Last I Saw, for serpenscript Title: Last I Saw Author:psyfic Giftee:serpenscript Word Count: 6,295 Rating: NC-17 Pairing: Snape/Harry Warnings: set during DH so Harry is of age for the UK, dub-con, first time, awkward sex, Rowling-esque Latin Disclaimer: The people and places belong to JK Rowling. What they are doing is all my fault. Please don't hurt sue me. Summary: While attempting research on the last horcruxes, Harry winds up trapped in Grimmauld Place's library... with Snape. Sex with his hated enemy is the only way to freedom, but can Harry trust him with his life, much less his body?
Last I Saw
Harry knew it was a mistake as soon as he stepped through the doorway into Grimmauld's library.
Magic tingled through him, centering on his groin, and he could not fight the gasp this elicited.
The room's occupant wandlessly summoned his Invisibility Cloak, as well as his wand, or rather, Hermione's wand, and after a moment, his knapsack, without a word, and he found himself glaring at two coal-black eyes.
"Snape!" Harry would have attacked, except he had already been disarmed. "What are you doing here, you traitor?"
Snape lifted a brow as he put the wand in his pocket and tucked the robe and knapsack on the chair behind him, leaning back on it. He seemed perfectly relaxed, though wary.
"What did you see in my Pensieve your fifth year?"
Harry frowned, still angry. "What?"
"You heard me. Answer the question."
"I don't take orders from you, Snape, and I don't have to ans-"
"Then how do I know I'm truly dealing with Harry John Potter, and not some Polyjuiced impersonator sent to trap me, or someone under some spell or enchantment?"
"Fine." Harry seethed, resentful. "It's Harry James Potter and I saw my father hoist you upside down in the air and when my mother tried to defend you, you called her a-"
"That will do." A muscle twitched in Snape's face, but he merely gestured to the chair before his own. "Sit. We've not much time and I daresay neither of us is supposed to be here."
Harry did not indicate why he was there. It was bad enough that Ron had left because he had no clue where to search for further horcruxes. Today Harry had convinced the grief-stricken Hermione he was going to search for food and news. With his Invisibility Cloak hidden in his knapsack, he had, instead, made the decision to come to Grimmauld of all places, to see if he could find anything useful out in the library, or perhaps by listening in on any Death Eater meetings that might be going on. He knew she would not have allowed him to do this, so he had merely kept his idea to himself. It was something he had to do, before she left him, too. He had to find something out, but there had been no Death Eaters, and he had thought the place was deserted, until now.
"You never answered me. What are you doing here?"
"One of my colleagues cast a rare spell at the school. I believe one of the books here has the counter-spell. Traditional methods have failed and I thought I would investigate this particular avenue before anyone is sent to St. Mungo's."
Harry's eyes narrowed. "Your colleague cast the spell on someone, didn't he? A student?"
"She, and, regrettably, yes."
"Really swell circles you travel in, Snape."
"I am not here to discuss my social standing with you. I was reading the book I needed and you entered the room like the ignorant Gryffindor you are, without checking the doorway for spells or curses."
"So that was your doing?"
Snape frowned. "What?"
Harry indicated the doorway with a twitch of his jaw. "The spell on the door."
Snape's eyes narrowed and he did not answer the question, merely waved his wand over Harry. "Revelo!"
A nimbus of violent pink energy swirled around Harry, and this time it was quite clear where it centred as he gasped and thrust his hips, and Severus grew very pale, indeed.
"That bloody witch!"
Harry was blinking and fighting the erection that threatened with the second burst of whatever the spell was that had hit him.
"What?"
Snape closed his eyes tightly and cursed. He finally summoned a book from the shelves and flipped a few chapters in before levitating it to Harry, who took it uncertainly.
"That will answer your question."
Harry read a bit, then grew pale, too.
"What? A sexual locking mechanism?"
Snape nodded, still not looking at Harry, and holding the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger as if he had a headache.
"But... how-"
"Keep reading."
Harry huffed, but did and finally put the book down with a soft thud, sitting heavily on the couch before Snape's chair.
"So... I have to have sex with whoever cast this-"
"Not quite. In this case, since I recognize Bellatrix's handiwork, it requires sex with a Death Eater before you can walk free."
"What happens if I just walk out?"
"You can try, but I doubt you would appreciate what happens."
