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snarrymod (snarrymod) wrote in snarry_games, @ 2007-06-10 17:08:00

Closing Games Story-Reddwarfer

Original poster: snarrymod

Hi, friends of Snarry! Today we bring you a special Closing Games treat. One of our mods stepped up to write a last minute pinch hit for the Games, in the event that it became necessary.

In the end, we were able to finish the Games without the worry, but we are pleased and honoured that our most excellent reddwarfer finished her story and we now share it with you to ease the wait for the End of Games Ceremony, which is nearly upon us.

Please welcome our dear Leila, who came through with an awesome story to share!


Title: Gift
Author: Leila (reddwarfer)
Team: Modbot
Theme: Humour, Romance, and Postwar.
Prompt: Diversion
Rating: Adult
Warnings: Drag mouse over space if you wish to know: * Hey, just remember that I was an original member of teamangst. *
Word Count: 5,300+
Author Notes: Many thanks to aliciamasters for the awesome and thorough beta. Thanks to whisper132 for suffering through a fandom and pairing she doesn't know, giving support, and generally being my googletalk notepad. And massive thanks to djin7 for allowing me to be a mod, almost be a pinch hit, and running the huge and brilliant snarry_games



Summary: "Is that any way to greet your very dear…me?"



Harry didn't know what made him decide to come all this way to Snape's home. He wasn't even sure that the old bastard would even answer the door, never mind listening to his undoubtedly boring tale of woe.

Spinner's End looked the same as it ever did, just as worn down and decrepit as before. It was comforting, more than anything, knowing that some things were inevitable.

It didn't take Snape long to answer the door; it opened before he could knock twice.

"What do you want, Potter?" Snape asked, already sounding completely exasperated with his presence. Harry wondered if it was a new record. On second thought: it probably wasn't.

"Is that any way to greet your very dear…" Harry said cheerfully, twisting his hands as he tried to figure out just who he was to Snape, "me," he added lamely.

"It's the best I can do, I'm afraid, as the greeting you truly deserve would land me in Azkaban, even now," Snape replied, as he backed up to let Harry inside.

Harry tossed his outer robes on a hook next to the door, and looked around the sitting room. It looked even more crammed with books than before, and now had two wizarding maps tacked to the walls with various arrows moving from one point to another.

"Do you mind?" Snape's voice didn't sound as annoyed Harry thought he would be.

Looking over his shoulder, Harry gave Snape a bright smile. "I'm just seeing if everything's the same." He looked down at a pile of books. "These are new."

"Must you touch everything?" Snape asked, his voice sounding further away. Harry glanced at him, and saw that he was heading toward the kitchen.

"I like two lumps, and a dash of milk," Harry called out to him, "leave off the poisons this time."

"Not bloody worth the ingredients, and you know it," Snape yelled back. Harry went back to poking through papers and rummaging through a box or two, only stopping after one bit him.

"Ouch," Harry complained softly, sucking on his reddened finger as he collapsed onto Snape's sofa. It was lumpier than the last time he'd been there, but that time, Snape had basically told him to sit down, shut up, or he'd use his wand. It had only taken that once to learn that Snape wasn't joking, and only taken a further two times to realise that first time wasn't a fluke.

"Serves you right for being so damned nosy," Snape said as he thrust a cup of tea under his nose. Harry accepted it with a nod, and Snape settled across from him with his own cup of tea.

"Thanks," Harry said after taking a long sip. It was good: spit-free, he assumed, and nothing else unseemly, he hoped. Last time Snape had come to his house, he had offered to make the tea, and there was a suspicious frothiness about it that had left Harry wary.

"Cut the pleasantries and tell me why you're here," Snape said with that familiar impatience that always drove Harry to the wrong side of crazy.

"I've come to see a man about a curse." Harry added after a moment, "At least I think that's what it is, can't be sure."

