Chapter Text
Severus skidded to a stop, nearly toppling sideways as his balance continued backwards from the slip of his dress shoes on the stone. His arms flung out to the sides as he arrived in front of the Hospital wing, flushed and out of breath. He wasn’t first. And it didn't look like he was even close. Ron, Hermione, and Minerva were already gathered there with morbid looks on their faces and red-rimmed eyes. He swallowed thickly, desperately trying to ignore the bottomless pit opening up in his stomach.
He knew those looks. Too well.
The black eyes swept over the group, pausing on Minerva.
It seemed like moments ago she had caught him with his lips pressed against Harry. Her scream still echoed in his head. And it was moments ago, he thought bitterly, that he had lost control of his base instincts and snogged Harry in the corridor like an idiot. The guilt seeped through his chest. He'd put her in a position to break bad news. Again. It seemed that was all he was good for these days, ruining friendships and giving the world plenty of negative news to sink their teeth into. Severus spent too many seconds pitying himself before finally lowering his eyes to hers.
"Where's Potter?"
Her pale eyes widened marginally as she scraped over his form. It vaguely occurred to him that his hair was still soaked from his time in the rain and that there was blood splattered on his collar from Victor. Severus pulled his shoulders back and looked down his nose, trying to regain a shred of dignity. Ron and Hermione beside her exchanged a strange glance.
“Where is he?” Severus snarled, surprised by the grit cluttering up his voice.
“In the Infirmary. Poppy has asked that I stay outside. With the others for now.” The pair of Gryffindors shifted next to her, obviously uneasy and upset. Her blue eyes softened. “Severus, you cannot go in there.”
He scoffed, barely in control of the rage bubbling up inside him.
Underneath it sat a fear so bright and blazing he could hardly believe it. This was nothing small. This was nothing fixable. He could taste it in the air.
“Because you don’t agree with my decisions, or because you believe that I will harm him? No amount of disdain will disuade me and your petty disappointment in my choice of a partner has no place here, Minerva. I have bent over backwards to protect Potter. My duty, my life, has formed around my ability to keep that brat safe, whether from Albus, the Dark Lord, or even you! Shagging him will not alter my ability to heal. It will not alter my ability to brew. If there is something I can do, I will do it! I will get in there. And your disgust in me will not alter my course.”
Minerva pressed her lips together in a thin line.
“This isn't a conversation for the two of you. Off to bed,” she said, shooing Ron and Hermione off to bed. Her attention moved back to him. "Poppy has sealed the doors, Severus. My opinions aside, there is no getting past that magic." She paused, inhaling enough to disturb her shoulders. "For the record, you do not disgust me."
“What pretty lies Gryffindors tell." Severus drew his wand. "Besides, a little bit of magic has never stopped me.”
Pity flickered across Minerva’s features, showing her age.
“She needs the quiet, Severus.”
“To do what?”
Severus waited. He waited for Minerva to tell him what was wrong. Waited to hear that it was a broken arm. Maybe some obscure magical ailment. Fixable things. He waited, but the silence only grew between them. In his hand, his wand began to tremble.
“To. Do. What?”
He needed the answer. He needed to know why Minerva wore such a sour look and why the castle was so cold and barren that he couldn't stop shivering. He needed to know the reason behind the building to urge to curse everything around him and tear the world apart. Severus wet his lips, licking away a spot of rain. It was possible to be wrong. Though he rarely was, it was a possibility. If anyone could prove his worries wrong, it would be a witch as brilliant as Minerva.
"Minerva," he said, sounding less sure by the minute. "Why does she need quiet?"
Minerva shook her head. Tears brimmed along her lash line, but they did not fall. Instead, she walked over and placed a careful hand on his arm.
“She is...trying to heal him without the help of Mungo's,” Minerva said. "She is-"
“That’s ridiculous,” Severus scoffed, shifting uneasily as his eyes bounced everywhere other than Minerva. He couldn’t look at her for fear of seeing something he didn’t want to see. “Mungo’s exists for a reason, Minerva. They are one fire-call away. They would do anything for Harry.”