Harry went to the door and suddenly felt the tingle of magic about his groin and another tingle over his whole body and to his chagrin, found himself naked. He clutched at his privates with both hands in dismay, before slinking to stand behind the couch. He grabbed a pillow from it and held it in front of him, even as Snape smirked.
"I believe you have your answer, and, if I'm not terribly mistaken, an erection, as well."
"Go to hell!"
"Much as I am enjoying your predicament, Mr. Potter, I don't have time for witless repartee. We have a problem."
"Yeah? I don't see you having a problem, Snape. I'm the one stuck here without his wand or clothes."
"I said you would not appreciate what happens."
"That's not a warning. Where are my clothes?"
"Knowing Bellatrix and her sense of humour, they are probably outside the front door."
Harry grimaced, worried about his clothes and his predicament; Snape was right; he did have an erection-a powerful one that he could do nothing to alleviate.
"Well, I'm not having sex with you," he finally snarled, notifying both Snape and his overeager teenage body.
Snape lifted a brow. "I estimate two hours is all we have."
"What happens in two hours?"
"Dinner in the Great Hall. As Headmaster, it will raise too many eyebrows if I am not there."
"Great. Look, let me have my wand. I need to make myself something to wear."
Snape seemed amused. "I rather think you're better off as you are. Saves time."
Harry flushed an angry red. "I am not having sex with you!"
"So you say."
With that, Snape lifted his book back up and began to read, ignoring him. Harry seethed, trying to ignore his cock, which throbbed hopefully against the pillow, and silently cursed.
An hour and fifteen minutes later, Harry had finished wandering the library in the hopes of finding something to wear, finally giving up and tearing a section of curtain down and wrapping it around his waist. He then picked up the book Snape had given him and re-read the entry. It had not changed; only sex could release him.
"Why aren't the other Death Eaters here?"
Snape lifted his head from his reading. "They were here for a few days after you made your ill-advised visit to the Ministry, but they decided no one from the Order would dare show up again, so they left the place alone. Bellatrix and, I believe, MacNair, both set spells in place. Bellatrix's were specifically for you. MacNair's were rather more prosaic-spells against apparating and the like. Bellatrix does return every few days to check on her handiwork." He set down the book now and looked at Harry unflinchingly. "So if you continue to behave in this stubbornly idiotic-dare I say entirely Gryffindor-manner you will find yourself her sexual toy in a day or two."
Harry sneered, annoyed. "Better her than you."
Snape's eyes narrowed. "Don't assume I wish to have anything to do with you or any other foolish Gryffindor, boy. I was not the one to drag you into this folly."
"No, but you'll take advantage of it, won't you?" Harry was furious, knowing there was little for it, and wondering if it would be worth it to just hang around and wait for Bellatrix to have her way with him, then turn him over to Voldemort.
"No. If you wish to leave this place, if you wish your wand and items back, then you will come to me. I will not approach you." Snape lifted up his book again, patently ignoring Harry. He might have passed for unruffled if one did not see the small vein throbbing on his temple.
There was a long silence before Harry finally demanded, "How do I know you won't do this... this thing, and then turn me over to your foul master anyway?"
Snape looked up from over his book. "You don't."
Harry considered some more. It was confusing. Things did not add up. Snape should have already turned him over to Voldemort. He was not leaving; he had even volunteered information without too much prodding. He had tested him at the very beginning, to confirm he was really Harry Potter.
Harry sighed, wishing he were better at chess, because the man was clearly several moves ahead of him. However, was he foe or grudging ally? If so, why would he be willing to help Harry? Didn't he hate him? He had killed Dumbledore, but... Harry felt uneasy.
The Headmaster had trusted him all the way to the end, but... Harry looked up and stared at Snape again. This man was not the one who had murdered Albus before him so many months ago. This man-
A flash of light heralded the appearance of Winky, astonishing Harry and making Snape's lip curl.
"Headmaster Snape, sir! Professor McGonagall is asking for you, Headmaster, sir. Winky did as you asked. Winky told her you is sleeping. Professor McGonagall told me to wake you, so you can get ready for dinner. Dinner in half an hour, sir."
Snape nodded, but the house elf was not done.
"Headmaster...Professor Dumbledore's portrait, sir, he asked me to tell you Professor Black's portrait was trying to contact the Granger girl again and Harry Potter and the youngest Weasley boy. He asked me to tell you it was dark and no one could hear Professor Black."
Snape sniffed, eyes not leaving Harry's as he responded tersely, "Thank you, Winky. That will be all."