"What did you manage to do this time?" There it was, Harry thought with a vague sort of fascination: that resigned exasperation that Snape had whenever he thought Harry had done something spectacularly stupid. Well, that was pretty fair, to be honest.

"You see, I've this job, and it carries a certain set of risks, and well, I'm sometimes apt to rushing into things…"Harry paused a moment. "I can't exactly be sure what it is…or when it happened, mind, but sometime over the past…maybe eight years? Well, I'm pretty sure I've gotten cursed, and I’m almost positive that I'm gonna be dead…sooner rather than later." Harry took another drink of his tea— it really was quite good—and set it down on the table, waiting for a response.

Snape looked at him for a moment, opened his mouth, closed it again, and finally managed to ask, "Have you always been this stupid, or has it gotten worse over the years?"

"Hey now, that's not nice," Harry said. He wasn’t truly all that miffed, but it was the principle of it.

"If you want someone to be nice, I can refer you to a specific corner of Knockturn Alley," Snape muttered under his breath. "Potter, why have you not mentioned this before?"

That was a good question. One for which Harry didn't really have an answer. "I've not had the opportunity, have I?"

"Potter, over the many long years I have had the misfortune of knowing you, you have found yourself in situation after situation of nothing but trouble. I thought, perhaps after the war ended, you'd have settled down, at least enough to remain out of my hair, but you resolutely have found ways to need my particular brand of expertise on more occasions than I'd have imagined possible.

Harry toyed with the hem of his robes. As long as Snape hadn't noticed the pattern, he'd be set. "It's a part of my natural charm?"

Snape raised an eyebrow at that. "It's considered charming to find yourself in need of a potion or anti-curse every single holiday for last eight years? Some would say it's plain unlucky."

Smiling again, Harry picked up his teacup, even though it was empty. "Christmas can be very dangerous. Studies that prove most accidents occur in the home."

"For pity's sake, Potter, last year you called me claiming you'd been cut by a cursed knife when the reality is that you didn't have enough sense to peel a carrot with the blade away from your skin."

"Oh, there was that," Harry agreed with a nod. "Still, you never know with yard sale items. Some witches have gone plain batty."

There were a few minutes when Snape just looked at him as if he were contemplating a particularly unsightly specimen. Harry didn't do much beyond staring back with a wide grin and slight shift to find a more comfortable position, which sadly didn't exist.

"Fine, Potter, I'll make up the spare room. This had better not be a waste of my time or I will ensure that your final days on this blessed earth are painful ones," Snape said as he got to his feet.

Harry stretched out, placing both hands on the back of his head. "How could I refuse such a generous offer? Shall I contact the registry? Think a simple service will do?"

The glare he received almost made him want to get a hand on his wand. "Don't test me, Potter. I could fetch a fair amount of Galleons on the black market selling you piece by retched piece."

Laughing, Harry stood up and walked toward the door. "I'll just nip home and get a few things.”

"You do that. And if you should find yourself in harm's way," Snape said with a malicious grin, "don't hesitate to let it finish the job. Save me the trouble."

Harry laughed. "You'd never be so lucky, and you know it." Cantankerous old bastard. He hoped Snape would never change.

~*~

"You're a what?" Snape asked him with an insulting level of disbelief.

Harry took a sip of his firewhisky, and nodded. "After the war was over, I was aimless. Don't look at me like that! Ron and Hermione were gone, and I needed something constructive to do. Again with that look; sheesh. When I was offered a position as an Inspector, I took it."

"And what exactly do you do?" Snape had a peevish tone to his voice that made Harry want to laugh a bit. Was it really so hard for Snape to see Harry as a productive member of society?

"I track witches and wizards suspected of doing very bad things. If I catch them doing something naughty," Harry said with a twinkle in his eyes, "I take them out."

"A glorified assassin is what that is," Snape said rather bitterly before taking a sip of his own drink.

Harry threw Snape an affronted glance. "You make it sound so sordid. I risk my life out there. For the good of all wizarding kind, mind. And all you can say is that I'm a glorified assassin?"

