SNARRY SWAP: FIC: Dark Equivalency Title: Dark Equivalency Author:leela_cat Gift Recipient:claucita Rating: NC-17 Word count: 8,380 Warning(s): (highlight for spoilers) *Angst* Summary: Severus Snape was sure of one thing: they were all Marked Death Eaters, ranting and raving, screaming and crying. Bedlam's chorus, attempting to drive him mad — madder. A/N: So many thanks to my beta readers and cheerleaders. claucita, your sign-up held so many possibilities. I hope this story fulfils at least some of them for you.
Dark Equivalency
"Harry! Harry!" Hermione tugged his hand with every frantic cry of his name.
"C'mon, mate," urged Ron. "Don't do this. Not now, when it's all over."
Harry was dreaming, somehow he knew that, but the darkness that surrounded him seemed endless. There was no light, just an endless, sucking void and its constant, sibilant whispering of Parseltongue. Its voice seemed so much closer, so much more seductive than his friends' begging.
"Alone," it moaned. "Unwanted."
"He's lost among the Wrackspurts," Luna murmured. "Caught in his own abyss."
"So cold, so empty."
The darkness needed him, called to him as nothing — no one — else ever had, and Harry wanted to hold it close, somehow fill the emptiness that was both inside and outside himself. The emptiness that had only grown wider and deeper in the months since he'd defeated Voldemort.
"Get back here, Potter, before I'm forced to curse your friends."
The slap across Harry's cheek sent a zing of magic and pain jolting through him and, for a moment, the void sighed in contentment. A second slap thrust Harry into consciousness. He opened his eyes and found himself staring into a pair of sneering black eyes.
Harry blinked. "Snape? Why—"
"Oh, thank God!" Hermione flung herself in front of Snape and wrapped her arms around Harry. "I thought we weren't going to get you back this time."
"I'm all right," Harry reassured her. Even as he hugged her back, he couldn't tear his eyes away from Snape, who was limping down the aisle and back to his own private room. The further away Snape got, the greater the emptiness inside Harry became, swirling in his peripheral vision.
"Harry needs his anchor," Luna said in her singsong voice, "to stop him from sinking."
"What're you on about?" Ron shook his head. "Harry's right here. He's not sinking."
But I am, Harry thought, watching Snape close the privacy curtains around his bed, feeling the tenuous connection between them snap.
~*~
When the floorboard just outside his room creaked, signalling Poppy Pomfrey's approach, Severus Snape straightened up and forced himself to release his grip on his left forearm and pick up the book that he'd been not reading for the past two days.
Poppy, unfortunately, wasn't fooled in the least. She tutted at him and said, "Still no improvement in the left arm?"
"I can use it," Severus snapped, using his left hand to toss the book at her.
A wave of Poppy's wand and a murmured spell deflected the book and sent it floating over to the bedside table. "I'm fully aware of that," she said, her voice too sad and too soft for Severus's comfort. "And you know that's not what I was talking about."
"Far be it for me to expect clear speaking from a member of the healing profession."
To Severus's annoyance, Poppy smiled at him. "So glad I didn't disappoint you."
Ignoring his scowl, she began flicking her wand above him, drawing coloured runes and lines through the air. She hummed a couple of times, erasing a dark red rune and replacing it with a silver one.
Severus tilted his head and considered her findings. He didn't understand them all, but it was clear he was as healed as Poppy could manage. Time and potions will take care of the rest. He clenched his left fist and corrected himself, most of the rest. And what was left had only been getting worse in the six months since the Dark Lord's death.
"I'm leaving," Severus announced when Poppy Banished the spell-lines. "You've kept me here more than long enough."
"You're not giving me any say in the matter, I expect."
"I hardly think you'd disagree, all things considered." Swinging his feet off the side of the bed, Severus got to his feet. He gritted his teeth briefly against the strange dizzying sensation that swooped up his left arm and through his body. Whatever was going on was definitely getting worse. By inches, at least, not by feet or miles and there was clearly nothing that Poppy or any Healer could do to help him. He'd have to talk to another of the few surviving Death Eaters to confirm his hypothesis, however, and he was highly unlikely to be given a chance to do so. Unless he ended up in Azkaban with them.
"If I thought—" Poppy paused and then sighed. Pulling a piece of parchment from one of her pockets, she tapped the top right corner with her wand, contemplated it for a moment, and tapped the bottom left corner. "You'll be making your own potions, I presume."
Severus didn't bother dignifying her comment with a response. Instead he retrieved his wand from its holster and Summoned the bag in which his few items had been placed. After he'd laced the book inside and re-warded the bag, he turned to Poppy. "Minerva informs me that my rooms are now safe for occupation. I'll be in the dungeons, should you decide to replace your current swill with efficacious potions."
After blinking a few times, Poppy gave him a watery smile. "Never change, Severus. Our world might not survive the shock."
"Quite," Severus said, and limped out of his room and towards the exit. As he passed the curtained bed where Potter was holding court with his sycophants, only the days of fighting the pull from that corner of the infirmary enabled him to keep his footing without slowing down.
~*~
An urge to move swept over Harry, as it did every time Snape walked past his bed, and the void inside him pulsed in time with the sound of Snape's feet on the tiled floor. When the doors closed behind Snape, Harry was out of bed and starting to follow him before he'd so much as thought about it.