Winky nodded and disappeared in a flash, never once registering Harry's presence behind her. He rounded on Snape.
"You fraud!"
"You fool!" Snape moved so fast Harry could scarcely believe it, but soon he was pressed back against the couch, Snape atop him, one warm, firm hand feeling its way under the bit of curtain he was wearing, the other pinning his wand arm down.
Harry stared into those gleaming black eyes, stunned, and all he could think to say was, "what happened to not approaching me?"
A flash of something like fear, or perhaps disgust, flickered through that dark gaze, but it was replaced with anger. Harry arched instinctively as his bollocks were gently squeezed and struggled to move, but could not budge against the heavier man.
"We are out of time, Potter, and if you must be buggered in order to gain you your freedom and keep you from the hands of my colleagues, then... needs must."
Harry's bollocks were released and that firm hand gripped his cock. He shuddered as his half-hard cock, never fully losing interest since the earlier magic surge had passed through it, pushed into Snape's fist, swelling to full hardness.
"Shite!"
"Have you ever done this? Or anything," Snape demanded.
Harry shook his head, suddenly horrified. Was he really going to do this? Let Dumbledore's murderer bugger him? But Dumbledore... Winky said... his portrait is giving Snape advice. Harry arched up again, this time trying to push Snape off, but the man muttered something under his breath, and Harry felt a tingle of magic that caused him to instantly relax. Nearly all of him, anyway, except his cock which remained stiff as a stick in Snape's grasp.
"Bastard," he spat, humiliated now, as that hand gathered the copious lubrication that had dripped from him and then slid down to coat his entrance. Despite Harry's fears and reservations, Snape seemed to know what he was doing. It felt far too good, and Harry suddenly resented the weeks of enforced celibacy, with no time for more than quick and perfunctory wanks in the loo before bed wherever they made camp.
"One point for spirit, but nine points deducted for incorrect conclusion," Snape panted, pulling his hand free to grab his wand and wave it down, muttering something else under his breath that Harry thought sounded like 'oleum.'
Whatever it was, Harry suddenly felt an odd fullness down there, and he cringed as something began dripping from him. This time when the fingers touched him, they slid easily inside, even as he choked back horror and arousal and shame.
"Fuck!"
"Indeed." Snape lowered his head and pressed inward, fingers oddly careful, even gentle.
He twirled his fingers in a circle, stretching Harry's opening and Harry could only cry out. He wasn't sure what he cried out, but was sure it was "No!" or perhaps, "Stop!" He was unaware his voice had a sobbing quality. He was unaware Snape's face twitched each time he heard it, since his head was down and hair covered his expression.
"Easy."
"Fuck you, you bastard, you fucking bastard," Harry sobbed, feeling himself arching up, trying to press his cock against Snape's thigh, wanting more than anything not to feel the spark of increasing pleasure that was emanating from within him, each time those fingers stroked in a certain area. Was it magic? It had to be. It was making him crave the sensation, crave more. "You bastard..."
The fingers slipped free of him and Snape pulled back enough for Harry to see what he did, although he continued to hold his wand arm down. Whatever spell he had used was still working to keep Harry from fighting, but it didn't leave him completely immobile and Snape was clearly not taking any chances. With a wave of his wand the many buttons on his trouser placket became unfastened, and soon his cock came sliding out of the opening. It was heavy, but soft.
Harry frowned. He had thought Snape was ready to rape him. Shouldn't he be hard?
"Conduro," Snape said in a terse, choked voice, and Harry saw his cock instantly spring forth, suddenly thick and plum red, so hard it was nearly flat against his belly.
Without looking at Harry, Snape cast the other spell again. It was 'Oleum' that he'd said, because the energy spat from his wand to his cock and he could see the drips of a shining substance begin to ooze down that veiny skin. Harry could not look away as those long fingers smoothed the oil over that lengthy shaft.
"Just try to push me out," Snape murmured as he slipped back into place, this time using his free hand to lift one of Harry's legs up and position himself. "It will make it easier."
"Shite!"
The sensation this time was worse, bigger, tearing, Harry screamed and Snape forced his mouth down to smother it. It was not a kiss in any sense of the word, and Harry immediately began to try to bite him. Snape pulled his head back, those black eyes holding a tortured expression, even as his lower body carefully slid in deeper.
"Shite!"
"Easy. I... I think penetration will be enough. I hope... soon, Potter."
