Fic; The Dumbledore Stratagem, chapter 3/3 Title: The Dumbledore Stratagem, Chapter 3/3 Author:sarkysue Character(s)/Pairing(s): Snape/Harry, Draco, Neville Rating: NC17 (although nothing until the last part) Length: 5300/17000 Warnings: Spoilers for HBP, maybe for others too. Summary: An adventure(ish) comedy romance in which Draco is pretty much a sociopath, Snape is verging on the Heathcliffian and Harry is, well, Harry. Stuck in a hideaway with his two least favourite Slytherins, Harry starts competing for something he didn’t even realise that he wanted. Beta:bethbethbeth Notes: An alternative to DH, kind of. Chapters will be posted daily. Cross posted all over LJ and on IJ and DW too. Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this story and no money will be made from it. Chapter OneChapter Two
Chapter Three
When Harry wakes up, he can’t move. Something is pinning him hard to the bed. His eyes pop open and he looks down to find the thin arm and shoulder of Snape lying partway across his chest. Snape’s face is buried against his shoulder mostly covered by his long black hair. Harry decides not to wriggle free; he’s comfortable enough to not run the risk of disturbing Snape’s sleep. He manages to ease an arm out and scratches an itch on his nose. Snape doesn’t stir and Harry takes some of his fine hair between his fingers. It’s clean and silky and before he knows what he’s doing he’s bringing it up to his nose.
“Potter, are you sniffing me?”
Harry jumps and drops the hair with a splutter. A beady black is peering out at him from around his shoulder.
“You’ll be tasting me next.” Snape drawls.
Harry tries to think of something suggestive and flirty to say back but doesn’t get very far before a cold voice speaks from the door way.
“Well well well. Isn’t this cosy.” Malfoy’s arms are folded, his eyes steely.
Snape’s sleep scrunched face jolts up to squint at him, his arm quickly moving from where it was lying over Harry’s chest.
“Draco—”
But Malfoy turns on his heel and stalks out of the room, leaving Harry and Snape looking awkwardly at each other. From next door comes a series of bangs and the sound of splintering wood and Snape hurries out the room without so much as a glance at Harry.
After a muffled row, in which Harry hears Malfoy squawk his name incredulously several times, Snape spends the best part of the day in Malfoy’s room. He even calls Harry in and asks dismissively for him to bring them a pot of tea. Harry nearly tells them both to fuck off, but something in Snape’s eyes calms him, and he nods instead, even managing not to kick Malfoy when he smugly tells him to “fetch us the biscuits, Potter.”
Harry sits in with Neville but is distracted by every noise that comes from the front room and keeps going into the hallway and looking at the shut door. He’s just washing up the lunch things when Snape comes into the kitchen rubbing at his face tiredly. Harry glowers at him from the sink and bangs down a saucepan loudly.
“Oh don’t start Potter,” Snape says sitting heavily at one of the chairs at the kitchen table. “I thought you were less of a child than Draco.”
Even though Harry thinks this is probably only a ploy to get him to stop stropping, he is placated by the rare compliment. He shrugs a bit then offers Snape a coffee and sits next to him.
“I don’t see why you have to appease him all the time.” He says trying to keep the sulk out of his voice.
Snape sighs. “Anything for an easy life.”
“But—you never worry about upsetting me.”
Snape’s eyes glint at him. “Yes Potter, but the most you’ll do is slam a few pans around and mutter something rude under your breath. Draco would likely slip something in my tea, and I don’t have the energy for the paranoia.”
Which Harry guesses is a fair point really. He sighs. “Better get on with the washing up.”
“Harry the housewife,” Snape smirks.
*
Malfoy swipes his knight off the board.
“Well done Draco,” Harry says with the sickliest false smile he can muster.
“Why thank you Harry.” Malfoy’s smile matches his own and there’s a new glint in his eyes.