"If it waddles like a niffler…" Snape looked curious despite himself, which made Harry grin.

~*~

"Any ideas?" Harry asked as Snape made another tsking sound under his breath.

Snape looked up from the book in his hand. "Beyond just how much I must be paying for past misdeeds? Not a one. None of the normal diagnostic spells are working."

"Oh?" Harry wondered just exactly how thorough those diagnostic spells were, but Snape didn't seem in the mood for the ‘passing information in the most condescending manner possible’ thing he had done both in school and the Order.

Sitting down across from Harry, Snape fixed him with a calculating look. "Do you remember any unusual spell cast upon you in the line of duty?"

"Which one?" Harry asked, and noticed that Snape's face turned strange colours when he was annoyed with something. It was kind of cute. Well, if weird blotchy patches of a weird mauve colour on a normally sallow face permanently set to scowl, could be considered cute.

"What do you mean which one?"

"There've been a few over the years. I didn't notice anything at the time, so I never bothered getting to St. Mungo's. Figured they were just for scare tactics. And then there was that time with potions being thrown on me…" Harry explained, rambling, until Snape curled his hand around Harry's robes and tugged until their faces were a centimetre apart.

"There's no such thing as spells that do nothing, idiot boy." Snape's face was no longer blotchy. It was completely red, and Harry could have sworn he saw trails of smoke pouring from his ears, but that could just be his overactive imagination adding a little dramatic flair.

"So…" Snape set a cup of tea in front of Harry before sitting opposite him at the kitchen table. "In order to possibly ascertain your cure, I need to know exactly how stupid you've been over the years."

Harry looked at Snape gravely and sighed. "If I tell you about the intensely secretive nature of my work, you do realise: I'll have to kill you."

Snape's eyes widened, almost comically, and Harry only lasted less than two minutes before he was gripping his tummy and laughing so hard he began to wheeze. "Potter…"

"The oldest line in the book, I swear," Harry all but chortled out. "You're losing your touch."

Glowering, Snape mumbled under his breath about losing some poison in Harry’s morning cereal, and Harry finally managed to stop. Having to run to the loo that many times wore him out: another lesson he'd learned the last time he'd visited.


~*~

“So there I was, up on the tree branch, trying to get some photographs of these wizards,” Harry said, leaning closer to Snape as he spoke. “They had on these awful hats. Looked like a cross between a tam and a fez. They were reportedly a part of a new faction of dissenters. Anyhow, I had finally tracked them down and had a chance to watch them completely unaware.”

Snape sighed and took a sip of tea. “Let me guess, Potter, you did something to royally hash things up, they descended upon you, and you managed to get out by the skin of your teeth, relying not upon the brains you’ve been reported to have, but on sheer dumb luck and base instinct.”

Blinking, Harry didn’t speak for a moment, then he frowned. “Hey, now, it’s not nice to ruin my story like that! I was just getting to the really good part.”

“Does this really good part include almost getting yourself killed by a group of enraged wizards?” Snape asked with a sardonic tone.

“No! Well, maybe a little. Cranky git,” Harry grumbled.

Snape took another sip of his tea and followed it up with another sigh. “Do go on, Potter.”

Brightly smiling, Harry replied, “Thanks. Well, anyhow. There I was in the tree, taking pictures, dictoquill taking notes: then all of a sudden, I heard this cracking. The tree branch I was on broke a bit, and I ended up falling into heap on the ground, right in front of the lot of them.”

Eyebrows raised, Snape finished off his tea and went to get another cup. “You’ve all the grace of a blast-ended skrewt.”

“They were crowding around me,” Harry continued, ignoring Snape’s rather accurate assessment. “I had only one chance of escape. I fired off a few disarming spells, hit them with that blinding light jinx you’d taught me during the war, and that’s when it happened. I just blasted one of those fuckers back when another wizard I thought was done hit me with something.”

