Fic: Spoils of War (Snarry)

[ciraarana]

Title: Spoils of War
Author: CiraArana
Pairing(s): Harry/Ginny, Harry/Severus; also mentions Ron/Hermione and other canon pairings
Rating: R
Word count: ~ 11,000
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction set in the Harry Potter universe - all recognisable characters and settings are the property of J. K. Rowling and her associates. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is made from this work.
Warnings 1: het, slash, violence, blood, sex, nastiness in the past, AU
Warning 2: Attention! This story is a carnivore! It has eaten five betas so far. Please, do not attempt to proof-read - you won’t make it past the second chapter, and I’ll never hear from you again.
Summary: The war has changed Harry. His loved ones have to deal with that.
Author’s Note: In response to the_flic's pleading for more Snarry, I've decided to post this fic. It's not very good, I'm afraid. It was my first attempt at Snarry, written pre-DH. The essential idea behind the story - the idea that sparked this fic - isn't as well-explored and clear as I wanted it to be. I think. You might think otherwise.



Spoils of War

One

He stood in the shadow of the house and looked out into the brightly lit garden. A large table had been placed in its centre; around the large wooden oval sat several people, laughing and chatting. They had not yet noticed him, and he took his time simply watching them, revelling in their presence, their survival.

Looking at them like that, from a little distance, and seeing them joke and laugh, no one would suspect them of having suffered during the past war. And yet, at a closer look, the scars were painfully visible.

At the top of the table sat Mr Weasley, now completely bald and thinner than ever, jumping at every loud noise. Mrs Weasley, with her completely white hair and the deep lines of sorrow and grief in her face, stood at his shoulder, shovelling potatoes on her husband’s plate.

Then, there were Bill Weasley and his wife, both looking rather pale. His lycanthropy had proved stronger than expected.

Next to them sat Charlie Weasley on a cushioned chair. His legs would never fully recover from being smashed into a pulp by a giant’s fist.

Percy Weasley had not made it. Deeply mourned by his mother, and not missed by the other members of his family, he had died during the last Death Eater raid on the ministry.

George Weasley had, astonishingly, survived without so much as a scratch, but they had never found out what had happened to Fred. He looked like a victim of a Dementor, and most of the time he acted like one as well. Only when George left him alone for too long, he would prove that he was not dead to the world. His head with its empty eyes and slack jaw turning this way and that, and his arms flailing around aimlessly were a horrible and deeply disturbing sight.

At the lower end of the table sat the three youngest members of the group, talking happily to each other. Ron, firmly clasping one of Hermione’s severely scarred hands, grinned at something she had said to him. He had made no complaints about his missing eye and thought he looked rather dashing with the eye-patch. A belief that Hermione had happily supported.

The silent, invisible observer grinned. They had finally come out and admitted their attraction to each other. As soon as Hermione’s several injuries were entirely healed, they would be married. Mrs Weasley had cried for almost thirty minutes when they had told her.

Opposite them, with her back to him, sat Ginny, her red hair a glorious halo around her head. She had not been injured, having not been involved in the battles her family had fought. But the war had left its traces on her as well. One could read the story of many sleepless nights, of her fears and worries in the fine lines around her eyes and mouth. Aged before her time. As were all of them.

But alive.

His heart clenched and he sighed deeply. If only things were different … But that was a futile wish. Nothing would change, no matter how much he wished it. He had to accept it. He had no choice.

Although, if he was being honest with himself, he didn’t mind all that much. Deep, deep inside, he was … perhaps not happy, but satisfied. But he still dreaded what he had to do.

He took a deep breath and stepped out of the shadow.

Charlie saw him first.

‘Harry!’ he shouted and waved. ‘What kept you?’

Heads turned into his direction and several people stepped forward to great him. For the next minutes he was hugged and kissed, had his shoulders slapped and his thinness bemoaned. Finally, he was allowed to sit down on the empty chair next to Ginny’s. He smiled at her as he slid into it and she promptly shuffled her chair closer to his.

Mrs Weasley put a plate in front of him, piled high with potatoes and pork chop and carrots. Then she kept guard over him, and when he had made his way through the food on his plate, she promptly gave him a second helping.

They sat together until the sun began to set, eating, drinking, and swapping stories. George finished off the dessert with a short show of fireworks that brought tears to his parents’ eyes. They swore they had seen Fred smile when a cracker had exploded the fruit cake.

As the shadows grew longer, Mrs Weasley lit up several torches they had planted throughout the garden. They cast a lilac and pale blue and silvery-golden light over the place. A faint scent of lavender filled the air. Obviously, Fleur had chosen them.