Aware that the stakes have been raised, Harry keeps up tactical encouragement as Malfoy knocks his pieces off one-by-one, a dull thwack each time. Harry smiles sweetly, but is stopped from yet another supportive “Well done,” by the tap-tap of a pigeons beak on the window.
They shout for Snape at the same time, and then both try to be the one to tell him about the bird at the window. Snape raises his eyebrows at them and then opens the latch, detaching the note from the pigeon’s leg and sitting in the armchair to read it. After a brief silent argument that consists of furious head nods to try to get the other to ask what the note says, Harry and Malfoy resume their game in competitive quietness as Snape sits pensively in the corner. Every time Harry looks up though, Snape is scrutinising him. A couple of times even opens his mouth to speak, but then closes it again and looks away.
The pigeon starts making impatient cooing noises and Harry watches Snape absently feed it some biscuit crumbs off a plate. Eventually he folds up the note, puts it in his pocket and mutters something to the bird who flutters into a near by tree before leaving the room briskly.
“What was that about?” Harry wonders aloud. “I hope no-one else’s been cursed.”
“God I hope not. We’ll never get out of here if we keep getting sent idiots who can’t manage to keep themselves out of trouble… Although I don’t suppose they’d send anyone else here… I expect they all want to know when you’ll be back to sort things out. I doubt your side is doing too well with you and Snape out of the game.”
Harry is nearly to the door when he turns and narrows his eyes. “Don’t you mean our side Malfoy?”
Malfoy shrugs. “No, I’m not having a side anymore. Think I’ll let you lot fight it out and then try and get on with whoever’s still standing at the end.”
For a moment Harry gapes at him before he manages to push away his disgust and goes to the kitchen to find Snape writing at the table.
“What did the letter say?” He asks casually.
A drawn out silence follows in which Snape finishes the letter he is writing and folds it up neatly. He looks at Harry contemplatively, as if choosing his words carefully.
“The Order wanting to know when we will be back to the foray,” he finally answers.
“And what did you say?”
“Not yet. You’re not ready.” Snape’s not quite looking him in the eye.
Harry swallows thickly. “He’s cursed other people hasn’t he? He’s trying to get me to go to him isn’t he?”
Still Snape doesn’t look him in the eye. “You’re not ready Potter,” he finally says.
“I’m ready enough if people are dying Snape! Yesterday you only had to give me one vial of potions, and I haven’t had anything today and I feel fine. We should go and—”
“You will be ready when I say you’re ready! Do not argue with me Potter, I am in charge here, not you!” Snape roars.
Harry glowers defiantly and watches as Snape calms down, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose.
“The Stratagem will not work if you are not completely healed. If we go now it will all be for nothing.”
“Okay,” Harry says with a shrug. “That was all you needed to say. Soon though, right?”
Snape doesn’t answer, just picks up the letter from the table and walks out of the room.
In the evening, Neville feels well enough to get out of bed and he joins Harry and Malfoy in the front room for a chess tournament, watching them with confusion as they snipe pleasantries at each other. Snape sits reading in the corner, ignoring them all.
When Neville toddles off to bed Harry stretches and yawns. “Think I’ll hit the hay too.”
Malfoy’s face darkens. “I don’t think we need keep the same sleeping arrangements. I’m feeling much better Potter so you may have your own bed back.”
“Oh that’s ok Draco. You look perfectly comfortable where you are, I wouldn’t want to move you.”
“But I insist.”
“No, I insist.”
They glare at each other and then turn to look at Snape who doesn’t look up from his book.
“Look,” Malfoy hisses, “I’m not letting you two sleep in there together again. Do you think I’m stupid?”
“Yes,” says Harry, dodging as Malfoy tries to grab him and pull him into the bed.
In the end Harry suggests that they let Snape sleep on his own and they share the bed in the living room. It’s not ideal, but it’s better than letting ferret face sleep alone with Snape.
Snape looks pretty indifferent when Malfoy tells him with a simper that they think he should have his own bed for the night.
“Night night Severus,” Malfoy gushes as Snape makes to leave the room.