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Snape groused. “Never let your guard down.”

“Right, so the wizard lifted up his arm, and panted out this curse. Crayola or something,” Harry said, leaning back in his chair. “I didn’t manage to get all of it.”

“Crayola, Potter? Are you feeble?” Snape looked irritated, so Harry didn’t reply. After a few minutes, Snape jumped out of his chair and ran into the other room. Moments later, he returned with an old book that Snape barely read, judging by the amount of dust flying from it as Snape paged through it. “Did you mean Craviliola?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, that might be it.”

“Only you would find one of the few wizards who might still remember a four centuries old curse that’s been out of popular use for over two hundred fifty years.”

“So, that’s what, Snape? Good news?” Harry looked at Snape curiously. He wondered if this one had a cure and, if it did, if it would it be easy.

“Ah yes, this might be it,” Snape mumbled under his breath, “rash behaviour, irritability, insanity. Yes, it fits. The cure? Hmm…I have the ingredients. Let’s see. Oh, yes. Right.”

“Care to fill me in?” Harry wondered if Snape had forgotten he was even there, but the scowl was back on Snape’s face when he looked over at him.

“Potter, lucky for you there is a cure. If my translation is correct, I should have all the ingredients here already. It’s good, old-fashioned magic. I never understood why the old ways died out. Anyhow, I’ll begin getting ready to administer the cure immediately.”

~*~

"Are you sure you've translated that right?" Harry asked Snape, as he stood completely naked in a bucket of red grapes and clam bellies. He had a live snake in his right hand and a dead frog in the other.

Snape looked up at him briefly before looking back at the book. "Yes, of course it is. Now, Potter: you need to hop three times."

Harry looked down into the bucket. "You want me to what?

"Hop! Now! Do it, or we'll have to start all over again and I don't have any more cooked leeches for you to eat." Harry hopped, and wondered if maybe dying wasn't so bad after all.

~*~


"Two of them were quarrelling at that point. One of them wanted to poison the water supply. The other wanted to add this thickening stuff, to make it like gel. They both got out their wands. Hexes were flying, and one managed to singe the bush I was hiding behind."

"May I ask again why in Merlin's name were you hiding behind a bush?" Snape sounded exasperated. Harry was fairly amused by that. He'd only been talking for the last ten minutes. It was truly a marvel how he managed to get Snape to that point every time. Harry shrugged: he'd thought that Snape would've been used to it by now.

"It was a very tall and thick bush…at least until it was burnt to a crisp. Then they both noticed me standing there. They sorta made up at that point and both shot hexes off at me. I fought back, though, and nailed the one with the big nose with a stunning spell, but the guy with the shifty eyes managed to toss a weird potion on me. It didn’t turn me into anything strange, and all my bits worked later, so I didn't worry. Hey, don't give me that look… I checked. Twice."

Snape blinked at him once, and then again. "Someone threw a potion on you and you assumed that nothing was wrong? Why didn't you come to see me then, you fool?"

"Well, it was during those touchy years where you'd slam the door in my face and made the fireplace turn me orange when I tried to floo over," Harry explained reasonably. "Plus, it was nothing…at least I didn't think so then. It was this weird pink colour. Smelled like…um…what's that scent? Kind of …fruity…woody…like…uh…that stuff you used in class."

"Now that you've narrowed it down," Snape said with a scoff. "I'll look through a few books. I'll let you know if I find any leads to your mystery potion."

Harry got to his feet, and walked to where Snape was currently hunched over a book. He leaned over, so their bodies were almost touching, so that he could feel Snape's heat, and whispered in his ear, "Thanks."

Backing off before Snape had a chance to curse him, Harry hurried out the door, rambling about having scones for tea.

~*~

"Are you sure this will cure me? I still can't look at liver without wanting to get sick all over the place from the last one." Harry was naked, again, only this time he was holding two gourds, shaking them, while standing outside in a small patch of pig manure.