It was unspoken that if there was nothing they could do, they would leave him at Hogwarts to be comfortable. It was no great secret that this was his home. Hogwarts was his great place of safety. Severus inhaled slowly, fighting against the tears burning in his sinuses. The same flickering look of pity he’d seen moments ago came back on Minerva's face. He was suddenly self-conscious of the cool castle breeze against his waterlogged clothes and wet hair. Sniffing, he took a serious look at Minerva.
He didn’t like what he saw.
"Minerva, speak."
“Poppy has already spoken with them, Severus. At length. They’ve sent the help they can but…” She trailed off, looking up at him through her lashes and then looking away. Shame touched her cheeks. It dragged down the aging skin of her face. Gathered in the hollow of her throat where her chest rose and fell slowly, like this was inevitable. Inescapable.
“What? But what, Minerva?!" Severus grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her roughly as his lip quivered. "Enough with the conversation, Minerva. Tell me what happened to him and tell me now." She opened her mouth slightly but no sound came out. He gripped her more tightly and his voice took on a coarse, begging sound. "Please, Minnie. If not as a professor, as someone you considered a friend. If not that...as Albus's confidant. Please...what happened to Harry? Tell me.” He inhaled sharply, no longer able to hide the growing fear. "I cannot stand this. Put me out of my misery."
Severus shook. He couldn’t work out if it was from the growing fear in his stomach or the anger, but there was a tremble in his hands that wouldn’t quit. His hands clamped down on her shoulders. She hardly noticed. Instead, sad blue eyes lifted to meet his gaze.
“There was an accident. It seems that after the incident in the dungeon, Harry went out on his broom. I...went through the corridors but did not find him. I've spoken to Ron and Hermione, but neither one of them saw him come back to the Common Room. I think he must have slipped in and out to grab his broom before they could have noticed.”
“Did you not go after him?” Severus whispered, his voice wobbling. The tears burned in his gaze as he looked down at Minerva. "Oh god, Minerva."
He ripped his hands from her and staggered backwards, visibly disgusted.
Harry had been her responsibility for many years and she had failed him plenty of times, but this was a breach in judgment so severe he couldn't believe it. He stared at her for a moment, shaking his head. She had let Harry go without chasing him down. Severus wouldn't have been satisfied until he'd physically gotten ahold of Harry and dragged him back to his office.
"You let him go?"
"I thought he was going back to Gryffindor Tower!" Her hands flipped palm up, silently asking for forgiveness Severus would not grant. "I have known the boy for years. How many times has he gone off to brood in that tower of his?"
"As many times as he has tried to jump from it," Severus snapped. The anger flushed through him, giving his cheeks a sudden wash of red that lit him back up and drew him away from his own grave of pity. "Harry is the most suicidal fool I have ever met and I will include myself in that. He ran headlong into the war without asking one question. And you left him to what, cool off? Well, tell me, how did that turn out for you?"
He regretted the words the moment they came out of his mouth. Minerva physically recoiled as though struck, her face twisting into a look of agony.
“Not well, Severus. I should have followed him, but I did not. Harry went out on his broom and..." Minerva froze for a moment, a deathly pallor galloping across her features. "The weather is foul tonight. You…you seem to know that quite well. Harry went for a flight. Got his broom and simply took off." Severus sucked in a sharp, hissing breath. "I cannot say how long he flew, perhaps a few hours judging by how saturated the bristles of his broom were. Long enough for him to be soaked to the bone. I’ve inspected the pieces and–”
“The pieces?”
“Let me finish or I will never get it out,” Minerva continued. “It appears that lightning struck close to his broom, perhaps turned him upside down or blinded him. I have gone over the wreckage two dozen times and cannot make heads or tails of the strike or how the boy fell. For Merlin's sake, it must have been as fast as a spell to hit as hard as he did. The back half was badly singed. Whatever the case, he could not right himself.”
“Minerva, please,” he begged.
“Harry crashed, Severus, and his broom went through his chest.”
The world dropped out from under him and a horrid ringing began in his ears. He couldn’t quite see Minerva, though he was looking right at her. Everything was bright, almost blindingly, but dark inside his mind. He blinked the tears from his eyes, unaware that they were sliding down his face. His back hit the far wall. It must've hurt. He could hear Minerva asking if he was all right, but all he could hear was that deafening ringing in his ears.