"Harry?" Luna placed a hand on his arm, sending a shock of bright pain through him.
Yanking his arm away, Harry stumbled against the bed and almost fell over. "Gone," he said, repeating what the void was whispering. "Too far."
"It's too soon," Luna said. "Neither of you are ready."
She was a haze of white light in the midst of the dark that was all Harry could see. He blinked, rubbed his eyes, and then blinked again. His eyesight cleared to a fuzzy light grey.
"There you are." Luna cocked her head and smiled. The feathery antenna-like strands sticking up from the arms of her spectacles were pointing towards him and quivering.
"Erm..."
"Oh, do you want a pair? They're very good at helping me to locate Wrackspurt infestations." She reached out towards him, pressing a thumb at the inner edge of each of his eyebrows. As she slid her thumbs out over his eyebrows, he began to see colours again. "There. That's got them. Now isn't that better."
"Ye-ah."
If Luna noticed that Harry's voice broke in the middle of the word, she didn't give any indication. Instead, she put a hand under Harry's elbow and helped him back into bed.
"Didn't hurt." Harry shook out his arm and stared at his elbow.
"Of course not, silly. Not with the Wrackspurts gone for now."
Does that mean Snape's a Wrackspurt? An image of Snape quailing before Luna and her glasses floated through Harry's mind, and he bit his lip to hold in the laughter. That wasn't something he ever wanted to explain to anyone, not even Luna.
"You need to hold on. Just a little bit longer, all right?" Luna perched on the edge of his bed and removed her glasses. The feathery strands brushed over his blanket-covered leg.
The touch sent agony flaring up Harry's spine. Emptiness and loss blossomed behind his eyes again. The void screeched, and Harry clapped his hands over his ears as if that could somehow stop the noise, or keep it from escaping, or something. He curled forward, bending his legs, and pressing his forehead against his knees. But that didn't help. The high-pitched keening noise grew louder and louder, deafening him from the inside out.
Until Luna raised his head and pressed her thumbs against his eyebrows again, and the noise in Harry's head diminished to a low-level buzzing that allowed him to at least consider thinking.
"Focus, Harry," Luna said. "Don't—"
"If you're quite finished," Madam Pomfrey interrupted her. "I would like to check my patient to determine what caused him to scream."
As Luna got up and went to stand at the end of the bed, Harry glanced between her and Pomfrey. He'd been screaming? The idea that he could do that without knowing was mind-boggling. And more than a little frightening.
Maybe survival isn't all it's cracked up to be, he thought as he submitted to Pomfrey's spells without complaint.
"You're no worse than before," Pomfrey finally announced. "I'm going to give you a potion for that headache and another to sort out your metabolism. If they work as they're supposed to—" the look on her face expressed her doubt about that "—I'll let you leave the infirmary tomorrow morning."
"They'll work," Harry said, adding silently, or I'll make you believe that they have. One way or another, he was going to get out of there and find out what the hell Snape was doing to him. He glanced over at Luna, who was twirling her hair around one finger and staring intently at the wall above his head.
Harry resisted the urge to look up. There wasn't much point. Whatever Luna was seeing would be invisible to him and everyone else. He'd just have to wait and see if she had any useful advice for him. Although right about then, he'd have settled for understandable.
~*~
With a pang of regret, Severus put the Phoenix Special Malt back onto the sideboard and picked up a bottle of what he had once dismissed as too mild and overly sweet mead. The damn stuff barely had enough alcohol to qualify as mead. He reached for a glass and then nearly dropped it when his left hand began to shake. He tried to put it down and ended up hitting the base on the edge of the counter and cracking the glass.
Severus stared at his hand and the glass for a moment. Then, with a snarl of frustration, he spun around and threw the glass and the bottle at the fireplace.
The flames hissed and sputtered, turning blue from the mead. When the fire died back down again, Severus reached for another bottle and then another, until the fire was almost out and the only bottle left on the sideboard was the Phoenix. The room stank of alcohol and tasted of charcoal and embers. Tremors began vibrating up Severus's left arm, originating in his Dark Mark.
It was starting all over again.
"Merlin's bloody balls." Severus stumbled over to his chair and slumped into it, clutching his left arm to his chest. He'd survived having his fucking throat nearly torn out, but this might just kill him. If he didn't need his left arm for the more complex potions—
The voices started up again, interrupting Severus's thoughts, and Severus gritted his teeth against the pain and the sounds of suffering that seemed to envelop him. Some of the voices were familiar; others were unrecognisable. He was sure of one thing, however: they were all Marked Death Eaters, ranting and raving, screaming and crying. Bedlam's chorus, attempting to drive him mad — madder.
Severus tightened his grip on his left arm, digging his fingernails into the twisted and faded remnants of his Dark Mark. He pressed harder and harder, focussing on the series of sharp pains, using them to think beyond the cacophony that was nearly overwhelming him.
The ping of his wards broke Severus out of the near-trance into which he'd sunk. He looked around wildly, realising that the voices had died down along with the guttering candles. Before he could begin to think about what that might mean, someone began banging on the door.
"Bugger off," Severus yelled, but the unmitigated arse only pounded hard enough to make the door rattle on its hinges.