He surged forward and Harry felt something heavy and warm, covered with soft, springy hair, press against his buttocks. Then Snape swallowed hard and grit his teeth, pulling out completely.
He swiftly threw his robe over his lap and waved his wand at Harry and the door.
"Go. See if that was enough."
Harry blinked sweat from startled eyes and pushed down the bit of curtain that provided him scant modesty. He looked to Snape pointedly as he sat up.
"I need the wand. It's not mine and I have to return it," he muttered.
"For bloody well's sake, Potter, try the sodding door," Snape spat, face nearly scarlet with anger, or perhaps something more.
Harry nodded, still puzzled, still angry, and went to the door. All too soon, he was shot backward, flat on his back on the couch and entirely naked, his erection twice as hard as it had been before. Harry cursed soundly, even as Snape did.
"So. We must complete it, then. She will die for this," Snape murmured, having paled a bit when Harry flew to the couch.
Harry closed his eyes, struggling to come to terms with everything. Snape had told him the truth, and he had intended to let him go... unless it was all some sick prank just so he could get Harry to ask to be fucked.
Harry was not stupid, though. The man had not been eager or hard or even, if one counted his body language then and now, willing. Which meant... Snape was still on their side. Even if he had killed-
"Just... get it over with," he finally muttered.
Harry spread his legs and pulled his knees back, keeping his eyes tightly closed. His instincts had never failed him before and he trusted them now, even if he had never felt more ashamed and disgusted in his life.
"Potter..."
"Just do it! I need to get back, and so do you."
Snape could not argue, and finally, he pushed back his robes, his cock still hard as it had been and approached the Boy Who Lived.
"I didn't want this."
Harry's eyes opened and he winced as he saw the tall man with the rearing erection before him.
"Yeah, well, neither did I. It was your bloody friends that did this! So fix it!"
Snape said nothing, merely putting one knee on the couch and as he leaned over, Harry closed his eyes and turned his face away again.
"Never think I wanted this, Harry," he murmured, so softly Harry wasn't sure he had heard him, and decided he hadn't since there was no way Snape, the greasy, foul git, would ever call him by his given name.
Then he had no time to think as his legs were hoisted onto strong, if bony, shoulders, and that heavy heated thickness was pushing into him, even as one hand began to stroke his aching, straining flesh.
"Shite!"
This time Snape did not stop, did not pause, just thrust in and out as he frigged Harry's incredibly thick, bright red cock...
He did not have much time, Snape knew. Minerva was expecting him at the High Table and Harry had to return. He put his knee on the couch and leaned over, trying not to feel impatient or angry (or hurt, some corner of his mind niggled at him) as Harry pointedly closed his eyes and turned his face away. Snape swallowed, and his voice was so dry and tight he imagined the young man did not even hear him as he spoke.
"Never think I wanted this, Harry."
Then there was no help for it. He hoisted those well-muscled, hair-covered legs atop his shoulders and tried to ignore the musky, heady scent of arousal wafting from between them as he slowly began to push his throbbing, still slippery length within that tightly clenched arse.
"Shite!"
The young man's pained expression made Snape swallow again, and without thinking, he reached down to stroke Harry's cock, hoping to ease any pain with pleasure. It would be over soon, he knew. The sensations were nearly overwhelming.
"Fuck!"
Harry convulsed beneath him and he felt the heated pulse of blood-warm fluid streak his hand, and the clenching around his own hardness and grit back a moan as orgasm abruptly overtook him. He gasped and thrust convulsively a few times, forcing every bit of his essence deep within that slick heated orifice, trying not to recall how long it had been since he'd indulged his bodily needs. He was especially trying not to think about the fact that he had just, finally, lost his own virginity to the last person he had ever expected to be with.
The shame he was feeling was almost unbearable and the blood was rushing in his head, but—silently expressing gratitude for the thorough Muggle erotic literature he had confiscated from students, and read, over the years—Snape forced himself to pull back, pull free. Before he could gather his senses, though, he felt himself being shoved, hard. Snape fell heavily onto his back, onto the carpet, and he saw his wand pass by him in a small, pale hand. He struggled to clear his head and move before Potter left with his wand, but the boy was not leaving.
Potter was just outside the door now, and holding his wand, he called out, "Accio clothes!"