Finally the last morsel was eaten. The table was cleared off plates and bowls, and everybody sat back, nursing a glass of wine or a bottle of Butterbeer. Conversation became low, and words were few and far between. They were all too full of food to say much.

Harry was gazing sightlessly at a pale blue torch, sipping his Butterbeer. He felt sleepy yet restless. He could feel Ginny warm by his side; she was sitting very close to him. Every time either of them moved, their bodies brushed together.

At first, Harry had thought these touches accidental, but a close look at Ginny had made it clear to him there was nothing accidental about it. She used every opportunity to touch him, and it made him feel uneasy and restless. His skin prickled, and he had to consciously stop himself from squirming.

But it seemed that he wasn’t the only one who was fidgety. Opposite them, Hermione kept shooting glances below her lashes at Mrs Weasley, at Harry, at Ron. Harry wondered why and wished she would stop. He sipped his Butterbeer and answered Ron’s question, doing his best to ignore Ginny’s knee pressing against his.

Suddenly, Hermione put her goblet down and straightened. Ron turned to look at her.

‘The sunset is so beautiful,’ she said in a dreamy, off-hand way. Harry grinned appreciatively. She was getting good at pretending to be dreamy. Luna must have worn off on her. ‘And the air feels so nice! Let’s go for a walk.’

‘I’d love to, Hermione, but can’t.’ Charlie grinned at her from his place next to Ron. Hermione smiled apologetically, and he winked at her. ‘You go alone with Ron, eh?’

Ron was nodding. ‘Yeah, let’s go!’

He got up and tugged on Hermione’s hand.

‘You can’t go alone!’ cried Mrs Weasley shrilly. Ron stopped, and everybody looked at Mrs Weasley. She was shaking her head and wringing her hands.

Bill laid on of his hands over hers. ‘Mum, it’s okay. There’s no danger.’

Mr Weasley nodded. ‘But be careful!’ he admonished his youngest son.

Mrs Weasley kept shaking her head. ‘No, no, Arthur. They can’t go alone!’

‘Mum,’ began Charlie, but Ginny jumped up, interrupting him.

‘Harry and I’ll go with them. That’s okay, mum?’

Harry felt a sudden lurch in his stomach and rose slowly to his feet. He cast an apologetic glance at Ron, who answered with a shrug.

Mrs Weasley hesitated, then nodded.

Fleur snorted delicately. ‘I do not understand la mère,’ she complained. ‘There eez no danger that Ronald cannot deal weeth heemself. And leettle Ginny and ‘Arry are not good, comment est qu’on dit, chaperons.’

Mrs Weasley blushed, while Ginny and Hermione both glowered at Fleur, Ginny for being called little and Hermione for Fleur’s insinuation that she wasn’t capable of dealing with any danger that might arise.

Bill patted his wife’s hand.

‘Mum’s old fashioned.’ He grinned mischievously at Ron while ostensibly speaking to Fleur. ‘And probably doesn’t want grandchildren just yet.’

At this, both Mrs Weasley and Hermione blushed. Mrs Weasley choked in protest. Fleur flipped her hair and declared it was already too late for that because she was pregnant. This diverted Mrs Weasley’s attention, and the youngest members of the family used the opportunity to escape from the garden, dragging Hermione and Harry with them.

‘Oi! Watch out for the stork!’ yelled George after their retreating forms.

Two

The four friends strolled through the high grass beyond the Weasleys’ garden fence, leaving The Burrow and its lights behind. They walked in silence, listening to the rustling of the grass, the evening song of birds, and the sound of voices wafting through the dusky air.

Ron held Hermione’s hand tightly in his, supporting her slightly limping walk. Harry had stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and Ginny had linked her arm through his.

A mild summer breeze brushed over their faces. A large bug buzzed by. The last rays of the sun set fire to Ginny’s hair. Then, the orange orb sank below the tree-covered hill. The sky above darkened to a velvety deep blue.

When they were out of earshot of The Burrow, Ron suddenly stopped and grinned broadly at his sister.

‘That was hell of fast thinking Ginny, saying you and Harry’d come with us. Thanks!’

Ginny snorted. ‘That wasn’t fast thinking, Ron.’

‘Eh?’

‘We planned it,’ said Hermione calmly.

Ron blinked at the girls. ‘Huh?’

Ginny shrugged. ‘You know how mum’s been since the war. Losing Percy and Fred has made her get the oddest ideas. Like none of us can be alone, ever.’

‘But I wouldn’t’ve been alone,’ protested Ron. ‘I was going with Hermione!’

‘Yes, but that would’ve been worse!’ At her brother’s blank expression, she sighed. ‘Oh, come on, Ron! She never leaves you and Hermione alone, does she? And if she can’t be there, she makes others stay. She wouldn’t have let you two go alone, and as much as she adores Harry, she wouldn’t have let me talk to Harry without someone around, either.’

