heavily, and his heartbeat accelerated.

“Harry? You look a little green. Perhaps you should lie down. I told you that you needed more rest.”

“NO!” Harry cried and Snape narrowed his eyes. “I mean no. No, I’m just fine. Really. I just…want to stay awake. To talk with you some more.” He looked at Snape with as much feeling for the man as he could manage.

It worked.

“Very well.” Snape poured himself another drink.

“Severus?”

“Yes?”

“I... want to thank you.” He glanced up briefly.

“For what?”

“Saving me that night.”

“Harry…”

“No, really. I never thanked you.”

Snape smiled. “You’re welcome,” he said before taking another sip.

“I don’t… want anymore secrets between us,” Harry whispered. He could see Snape turn slightly in his peripheral vision. “I want,” he began and swallowed hard. “I want it to work out between us.”

The arrow spun.

Harry flinched when he heard the glass fall onto the bar.

“You… you do?” Snape asked breathlessly. “Harry…”

Harry quickly continued. “That’s why I wanted to ask about that night.” He glanced up again. “So we can start fresh.” He managed a smile.

“What,” Snape began. He cleared his throat. “What is it you want to know?”

“Well,” Harry started carefully. “You saved me.”

“Yes.”

The arrow slowed.

“That night.”

“Yes.”

The arrow spun faster. And so did Harry’s heart rate. Snape had saved Harry. Just not that night? Suddenly, Harry couldn’t speak. His throat was too dry. He swallowed hard.

“T-tell me what happened.”

He heard Snape sigh – almost in relief. But why was he relieved?

“I found you in front of a large tree.”

“The one outside of Hogwarts?”

“Yes.”

The tree? THE tree? Harry’s tree?

“Go on,” Harry whispered.

“You were hurt. Badly. By the time I had moved close enough to assist you, Voldemort appeared.” The arrow was still. “You had lost consciousness, and Voldemort used that moment to try and kill you.”

The arrow was silent.

“And then?” he choked.

“Harry. Please. Enough for tonight.”

Harry snapped his head up. “No. Please. Please, tell me!”

Snape sighed. “You had awoken before He had the chance. When I tried to help you, He accused me of being a traitor, and used the Expelliarmus Curse on me.”

The arrow never moved.

Snape continued. “When I finally came to, both of you had your wands drawn.”

The arrow was still, but Harry held his breath.

“You both cast the Killing Curse.”

Nothing.

“A-and?”

There was a moment of silence.

“I had intervened, and stopped His curse before He could finish saying it. And because my curse hit Him first, your curse never touched Him. He used the Expelliarmus Curse on you just before He disappeared. That’s why you hit your head, knocking you unconscious.”

The ball rocked in Harry's hand as it spun out of control. He hid the ball tightly in his fist, and his face lost all of its blood. He immediately began to feel dizzy. He knew was going to be sick.

Harry flinched violently when Snape cupped his chin and lifted it up.

“Harry. I told you this would only upset you. Rest now. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

Harry could only blink. He was too shocked to move. Too shocked to say anything.

“I’ve made something that will heal you, Harry.” He leaned down and kissed Harry lightly on the lips. “He won't ever bother you again. I promise.” He kissed him again. “I’ll take care of everything. All right?”

Harry nodded, his face still white.

Snape helped Harry up, and led him to the bedroom. Harry held onto the ball, trying desperately to hide it. Climbing in bed, he looked over to Snape's retreating back. He could have sworn he heard him whisper,

“You won't ever have to think of Him again.”


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