Snape stood there with his arms crossed, tapping his fingers impatiently against his arm. "You're the fool that allowed himself to get doused with a Metrefious potion. You should be grateful that I own the only copy of its antidote in existence."

Harry sighed. "If you're sure…" The manure squished between his toes, and he couldn't even stop shaking his gourds to hold his nose. "And I need to be naked for this why?"

"Because," Snape replied. Harry waited for the rest, but realised after a few minutes that because was the whole of his argument. That was the one reason against which he never managed to successfully argue. So: he guessed he stayed naked.

~*~

"I'm not sure I want to tell you this one," Harry said, almost to himself. He wasn't sure if it was because the cures often had him naked and dealing with smelly stuff, or because Snape always gave him a look of disbelief. It wasn't that Snape didn't believe the story; no, more that he couldn't believe that Harry was, in fact, that stupid.

"Whyever not, Potter? I couldn't possibly think less of you."

Harry gave Snape a short laugh. He wasn't too sure about that. "It's nothing, anyhow. Moving on to the next one."

A hand curled around his chin, and turned Harry until he was facing Snape. "Tell me."

Gulping, Harry nodded. He wondered if Snape realised that his lips were quite nice, kissable, even. He further wondered what Snape would do to him if he said as much. The last time he mentioned something like that, Snape doused him with some saltpeter concoction, grumbling about young men with bodies that responded to everything, including the breeze. Harry was quite sure he wanted to avoid something that prevented him from getting it up for a week.

"It was like this," Harry managed to squeak out as soon as Snape let go of him. Even as he told his tale about four wizards, blue sparkling spells, and an old abandoned factory, he could feel the imprint of Snape's hand on his face.

~*~


Harry panted as Snape rubbed against him, biting a small path along his neck. "So, uh, what is this helping?"

Pulling back, Snape gave him a withering glance. Harry didn't suppose it worked, though, since he was still completely hard, and his hips hadn't found the will to stop moving against Snape's. "What are you blathering on about?"

There was something about the taste of Snape's neck that made Harry almost forget to answer the question. He licked at it a little before murmuring against it. "You were talking about a potential cure not ten minutes ago."

Snape responded with a snort, before grabbing his face and kissing him. That, Harry decided, was as good a response as any. Snape sucked on his tongue, bit at his bottom lip, and made these delightful grunting noises that made his cock throb. Snape ground their bodies together and Harry shivered when he felt Snape's breath gust against his skin.

"The only thing this cures is—" Harry began, but blue balls was cut off by Snape's mouth on his again. Snape's grip on him tightened, and he could scarcely breathe, distantly realising that he didn't even care if he did. His everything tightened, and he came, pants sticking to his skin as Snape continued to move against him.

When Snape finally pulled back, he managed to pant out, "If you finish that sentence, I will hex you so you never get it up again."

~*~

Groaning as he got to his feet, Harry slowly made his way to the kitchen. Snape had left an hour or so ago to get some supplies, and he was left to his own devices. He'd taken care to not show just how drained he'd been feeling since he'd come, and it was getting harder. Some days, he barely had the energy to get out of bed. Since Snape was usually holed up in his library, he didn't see Harry until they ate, then finished the evening with Snape's tea and Harry’s tales.

Holding his plate in one hand, and his tea in the other, Harry slowly made his way to the table. The door opened, and he turned, distracted, losing his balance. Before he could fall, Snape was at his side, gripping his arm to hold him up.

"Are you drunk, Potter?" Snape asked him as he snatched the plate and cup away before he could either drop them or their contents.
Harry sat down heavily, and placed his head on the cold surface. "I'm just tired, Snape."

They sat in silence, and Harry managed to look up to see a look of concern flash across Snape's face. It was so quick that he almost missed it entirely. "I'm fine."

"If you were fine, walking across the kitchen floor wouldn't be a chore."