Harry felt distinctly uncomfortable. There was only one reason he could see why Mrs Weasley wouldn’t allow them to be alone, and that was because she thought he and Ginny would … He blushed. His stomach tightened painfully.

Ron was frowning at Ginny’s words. ‘Yeah, I noticed that she seemed to be always around when Hermione came over. But I thought that was because she was fussing about Hermione.’

Both girls snorted.

‘Hey, how was I supposed to know? Besides, why’s she making such a fuss about me and Hermione being alone? She wasn’t like this with Bill. Or Percy, when he’d got his girlfriend.’

Hermione lowered her head, a sad expression on her face. Ginny looked subdued.

‘It’s the war,’ she said softly. ‘I don’t know why, but I think she’s somehow got herself thinking it’s all Fleur’s fault what happened to Bill. Because she didn’t take care, Bill got carried away and then engaged to Fleur, and then he got hurt. She’s afraid of us being carried away as well, and then get hurt too.’

‘But, but …’ Ron sputtered. ‘That’s got nothing to do with each other!’

Hermione shook her head. ‘No. But she’s already lost two sons, three if you count Bill’s lycanthropy. She’s scared to death she’d lose another child.’

‘And so she won’t take the chance to let it happen again,’ concluded Ginny. Ron looked thunderstruck.

‘But doesn’t she realise we probably won’t be staying together?’ Harry asked.

Hermione smiled up at him. ‘Won’t we, Harry?’

Ginny giggled. Harry felt his face heat, and Ron’s ears looked redder than usual.

‘No, she won’t,’ answered Ginny. ‘I know I shouldn’t laugh at her. It’s rather sad. But she has to come back to her senses at one point.’

‘And until then, we sneak?’

‘Yes, dear.’ Hermione smiled innocently at Ron. Then she looked at Ginny. ‘You take Tree View and we River Bed?’

Ginny nodded. ‘Yup, sounds good to me.’

The boys exchanged mystified glances. The girls giggled and dragged them away. Ginny marched Harry towards the hill while Hermione steered Ron over the open field to a direction a little left of the hill.

Harry peered over his shoulder. Ron had wrapped his arm around Hermione and said something that made her giggle coyly. He turned back to look at Ginny.

‘River Bed?’

She grinned and winked. ‘Hm-hm. A nice little place down by the river. Patch of grass under a tree.’

Harry smiled lopsidedly. ‘Bed, eh?’

‘Yes, but not for sleeping.’

‘I didn’t think so.’

Ginny peered up at him. ‘You don’t sound too happy about it.’

Harry shrugged. ‘It’s just odd, talking about my two best friends doing … this.’

‘Having sex.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Hm.’

They walked on in silence. In the distance, they heard Hermione shriek, and then laugh. Harry tried not to imagine what she and Ron were doing at the moment. He felt odd, itchy. Rationally, he knew Hermione and Ron were a couple and did … couple-y things. But that didn’t make talking or even thinking about it any less awkward.

However, that wasn’t what made him feel so uncomfortable, though of course it added to the feeling. No, what had him so twitchy inside was that he was alone with Ginny, for the first time in he didn’t know how long. And she was very close to him. He could smell her flowery scent and feel the warmth of her body. His heart raced and his mouth felt dry. His thoughts were whirling in his head. Was it really the right thing to do?

They reached the gentle slope of the hill and scrambled up a narrow path. On the hilltop, at the edge of the small copse, lay the large, slightly mossy trunk of a fallen tree. They sat down on it, the trees in their back and the wild field at their feet. In the distance they could see lilac and pale purple lights shining through the deepening darkness.

Harry looked away from the blinking lights and down at his hands he had folded between his knees.

He felt torn. He knew what he had to do, but he dreaded it. He also felt guilty, perhaps mostly because he didn’t feel bad about his decision. Then, there was the sadness over his decision, even though it really wasn’t a decision; uncertainty whether it really was the right thing to do, though he certainly felt it was; and at the same time, something inside of him was screaming it was madness.

It was very confusing. And the feeling of Ginny so close beside him didn’t make things any easier.

Finally, after the silence between them had become uncomfortable, Harry said, ‘So, this is Tree View, then. I suppose. Why that name?’

Ginny pointed behind her. ‘Trees.’ Then she nodded at the field. ‘View.’

‘Hm.’

Silence fell again. Harry stared at his hands. It was almost too dark to see them.

Ginny snuggled closer to him.

‘Are you cold?’

‘A little.’

Harry shivered, then took a deep breath.

‘Ginny, we must talk.’

She scuttled back. ‘Yes we must,’ she replied, steely determination in her voice.