“Night Snape,” Harry says with a diffident smile, and Snape pauses by the door to give them an odd look before closing it, leaving Malfoy and Harry alone to squabble about the blankets.
*
Harry is suddenly startled awake by something very cold and very wet dripped on his face. He opens his eyes and sits up gasping as there is a flash of light and an almighty booming sound.
“It’s only a thunder storm Potter,” someone drawls next to him. “No need to wet the bed.”
Harry tries to get back to sleep but every gust of wind shakes the walls, whistling loudly down the chimney and splattering noisy rain against the window. And there must be a hole in the roof, because a steady stream of dollops of rain are falling onto his face and chest, making the blanket he’s trying to hide under sopping wet. Miraculously, Malfoy goes back to sleep and even makes the occasional contented snore. After half an hour, Harry creeps out and peeps his head into Snape’s room. He dithers in the doorway, eyeing up the expanse of dry bed next before finally approaching. He’s just touched a knee down when Snape’s eyes snap open.
“What is it Potter?” He barks.
“Sorry to disturb you… There’s a storm and the roof leaks right over the bed in there and it was dripping on my head and I couldn’t sleep and I was just wondering if I could sleep in here and—”
“Alright Potter, I don’t need a lecture on it,” he says sighing and rolling over. Harry tucks himself under the cloak around the bend of Snape’s back and is just drifting into sleep when someone whispers right in his ear.
“I don’t think so Potter.” He opens his eyes to find Malfoy’s disgruntled face looming over him.
He groans sleepily. “Go back to bed Malfoy.”
“No, why should you two be all cosy when I—”
“What is it now?” Snape asks rolling over to glare at them.
“I’m not sleeping in there on my own.” Malfoy bleats. “It’s frightening and the bed’s all wet and there’s a weird noise—”
Snape looks at the pair of them and clenches his jaw. “Fine,” he says standing up and scrabbling out of bed. He gestures to the bit of bed he’s vacated and stalks past Malfoy out the door.
Malfoy climbs in and accidently elbows Harry hard in the ribs. Harry accidently kicks Malfoy in the shin and is contemplating accidently pinching him when Snape comes back in.
“Bed’s wet. Shove up.”
There then follows an argument about who gets to sleep in the middle. Snape hisses threats about making them sleep out in the rain or on the stone floor and then climbs in between them to shut them up.
They’ve been settled and still for a while when the door creaks open again.
“Ummm,” says Neville from the doorway and Snape goes spare.
Harry ends up with his back pushed against the wall, Snape next to him – his aggravated face close to his – Malfoy and Neville somehow fitting on the rest of the bed. Once he’s sure everyone is asleep Harry opens his eyes. Snape’s maintained a rather cross look in sleep, his eyebrows down, his lips pursed and Harry smiles fondly at him. It’s an odd mixture, Snape’s face; big features, the beaky nose, the severe eyebrows, the keen eyes. It was more interesting than ugly, although Harry suspects that he knows it too well to judge it objectively. One thing he did know was that he found it pleasing to look at; it was so singular, so Snape. Cross and harsh and funny. Before he realises what he’s doing, Harry’s leaning forward and placing a small kiss on the end of Snape’s nose. When he pulls back a pair of too-close black eyes is staring at him from underneath the frowning eyebrows and Harry thinks he might vomit up his heart.
He doesn’t though, slowly reaching a trembling hand to Snape’s cheek instead. When Snape doesn’t move to stop him, Harry gently strokes his fingers down, tracing cheekbone then jawbone, then softly across Snape’s lips and back across his cheek into his hair. Still Snape doesn’t move and, almost because he’s at a loss at what else to do, Harry kisses him. For a moment Harry thinks it might all go horribly awkwardly wrong, but then Snape kisses him back, hard and eager, and Harry’s heart rate quadruples. He gasps as a hand snakes up his bare back, under his pyjamas and he grips Snape’s neck to pull him closer.