"I know you're in there," Kingsley's voice was pitched low, but the listening charms built into the wards made it sound as if he was standing next to Severus. "It's urgent enough that I'll get Minerva to let me in if you don't open this door."
"As if Hogwarts would let her override my wards," Severus grumbled, even as he pushed himself to his feet and walked stiffly over to the door. He waved his wand in the complicated pattern that unlocked his wards to permit entry to one wizard and then waited.
The next time Kingsley's fist made contact with the wood, the door flew open. Less than an inch before it would have slammed into the bookcases on the wall behind it, the door stopped. Kingsley raised an eyebrow at the vibrating door and said, "About bloody time."
Moving aside to allow Kingsley to enter, Severus waved his wand. The door closed quickly but silently behind him, and the wards and locks clicked back into place. He forced himself to walk normally as he made his way back to his chair.
"Help yourself," Severus said, gesturing towards the tumblers and the single bottle left on the sideboard. "You look like you could use a drink."
Kingsley scrubbed a hand over his bare head. "Not going to argue that one." Once his tumbler was half-full, he turned around and tilted the bottle of Phoenix Special Malt in Severus's direction. "You need a top up?"
"That bad?"
"Worse." Kingsley settled into the end of the sofa closest to Severus and placed the bottle on the table between them. He sipped his drink, giving Severus a considering look.
Severus clenched his left fist and gritted his teeth as the tightening of the muscles sent a swirl of pins and needles racing up his arm. He focussed on tightening and relaxing his muscles, and the feeling receded almost immediately. Looking up, he met Kingsley's understanding gaze briefly. The fact that he didn't even want to make an attempt at staring Kingsley down bothered Severus enormously. He reached for his glass, rolled it between his hands, and stared at its syrupy contents.
"I'm not sure I want to know," Severus said. "My life is complicated enough."
"Your life—" Kingsley paused long enough that Severus raised his head and gave Kingsley his full attention.
"My life," Severus prompted when Kingsley drained his glass instead of continuing. "I find myself rather fond of it these days."
"You're hearing voices," Kingsley said, sliding out of his seat so that he could rest his large hand over Severus's left forearm. "Perhaps experiencing dizziness and blackouts. Pain helps a little, but not enough."
The pressure of Kingsley's hand turned into a burning sensation, heat that seemed to lick at Severus's nerves. His arm twitched, almost against his will, and Kingsley released him. "It's happening to the others, then."
"Most of the older Death Eaters died screaming in the first few weeks after his death." Filling both of their glasses, Kingsley took a long drink of his before continuing. "Lucius Malfoy was found in his cell shortly before I came to see you."
Severus blinked, keeping his eyes closed a second longer than was natural. The depth of his sorrow at Lucius's death surprised him. They'd been comrades-in-arms and near-friends for too many decades, he supposed, even as he wondered which of the voices he'd heard the night before had been Lucius's dying cries. "How many?"
An expression of intense weariness on his face, Kingsley slumped back on the couch and rested his head on the back. "You're the last of the Death Eaters from the first war," he eventually said. "All of the other survivors were marked in the past year."
Releasing his breath in a hiss, Severus threw his glass into the fireplace. The flames flared blue for a second or two.
"Six months," Kingsley said, his voice weighed down with frustration. "And it's everyone who had Voldemort's magic running through them."
The ache in Severus's chest became a knife point of pain. "Potter."
"Most likely."
"Fuck," Severus said and reached for the Firewhisky.
~*~
The void murmured and muttered and throbbed inside Harry's head. He pressed his fingers against his forehead. The pressure helped for a moment before the urge to move, to get up, to go where he was needed, returned.
Needed. The pull to be somewhere else increased each time the void echoed the word until Harry felt as if his entire body was being drawn in one direction, like metal to a magnet. He dug his fingers in harder, then slammed his hands down against the bed when that only worsened the throbbing in his head.
This wasn't supposed to be happening to him. Not now. Not when he'd finally done his duty — just thinking the word made him snort with disgust. His life was supposed to be his own. He was supposed to be able to go after his own dreams now, instead of someone else's nightmares.
Growling in frustration, Harry swung his legs over the side of the bed. He wavered for a minute when he stood up, but then something seemed to shift in his head and the dizziness subsided. The cupboard in his bedside table showed that Pomfrey had made good on her promise to lock up his clothes and trainers. Fortunately, his wand and his Invisibility Cloak were still under his pillow.
A slash of his wand transfigured his hospital-issue pyjamas into loose black cotton trousers that hung on his hips and a long-sleeved black t-shirt. He wrapped the Invisibility Cloak around himself. Halfway to the door, when the cold from the stone floor was making his toes curl, he paused to cast warming and silencing spells on his bare feet. He considered a Disillusionment charm to back up the cloak, but that was really only needed when he was sharing it with someone else.
The next time Harry hesitated, the staircase he was about to get on started swinging away to another floor. He took a step back, glancing around to see if any of the few working staircases were close enough to take. A creak drew his attention to the left just in time to see the one they'd been working on a couple of days ago make its laborious way over to him. It slotted against the edge with a quiet snick.
Harry backed up another step, and the void whispered its displeasure and pushed him towards the stairs. Grumbling under his breath, Harry followed its urging and then had to grab for the banister as the staircase shuddered and swung off into mid-air.