“Wh-what?” Severus shook his head. “No. No, through the chest would mean…”
He couldn't bring himself to say it. Magic was known to center around the heart and if it had gone through Harry's chest, there was a good chance it had cut his magic. As advanced as magical medical care was, it could not staunch that kind of bleeding. It could not stop the slow leak of a wizard's magic. Severus blinked rapidly, shaking his head before finally finding stillness. Harry was dying. There was no stopping this parade toward the end. His stomach sank. Not in any traditional ways. Poppy wouldn't be able to heal him. Neither could the hospital. And he wouldn't be allowed to say goodbye.
“I’m sorry, Severus. Let him rest in peace. Poppy will let us come in when it is time, I'm certain.”
“In peace? In peace?!” he hissed, a wild fire burning in his gaze. “He is not dead yet, Minerva. And Poppy cannot refuse my help. I...I am capable of magic you don't understand! Have my years as a Death Eater, as Albus's own personal safety net meant nothing? Harry is hurt, stabbed through the chest, and you expect me to sit out here and twiddle my thumbs like some kind of spineless idiot? That is beyond idiotic. Perhaps you have run out of options and can sit idly by, but I cannot. If Poppy and Mungo’s cannot find a solution, then I will.”
“Do you think I have not tried?” she snapped.
“You deal in transfiguration, Minerva. I am the one who pulls souls back from the edge,” Severus snarled. “Potions have taught me that impossible magic exists, and it does so at my fingertips. If not potions… Well, I have plenty in my kit. I have learned more things in the service to the Dark Lord than you could hope to imagine.”
“Yes, I quite imagine you might. But I ask you, what would that cost be? Harry could not live with the guilt of injuring you.”
“Better to live with the guilt of my…choices…than to die grieving my apparent lack of love. There is no consequence I will not bear for Harry.”
Drafts blew through the castle, pressing the damp of his sopping closer deeper into his bones. A warming charm fresh from Minerva’s wand followed. He appreciated the gesture and loathed its necessity.
“He is in good hands, Severus.”
“No, he is not! He is not in my hands and that is where he should be.”
Severus stormed over to the door, glaring at it before placing one hand on the handle. He firmed his grip on the handle. The metal was cool against his palm and buzzing with magic. A bit of determination could fix most things. Minerva used to believe that. Sorrow trickled into the dark eyes. It was easy to remember a time before the war when she believed every word he said. She had trusted him like no other. Oh and how she believed in the depths of his magic. The war had changed all that. He could see it in the way she looked at his wand as though it was incapable of any sort of good magic. Minerva had lost all confidence in him. Always assuming the worst. It was odd. Her assumption of incompetence was the most painful of everything.
He closed his eyes and pushed down the anger building in his chest into a fine, concentrated point until all he could hear was the slowing rhythm of water dripping onto the floor from his robes.
“Even if you believe I can do nothing, I will not buy into that sentiment,” Severus said softly. “I cannot let him die heartbroken, Minerva. I cannot.”
“Oh, Severus.”
He hated hearing his name on her lips like that. The last time he’d heard it was when she broke the news of his Pa’s death. This was similar, wasn't it? She was breaking the news that Harry wasn't going to be around much longer. The thought was choking in its intensity. Severus couldn’t breathe. His heart thumped unevenly in his chest. Every thought circled Harry.
“Let me wipe the wards, then," Minerva said. "Poppy will have my head, but I suppose that will give you time with Harry, hm? I've messed things up enough tonight. Let me at least try this.”
He rolled his eyes shut with a grimace. It was certainly a more welcome idea than his own, which was to rip the doors open with brute, magical force.
“Thank you, Minerva.”
Another beat of silence passed before a warm hand spread between his shoulder blades.
“Before you think to blame yourself for this, remember who it was with the closed mind. I drove the both of you to this and have been horribly cruel in the process. This is not on your head, Severus. I…I should have given my approval far earlier. Written. The only person who is to blame for the both of your injuries is me. Hear that if nothing else.”
“Minerva,” he rasped, his voice uncharacteristically worn.
“No. Not a word of dissent, child. I’ve failed you enough over the years. Let me bear that failure. You've taken enough on your shoulders, plenty of which is not yours to bear.”
Swallowing any protests he may have had, he watched in quiet appreciation as Minerva systematically dismantled the wards.