Snape kisses him fiercely, nipping at his lips and tongue and pushing a leg between Harry’s thighs, pulling away to suck on his neck and groping at his arse firmly.
He’s just sliding a hand up Snape’s thigh when someone makes a noise behind them and they freeze. Harry waits for whoever it was to settle and then tries to kiss Snape again, but he pulls away, shaking his head.
“Go to sleep.” He whispers.
Harry rolls his eyes and pouts a bit, and then buries his head into the crook of Snape’s neck and falls asleep smiling.
*
“Morning sweetheart.”
Harry grins sleepily and opens his eyes. And then jerks away when he is confronted with a sneering face and Malfoy shoving him roughly away with a snarl. Snape’s nowhere to be seen and the sound of rain is still loudly pattering against the hut’s roof. Harry shoves Malfoy back and gets up, languidly stretching his arms.
He finds Snape in the kitchen, finishing a cup of coffee by the sink.
“Morning.” Harry says brightly. Snape doesn’t even look at him, just shoves roughly past him and slams the living room door and Harry feels his good mood slink away.
Later, he’s back in bed eating toast with Neville when Malfoy hurries in and shuts the door firmly.
“Severus has gone mad,” he says with wide eyes, climbing under the blankets next to Neville. “He just threw a hammer at me!”
“Why?”
“Lord knows. I was just saying it might be nice if we could go home soon.”
From next door they hear the banging of a hammer into wood.
“What’s he doing in there?” Harry asks, making to get up.
“Fixing the leaks in the roof. If you’re going out there Potter, get me a drink and something to eat.”
“Get it yourself Malfoy.”
“I’m not going back out there, he threw a hammer at me! I’m staying as far away from him as possible.” Malfoy says dramatically, crossing his arms as he does so.
Harry looks at the door, nervously, but at that moment a loud burst of shouted swear words comes from the living room. He slips back under the blankets and hopes that Snape’s temper is not solely down to their brief bout of snogging last night.
“Oh,” says Neville looking pale. “But I need a wee.”
They decide that it’s probably safer for Neville to wee out the window and so he does. They hide out in the dry bedroom, bonded by a collective fear of Snape’s bad mood they forget to keep up any animosity and instead build a den out of blankets and play twenty questions and dare each other to get things from the other rooms, which is thrilling enough for Harry to forget to be miserable, as he darts back in with the chess set tucked under his arm, receiving a hushed cheer from the other two.
By late afternoon the sound of hammering and bellowed swearing has ceased and Neville is dared to go and get them some food from the kitchen. He comes back proudly baring an armful of cheese and bread and fruit which he deposits on the bed.
“Snape?” Harry asks.
“He’s at the kitchen table reading a letter and drinking brandy straight out the bottle. Don’t think he even noticed me.”
Harry forgets his hunger and makes his way to the kitchen. Rain is still pouring in through the ceiling of the living room he notices as he passes.
In the kitchen Snape is sitting slumped in his chair, the letter laid out in front of him and a pigeon eyeing him curiously from across the table. When he sees Harry, he turns the letter over, so that it is just a blank piece of paper with a few blots of seeped through ink across it.
“He’s cursed more people hasn’t he?” Harry asks from the doorway.
Snape eyes him coolly but doesn’t answer, and Harry sticks his chin up.
“I’m going back.” He says, folding his arms.
“Not. Yet.” Snape’s knuckles are clenched to white, one hand gripping a bottle of brandy, the other a fist on the table, but his face is still and blank.
“I’m ready and you know it. And besides it’s my life and it’s nothing to do with you what—”
“I’ve been working for nineteen years to keep you alive, don’t you dare tell me that it’s nothing to do with me!”
Snape looks so ferocious that Harry almost wants to go back to his blanket den. He doesn’t though, bravely sitting next to Snape instead.
“We can’t just stay here whilst he picks off innocent people,” he says in what he hopes is a reasonable tone. “I’ve got to go now, I have to end this …on my own if I have to.”