There was an odd noise, the sound of a door opening and closing and soon Harry's trousers, pants, socks, trainers and a faded tee shirt and dilapidated jacket sailed into the room. Snape had only just managed to sit, covering his lap with a fold of his robe, still woozy from events.
Harry scowled at him as he re-entered the room, waving Snape's own dark wand at him.
"Go ahead and get dressed, but if you do anything else I swear I'll hex your bollocks off."
Snape lifted a brow at this, but did not say anything, merely levering himself up and tucking himself away.
Harry dressed rapidly, and then glared at Snape.
"Well? Tell me why you're helping me when you're working for Him and... and why you killed Dumbledore."
Snape did neither, merely calling out, "Winky!"
The elf appeared in a flash.
"Tell Minerva that I am unavoidably delayed. Tell her one of my colleagues required a word with me urgently, and that I had no choice but to leave immediately. Tell her I will speak with her after dinner."
"Yes, Headmaster Snape, sir. Winky will do this."
The little elf vanished and he looked over to Potter.
"I suggest we make our way upstairs. There is a certain portrait you might wish to speak with."
"What?!"
"Harry, dear boy, there is no need to shout," Albus said reproachfully.
"I can't believe-and you asked him-and he did it!"
Snape said nothing. He had not said anything since stepping into Regulus's room and summoning his old school friend's favourite uncle into a black-framed, gilt-edged portrait on one wall.
Phineas Nigellus Black had lifted both brows at the sight of the two of them, but before he could say anything, Snape asked him to please bring Albus with him, indicating that he needed a word. Albus rapidly intuited the general situation and carefully informed Harry that not all things were as they seemed.
"Really. You are both far too lenient with this wayward boy," Black said now, eyeing Harry with distaste.
"Oh, you shut it," Harry spat.
"Now see here! I'll not have it, being spoken to this way by a young whelp! Not to mention the way that Mudbloo-"
"Don't say that word!" Snape spat, glaring at Black, who visibly blanched.
"Fine," Black said with asperity. "I can see I'm not needed here."
After Black had disappeared, Albus shook his head at Harry sadly.
"I'm terribly sorry, my boy, but events conspired against us all."
Harry's head was still reeling from what little he had learned and all its implications.
"So what now? I still don't trust him, not after what he d-"
"Things happen during war, Potter, that sometimes can't be helped. You didn't wish for that to happen, but neither did I."
Harry glared at him resentfully, cheeks flushing scarlet, and he did not look at Dumbledore as he said, "I still don't trust Snape. I don't care if he did help me. He's doing it for his own reasons."
"Cannot that be said of us all, though, my boy?"
Harry looked up now at the Headmaster and a pang shot through his heart. "Professor-just... why? Why didn't you trust me?"
"Why didn't you trust Severus? I did. I still do."
"But-"
Suddenly Dumbledore cocked his head. "I'm needed. It was good to see you, Harry. Remember what I told you once: I trust you with my life. Then remember I trusted Severus with my life and my death. I still do trust you both, my boys. Good luck."
With that, he left swiftly and Harry kept staring at the frame as if expecting him to make a reappearance. He sighed.
"I'm not sure what to do," he finally admitted. "It's all a lot to take in."
"All you need do, boy, is return to your camp," Snape said. "I will contact you in future, provide you more information and assistance, if I am able."
Harry looked up at the man he hated with a vehemence he normally reserved only for Voldemort and realized, abruptly, that his feelings were no longer so concrete. He did not entirely trust Snape, but he also did not hate him anymore. Harry finally extended his wand to him.
"You'll need this."
Snape nodded, taking his wand back and assessing the young man before him. He had grown up, he conceded; Harry Potter had finally grown up. However, he still could not allow him simply to leave.
When Harry bent to get his knapsack, Snape's face twitched and pointed his wand at the young man.
"Stupefy!"
Harry woke up on the couch of the library in Grimmauld Place; an open book he had apparently been reading was lying on his chest along with Hermione's wand. He sat up in alarm, checking his watch and sighing with relief to see it was not already after dark. Hermione, however, would be worried and furious both.
Why did he come here? He had not learnt a thing, save for some interesting spells in this book of ritualistic magic. He tucked the book into his knapsack and groaned as he realized he had not purchased any food. It would be bad enough going back late to a worried friend, but to go out on a grocery and news run and return without food...