Harry was taken aback. He hadn’t expected this reaction. ‘Huh?’

Ginny huffed. ‘Oh, come on, Harry! Did you think I wouldn’t notice?’

‘W-what?’ he stammered feebly, a cold feeling in his stomach.

Ginny almost growled. ‘Last year, when you broke things off with me, you said you didn’t want to endanger me. Death Eaters would target me if I was your girlfriend. Well, the war’s over. Voldemort is dead. His Death Eaters are either dead, or in Azkaban, or Kissed. There’s no danger anymore, Harry!’

Harry sighed, relieved. She didn’t know. ‘Ginny, look, I-’

‘Don’t tell me you changed your mind about me, Harry, because I won’t believe you! You haven’t! You couldn’t look at me like that if you had!’

Harry clenched his hands. ‘No, I … that is …’

‘But have you done anything about it?’ Ginny went on heatedly, ignoring his stumbled words. ‘No. For weeks after the war, you didn’t speak to me. You didn’t even send an owl, and when I sent one all I got in return was a short, scribbled, barely legible something! You evaded me, Harry, and you’re still doing it! You make sure I’m not at home when you come to visit Ron. And if you see me, it’s always in company. And that’s not always mum’s doing! You make sure there’s always someone around! You even ignore me when you can do it without making it too obvious!’

She stopped and took a deep breath. Harry remained silent. What could he say? She was right.

‘Why are you doing this, Harry?’ Ginny asked. ‘The war’s over, your task is done. There’s no danger anymore. We can finally be together. And you’re evading me. You’re not trying to break things off for good, are you, Harry Potter?’

The steely note was back in her voice, and Harry had to smile in spite of himself. But the smile vanished quickly. He sighed.

‘The war’s over, yes,’ he said softly. ‘But things have changed. I have changed.’

‘What has changed? You still like me, Harry. What are you talking about?’

Harry clenched and unclenched his fingers. ‘I … There are things … things I did … during the war.’

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, but no more words came out. How could he explain? How could he make her see without actually telling her, something he was not yet ready for?

Ginny peered at him through the darkness. Then, with an annoyed sound, she got her wand out and flicked it. Small orbs of light shot out of her wand and hung in the air above them. Ginny put her wand away and looked closely at Harry’s pale face.

‘What things?’ Her voice was soft. ‘What have you done during the war that you think changed you so that we can’t be together?’

Harry’s face twisted. ‘I … things. I really don’t - can’t … I don’t know how to explain this,’ he finished helplessly.

Ginny narrowed her eyes at him, studied him for a while. ‘So,’ she snapped after a while. ‘You did some terrible things during the war. So what? I don’t care!’

He looked up, his eyes wide behind his glasses. ‘Ginny-’

‘No, I don’t care!’ she all but shouted. ‘I don’t care if you killed someone, or several people, or perhaps had some kind of … of fling with another girl during the war! I don’t care! It’s in the past, Harry! It’s over and gone! I don’t care about the past. I care about the present and the future, and I want my future to be with you! And there’s nothing you can say that would make me change my mind!’

Harry looked at her, smiling wistfully. ‘Ginny…’ He reached out and brushed a lock of hair that had fallen into her face behind her ear. ‘You’re a wonderful person, Ginny, really.’

She tossed her head unwillingly, her eyes shining. ‘Yes? But? Not good enough for you?’

‘No!’ Harry cried immediately. He grabbed her hands and squeezed them tightly. ‘No, Ginny, never! You are far too good for me!’

Ginny sniffled and slipped on hand out of his grasp to wipe her eyes. ‘Oh, stop talking rubbish, Harry.’

He shook his head. ‘No, Ginny, I mean it. You’re too good for … well, for what I’m now.’

She snorted. ‘Tosh, Harry. For what you’re now! What is this, a melodrama?’

Harry smiled apologetically. ‘Yeah, sorry, that sounded a bit overblown.’

‘Yes, you could say so.’

‘But still, I mean it.’

‘Geez, Harry! Could you please tell me flat what you’re talking about? All this stuff about things having changed and you being such a bad person now gets us nowhere. Tell me, in simple words.’

Harry sighed and folded his hands between his knees once more and then sat there staring down at them. There was no way around it. She needed to know his reasons. But talking about it, putting it into words was incredibly hard. It was too deep, too intense. And he had never been good at expressing himself. He wondered if he could make her understand.

‘I don’t know if I can explain properly without sounding like a bad drama,’ he began slowly. ‘I can’t even exactly say what it is that changed. I just know that something changed.’

Ginny snorted.