“You’re not going anywhere without me,” Snape actually snarls, a distracting bit of spittle dangling from his lip.
“Fine,” Harry says showing Snape the palms of his hand in a gesture of peace. “But I’m leaving tomorrow morning.”
Snape’s face looks disturbingly hateful, but he grabs a pen and scribbles quickly on to the blank side of the letter – Tomorrow morning, the meeting place. S – and hastily folds it up. The pigeon makes some disgruntled noises as Snape roughly ties the letter to its ankle and shoves it into Harry’s hands.
At the window Harry watches until the bird has flown out of sight, feeling the first churn of dread in his stomach. Back in the kitchen he makes to reach for the brandy bottle, but Snape pulls it out of reach and leans over to the sink for some glasses. He pours a generous amount in each, slides Harry’s along the table, and raises his glass.
“To tomorrow.” He says darkly, not quite looking at Harry.
“Tomorrow.” Harry repeats taking a small sip.
They drink in silence until their glasses are empty, then Snape pours them another round without a word.
After the second glass, Harry starts feeling a bit better. He smiles groggily at Snape who doesn’t smile back but neither does he glare or growl Harry notes happily.
He raises his glass, “To not glaring,” he says cheerfully. Snape raises his eyebrows at him, but still doesn’t glare.
After the third glass they get into the swing of toasting things.
“To the oven,” Harry says with a hiccup and a snuff of laughter.
“To this teaspoon,” Snape counters with.
Harry even feels relaxed enough to bring up Snape’s DIY attempts.
“Shut up.” Snape says prodding Harry hard in the arm with a long thin finger. “Or I’ll make you sleep in the wet bed. With Draco,” he adds.
Harry prods him back. “I bagsy the dry bed for you and me. We’ve got a busy day tomorrow, killing the Dark Lord and all.”
Snape gestures with his glass and sloshes some brandy down himself. “Yes but we won’t get any sleep if Draco hasn’t got a comfortable bed.”
“Well—can’t we just spell ‘em dry? We’re leaving tomorrow.”
Snape shakes his head. “They’ll find us like that,” he snaps his fingers loudly.
Harry nods and thinks how much better Snape looks drunk, cheeks slightly pinked, frown lifted and even the hint of genuine merriment around his eyes and mouth.
“Stop gawping, Potter.” Snape says and doesn’t move away when Harry takes his hand.
Neville and Malfoy come in at some point, Neville looking timid and Malfoy looking down his thin nose at them.
“You’re drunk!” he says accusingly. Harry watches his eyes fall on Snape’s arm along the back of Harry’s chair and Harry’s hand on Snape’s thigh.
“Oh have a drink Draco,” Snape says surprising them all and pitching the brandy towards him. “And you Longbottom.”
“Yeah,” slurs Harry, beaming as he notes that Snape doesn’t move his arm. “Don’t you know it’s the end of the world?”
And then Snape starts singing a funny old sounding song and Harry starts improvising percussion on his leg and Malfoy and Neville look at each other and shrug and pour themselves large brandies.
As Last Suppers go Harry finds that his is rather enjoyable which is surprising considering the attendees. They finish the brandy, singing themselves hoarse in the process. Neville, who turns out to be a beautiful tenor, does a heartbreaking rendition of Nobody’s Child which even moistens Snape’s eye (if you look very closely). Then they cheer themselves up with a stirring Wizarding song about winning wars, which Harry doesn’t know so he adds ‘lalalas’ and ‘yeahyeahs’ as he sees fit.
It’s getting dark before they realise that they’re all ravenous, and start scrambling around the kitchen tipsily.
“Tonight’s menu will be vegetable bourguignon, accompanied by crusty bread,” Snape tells them.
Harry translates this to mean vegetable stew and stale rolls, but he doesn’t say it as Snape brandishes a knife about barking instructions.