It took no more than fifteen minutes and a frightening amount of swearing from Minerva before the wards gave. They disintegrated into blue ash, tumbling softly to his feet. In another situation, it would have been pretty how she destroyed something so strong. As it was, he could only see decay. The march to the grave. The death of his lover. He stared at the ash for a moment and then, without another word to Minerva, he opened the door and slipped inside.
Shadowed and gaunt in a room of too many shadows, he looked like another one stretched tall in front of the door. The candlelight avoided him, somehow falling to each side and leaving him blanketed in a gloomy mess of criss-crossing shadows. For a moment, he didn’t move. He simply inhaled the sharp antiseptic clinging to the air and the unlucky stench of potions he brewed to keep students alive in a worst-case scenario. He stood bathed in sorrow, committing the moment to memory as he sought to steel himself. His pale face peered out from the dirty bars of his long, black hair, and his eyes were a thing of terrifying nightmare. Dull and glassy, they glared over the hospital wing as though it had personally wounded him.
He could smell the inevitable death in the air.
Poppy rushed in from the back and froze.
“Severus?” Her entire face fell. "I should have known you would have found a way in." The old wrinkles on her face softened as she looked at him with a pitiful look he was becoming too accustomed to. "How can I help you?"
The world shifted underfoot, tightening as his terror increased. Poppy never spoke this way, certainly not to him, and he couldn't stand the tone.
“Where is he?”
Poppy inclined her head towards a small candle in the back. It cast a weak, warm light along the outside of a curtain.
“I’ve moved the other students to an unused room for the night. I thought it was best to give Harry some…peace. He's had so little of it over the years.” She wrung her hands, massaging the middle of her palm as she looked over her shoulder towards the back. "Being a hero seems quite unfortunate. He's never gotten the quiet." She nodded to herself and turned back to Severus. "It's quiet now. He does like the silence, doesn't he?"
Severus nodded, understanding instantly that Poppy did not expect Harry to make it more than one night. His gaze skated to the ceiling, finding an acute interest in the old spiderwebs up there. For all magic was good for, it was absolute rubbish at saving lives. He inhaled slowly, trying to steady himself and give Poppy the reassurance she seemed to be seeking.
“He appreciates the quiet,” Severus said softly, staring at the steady light of the candle as though it were Harry’s heartbeat itself.
A beat of silence passed between them.
"It was quite a fall," Poppy said at last. “I’ve done what I can, including conferring with St. Mungo's, but it’s useless, Severus. Nothing will fix this. His magic is not stable and it does not seem to want to be. I've healed what I could, but his magic won't recover. Not even St. Mungo’s has anything to offer. Aside from apologies, that is. They had plenty of those.” Poppy sounded sadder than he had ever heard her, but he supposed that was what happened when a school medi-witch was set up with a war and a dying hero. He’d contributed to her losses himself. Failing to keep children safe in the war and now failing to keep Harry safe. Minerva and her sad blue eyes flashed through his mind.
A spider crawled out of an old, dead web, moving slowly across the vast ceiling.
“Tell me,” Severus started, a dull resignation creeping into his voice. “Tell me what Minerva will not.”
The medi-witch stepped closer and clasped her hands in front of her hips. Sorrow touched the edges of her eyes. It was clear that she had spent time crying. Severus stood a bit taller, trying desperately to appear strong for his old friend. She'd had enough trouble. The very least he could do for her was to be stoic as she delivered the news neither one of them wanted to hear.
“Harry has run out of his luck. There is neither help nor time left. Any cure or potion would take a day or more to brew, let alone conceptualize, and he has, at best, a dozen hours. The broom nicked the edge of his heart. While I have healed his heart and pieced him back together, there is no healing magic. You know that as well as I. The fall was too severe." Poppy met his hard gaze, tears watering along her lashes. "I'm sorry, Severus. There is nothing more we can do. Harry is dying.”
That was it then.
The ugly truth finally came out.
He had been busy attempting suicide while Harry lay in the broken stands, bleeding out his magic. Dying. Severus looked up again, fighting against the line of tears. He wondered distantly if Harry cried out for him, if he thought of him, if he silently begged to be saved by him, only to hear silence. Severus bared his teeth for a moment, struggling against himself. Harry would not be alone now.
