Title: The Last Horcrux

Author: P'al Kwai isisbaast@aol.com

Ratings: 13+ for language and a suggested m/m relationship. If this offends you, PLEASE do not read.
Pairings: Severus/Harry

Spoilers: All the books including the HBP.

Disclaimer: Characters owned by JK Rowling, various publishers. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement intended by this amateur effort.
Feedback: Welcomed and adored.

Thanks to the lovely clen3k for the beta, and the grammar lesson, although it was a bit disconcerting to learn that I’ve totally been writing dialogue wrong since I began writing fanfiction more than five years ago.

Northern England, August 26, 1997

Lying in bed, Harry traced the dark lines with his finger over and over again. It was a nightly ritual, and the mark the lines formed was now etched in his memory. He could trace it with his eyes closed. Snape never acknowledged the light touch on his forearm, just lay in stillness and in silence, as if he were sleeping.

This particular night the tracing didn’t soothe Harry like it usually did. Wide awake and restless, he found himself slipping out of bed and padding to the kitchen. Perhaps a cup of tea would calm him.

“My decision is final.” The voice spoke barely above a whisper, but it gave Harry a start, as he had heard neither footstep nor movement.

“Blo-ody hell!” He shouted loudly, breaking the quiet of their small dwelling. The house creaked as if in protest.

“Language.” Snape’s voice raised just a notch.

“Well, you startled me.” Harry defended himself. “If you would just make noise like a normal person.”

“If you mean stomping around like a herd of Hippogriffs, which, in my observation is the only way young people nowadays can move about.”

“Very funny.” Harry plopped down on a rickety kitchen chair, scowl fixed firmly on his face. He never could get the last word in with Snape. “I’m surprised that Hogwarts is even opening this year,” he changed the subject abruptly. His time with Snape had taught him that continuing to argue never achieved anything.

“Although the Dark Lord still lives, his power has diminished,” Snape stated, as he seated himself opposite Harry, “life needs to go on.”

Sipping his tea, Harry dreaded the thought of returning to Hogwarts. In past years, he couldn’t wait to go back to school, but now, too much had changed. “It will be uncomfortable for me, and more so for you. You murdered the last Headmaster.”

“At his request,” Snape responded without missing a beat. It was an old argument that had been repeated over and over since their time together. “But you don’t believe me, do you?”

“Yes. No,” Harry answered too quickly. He should have thought first. “But we’re not talking about whether I believe you, many at Hogwarts don’t.”

Snape lifted his shoulders in a gesture of unconcern. “I’ve been unpopular before.”

“Yes, but we’re talking about some powerful wizards and witches, who would like nothing else to avenge themselves against. . . .” Harry trailed off, remembering that Snape had been a victim many times during his school days. He was no stranger to being ‘a target.’

A black eyebrow lifted, as Harry quickly looked down at his cup of tea in embarrassment. One of his biggest blunders in life had been to look into Snape’s Pensieve and see the man’s torment at the hands of his father and godfather. Seconds passed in silence, as Harry wrestled with his discomfort, and Snape saying nothing, perhaps deliberately, so the uncomfortable moment would be prolonged.

“Have you spoken to McGonagall yet?” Harry finally asked.

“Yes, I am to keep my distance from the students. She is considering keeping me in the dungeons, brewing potions for the infirmary, but. . . .” Snape’s lips curled ever so slightly. “I imagine there is a concern that I would brew the potions improperly; thus, perhaps, poisoning some poor child.”

“With that kind of attitude, it’s no wonder no one believes you.” Harry shot a dark glare at the man across the table.

“Even with irrefutable proof that I destroyed two of the Dark Lord’s Horcruxes, and I’m. . . .” He stared meaningfully at the scar that marred Harry’s forehead. “Controlling the third and last one.”

Rubbing the accursed scar, Harry wished that he could tear it out of his head, roots and all. It was his tie to Voldemort and now to the man he had hated as much as the Dark Lord, Severus Snape.

“I’m going back to bed.” Harry stood abruptly, turning toward the sink to place his teacup there.

“Diagon Alley tomorrow,” Snape reminded him, as he too stood up.

“Right,” Harry agreed, reluctance evident in his voice. “Diagon Alley for school supplies.”

**

August 29, 1997

The last few days passed in a whirlwind of shopping and catching up with old friends. Harry had been allowed to spend the days before the start of the school year with the Weasleys. Snape had given his permission in a gesture of good will, knowing that Harry was considered family to the Weasleys. An unusually generous act for Snape, but one that Harry almost wished his ‘guardian’ hadn’t given. The constant concerned looks thrown his way only made him want to scream.

“So, Harry.” Ron dropped an armload of text books on the table at the Leaky Cauldron

with a thump, as he sat down. “Our last year at Hogwarts. Doesn’t seem that long ago we were introducing ourselves on the Hogwarts Express, does it? Who would have thought we would make it this far. . . .” A sharp elbow in the ribs from Hermione cut him off. He paused a minute, as he realized what he had said. “Err, sorry. . .mate.”