A quick check of the kitchen revealed a mostly empty larder and a completely depleted fridge, not that Harry would trust any food the Death Eaters might have left behind. He apparated directly to the alleyway behind the market his aunt liked to use, transfigured a few empty soda bottles into Muggle bills, and purchased a few tinned items, a small box of tea, and a loaf of bread and some jam. Then he returned to the camp.
Hermione, it turned out, was still so dulled by grief she had not really noticed how long it had taken Harry. He found her napping in her bunk and sighed, putting away the groceries, putting up his knapsack and made some tea, cutting himself a slice of bread to eat with jam.
He felt like he was forgetting something, something important, but did not know what it might be. He finally opted to dig out a parchment and start listing the Horcruxes and what they were and where they had been found and see if he could make any fresh deductions.
The meeting with McGonagall took rather longer than Snape would have liked, although the tone of their meeting had been lessened by the fact he had returned in time to eat dinner, if late, in the Great Hall. Minerva, he knew, was a firm believer in appearances.
He was exhausted, physically and emotionally, by the end of the day and he just hoped his attention would not be required by anyone else, friend or foe, when he slipped into the bedroom at the top of the stairs to the Headmaster's Office.
He lay back, still in his robes, and sighed with relief.
For once, he did not feel any of his usual aches, aside from the sore area on his hip and elbow from when Potter had shoved him to the floor. He felt shame flood him at the thought that the biochemical residue from the hormone surges that occurred to the body during sex were responsible for his currently pain free condition. It had been often enough in his past that he had self-pleasured not out of any sexual need, but for the pain-relieving benefits.
Damn that boy!
However, he was no longer a boy. Potter was, Snape knew now quite intimately, a young man. His face burned even hotter with distress at the memories that assailed him.
He finally swore furiously and sat up in bed, conjuring a vial, and pulling his memory of that afternoon out of his mind. He would never be able to sleep otherwise.
* * * * * *
Six months later...
"Look. At. Me."
Harry sat straight up with a gasp. He breathed heavily as the words filled his mind, whispered in Snape's voice, as if reminding him of something he had forgotten.
He looked over to his companions and smiled at the sight of Ron and Hermione holding hands as they slept side by side in front of the Gryffindor common room fireplace.
He got up then and headed out of the tower. He knew what he needed to do.
The Headmaster's office still admitted him without difficulty. It was empty, and somehow, without knowing how, Harry knew Professor McGonagall was in her own quarters as Head of House, even if this was technically her office now.
He made his way past the office and the mostly sleeping portraits and up the stairs to the Headmaster's bedroom. It had been Snape's bedroom for the past school year, and Harry stood, surveying it.
He had not changed anything that Dumbledore had left, apparently. Everything, from the colours to the wall hangings, even to the empty stand where Fawkes must have perched, was still in place.
He was keeping Albus's memory alive...
Harry made his way unerringly to a chest of drawers where he selected the second to the bottom drawer to his right and slid it open. A purple glow of magical energy shot forth, touched his hand and dissipated.
Somehow, Harry knew that if it had been anyone else, the drawer might have closed shut again or the contents might have vanished.
A small stack of correspondence was in there, tied together with a ribbon of Gryffindor red and gold. Atop it was what he was looking for. A small vial filled with swirling silvery memory.
Harry took it and the stack of letters and headed back to the office. He noticed the Pensieve still held Snape's prior memories and he retrieved the flask they had been in before and gently collected them and put them back in it. Then he emptied the memory from the vial in and without hesitation, touched his hand to the silvery surface of Snape's thoughts.
He fell hard right into Grimmauld Library, just in time to see himself enter the room and confront Snape.
Harry frowned. What was this?
It seemed somehow familiar, but he did not remember it. He watched now as events transpired, slowly filling with horror as he watched himself... them both...
Harry cringed to see Snape buggering him, on the couch, even as his past self arched and cried out and came in that fist. Worse, he found himself uncomfortably hard.
He continued to watch and followed his past self and Snape up the stairs where he watched Albus's portrait tell him nothing other than that Snape was to be trusted, that he had killed him on his own orders. Why hadn't he remembered? Harry's expression grew dark as he realized Snape must have Obliviated him.
Then what he said... it must have been a Memory Recollection Charm. Harry knew about those from Hermione. They were gentle, usually phrase-encoded charms that helped a person recollect something important, but in a gradual manner, not all at once, which was usually traumatic.
Harry remembered the intensity with which Snape had told him "Look at me." with his last breath. Even to the end, the man was giving him clues.