“I have been…” He pressed his lips together to try and stop the shake in his voice, but it did nothing. “I have been…with Harry…recently. I’d like… I would like….”
Clearing his throat, he cursed under his breath with a sniff. Thinking of Harry in the last hours of his life was a thought that did nothing but crush him. Speaking, breathing, standing, were an effort he was incapable of under the shadow of those thoughts. Severus swallowed and let the tears creep into his voice.
“Give me privacy,” he said, more to the ceiling than Poppy. The smell of incense suddenly flooded his nostrils, grounding him back in the room. Poppy only ever burned incense when magic was weak. It was just another sign that things had gone sour. The black eyes dropped to her. “I will beg, if I must.”
“No, Severus. No, I don’t think I’d like to hear you beg. Spend time with him. There is little I can do now that you cannot. Besides, Harry deserves comfort from someone he loves." Severus's heart twisted at her words. "I have never judged you, Severus, and I don't intend to begin now. Stay with him. I would like to fire-call St. Mungo’s anyway. Give them an update and all."
"Thank you, Poppy."
She looked at him a moment longer and then slipped past him and out the door.
It shut with a tremendous bang that echoed through the room.
Severus spent a few moments staring at the flickering candle near the only patient in the room, unable to bring himself to move. Wetting his lip, he tasted iron leftover from Victor.
“I am a coward,” he said to himself. “I’ve done this to him. All because I could not handle...bad press.”
It sank heavily inside him like a leaden stone. This was the greatest mistake of his life. He loved Harry, Poppy was right, and to abandon him was disgusting. Had he learned nothing from the war? From Albus? From Harry? Love was a thing to fight for. It was a thing that endured when nothing else did, yet there he was, tossing it into the flames to avoid the outrage of the masses as though their opinions mattered at all. They could never understand the pain he and Harry withstood during the war. They could never understand the terror, the aching pain of losing all they loved. They could never understand the nightmare that was the world tossing them aside so that they did not have to bear remembering. Those people who pushed them into a corner in the hopes of forgetting the war were the same ones willing to judge now. How could they judge the happiness of humans they tried to throw away? Who were they to him? To Harry?
Nothing.
"If only I had seen it then," he said softly to the empty room. "A coward and a fool. I am a coward...and a fool." Severus ran a hand down his chest, straightening himself up with a bit of magic. "No longer." He looked back at the doors and cast a strong locking charm on the handles. "Apologies, Poppy. This is my problem now."
Severus pressed his lips together in a thin line. She would be beyond furious when she returned to find herself locked out of her Infirmary with wards triply as strong as the ones she'd erected, but he was not going to let her interrupt this now. Absolutes around magic were foolish. To think that Harry had no more options was ridiculous. There was always another way, just as he'd told Minerva. Riddle was the king of those sorts of discoveries; only his methods rarely kept all parties alive. There were a few things Severus could remember… A few methods he could test. Severus shoved the thoughts away and started across the room, leaving the locked door behind him. One idea shone at the front of his mind. No one would be happy with it. Likely everyone would try to stop him. But the doors would hold. Only Lucius would know how to figure that out. He glanced at a clock near the back. Lucius would be here before he knew it. That much was certain.
The flame flickered in his eyes as he slowly crossed the wide open space of the Infirmary.
Lucius worked hard to keep him safe. He broke laws, risked his life and the life of his family, and even lost status for him, but it never seemed to be enough. It never stopped Severus from running headlong into danger. Tonight was no different. He was going to toss his life away for Harry, just like Lucius would do for him. It wasn't unlike his connection to Harry. Constantly saving. Always one step away from failing. Severus swallowed around a knot in his throat. Disappointing Lucius was never something he wanted to do. Knowing that he was about to hurt him felt like taking the cruciatus, but tonight there wasn't a choice. He didn't want there to be. Harry had to live. He had to.
He refused to let him suffer anymore because of his errors.
Severus stepped around the curtain.
He froze and then sagged.
Harry looked perfectly healthy, which was as ill a sign as any. Poppy had done a remarkable job patching him up, given how seriously Harry's crash sounded. There wasn't a scratch on him. Severus could only imagine the amount of potions and magic she'd poured into Harry to get him this well. Only his skin tone gave away how dire a situation it was. All of the warmth of Harry's skin had vanished. The golden tinge so synonymous with his soul was simply…gone. And all his hair lay flat. Tamed. There was a pervasive dullness to him that had never existed before. It hit Severus like a bludger to the gut.