‘That’s true, Ginny! I react differently to some things! And I don’t know why I do. I didn’t before the war, but now I do. I don’t know what exactly made these things change but I suppose it’s due to something that happened during the last year. Maybe too much contact with the Dark Arts or having Voldemort run rampant in my head.’

‘But he’s gone!’

‘Eh?’

‘Voldemort. He’s gone. He’s no longer in your head!’

‘No, of course he isn’t. It was just an idea what triggered off the change, you know.’

‘And what is that change?’

Harry looked up.

‘Well, you’ve been talking about this change. That your reactions are changed. But you didn’t say which reactions and to what.’

Harry blushed and looked away from Ginny’s questioning eyes. That was the difficult part. He could only be glad she didn’t know Legilimens. ‘Er … reactions to … um … other people. Mostly.’

Ginny frowned. ‘But you don’t act differently. Apart, of course, around me. Or rather, not around me,’ she added bitingly.

‘Ouch,’ acknowledged Harry.

Ginny smiled grimly. ‘So, what reactions?’

Harry looked at her, down at his hands, and finally managed to say, ‘Physical reactions. To … well, kissing, for example.’

Ginny narrowed her eyes. ‘Physical reactions to kissing?’ she repeated. ‘So, you tried this out with someone?’

Clearly, she wasn’t pleased with what she had heard in spite of her earlier declaration that she didn’t care if he’d had another girl during the war.

Harry nodded at her question. ‘Yeah, sure, otherwise I wouldn’t know.’ Then, maybe because something in her voice had warned him about her feelings he added, ‘Well, kind of.’

Ginny blinked, then frowned. ‘Kind of? That’s confusing. What happened?’

He shrugged. His fingers clenched and unclenched rhythmically. After several attempts, he began hesitantly, ‘I can’t really remember the situation, when or where. Just some kind of really tense situation, and we were alone, which I’d never expected, and … I don’t know, one moment I was mad with anger, and the next moment we were kissing.’ He paused, swallowed hard. ‘If that’s the right word for it. Because I was in a kind of frenzy and … well, I got rough.’

‘But rough isn’t necessarily bad,’ Ginny argued.

‘It is. There was blood.’ Harry grimaced, forcing his next words out. ‘And it didn’t stop me.’

‘Oh.’ Ginny digested this. ‘But, Harry, you said you were angry? Maybe that’s why you were so … well, rough?’

‘Nope.’ Harry shook his head. ‘It happened again. When I wasn’t angry. It’s just … I don’t know.’ He fell silent.

Ginny waited for a few moments for him to elaborate, but when he didn’t say anything she spoke.

‘So, that’s your change, but that still doesn’t explain why you’ve been evading me, Harry!’

Harry turned to her, his eyes wide, a strangely pleading tone in his voice.

‘But, Ginny, don’t you see? I … I know I didn’t behave like I should have done. I should have told you sooner. But … I was still kind of hoping it would go away, you know. But it didn’t. Seems a permanent change. And then, when I knew … I - I really didn’t want to break it off. But … but pushing it away doesn’t make it stop or change, so … I can’t, Ginny. I would hurt you!’

‘True Gryffindor,’ Ginny scoffed. ‘Geez, Harry, I’m not fragile. I grew up with six brothers! Believe me, I can take a lot!’

‘But not this, Ginny. Not this.’

She looked at him silently, considering. ‘I see. You’re being the noble hero again.’

‘Ginny-’

‘Oh, quit it, Harry. You’re trying to protect me, aren’t you? Poor little girl, mustn’t hurt her. I’m the big bad wolf and must protect her, even from myself. Isn’t that what you’re doing? Honestly, Harry! What do you think of me? I’m not weak, I can defend myself!’

‘I know, Ginny!’

‘But you don’t act like it!’

‘Because you can’t handle this!’

‘Oh, and how do you know?!’

‘Because I know how I react, and what I do, and you don’t!’

‘And that gives you the right to make decisions for me?!’

‘I’m not making your decisions! This is my decision, Ginny!’

‘Because you decided I need to be protected! And that’s not your decision to make! That’s my decision! And how dare you make decisions for me, you arrogant berk! I can perfectly well do that myself! I’m not a silly little girl-!’

‘I know!!’

‘Then don’t treat me like one!!’

They stared furiously at each other for a few seconds, panting hard. Then, after a tense moment, they sank back onto the log. Ginny ground her teeth. Harry slammed his fist against the wood, cutting his skin on the rough bark.

Ginny pulled her hands through her hair and took a deep breath. ‘This leads to nothing,’ she said angrily.

Harry grunted.

She turned to look at him, studied him for a moment. Her anger faded a little and gave way to exasperated fondness. He could be such an idiot at times! She scuttled over to him and laid her head on his shoulder.