He broke free from his reverie just in time to watch Snape stupefy the memory Harry...
Snape pushed his wand directly to the boy's temple and bent over him, whispering in his ear.
"Abditum commemorare."
Snape sank back onto his heels, sitting on his haunches as he looked at Harry lying before him. He sighed.
"This is a good a time as any to tell you, in case I don't have another chance, there are letters your mother once gave me. I think you should have them. You'll know why by the time you see this. You'll find them under this memory, which I'll leave in my chest of drawers, second drawer from the bottom on the right hand side." Snape sneered slightly. "Doubtless she would be horrified at what I've done. It would not be the first time. Doubtless you are, as well, and I hope this memory serves to remind you of what I'm about to say before your Gryffindor sensibilities try to colour events in a different light.
"Consider this as an antidote to whatever maudlin things you may have come to feel or hear or that Albus might share, or that you will learn-I am not a nice man, Potter. I do not deserve whatever flowery accolades Albus might find appropriate. I do not deserve posthumous medals, nor do I desire such things anymore. My sole goal, which I hope I have helped accomplish in some small way, is the death of the madman that gave me this."
Snape ripped up his sleeve to reveal the black and malevolent-looking Dark Mark.
"I can never be free of him-I know this now-until I die. Therefore, I do so with equanimity. I do not expect to survive what is to come. I do not expect you to survive it, either, although, you have made a habit of cheating death before. If you do so again, I would not be displeased."
He paused then, looking uncertain and, oddly haunted.
"Perhaps this will be some small measure of salve against any injured sensibilities you might have over what has happened: I've... I had never done anything, either."
Then he glared straight at Harry, as if he could actually see him.
"That is the most you will get from me, Potter. Do not expect praise for happenings that are beyond your control. The fact you still live despite every effort by the forces against us both is solely due to fate and chance. Try to remember that, if you should ever start believing what the masses are likely to say about you, should you survive."
Snape then cast a general healing charm over Harry's stupefied form, and levitated him back downstairs and atop the couch, where he lifted the book he had been reading and laid it atop Harry's chest. He carefully positioned the Granger girl's exquisitely carved wand, also.
Then he moved back and studied the young man before him. A muscle in his face twitched and Harry could read the regret and shame and guilt in that normally stoic face, those solemn, black eyes. Snape nodded, holding his wand tightly.
"Commemorare abditum," he murmured, completing the charm, then in a shout that sounded as pained as it was angry, he cried out, "Look at me!"
The figure on the couch stirred.
The crack of apparation was loud and the room dissolved as the sleeping Harry on the couch woke up with a start.
Harry staggered back from the Pensieve.
"More memories, my boy?"
Harry blinked over at Dumbledore, who looked at him sagely from above his half-moon spectacles. He nodded. Then a thought occurred and he looked around.
"Professor, where is Snape's portrait?"
Dumbledore frowned. "Why would he be here, Harry? Or are you saying-"
"He's dead," Harry blurted, suddenly feeling chilled and uncertain. "He died in the Shrieking Shack. Voldemort killed him."
The old Headmaster looked sad. "Then I don't know, Harry. He should have appeared here, then. All Headmasters who die in office, or who held office for a long time, automatically appear shortly after their death."
Harry considered this, disturbed. "Nagini bit him. Is it possible he's not dead?"
"How many times?" Harry frowned, and Dumbledore clarified, "how many times did Nagini bite Severus?"
"Oh, just once. In the neck. He lost a lot of blood."
Albus smiled. "Indeed. So did Arthur when he was bitten. Except Arthur was bitten several times and his treatment was delayed. Severus, however, is a younger and fitter man. He is also a preternaturally cautious one. For example, he's been taking anti-venin for the last two years, just in case of such an even-"
Harry suddenly bolted out of the room, leaving behind everything in his haste. The canny old headmaster merely smiled.
"Will he survive, do you think?"
Dumbledore looked to Phineas, who waited for an answer.
"If I know Fawkes, and we were together for many decades, Severus is healing even as we speak."
"You sneaky conniver!"
"Why thank you, Phineas. Coming from a Slytherin, that is high praise, indeed."
"You thought of everything. I never thought I would say this, but... my hat's off, Albus. You are a master chess player."
"Yes, well," Albus sighed. "I owed Severus a life debt. Two, in fact. Now one has been paid." He sighed again, looking just a bit worried. "I do hope he'll forgive me for it."