He'd seen death plenty of times in his service to Riddle, but this was horrific in a way he'd never seen before. Severus's gaze hung on Harry, soaking in the horror of death on his grey features. This was unlike any decline he'd witnessed. It was so...wrong. Harry was a thing of life. A bird soaring in the middle of summer. The light of the sun, dappled on the ground of a forest. Warmth in winter. And this was the death of magic, cold and unyielding. Surefooted. Determined. It was stronger than any glow Harry had ever possessed and the sight of it, the smell of it in the room, hollowed out Severus's chest and left him staring dumbly at the husk of his lover.
Severus collapsed to the floor, knees crashing hard against the stones.
However it happened, whatever magic burst from Harry’s broom or fell from the storm, Harry no longer had any magic. And even if he had, there was a general lack of desire to keep him going. Severus had seen it before in a Death Eater years ago. A wand broken off in his thigh made him go mad and then lose his magic, killing him. Magic was fickle enough without involving love or injury. To tie two together was a death sentence. And Harry was dying. Severus knew its look. Knew how empty a magicless body was. He sank back on his heels and closed his eyes. It was a rubbish birthday. The worst yet. He had become unfortunately acquainted with death during his years underneath both Riddle and Dumbledore’s servitude, well enough to know what it looked like.
Stumbling upright, Severus slunk over to the side of the bed and sat down. The mattress was unreasonably soft beneath him, cushioned with layers of charms and made up with the softest sheets Hogwarts had available. It was another bad sign. Poppy was doing nothing more than making Harry comfortable. He sighed heavily. It was hard to feel any sort of pity or guilt anymore, not with Harry beside him looking the way he did. Severus laid a hand on Harry’s forearm but quickly thought better of it and began to card a hand through his hair.
“In trouble again, Mister Potter. This time past curfew.” He huffed to himself. “Though you extra students have none, isn’t that right?”
Silence met his ears.
“You told me too many times that Minerva would not go looking if you snuck out.” Water wobbled along the edges of his eyes as he looked down at Harry. “Well, I suppose you were right. Care to gloat?”
Again, silence.
The dark brows drew together.
have been no great shock to Severus; he knew how magic died and the symptoms that followed, but Harry was always searing hot like the middle of summer. He tucked the blanket around Harry and continued softly petting his hair.
The silence reminded him too much of the worst days of the war, when he was isolated and alone with no one to share his troubles with. Even then, there was Harry. Though admittedly in the last year of the fight, Harry had not known Severus lingered in the periphery like a ghost or some old thought, halfway here and halfway gone. Severus loathed those days of quiet. Albus had died, taking his ear with him. Minerva did not speak to him. He had the distrusting company of the Death Eaters, the silence of his room, and a very crazed Lucius Malfoy trying to keep his family alive. He was alone again now, mostly of his own doing. Severus curled closer to Harry and cast another warming charm across the frigid body of a wizard without his magic.
“You’ll catch a cold,” he whispered. “Come now. Warm up.”
Still, silence.
Severus didn’t expect anything else, but the silence still ached in his chest like a bad cold. None of this was right. He was supposed to… What? His mind drew a blank. He had no concept of where he wanted to go after the war. Truth be told, the entire situation with Harry was as much of a shock to him as it seemed it was to the wizarding world at large. He didn't expect the way he fell for Harry or the magnetic kinship they'd developed in the post-war months. There was safety with him. Kindness. Severus set his head against Harry’s temple and closed his eyes, falling into an odd embrace, all gangly limbs draping around Harry as though they could protect him from death itself. He could say one thing for certain.
“This isn’t what I wanted,” he said softly. “You were never supposed to be hurt. If I'd known that running off to Knockturn would end like this... I would have stayed and taken the lashing I expected." Severus swallowed around a tight lump of grief in his throat. "Did you hear? Minerva granted us permission. The world does not matter now." Heartbreak shattered on his face. "I love you, Harry. To the ends of this Earth."
Severus grimaced and curled closer to the unmoving body on the bed.