He was completely unsurprised when the staircase took him to the dungeon entrance.
~*~
Severus was on his second glass of Phoenix when he felt Potter's presence. Each step that Potter took thrummed through Severus and urged him to open the door and welcome Potter inside.
"Go. Away," he snarled at the door. Of course, neither the door nor Potter paid him the least bit of attention. Why should anything have changed?
Tossing back the last of his Firewhisky, Severus contemplated the bottle on the table next to him. Kingsley had had four glasses to Severus's two, but there was still enough left for one more drink. He wouldn't be able to take any potions that night, however, and therein lay the rub.
He dropped his glass onto the table with a thunk and shoved his hair out of his eyes. The movement caused his Dark Mark to brush against the side of his head and reminded him of Potter's reaction that first day, of the spike of pain and magic and want that had nearly driven him to his knees. And, if Kingsley was right, it was yet another bloody choice stolen from him by the Dark Lord.
The ping of Severus's wards drew his attention back to the door and Potter, who was hovering out there, waiting for Severus to do something, to save him yet again. Not caring in the least that Severus was done with saving anyone except himself.
Pushing himself to his feet, Severus swayed a little. He took one uneven step and then another. Control took far more effort than usual, but by the time he reached the door, he'd managed to shove the dizzying combination of Firewhisky, potions, and his Dark Mark aside. He twirled his wand to open the wards but not permit anyone to enter his rooms and then opened the door.
The corridor appeared empty, but Severus damn well knew better. He leant against the jamb in as casual a manner as he could manage and barked, "Potter! Show yourself!"
Invisible cloth rustled, and Potter's head appeared in mid-air. His hair was sticking up in all directions, baring his forehead and the livid redness of his lightning bolt scar. Potter squinted, placing his open hand between his eyes and the torch that hung on the wall outside Severus's rooms, but he didn't say anything.
"Bugger. Off." Severus enunciated each word, weighting them with resentment.
"Erm." Potter shook his head then winced. "I can't."
"You... can't?"
"Nope."
"Then I shall act for both of us." Severus started to pivot on one heel and had to reach for the door handle when the movement caused his stomach to churn and the voices to rise in volume.
"Don't."
Potter lurched towards him, one hand outstretched, causing the wards to hiss and crackle in displeasure when he fell through them and into Severus. At Potter's touch, the voices hushed and Severus's Dark Mark seemed to drag his arm towards Potter.
"Leave," Severus said, splaying his left hand on Potter's chest and pushing him away. This time, however, the wards didn't open to let him pass. Instead, they bounced Potter back at Severus and knocked them both against the door.
"Oh. That's better." Potter pressed into Severus, rubbing his forehead against Severus's left shoulder.
Sparks of feeling ran up and down Severus's left arm. His fingers flexed and twitched, and he had to fight the urge to wrap his arm around Potter and hold him close. "Stop mauling me," he ordered.
Potter mumbled something that was even more incoherent than usual into Severus's chest.
Just thinking about rebuffing Potter sent pain shivering along Severus's nerves and plucked at his magic. A high-pitched whining filled his ears, nearly deafening him.
Potter's fingers wound themselves into the front of Severus's robes, pulling the fabric tight against his back.
It would be so easy to give in. Severus rejected the thought as soon as it crossed his mind. Gathering his will and magic, he slid his hands between them and shoved Potter away.
The wards flashed and glittered with a brilliant rainbow of colours as Potter hung within them for a second or two before hitting the floor with a nasty crack.
Before he could change his mind, Severus stumbled backwards and slammed his door shut. He raised the wards to their highest level. Falling to his knees, he rested his forehead against the cold wood and clutched his left arm to his chest. He could still feel Potter on the other side, was still being driven to open the door and bring him inside.
"My future," he told himself. "My decision." Then he closed his eyes and surrendered to the screaming inside his head.
~*~
The stones were cold and hard beneath Harry, except for the spot right beneath his head. There was a warm feeling there that he didn't want to think about too hard. Not with grey spots once again fogging over his field of vision.
Unwanted, the darkness in his head moaned. The sibilance of the Parseltongue pierced through him like a basilisk fang, and Harry had to bite his lip to stop himself from screaming. He wouldn't, couldn't, do that when Snape was within earshot. He'd already given Snape enough ammunition to destroy him.
Our fault.
"No." Harry shook his head and then coughed and swallowed as the movement made him sick to his stomach and bile rose into his throat.
Lying as still as possible, waiting for the nausea to subside, Harry could feel Snape on the other side of the door. Despite everything, even after being thrown away by Snape, Harry still felt drawn to him. It was insane, crazier than anything Voldemort—
As he thought the name, the void keened with grief, deafening him.
"Oh Harry." Luna crouched beside him, her scent surrounding him. She stroked his cheek with her soft, warm hand, and the dark emptiness inside Harry quieted and receded.
"I don't know what to do," Harry said, after a second or two. "I thought he wanted me."
Luna turned her head, tilting it and contemplating the door to Snape's rooms. "Wrackspurts," she said, "and something far, far worse. Only he can defeat them, though. Once he makes up his mind about living."
Her voice had been soft, but Harry could sense Snape withdrawing and backing away from the door. It felt jerky and uncoordinated, but it was definitely another rejection. Harry shifted uncomfortably, resisting the urge to reach out and call Snape to him.