“You,” he says to Harry, waving the knife at his chest. “Get some water from the well. Longbottom! Peel me a dozen carrots. Draco, scrub these potatoes.”
Chaos blooms in the small kitchen as Malfoy and Neville jostle for the basin to peel carrots and wash potatoes and wind and rain whooshes in as Harry comes in and out of the kitchen door. When Harry goes to give the stew a stir Snape elbows him out the way, “I’m head chef,” with such force that he knocks over a stack of clean crockery. No one can be bothered to it clean up and so they step awkwardly around it instead. Things take a turn for the worse when Malfoy knocks a jar of cooking oil into the mix of broken porcelain, and they spend the next half hour skidding about, gripping each other’s arms roughly to stay upright.
Whilst the stew cooks Snape sets them to helping him shift the bed out of Neville’s leaking room and into the dry bedroom. They knock one leg off as they get it out the doorway. They knock another two off in the hallway before getting the bed jammed, the head of it in the bedroom and the foot of it in the kitchen, and Neville stuck against the front room’s door. He remains there for twenty minutes or so, chirping encouragement as they push and grind the bed along the walls and door frames.
Finally they get it into the room, where Snape gets tangled in the blankets they’d hung for their den’s walls and falls unceremoniously grabbing Harry as he does so who grabs Malfoy who grabs Neville. Snape bellows ineffectively (and quite happily) at them whilst they giggle and struggle and get even more tangled up. When they surface, they shove the bed against the wall and Snape merrily whacks the last leg off to even it out.
Later when they are dozily full of bourguignon, they huddle chairs around the fire, ignoring the rest of the leaking front room behind them. Harry makes everyone a cocoa and no one says anything when he sits on a folded blanket leaning against Snape’s legs. They don’t even bat an eye lid when Snape absently starts fiddling with his hair or when Harry curls an arm around his leg and rests his cheek on Snape’s fire-warmed knee.
Before bed Snape soberly tells them the plan for the next morning. They are all to apparate at daybreak, Malfoy is to take Neville, so he does not have to use any magic, and Snape will take Harry and they will meet outside Grimmauld Place. When he gets to the bit about going to Voldemort, Neville goes pale.
“And it will work?” He asks. “The Dumbledore Stratagem? He’ll die and Harry will live?”
Snape and Harry give each other a look.
“Yes,” they both say firmly.
In bed, Harry is sure he’ll never get to sleep. He can tell by Snape’s breathing that he’s not asleep either and he sneaks a hand under Snape’s cloak to find his hand and grip it tightly. Snape squeezes back. When there are gentle snores and heavy breathing from the other two, Harry brushes Snape’s hair away from his face and leans in to kiss him. Snape’s hands readily slide all over Harry, up his back, down his pyjama bottoms, and he feels the press of erection against his leg as he’s pulled in closer. Before things get too out of hand Harry sits up taking Snape’s hand, scrambles out of bed and yanks him into the other room.
Snape wastes no time in peeling him out of his pyjamas, running hurried kisses along Harry’s bare torso as Harry struggles to unbutton his robes. They fuck all over the room, Harry bent over the wet bed gripping the sodden mattress tightly as Snape slams into him, Snape sat in the armchair, Harry on his lap grinding down on him, Harry on his back on the floor, his legs around Snape’s shoulders. They fuck until their knees are raw and they have barely a pant left of breath between them, finally piling blankets and cushions onto the hearth rug and collapsing onto it. Harry is so exhausted, his sweat slicked skin sticking to Snape’s as they lie in a tangle, that he doesn’t even notice the cold draft or the hard stone floor under his back.
He wakes with blankets piled on top of him and Snape sitting wrapped in a cloak in an armchair watching him. They nod grimly at each other, both looking ashen faced. Neither of them speaks as they dress and start tidying up some of the mess of the previous evening, Snape wordlessly passing Harry the blankets to fold, Harry drying up whilst Snape washes the dishes.
Harry’s sat at the kitchen table a cold cup of tea clutched in his hand when Neville comes and sits beside him and gives him a weak smile.