‘I really can take a lot, Harry. And I’m not scared.’

He looked up, his eyes shadowed. ‘But I would scare you, Ginny.’

She brushed through his hair. ‘Would you?’ She pondered this. ‘I don’t think so. But let’s find out.’

‘What?’

‘Kiss me, Harry.’

‘Ginny-’

‘I won’t believe it, Harry, whatever you say!’

Harry knew that look on her face, the hard, blazing look in her eyes. He sighed. He had really wished he wouldn’t have to do this. It would make everything just so much harder. For both of them. But that look in her eyes told him she wouldn’t give up, and after a moment’s hesitation he leaned in. Maybe, whispered a tiny hopeful voice, maybe his reaction would be normal this time. His lips touched hers.

It was nice, so nice. Soft. Gentle. Her flowery scent surrounded him. The feeling of her warm, soft body with its enticing curves so close made him tremble. He brushed his lips softly over hers and Ginny opened her mouth. Their kiss deepened.

Harry moaned softly. She tasted so sweet! She was so warm, so soft … nothing hard about her, nothing threatening … His body was humming with slowly rising, delicious tension. He moaned again, enjoying the feeling; the feeling of warmth, and softness, and sweetness, and tenderness … of being still in his mind.

Ginny slipped her arms around his neck and moved closer to him. Her breasts pressed into his chest; he could feel her hard nipples through both their t-shirts. Her groin was snug against the rapidly hardening bulge in his jeans. She opened her lips further, and her tongue tangled with his.

The familiar wave of white-hot need suddenly rose within him. Lightning-fast it mounted high up before crashing down on him. It washed over him, and he was gone.

He was out of his body. He had forgotten everything around him. There was nothing, only this wild, searing need. The need to brand those lips; to mark, to claim, to lay siege, to conquer; to express this violent desire, to let it out, in the only way he knew how to.

He hold tight, pressed on. Delved, plunged into that moist heat, kept pressing on and deeper until lips and tongue weren’t enough anymore. Teeth came to help. Yes, better. They were harder, sharper, better fitted to express himself. Something soft gave way to his teeth, and inside he howled as blinding light shot through him. More, more, harder, deeper, he had to let this light out before it tore him apart …

A sudden, sharp sting shot through his chest and he lurched backwards, gasping for breath. His heart thumped hard as though it had been hit directly. The light inside flickered, and then plunged into an abyss of darkness.

Harry groaned and slid off the log.

Half-sitting, half-lying sprawled on the forest floor he wheezed and panted, trying to get enough air into his lungs. His heart fluttered and shivered. His stomach ached. His groin felt as though he had ridden his broom through a hurricane without protection; it hurt like hell.

Slowly he got his breathing under control. The pain in various body parts faded. Carefully, he scrambled backwards onto the log. Then he turned his head to look at Ginny. His heart sank.

Her hair was a ruffled, wild tangle around her pale face. Her eyes were wide and dark. Blood trickled from a rather large wound in her lower lip, and there was a dark bruise on her throat.

Harry took this in and gasped, horrified. ‘Ginny!’ he croaked. ‘God, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!’

A shiver ran through her. Her lip trembled.

Harry castigated himself for being a bloody fool. He had known what would happen. Why hadn’t he stopped her? Why had he allowed her to talk him into kissing her?

‘So, so sorry, Ginny,’ he mumbled. ‘Here, let me heal you.’

He got his wand out. Ginny shrank back. Harry froze. He dropped his wand.

‘Sorry,’ he repeated desolately.

Ginny gave a shaky laugh and, with equally shaking hands, tucked her wand away.

‘I-it’s okay, Harry,’ she said and tried to smile.

‘No. It’s not. I shouldn’t have done it, no matter what you said.’

‘Taking all the blame again, hero,’ Ginny teased weakly. ‘It’s as much my fault as yours. I made you do it. Doesn’t matter now. You said something about healing?’

Harry looked at her, then sighed and raised his wand again. Expertly, he healed her lip, the bruise on her throat and a couple of others on her wrists and hips. Ginny smiled at him when he was done, a more confident smile than before. But her eyes were still dark and wary.

Harry slumped in his place on the log and looked gloomily down at his wand. The light orbs above them made the polished wood glisten.

‘So you see,’ he said quietly, ‘why we can’t be together.’

He looked at her sideways. She still had the shell-shocked appearance. Harry sighed. He felt sad. He hadn’t really expected her to be able to take this, but still …

‘What happened to you during the war, Harry?’ Ginny asked finally.

Harry looked up.

‘You were always … passionate,’ she continued. ‘But this … this isn’t even passionate anymore. You were … It was like you weren’t even there! Like … like some kind of wild animal had taken your place. You were completely out, Harry! You didn’t even hear me or feel me struggle!’