“It’s okay.” Harry looked up from the text, he had been pretending to peruse. “We did make it this far, and I guess.” His gaze swept over his two friends. “We should be proud of that.”

“But, you, Harry.” Ron couldn’t contain himself any longer. “You’ve suffered more than the lot of us, and now, now. . . .” Another jab of an elbow stopped him. “Oy!” He turned a furious face to Hermione. “Knock it off, already.”

“The potions we’ll be studying this year look interesting, don’t they?” Hermione blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“Interesting!” Ron was aghast. “The day anything about potions is interesting, will be the day Christmas comes. . . .” This time it was a stomp on his foot that cut him off.

“Guys.” Harry held up his hands in a gesture of a truce. “It’s all right. He doesn’t treat me badly. In fact, in many ways I’m better off with him than I was with the Dursley’s.”

Ron and Hermione expelled a breath of relief in unison. The subject that had been on all their minds was finally being brought out in the open.

“So he doesn’t lock you in your room, or starve you like your uncle did?” Ron asked.

“No.” Harry shook his head. “And because he’s a wizard, the subject of magic is not taboo, so I can read and study my text books in the open, and now that I’m of age, I can even practice spells and such in the house. Believe it or not.” He leaned closer, wanting to reassure. “He’s even given me pointers on different spells and subjects.”

Ron and Hermione exchanged looks.

“Guess you’ll continue to be Slughorn’s favorite.” Ron said with a smirk, which only earned a scowl from Hermione. She had never liked that Harry, with the help of the Half-Blood Prince’s (now known as Snape) potion notes had become a star pupil in Potions class.

“So then,” Hermione said brightly, “He’s like a mentor or- or,” she stammered a bit, “a father figure?”

Sucking in his breath, Harry was tempted for a moment to just agree. It would make everything so much simpler if that’s what his friends thought. “No, he’s not anything like a father, more like, like. . . .” His fingers curled into fists. “A. . .a. . . .”

Ron and Hermione stared at him, faces going from incomprehension to horrified realization.

“He makes me sleep with him,” Harry finally uttered the secret shame he had been living with for weeks now.

“That bastard!” Ron jumped to his feet, face turning red with fury. “He should be thrown in Azkaban. He’s not only a murderer, a Death Eater, but now a. . . .”

“Sit down!” Harry grabbed his friend’s hand and gave a tug, as he peered quickly around the dining room. “You’re making a scene.”

“Bloody right, I am.” Ron sat down grudgingly. “And I’ll continue to make one, until that greasy, hook nosed git is put away.”

“There’s more to it.” Harry said softly. “His, his physical,” he faltered, trying to find the words for his bizarre explanation, “dominance is what keeps *him* in check.”

“Him? Him who?” Ron asked in confusion, as Harry rubbed the scar on his forehead.

“Voldemort. Part of him is in me.”

“You’re one of the Horcruxes.” Hermione stated this in a quiet voice.

“WHAT?” Ron, never one to catch on as fast as Hermione, exclaimed loudly.

“She’s right.” Harry again tugged at Ron’s hand, signalling him to lower his voice. “Voldemort’s Killing Curse may have backfired, but it wasn’t all for nothing. The murder of my parents was enough fuel to create his sixth Horcrux.”

“Blo-ody hell,” Ron muttered.

“But what does Snape and, and you - you . . .” Now it was Hermoine’s turn to grope for the right words, “have to do with you being You-Know-Who’s Horcrux?”

“He has the power,” Harry stated with a shrug. “I don’t totally understand it, but all I know is that when I’m with him. . . .” He rubbed his scar again. “The nightmares and the pain stop.”

“So Snape is protective?” Hermione asked, hoping to find something redeeming in their former professor’s behavior.

“Ye-s,” Harry answered slowly. “Maybe.” He paused with a sigh, “I think though his motives are selfish.”

“We-ll, yeah,” Ron sputtered out. “He’s keeping himself out of Azkaban.”

“Yes, but. . . .” Harry started, but then quickly stopped himself. Part of him knew that Snape wasn’t afraid of Azkaban. Loneliness and despair were feelings the man had lived with his entire life.

“But what, Harry?” Hermione asked, her eyes watching her friend carefully. She was no fool. Nothing in life was ever as straightforward as people thought.

“Snape claims that he killed Dumbledore on our former Headmaster’s orders. Dumbledore was sick and dying already, and it was a way to ingratiate Snape into Voldemort’s confidence.”

“So we’ve heard.” Ron said with disgust. “The supposedly confidential interrogation between Snape and the Ministry is known to every magical person in Great Britain. But most are sceptical of Snape’s story.”

“It was proven that he destroyed two of *his* Horcruxes, and I guess,” Hermione stared fixedly at Harry’s scar. “Keeping one in check.” She stated this, but with a questioning inflection in her voice.

“Yes, he keeps *him* in check.” Harry whispered as he began paging through his text again. He didn’t trust Snape, in fact, he hated him, but sometimes lying next to him, he felt a peace he had never known before.