“I am so sorry.” The low baritone of his voice came out particularly broken, but it was a strangely familiar sound to his own ears. He was the king of grief. The owner of sorrow. He brushed a hand through Harry’s dark hair. “If you knew how badly I do not want this… It was supposed to be a finished deal tonight. I was supposed to be…taken care of…and you would be free to live your life. You would be glad to know Lucius stopped me. Though...perhaps miserable to know what comes next.”
He rolled his eyes closed and breathed Harry in.
Time crept by. He let it. Severus remained there, curled around Harry for a handful of minutes, as many as he could spare without losing
“I am such a fool.”
The words hung in the air. Heavy. Unforgiving.
Peace was not a feeling he deserved tonight, not after he had endangered Harry’s life this significantly and certainly not after he had tried to throw his own away and forced Lucius’s hand. Guilt squeezed around his belly. He had bollocksed it all up. It would have been better if he’d simply filed a petition with Minerva to date the damn brat. But that would have required a sense of self-worth he did not possess. Severus sighed heavily. It was too late for that sort of discussion now. It was too late for any of it. All these realizations didn't matter because Harry was on this bed, hours away from a certain death, and there was only one thing Severus could do.
Severus looked down sadly at Harry.
“I’m sorry, Harry,” Severus said, shifting upright and disentangling himself from the sheets. He rolled up his sleeve with a tired sigh. “I’m afraid I’m going to do something you won’t like.” Severus swallowed thickly and sat down. “No, Harry. You are not going to like this at all.” He huffed sadly. "Look at that. You and Lucius have finally found agreement on something."
Severus picked Harry's hand up and knelt next to the bed.
He paused briefly, thinking deeply on the spell burning in his heart. If it failed, they would both be dead. If it succeeded... Severus kissed the back of Harry's knuckles. There was no reason to live without him. None at all. Lucius, Minerva, Poppy, the entire world could not convince him of that.
“You listen to me, Harry,” Severus said, his voice quiet but intensely sharp. “This is my responsibility. All of this has been one very long, very poor attempt to keep you safe. I…couldn’t stand the thought of my presence being the thing to tear apart your reputation when protecting you has always been my duty. A glad one more often than not. To think that I was the cause of your danger? It was unfathomable.”
Severus brought Harry’s knuckles to his head and closed his eyes. He could only hope that Harry would be able to hear this at some point. Perhaps Lucius would be able to guide Harry through a bit of internal legilimency. Or perhaps he could take some potion and uncover the lost words Severus spoke now. He could only hope. That would have to be enough.
“It was foolish of me. Thinking you could not make your own decisions… I couldn’t see that my absence was the most dangerous thing and for that… Christ, Harry. I am sorry.”
The tears welled suddenly, burning along his lashline, before dropping unwillingly to the thick sheets below. Death was a terrifying thing, even for someone like him who had actively sought it out on multiple occasions. Nothing about this situation was kind. Nothing was easy. He wasn't foolish enough to think there wouldn't be broken hearts behind him, but equally so he knew how badly the world ached for Harry. He was the golden child of the universe. How could he be the thing to take that away?
“I am so sorry,” Severus repeated. The tears fell more quickly now, saturating the sheets below Harry’s arm. He tried to rein them in, but they would not cooperate. “This was never… I never wished…” He barked out a weak sob and shook his head. “Harry. Harry. You deserve the world. I was so caught up in wishing to give it to you…I couldn’t see that I was taking it away. You are a star, Harry. Bright and blazing. That I am the one to snuff you out...to kill your light is a crime worth more than Azkaban.”
Looking up, Severus wet his lips.
“I will give it back.”
A fierce look of determination turned his gaze molten.
His mind flashed briefly to Lucius. Severus winced, thinking about what would happen when Lucius found out what kind of spell he had cast. Black eyes dashed over to a large clock near the front of the massive room. He’d wasted enough time. Lucius was likely already speaking to Minerva. Knowing him, he would not waste half a second on explanation before bursting through the Floo and rushing to stop his friend. Lucius was a fast bastard and when it came to saving Severus, there was no one faster. It had to be now.
“I’m sorry, Lucius,” Severus muttered, setting Harry’s hand down on the blanket. “It’s simply the way it must be.”