"Harry." Luna placed her hands on either side of Harry's temples. "You need to stay with me until I can get help."
Snape's presence became more distant, almost too far for Harry to reach, and grey began hazing Harry's vision again. The void shifted and muttered.
"Focus on me, Harry, please. Just hold on until help comes."
Her filmy white hare loped across Harry, sending agony slicing through his head, and he fell into the welcoming numbness of the void.
~*~
Severus had ignored the Floo call from Minerva and the Owl from Granger, but the Patronus from Poppy requesting help in the infirmary was beyond even his abilities to resist. Even though he knew that Potter was the only patient under her care.
Three days after throwing Potter out, the ache in his left forearm was almost constant. The muscles and tendons were nearly frozen. The voices were an almost constant murmur in the back of his mind, despite his best efforts at occluding them. How much worse would it have been if he'd let Potter in? Severus thought as he turned the corner and entered the corridor to the infirmary. How much better? his contradictory mind added.
Clearing his thoughts, forcing himself not to limp, Severus pushed open the doors to the infirmary and strode down the aisle past the rows of empty beds to the one at the far end with curtains drawn around it. Unwilling to give Potter the special treatment that others were denied, he reached up and whipped the curtains open.
The bed was empty. The dent in the pillow and the rumpled covers proved that someone had been there recently. Destructive hexes and curses clicking through his mind, Severus reached for his wand. He had it out and aimed for the bed when Luna Lovegood's soft voice came from behind.
"We moved Harry to one of the staff rooms." Lovegood was perched on the end of the bed across the aisle, swinging her legs. "The Wrackspurts were having a party in here."
"Were they?"
Her look was a combination of resignation and rebuke that did nothing to improve Severus's mood. Before he could say anything, she slipped off the bed and started towards the corridor next to Poppy's office door. At the first door, she looked back over her shoulder and said, "Don't let any of the Wrackspurts follow you," before entering the room.
Like the room where Severus had spent weeks recovering, this one was narrow and plain. The walls were white, as was the furniture and the bed covers. There was enough space on one side of the bed for a small cupboard, and a slightly wider space to accommodate a couple of chairs on the other. The only colour in the room came from the boy — the young man — who lay unconscious in the bed.
Potter was... quiet was the only word that seemed to fit, and it wasn't a word Severus thought he'd ever use for the brat. In Severus's experience, Potter was a whirlwind of moodiness and movement. Seeing him so silent and unmoving — even his hair was laying flat against his head — was disconcerting. It made Severus want to snarl at him, to poke, prod, and hex him; any response was better than this lifeless quiet.
"He needs his anchor," Lovegood said. Her level gaze seemed to contain a layer of meaning that escaped Severus.
"I'm sure there's a ship around that would gladly spare one for the Saviour."
To his surprise, she smiled at him. "But it's not the Saviour who needs one, is it?"
Not having a reasonable response to her insanity, Severus asked, "Where is Madam Pomfrey?"
"She'll be back any minute."
Severus took a step towards the door. "I don't have time to waste. Obviously it wasn't that urgent if she couldn't be bothered to wait around for me to get here."
"And if saving him would save you, too?" Lovegood placed a hand on his left forearm. "Would it still be a waste of your time?"
"There you are!" Poppy interrupted them, saving Severus from having to reply. "I assume that Miss Lovegood explained what is needed?"
Arching an eyebrow at her, Severus said, "Nothing that even the average dunderhead could claim to comprehend."
To his amazement, Poppy smiled at him. "She's smarter than you think, Severus. Don't dismiss everything she says because it seems fantastical."
"I have the book," Lovegood interjected, holding out a shabby volume with pages sticking out in random directions.
"And you've obviously cared for it well," Severus snapped.
"The book cares for itself," she said, stroking a hand over the cover.
"If you're both quite finished." Poppy conjured up a third chair, which she squeezed into the space between the bed and the door. "We have very little time left to bring Harry back to us."
Lovegood thrust the book into Severus's hands then bounced past him to curl up in the chair next to the door. Poppy sat down as well, leaving only the chair nearest Potter for Severus. Ignoring it, he moved to the opposite side of the bed. He placed the book on the bedside cupboard and leant against the wall, crossing his arms and using his right arm to hold his left against his chest. That this position actually brought him closer to Potter escaped his attention until Poppy began speaking.
"Whatever is going on with you and Harry," Poppy gestured at the bed, "is not anything that my tests can identify. I've tried every Dark Magic and curse diagnostic in my arsenal—"
Severus snorted, and she levelled a reproving look at him, one that never failed to make him feel like an errant student again.
"—including those you taught me, Severus," she said. "The best that I've been able to determine, after consultation with the Healers in St Mungo's and the Azkaban infirmary, is that it's the absence of You-Know..." she hesitated before continuing with, "Voldemort's magic that is causing the problem."
"Harry described it as a void once," Lovegood put in. "An emptiness inside his head."
"Being empty-headed is hardly new for Potter," Severus said.
"Unless you wish to succumb to the fatal insanity that is currently decimating your former colleagues, Severus, I suggest that you shut up and listen."
Severus opened his mouth to respond, then shut it again with a pointedly loud clack of his teeth.