Putting a bright smile on his face, Harry shrugged his shoulders and busied himself with eating his lunch. Snape didn't say anything further, and stole half his sandwich from his plate instead. If they both ignored it, they could pretend it wasn't happening.

~*~

"There must be something you're forgetting," Snape said, rolling to his side.

Harry cracked open an eye, and looked at Snape. Figures Snape wouldn't let a little thing like afterglow ruin any potential fact-finding mission. "Mhmm?"

"Are you even listening to me?" Snape's voice was sharp, but his face was shadowed in the darkness in the room, and Harry couldn't see the reprimand on his face.

Sighing, Harry rolled closer to Snape, daring to rest his head on Snape's chest. "I heard you. 'M just tired. Can we do this later?"

"We're running out of time," Snape pressed, holding Harry closer to him, despite it.

Harry lifted his head up, giving Snape a mischievous smile. "If we only have so much time…" He stretched to place a kiss on Snape's lips, feeling the way Snape's heart beat faster against his chest.

"Harry," Snape murmured against his lips, but any further refusal was lost when he ran his fingers through Snape's hair, pressing his tongue in Snape's mouth. Talk could wait.

~*~

Harry wasn't exactly sure what time it was, but it felt as if he'd been asleep for both a minute and a week simultaneously. Closing his eyes, he wondered if he could get enough energy to make it to the loo in one trip. Before he came to a decision, he could hear Snape's voice echo from downstairs.

"I know that the information is of a sensitive nature, but I must know more about the details of Mister Potter's career the last eight years," Snape asked, rather impatiently.

There was only one person that Snape could be talking to. Shit. Harry debated whether he could get out of the house before Snape could get to him. He tried to sit all the way up but fell back against the pillow after a few seconds. Shit.

"He told you?" Kingsley sounded surprised. "The magics should have prevented that."

"Oath magic?" Snape pressed. "That could explain some things," he added, almost to himself.

"Well, it's important that no one is aware of his role," Kingsley explained.

"Obviously. Do you take me for a fool?" Snape sounded even more impatient before. "What exactly is the nature of the oath?"

Kingsley paused before responding. "Harry swore an oath to never reveal his position at the Daily Prophet, even after his contract ends. If he does so, he loses his position, pays a hefty penalty, and has perpetual symptoms that mimic food poisoning."

Harry closed his eyes and counted. One. Two. Three. Fou-

"What did you say?" Snape was angry. Harry could hear it in the bite of every word he spoke.

"They claim that it's important that the readers trust that the restaurants aren't unduly influencing the reviews. No matter what I think about it, the Ministry For Magic has been performing this oath for decades," Kingsley explained hastily.

It was quiet again for a few minutes before Harry heard Snape bid Kingsley goodbye. He waited for the sound of Snape's footsteps coming to the bedroom, trying to prepare his explanation in a way that wouldn't sound stupid, but only managed to reiterate the mantra shit, shit, shit, over and over in his head.


"You're a bloody food critic?" Snape asked, with an expression that Harry didn't know what to make of quite yet.

Harry looked at the wand in Snape's hand, and debated on the best way to say what he needed to say. "According to the terms of my contract—"

"Shut it, Potter," Snape bit out, sitting heavily in the chair by the bed. "Bloody hell."

"I suppose I should tell you," Harry said absently, fixated on Snape's hands, "The truth and all."

"You think so?" Snape yelled, with this high-pitched tone that normally would have made Harry laugh, if there were anything funny about what he had to say next. "I bloody well have spent the last few bloody months making potion after potion, spell after spell, every bloody damned thing I could think of to save your ungrateful arse, and now you just suppose you should tell me the truth?"

Harry blinked. "It's not like I'm not grateful. It's that I didn't know how to tell you the truth at first, and after a while, the truth didn't seem all that important."

"Not important?" Snape asked, though his tone was slightly more calm than before. "I think I should be the judge of that, if I'm to waste any more of my time trying to figure out what's wrong with you."