Severus stepped away from the bed and drew his wand. For several long moments, he remained standing with his hand hanging limply at his side, watching the subtle rise and fall of Harry’s chest. The Infirmary was colder than usual. Darker. The shadows grew long. And Harry remained still. Sorrow fogged Severus’s gaze, turning the sharp gaze into something veiled and hopeless. His shoulders rose with a deep breath. It distantly struck him as funny that the Dark Lord's magic would save Harry's life. He would be rolling in his grave if he had one.
It was newer magic inspired by the magic of old, the kind often created in some dungeon by some mad person. Riddle created it simply as a contingency plan. Severus would drain his magic through his Dark Mark into Harry, whose own failing magic would simply suck up all of Severus's life. It was a fair trade. Far better than anything he had been prepared for with the Dark Lord. While he would lose his magic, Harry would gain a chance at life again. And it would be a good one with everyone rallying this time. Severus was sure that Lucius would even be on his best behaviour. He would have enjoyed seeing that.
Beginning a slow, sibilant sequence of phrases, Severus drew his wand down the length of his arm and exposed a long trail of blood. The wound was shallow, the flow of blood obscenely slow, as it was supposed to be. It rolled down the Dark Mark, across the pale valley of his palm, and dripped steadily from his middle finger to the tile below. The rhythm of the chant began. In his mouth, the words turned harsh. A steady flicker of green magic erupted in the crook of his elbow, gradually making its way down the thin slice. He gathered it with his wand, swaying on his feet as he gathered the magical essence from his own body. The wobbling light turned into a storm of flashing green. Wind erupted from the room, tossing his hair back as erratic pulses of green slammed into the stone walls and blasted through the thick glass. The Infirmary had turned into a light show of catastrophic proportions. In the middle, Severus continued the steady chant with tears glittering on his angular cheeks.
Riddle had crafted this half-high, half-drunk, and wholly committed to destruction. Severus, like the rest of the Death Eaters, filed the information away and prayed to Merlin that he would never have use of it. Fate had a fairly different idea, it seemed.
The pain trickled in slowly but insistently.
Before long, it eclipsed all else.
It did not stop his efforts. Severus doubled down with a rough scream and fell to his knees as a horrific tearing sensation began in his belly.
He would not last. He was not supposed to.
Crying out again, Severus flung both the spell and his wand in Harry’s direction before collapsing onto his side. The stone was cold and unforgiving. Needlessly harsh. The last words of Riddle’s spell slipped into the night as Severus lay his head down on the tile. It was done. He'd found the courage to speak it.
Green and bright, the stream of his magic reflected in the dark expanse of his eyes as it flowed into Harry. Severus watched, dismally aware this would be the end, as the spell settled in and took its course. There would be no escape, no cutting ties. The spell would give every bit of life Severus had to offer and that would simply be that. There was something wrong about watching his own magic leave his body, so Severus instead stared at the beauty of Harry’s face as his eyes grew heavy. He kept his eyes open long enough to see a faint flush slip back into Harry's cheeks. Exhaustion mingled with relief and the effort of keeping his eyes open was suddenly too much to bear.
Severus closed his eyes.
He will be all right, he comforted himself, shivering as his temperature dropped. He will live. Cool wind brushed against his tear-stained cheeks. Merlin. I love him. He listened to the far-off drip of water leaking somewhere in the Infirmary. I have never loved anything as much. The black eyes opened weakly to half-mast.
From his spot on the floor he could just barely see the planes of Harry’s face and the mess of his hair. His vision fuzzed, doubled, and then went back to normal.
“Harry… Can you hear me?” He wet his lips, fighting for his ability to stay awake as the bright light shifted to a dim emerald. “Remember this…if nothing else.” It was growing more difficult to speak. A pervasive weakness crept through him with growing intensity. “I love you, Harry. Do you understand? Can you hear? I…adore you. With all that I am, I love you.”
He could not open his eyes any longer. Movement was beyond him. A delicate blackness had begun creeping in from the periphery, taking bits of his thoughts away and narrowing his world down to nothing but his uneven breaths and the quiet in the room. He was slipping. Falling. Sinking away into the spell. It wasn't so bad, he thought, to die like this.
“Be good, Potter,” he mumbled weakly. “Be good.”
Everything ceased to exist.