Shaking her head, Poppy continued, "It's the eternal Arithmantic puzzle, if Miss Lovegood's theory is correct. The abrupt withdrawal of Voldemort's magic upon his death has damaged yours and Potter's magic, leaving a negative space."
"And that attracts Wrackspurts," Lovegood said, sounding annoyingly pleased with herself. "That's why Harry can't‐"
Poppy cleared her throat, thankfully cutting off Lovegood's inane rambling. "As I was saying, in Arithmancy, the combination of two negatives results in both becoming positive."
A single positive, Severus corrected her silently, and only if the negatives are compatible. The calculations and ramifications tumbled through his brain, leading to only one answer: permanently binding himself to Harry bloody Potter with no escape except death.
~*~
The thing about being unconscious, Harry decided, was that people assumed you couldn't hear them. They also assumed that you wouldn't wake up. Neither was apparently true in his case.
He didn't see any reason to let the people in his room know he'd regained consciousness, though. If Pomfrey didn't have monitoring spells to warn her, then that wasn't his problem. He lay there with his eyes closed, listening to them talk about his and Snape's future. A future that Luna and Pomfrey had apparently decided for them. Not that Harry thought he and Snape had too many options.
"No," Snape said.
Harry blinked, trying and failing to clear the grey spots from his vision. Before he could think about the fact that he was giving away the advantage, he asked, "You'd rather die then? Rather sentence both of us to death?" Despite his attempts to speak clearly, his voice came out thready, barely loud enough to be heard, and yet it seemed to echo in the otherwise silent room.
Three heads turned towards him. Snape's eyebrow rose, but he otherwise showed no signs of surprise that Harry was awake.
"I have earned the right to make my own choice, surely," Snape said.
"And I haven't?" Harry's temper started to flare as the void's whispering intensified. He was so damn sick and tired of the entire world deciding things for him. "Merlin, it's good to know that I qualify as a fate worse than death."
"That's not what I said. Don't twist my words."
"It's what would happen if you won't do it."
"We should hang mistletoe over the door," Luna said. "The Nargles that infest them would distract the Wrackspurts."
The look that Snape aimed at Luna was filled with the same incredulity that Harry felt.
"You know what," Harry said into the resulting silence, "just forget it. Snape isn't the last surviving Death Eater. One of them has to want to live badly enough to be willing to spend their life with me."
"There's a simple compatibility test." Pomfrey pulled a piece of parchment and a quill out of one of her apron pockets. "I'm sure Kingsley would be willing to let me cast it on them." She jotted down a quick note. "It shouldn't take more than a few hours. I'm sure we can afford that much time."
While she spoke, Harry watched Snape out of the corner of his eye. Snape was scowling at Pomfrey, seemingly unaware that he was rubbing his left forearm.
"Well, now that we've decided my future," Harry said, slumping back into his pillows, exaggerating his exhaustion, "I may as well go back to sleep."
Snape's right hand clenched tightly around his left forearm, and he grimaced.
Luna uncurled from her chair, got to her feet, and turned slowly in a circle. Her voice dreamy, she said, "The positive whole is more than the sum of its negative parts. Magic doesn't become anti-magic, isn't consumed or Banished by the ritual." She stopped and smiled at Snape, tugging on one of her dirigible plum earrings. "Equivalency is not a myth."
The last phrase clearly meant something to Snape, who jerked to attention and reached for the book. "Page number?"
At a flutter of Luna's fingers, the book opened and the pages flipped until they stopped near the middle.
Snape bent over and squinted at the text. "Why didn't you say something earlier?" he demanded.
"For some reason, I expected better of you than making a snap judgment without investigating all the facts," Pomfrey said.
"Don't mind me," Harry muttered. "I'll just lay here and talk to the voices in my head while you make the decision for me. As usual."
Snape's head snapped up. "They didn't tell you?"
"What else is new?" Harry shrugged.
"Mr Potter was unconscious until a few minutes ago," Pomfrey said, writing something else on her parchment. "He was in no position to have a complex ritual and its consequences explained to him."
"Out," Snape said. "Both of you."
"Severus, I hardly—"
"Potter and I will make up our own minds," Snape said. "We don't need your assistance to do so."
To Harry's shock, Pomfrey stood up, tucked her quill and parchment back in her pocket, and headed for the door. "You have thirty minutes," she said, "and then I'll be back to check on Mr Potter."
When Snape and he were alone in the room, Harry screwed up what was left of his courage and asked, "Erm... so... you want to do this ritual now?"
"I'm considering it," Snape said, his focus once more on the book. "Now shut up and let me read."
"Yeah, all right." Harry ran a hand through his hair, scratching his scalp. "I'll just be over here twiddling my thumbs, while you make up our minds for me."
While Harry watched Snape, unable to take his eyes off the finger that Snape brushed over his lips as he read, the void whispered, "Soon."
~*~
The ritual was deceptively simple, as all magical bonds tended to be. All it required was consent, semen, blood, and magic. And sufficient time to complete it without interruption. The latter, of course, was clearly the sticking point.