Harry was silent for a moment, which was apparently a moment too long. Snape had a grip on his wrist, and was forcing him to look him in the face.

"You know what's wrong with you." It wasn’t really a question, but Snape supposed it was obvious at that point. Harry nodded once, and Snape's hand tightened for a minute before he pulled away completely, almost slumping in the chair.

"If you know what's wrong," Snape continued, "and you didn't say anything it can only mean one of two things. Either you wanted to spend an enormous span of time on a really poor practical joke, or you know there's nothing that can be done for whatever it is. Now, even you at your worst, thinking the worst of me, would never be cruel, so I'm left with the conclusion that it's the latter."

"I realised what it was about six months after I'd killed Voldemort," Harry said in a quiet voice, not wanting to remember everything else that came with memory of when he knew. "At first, it didn't seem like it was much of an issue. I still had time. I felt good. But as the years passed, I felt it more and more, until I was at the point where I couldn't ignore it, and then I came to you."

"What is it, exactly," Snape asked, pinning him with a look, which Harry returned, undaunted.

"You remember how he was desperate at the end," Harry asked, "and how he was willing to try just about anything to kill me, even trying to develop new spells?"

Snape nodded, but didn't speak. He would figure it out before Harry finished spelling it all out, but finally, Harry just wanted to say it.

"He was working on that spell to concentrate emotion and intent in order to make the Unforgivables stronger. Well, while he was drawing from me, I kinda stabbed him and he died. Thing is, he kept what he drew out of me."

Harry could see the comprehension dawning on Snape. "He kept a piece of you, and took it with him when he died."

Nodding, Harry continued, "Didn't you noticed how I'd changed after it was all over?"

"You were calmer than before. Still just as reckless, but calmer."

Harry snorted at that. "Calmer? I don't get angry. Yes, I can be irritable, but it passes quickly. I've not felt rage since that day. However, I've also felt my life slowly draining away since that day, too."

They were both silent for a moment. Harry didn't know what else to say and Snape seemed to be processing everything with a growing level of resignation. There was nothing to be done, and they both knew it, but he could tell Snape never wanted to give up. He didn't believe in giving up.

"Wait," Snape said after a few moments. "How in the bloody hell did you manage to be a food critic for that long with absolutely no anger?"

Harry looked at Snape for a moment before the laughter started bubbling inside of him. It seemed so utterly ridiculous put that way, and he couldn't help but start sniggering, despite how every chuckle wore him out more and more. "I don't know. Luck?"

"Luck," Snape repeated, almost laughing himself. "I swear sometimes that Luck is your middle name, you damnable brat."

Harry knew Snape had more questions, but he couldn't bring himself to offer the information just yet. Instead, he waited.

"How did you know I'd fall for this…this ruse?" Snape finally asked, looking utterly disgusted at being fooled.

Shrugging his shoulders, Harry looked down at his blanket. "I didn't, actually, I was prepared to tell you the truth if you'da pressed me. I just said some things that made me look like a right git and you sorta filled in the blanks."

Snape's jaw clenched at that and Harry wondered if he should attempt a reach at his wand, but he was too tired for that. Instead, Snape closed his eyes and let a very small smile grace his lips as he shook his head in fond exasperation. "Of all things. Stupid boy."

Harry looked up at Snape and tried a smile, but failed. "I make it an art form. Gotta admire that, if nothing else."

They were silent for a few moments, and Harry wanted to reach out, and hold Snape's hand, but had a feeling it'd be rebuffed.

"If you knew that it was hopeless, why did you even come here? Why did you ask for my help?" Snape asked, bitterness tainting every word, grabbing Harry's hand despite it.

This time Harry managed to give him a weak smile, even though it took all his energy to do even that. "Because I knew you'd never stop fighting."

~*~



Thank you, reddwarfer!

Please go check out the most excellent Drabbles that have been posted so far! There are yet more to come, plus a surprise from Team Wartime, and a mod post or two before the Medal Ceremonies. ♥