**

September 5, 2997

It was late in the night, when Harry found himself, Marauder’s Map in hand, Invisibility Clock draped over him, following the footprints of Severus Snape. A nightmare had awoken him and, with his scar burning, he finally decided to seek out his ‘guardian.’

“Heading into the Forbidden Forest. Bloody hell,” he muttered,” as he stopped to check the Marauder’s Map again.

Snape had to be up to something if he was heading into the Forbidden Forest, which put Harry in a dilemma. To follow or turn back? If he caught Snape red-handed, then what? Turn him into the Ministry and risk his own future? “Bloody hell,” Harry repeated as he pulled out his wand. True to character, he took the precarious path.

More than an hour later, he was still tromping after Snape, swearing and cursing as he stumbled around in the dark. He couldn’t risk a continuous Lumos, as that would signal his presence, something he was trying to avoid, hence, the Invisibility Clock.

A whispered Lumos and Harry checked the Map for the umpteenth time. This time, he gave himself a moment as he studied the path Snape had been walking. It was a circle. He had been following Snape in a bloody circle for more than an hour.

“You’re out after curfew, Mr. Potter,” a voice spoke softly behind him.

Startled, Harry swung around, yelping in surprise. His foot tangled itself in a tree root, and he found himself falling to the ground, Invisibility Clock sliding off his head.

Arms folded across his chest, Snape could only look up to the heavens as he mumbled, “And I give you the Wizarding World’s Savior.”

“Ha, ha,” Harry glowered, humiliated and angry. “It must give you such a thrill to sneak up on me, since you’re always doing it.”

“I did not know it was you at first.” Snape looked down at the sprawled young man, not bothering to offer a hand. “But I knew someone was following me, so I . . .”

“Walked around in a sodding circle for an hour,” Harry interrupted as he stood up, brushing himself off. “And just what are you doing here in the Forbidden Forest at. . .” He glanced at the illuminated face of the muggle watch he liked to wear. “One in the morning.”

Snape gave Harry’s wristwatch a disapproving glare before answering, “taking a stroll.”

“In the Forbidden Forest? At this time of night?” Harry’s voice became louder with disbelief.

“It’s the only place where I can be assured of not running into any students,” Snape answered mildly. “Since I am to avoid all contact with any student, a direct order from the Headmistress herself. And you, Mr. Potter, what are you doing out after curfew, following me around?”

Shuffling his feet, Harry cleared his throat. He put a hand up to his head. “I couldn’t sleep and my scar has been hurting.”

Two steps and Snape had closed the gap between them. Reaching out an arm, a long finger touched Harry’s scar ever so lightly. “And how long has this been going on?”

“It started very slightly and has just gotten worse every night . . .” Harry exhaled. It was time make an admission, to Snape and himself. “Since - since, I’ve- we’ve. . .not been together.”

Pulling a hand back, Snape’s face was impassive. “Interesting.”

“It’s interesting all right,” Harry said bitterly. He was fast realizing that perhaps the tie between him and Voldemort was weakening, but in exchange he was now magically dependent on his former professor. And the trade, perhaps, wasn’t for the better, since it seemed that Snape was as dangerous, if not more so, than the Dark Lord.

“Going to start whinging now?” Snape couldn’t help but hear the bitterness in Harry’s tone. “The great Harry Potter, having to rely on his greasy old Potions Professor. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

“Stop! Just stop!” Harry shouted. “You were never just a Potions, or even a Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. You’ve been a powerful player in the wars, but no one really knew how powerful, not Dumbledore, not Voldemort.”

“Oh, Dumbledore knew,” Snape quickly corrected Harry. “He knew me better than anyone. It was a gift he had. . .knowing people.”

“And he trusted you,” Harry muttered, more to himself. He still had no idea why Dumbledore had had such faith in Snape. Looking around the Forbidden Forest, he shivered, even though it was barely autumn. It struck him that these sinister surroundings were a perfect representation of his future: dark and unknown. “So.” His gaze returned to Snape. “Are you going to tell me the real reason you’re taking a midnight walk in the Forbidden Forest?”

“Afraid I’m secretly meeting with the Dark Lord or one of his minions? Perhaps plotting the downfall of the world as we know it?” Snape’s voice was now a whisper.

Harry’s mouth automatically began forming the words to refute the claim, when better sense took over. Mentally he damned Snape for being such a skilled Legilimens. “I don’t trust you,” he openly admitted.

“I know you don’t.” Snape held out a hand. “But for tonight put your distrust behind you, and believe me, when I tell you that the reason I’m here walking around outside is because I found I too was having a difficult time sleeping.”

Harry stared at the outstretched hand in puzzlement. “So this, this thing affects both of us?”

“I’m guessing,” Snape gently took a hold of Harry’s arm and pulled the boy to him. “That it indeed does.”

It wasn’t Snape’s gesture that surprised Harry as much as the uncertainty in the man’s voice. He had never heard Snape sound so unsure of himself.

“You don’t know everything, do you?”

Pulling Harry against himself, Snape wrapped his cloak around the young man. “No, I most certainly do not.”

****

Finis