Being arrested before Severus could explain anything in terms simple enough for Potter to comprehend had not been even a remote consideration. Kingsley had warned him about going mad, about dying; he hadn't so much as suggested that Severus was in danger of being marched out of Hogwarts at wandpoint and taken to the Ministry. Once again, his ability to choose, to make a decision about his own future, had been stolen from him. This time by the frightened men and women of the Wizengamot, who would rather imprison people than find out what was happening to them, never mind try to cure them.
Even worse, the voices were louder here, so much closer to those Death Eaters who were still awaiting trial. The screaming and moaning seemed to come from both outside and inside Severus. The pain clawed along his nerves, twisted around his magic, making him want to add his own voice to the chorus of torment.
Severus paced the boundaries of his cell. His left arm hung barely usable at his side, the fingers twitching and flexing uncontrollably. Around and around he went, not stopping until the wards on the door unlocked with a barely audible click. He backed against the bunks, cradling his left arm in his right, and waited.
The door opened a bare crack and then closed again, without apparently letting anyone inside. Potter, Severus thought and braced himself not to react when an invisible hand touched his arm.
"I've made my choice. Now it's your turn to decide," Potter whispered in his ear. "They can give us twenty minutes at most before someone notices this cell isn't being monitored."
"As if I truly have a choice."
"No more and no less than I did."
Silky cloth brushed against Severus's fingers as Potter's hand moved away. Without giving himself a chance to think about what he was doing, Severus grabbed onto the cloth and tugged.
"Hullo," Potter said, his face half-visible, and gave him a lopsided grin. "Does this mean you've made up your mind?"
"Strip," Severus said, rather than answer him. Although, he supposed, that was an answer in and of itself. Potter certainly seemed to think so.
The Invisibility Cloak fell in a pool around Potter's feet. His jumper, jeans, and other clothes followed quickly, and then he was standing in front of Severus. His skin was prickled with goosebumps from the cool temperature in the cell, his cheekbones slightly flushed, but he made no attempt to avert his eyes or to cover up his half-hard cock. Instead his chin was lifted and he met Severus's eyes as if it were a dare.
Telling himself that he wasn't quite looking away, Severus swept his gaze over Potter from his hair, made more riotous by the cloak, to his bare feet that were curled up against the chill of the stone floor. Perhaps, Severus thought, a life spent with Potter would not be as terrible as he'd imagined.
A shiver wracked Potter, followed quickly by another, and Severus snapped, "Bed, you dunderhead. I've no desire to catch my death of cold as a result of this."
Grinning at him, Potter dove for the bed and under the thin blankets. Severus followed only a trifle more slowly. Removing his Ministry-issue uniform was made more awkward by having to manoeuvre around the limitations of his left arm. When he'd finally got his uniform off and tossed it on top of the pile of Potter's clothes, he joined Potter under the covers.
The touch of his bare skin to Potter's felt like an electric shock, a Stinging hex that travelled along every nerve in Severus's body to the base of his cock.
"Bloody hell," Potter said, his surprise matching Severus's. "Is it going to be like that every time?"
Severus ignored the question, running through the ritual in his mind in an effort to maintain control. "You'll speak the words after me," he said. "Pronunciation is very important."
In response, Potter shifted, moving them both until Severus was lying between Potter's spread legs and their cocks were touching. The voices that swirled inside him seemed to release a collective gasp and then hold their breaths, and for the first time, Severus realised that this might save more than just Potter and him.
The thought went through him like a rush of heat, and he rutted against Potter's hip. The unlubricated drag of his cock against Potter's skin sent shards of want need pain dancing through Severus. The voices cried out again.
Potter bucked upwards, increasing the pressure. "Start, damn it. We don't have time."
Raising his upper body, fighting the urgency that was thrumming through his veins, Severus looked down at Potter, examined him, weighed him.
"I'm prepared," Potter said. "You have my consent."
A flash of something went through Potter's eyes, and Severus was hard-pressed to interpret its meaning. Not that anything mattered beyond the fact that Potter consented, that Severus, after nearly a day in this damn cell, wanted to give every sanctimonious twat in the Wizarding world the proverbial two-fingered salute.
"Facio Consentio," Severus said, looking directly into Potter's eyes.
"Facio Consentio," Potter repeated.
Magic hummed through Severus, settling in his bones, soothing the voices, vibrating through him, drawing him closer to Potter. He carefully balanced his weight on his left arm and reached down between them, pushing Potter's legs further apart.
I'm prepared. Potter's phrase gained even more meaning when Severus encountered the plug in Potter's arse, felt the sticky slickness of lube. He yanked on the plug, pulling it out in a single movement that drew a moan from Potter, made Severus want to fuck directly into him. But it was too soon.
Exercising his will, Severus threw the plug across the room and wiped his fingers off on Potter's cock.
"Uh," Potter groaned, biting his bottom lip, obviously struggling to remain silent.
Severus placed his right forefinger against Potter's mouth, pushing it inside, the blunt scrape of Potter's teeth against his skin almost stealing his ability to speak. He pulled his finger back out and tapped Potter's lower lip. "Sanguinem nostrum."
"Sanguinem nostrum," Potter said.
Sharp as a paper cut, the skin of Severus's finger parted. Blood welled from it, surprisingly warm, and mingled with that oozing from Potter's split lip. Unwilling to waste any more time, Severus pulled out his bleeding finger and slid it down Potter's body to press it inside him at the same time as he kissed Potter, sucking on his mouth, tasting the coppery brightness of his blood.