“Umm… in case you didn’t know, or there isn’t a chance to tell you later… Thank you.”
“For what?”
Neville shrugs. “For being Harry Potter I guess.” And he reaches to squeeze Harry’s hand.
“Ready?” asks Snape from the doorway.
No, Harry thinks but he nods his head anyway.
In the hallway Snape wraps Harry in his thick black cloak, carefully draping it on his shoulders and tying the knot at Harry’s neck, fiddling to make sure the collar is on right. He takes his arm and leads him outside to the edge of the woods to apparate. Malfoy and Neville leave with a crack and Snape takes Harry’s hand, holding it tightly. They look at each other, grimly, hopefully, and Harry is silenced by all the things he wants to say. Snape’s face is poised as artfully as ever but his eyes seem different, unguarded and full. Harry doesn’t want to go anywhere, he wants to stay and look at them for a bit longer, but the press of apparition is already starting up his legs and before he can protest, everything is dark and moving.
*
In the end, the Dumbledore Stratagem works almost exactly as Snape and Dumbledore planned it to. As instructed by the Dark Lord, they find him at the Riddle House, sat on a make shift throne, cronies crowded around him, leering and jeering as Harry stands shivering in his pyjamas before them. Behind him he can feel Snape, unseen under his invisibility cloak, a reassuring hand pressing into his back.
“Any last words?” Voldemort asks with a grin, and slashes his wand before Harry has a chance to answer.
Harry feels an intense heat wash over him and when he opens his eyes he’s on the floor, Voldemort looming over him muttering incantations. Harry’s wand starts vibrating violently, and he has to use all his might to hold on to it. Above him, Voldemort still looks strong as ever, and Harry is almost ready to accept that it hasn’t worked when he feels it, a heat going into his wand, a surge of energy and above him Voldemort’s face falls.
Harry watches him weaken and fall to the floor, Death Eaters crowding around him, trying to break the connection between them, trying to wrench his hands away from his wand. Some of them come towards Harry but all he thinks is ‘no’ firmly and they are kept back, a force field of energy protecting him. His hands are sweaty and he is losing his grip.
“I can’t hold it,” he yells, but Snape is already with him, pulling Harry onto his lap, arms coming around him to cover his on the wand. Together they hold it until they feel the energy weaken and the warmth rushing away.
“Now,” Snape roars.
“Dispersiam!” they bellow together and there is a blinding light and the wand shakes violently in their hands and everything goes dark.
When Harry opens his eyes he is looking up at cloudy sky. There is a gentle breeze blowing the hair back from his face and his glasses are on slightly squiffily. He sits up and straightens them and looks around. Where the Riddle House stood is rubble and stone and patches of earth, flung far and wide. If he squints he can make out what looks like bits of bone and gristle mixed in with the stone and dust. He stops squinting.
He finds Snape lying on his back not too far away, looking up at the sky thoughtfully. There’s a small cut on his forehead and he’s covered in soot and muck but other than that he seems unharmed. Harry offers him a hand up.
“I think I might stay down here for a bit,” Snape says.
Harry shrugs and kicks a few rocks out the way and lies down next to him. Snape retrieves his silver hip flask from an inside pocket, having a long sip before passing it to Harry. Harry drinks, passing it back and taking Snape’s grubby hand he laces their fingers together. They lie there until the brandy is gone and the grey clouds are starting to darken.
“What now?” Harry asks, turning to look at Snape.
Snape looks back at him. “I was thinking about a long holiday. Somewhere quiet and pretty,” he says.
Harry nods. “If I promise to be frighteningly obedient for the rest of my life, can I—may I come with you?”
Snape narrows his eyes. “I thought it might just be a last night on Earth sort of thing.”
“So did I,” Harry says honestly. “It’s not though is it?” Without waiting for an answer, he stands and pulls Snape up beside him and with an arm around his waist, leads him towards the not quite sunset.