Harry groaned and hid his face in his hands. ‘I’m sorry!’

‘Harry, why? What is this? What happened to you?’

‘I don’t know! I honestly don’t know, Ginny. I told you, I had this encounter one day. It left us both bleeding. And it’s been like this ever since.’ He let his hands fall down, gazed sightlessly at them. ‘I feel … a need … I must express this … this violent emotion. I must let it out somehow. It hurts so much!’

They were silent. An owl hooted. There was a rustle in the forest behind them.

‘I don’t know what triggered it,’ Harry continued at long last. ‘I don’t have the foggiest idea. As I said, perhaps too much exposure to the Dark Arts or Voldemort. Or perhaps I got bitten by a werewolf.’

‘That’s not funny, Harry.’

Harry shrugged.

‘Have you … talked about it to someone?’ Ginny asked tentatively.

‘Only you and … the other person.’

‘And she doesn’t know either?’

Harry hesitated and shook his head. ‘No.’

‘Would you consider going to St Mungo’s? To have it checked?’

Harry snorted. ‘And have the Daily Prophet bleat the next day about the Chosen One having turned Dark? No, thank you very much. They’re still not off my track, you know.’

‘But what if it’s a Dark curse? You said it hurts. It could be dangerous.’

‘Only to others.’

‘But it hurts you!’

‘So do other things.’ Harry shrugged. ‘Maybe, in a few years, when the wizarding world got bored with me, I’ll go to St Mungo’s and have it checked. In the meantime I’d rather not give anybody more opportunity to rip into me than necessary.’ He gave her a small smile. ‘Besides, it’s not urgent. We … the other person, they know a lot. They don’t think it’s a Dark Curse. Or due to any outside influences. And it doesn’t get worse. So ... No need for St Mungo’s.’

Ginny stared at him through narrowed eyes. ‘“They”?’ she asked. Harry wondered if he had let too much on. ‘Who are they?’

‘I’d rather not tell you,’ he mumbled evasively.

‘But, Harry-’ Ginny began, and then abruptly stopped. ‘You said they know,’ she finally continued slowly. ‘So, that person … is older than you?’

Harry thought that admitting this wouldn’t hurt and nodded.

‘Oh.’

Ginny was silent for a long time, watching him. Harry became worried. She was a clever witch. What if she found out? He wasn’t yet ready to deal with that. But apparently she didn’t figure it out because when she finally spoke she had changed to a different topic.

‘What … what if we tried something?’

Harry blinked. ‘Tried something what?’

She sat up businesslike. ‘I don’t know. Work on it, your … condition. Maybe one day you find a way to stop this feeling? Or how to control it? Or you might find another way to let it out.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Don’t give up so easily, Harry! Fight it. I’ll help you. No, don’t shake your head! We could try to … well, train you. How to resist this … this feeling.’

‘And how?’

‘Well, like we just did. You kiss me, and when you get carried away I’ll zap you and-’

‘No, Ginny. Thank you for your offer, but I won’t hurt you again.’

‘But if it helps?!’

Harry shook his head, smiling sadly. ‘You’re really brave, Ginny. More Gryffindor than I am.’

Ginny fought back her tears. ‘I’m not brave, Harry. I love you!’

‘And I love you, Ginny, and that’s why I won’t put you in a situation where you will get hurt.’

‘Making my decisions again, Harry.’

‘No, I-’

‘Yes, you do!’

Harry sighed deeply. ‘Ginny, stop it. Even if you decided to try again, I will not. Besides, I don’t think it would be possible. I scared you, Ginny.’

‘I’m not afraid of you, Harry!’ Ginny fired up.

He gave her another sad smile. ‘Yes, you are.’

Before she had time to protest again, he leaned in and kissed her again. Softly at first, until she leaned in as well. Then he gently nipped her lower lip. With a gasp, Ginny jerked back, wand in hand, pointing it at Harry.

He nodded at her.

‘Yes, Ginny. You are. I’m so sorry.’

Three

They sat in silence on the log, side by side. The night around them was quiet. A soft breeze whispered through the leaves above their heads. A bird cried huskily. A large moth, attracted by Ginny’s softly glowing orbs of light, fluttered around them, a small shadow in the dim light. The silence between them stretched.

Harry was staring down at his hands once more. From time to time, he shot a quick glance at Ginny from the corner of his eyes. She had burrowed her face in her hands. Her shoulders were shaking ever so slightly. An oddly strangled sound escaped from behind her white hands.