The voices seemed to sing inside Severus, the pain to merge with his arousal. And as they continued to kiss, as Severus nipped at Potter's lip, sucked on the cut, drawing heat to the surface, an incomprehensible hiss called to him.
In response, Severus bit down and twisted his finger, pressing it deep inside Potter.
Rolling his hips, Potter fucked himself on Severus's finger.
Not willing to wait any longer, unable to be gentle, Severus added another two fingers. Potter was stretched, open, all but dripping with the lube that the plug had held inside. It would still be tight, barely comfortable, and everything Severus wanted. He removed his fingers, gathering lube on them as he did so, and coated as much of his cock as he could with that scant slickness.
Potter licked at Severus's mouth, encouraging him.
The taste of their mingled blood in his mouth, the ache of magic inside him, Severus lined himself up and pressed his cock into Potter. He was so bloody tight that Severus hesitated, on the brink with only the head of his cock inside. Then Potter dug his heels into Severus's back and impaled himself on Severus.
That movement, the drag of his cock inside Potter, was all Severus needed. He snapped his hips forward, thrusting until his balls were pressed against Potter's arse, and gritted out, "Coniunctio."
"Coniunctio," Potter repeated, his voice triumphant.
And then the magic took over. They rocked, clinging to each other, biting and licking at each other's mouths. Deeper and faster. Potter made noises, incoherent and wordless, and Severus's body, his entire world, narrowed down to the swirl of magic, the chanting of voices, the pulse and clench of orgasm.
~*~
Harry opened his eyes to Snape lying heavily across him. The void in his head was gone, as was the constant hiss of Parseltongue. He blinked at that, his eyes prickling at the unexpected sense of loss. He wasn't alone though, that part of him was now taken up with a grey warmth that was more comfortable than Voldemort's dark torment. Definitely something he could get used to. Shying away from that thought, Harry probed his bottom lip with his tongue. The skin was tender, puffy, but it had stopped bleeding.
Shifting on top of Harry, derailing Harry's train of thought, Snape raised his head and looked at him. Concerned was the wrong word for the expression on Snape's face, but so was disdain.
A myriad questions crowded into Harry's mind. Before he could ask any of them, Snape brought his hand up and traced Harry's lower lip. Then one corner of his mouth twisted into a self-satisfied smirk, and Harry had the sudden urge to kick him or to bite his finger. And that thought reminded Harry of what they'd just done and sent a shiver of arousal through him.
Snape's eyes darkened, but he moved away not closer. He got up off the bed and walked over to where their clothes lay in a pile on the floor.
Remembering Kingsley's orders about not allowing Snape near his wand, Harry hurried after him and reached the pile at the same time. He grabbed his underpants and jeans, checking the holster sewn into the right outer seam and pulling out his wand. "Figured we could use Cleansing charms," he muttered, as Snape arched an eyebrow at him.
"Transfiguring this into something decent would be equally acceptable," Snape said, holding out his uniform.
"Put it on first, so I don't muck up the sizing."
Snape arched an eyebrow, and Harry almost expected to feel the combination of amusement and derision thrumming through him. But the ritual hadn't given them anything like that. Not wanting to expose his ignorance, Harry cast Cleansing charms on them both.
As soon as they were dressed and Harry had transfigured Severus's uniform into soft black wool, retaining the shape and fit out of an abundance of caution, there was a clang from outside and the cell door opened.
His Invisibility Cloak in one hand and his wand in the other, Harry turned to face the door. Snape moved to stand beside him.
Kingsley stood in the doorway, with two Aurors Harry didn't recognise behind him. "Mr Potter," Kingsley said. "What a surprise to see you here."
Harry grinned at him, the stretch causing his lip to sting. "Ready when you are."
"The Wizengamot is getting twitchy," Kingsley said. "Even the Minister can only hold them off for so long."
"Then we should not keep them waiting any longer." Snape put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I presume you have a plan for this."
Moving closer to Snape, Harry admitted, "Not quite a plan."
"Then what?" Snape's voice lowered, became darker, more dangerous, and sent a thrill down Harry's spine.
"They're not exactly likely to send me to Azkaban, are they?" Harry shrugged.
"That's hardly what I'd consider an acceptable plan."
Before Snape could lash out, as he clearly wanted to, Kingsley cleared his throat. "It was sufficient to persuade me to allow him into this cell unsupervised and unwatched."
Snape paused, his entire body clearly on alert. He glanced from Harry to Kingsley and back again, and then nodded.
Taking that as permission, Harry moved towards Kingsley and the door. As if joined to Snape by a thread that snapped taut, he halted a few steps away. "That's going to be annoying." He folded his Invisibility Cloak, slipped it into the pocket of his jumper, and held his non-wand hand out to Snape.
"Quite," Snape said, joining him. "Although I don't expect it to continue," Snape added, his tone making it clear that he would ensure it didn't.
Snape's hand was warm in Harry's. Reassuring in a way that Harry couldn't have imagined even a day earlier. As they walked towards the courtroom where all the Death Eater trials were held, the Aurors following a few steps behind, Snape talked quietly with Kingsley.
Life was going to be interesting, Harry thought, and he wouldn't have it any other way.