Harry bit his lip, clutching his wand. He felt deeply uncomfortable. Crying women always made him feel awkward and a crying Ginny even more so. It was so unlike her. She was the wrong person for tears. He thought about something to say to her, but he didn’t know what. He wanted to wrap his arm around her shoulder and hug her, comfort her, but he suppressed the desire to do so. It would only make things worse.

Suddenly, Ginny threw her hands down.

‘That’s so unfair!’

Her sudden motion had jerked Harry from his indecisive musings. Her outburst startled him. He looked at her. She sat straight, her hair flying wild around her face. Her hands were clenched into tight fists.

‘Ginny?’

She turned to him. Her eyes were hard and bright.

‘Voldemort!’ she spat angrily. ‘It’s all his fault, isn’t it? He started the whole thing! He made you break up with me in the first place. And now, now that he’s finally gone and we could be happy ...’ She gasped for air. ‘He wins! That damned bastard wins! He got you! He may not have killed you, but he got you anyway! The one thing I really, really wanted was to be with you and … and …’ She slammed her fists down on her knees. ‘He won,’ she hissed. ‘He won! He didn’t believe in love, and he won!’

She abruptly stopped herself, panting heavily. Harry looked away from her and remained silent. He couldn’t answer.

There was another long, weighty silence between them. Ginny broke it again when she said, this time in a tightly controlled voice, ‘Well, I suppose this is it, then, right? Nothing more to say.’

Harry shook his head. ‘No,’ he said heavily. ‘Ginny, I … I’m sorry.’

She made a sharp gesture with her hand as if to silence him.

‘Seems Ron and Hermione are finished,’ she continued. ‘I can see wandlights coming from the river. Let’s go meet them.’ And, not waiting for him to answer, she got up and walked down the forest path.

Harry rose, flicked his wand at the glowing spheres above his head to extinguish them and, lighting his wand, he followed her.

They walked in silence, side by side but with enough distance between them that they didn’t accidentally touch each other. Harry reflected resignedly on the difference to before. He could already feel the gulf between them deepen and widen, and it saddened him. Ginny hadn’t only been his girlfriend. She had been a true friend as well, and he didn’t want to lose her as a friend as well.

A high-pitched giggle transferred his attention from the girl at his side to his other friends. He could only vaguely see them through the darkness and the small spheres of light their wandtips cast, but it was clear that they were walking arm in arm and more interested in each other than in actually getting anywhere. Harry couldn’t help smiling. At least for his two best friends happiness came easily.

They met in the middle of the field. Both Ron and Hermione looked distinctly rumpled, and the happy flush on their faces was visible even in the bluish lights of their wands. Hermione was the first to notice Harry and Ginny. She smiled broadly at them and opened her mouth to greet them. Then she seemed to notice something, and her smiled faded.

‘What happened?’

Her words stopped Ron, who was still busy solicitously disentangling a leaf from her hair. He looked up from his task as Ginny said curtly, ‘Nothing.’

Ron and Hermione looked from her to Harry. But before they could say anything, Ginny had walked past them into the direction of the Burrow. For a moment, all three of them stared after her.

Hermione cast a quick glance at Harry, then hurried to catch up with her. She cautiously touched Ginny’s elbow. Ginny shrugged Hermione’s hand away and shook her head sharply. Hermione looked back at Harry for a moment, seemed to sigh, and fell in step with Ginny. She bent close to the other girl, obviously talking to her.

‘Harry?’

Ron’s voice brought Harry’s attention back to his friend.

‘What happened, mate?’

Harry sighed, thrust his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and followed the girls. Ron fell in step beside him.

‘Nothing, really,’ answered Harry. ‘I … I talked to her. Told her I couldn’t … you know.’

Ron cast him a sideway glance.

‘The other?’ he asked with forced casualness.

Harry shook his head. ‘No. I mean … It’s not so much the other but the fact that I don’t want to hurt Ginny.’

‘Would you?’

‘Hurt her?’ Harry grimaced. ‘Yes.’

Ron didn’t answer, nor did he speak again on their way back to the Burrow. Harry was glad that Ron accepted his explanation. He didn’t want to talk about it again, didn’t want to explain further as he would have to do if Ron had decided to ask.

They knew, Ron and Hermione. Not much. Not who ‘the other’ was or any more details. But they had seen him, once, when he had returned from an encounter. He had not yet had the time to heal himself, and of course his bruised and bloodied condition had roused many worried questions.

He had told his friends then, had told them the same he had told Ginny. He hadn’t wanted to, but Hermione wouldn’t stop fussing and asking until she knew where he had got all those injuries. They had been horrified when they had learnt the truth: that he hadn’t been hurt in a fight but that his injuries had been received in a sexual encounter. And that he had started it.

It had taken some time until they had accepted this. Hermione had kept worrying about Harry seeking abuse because of some unresolved issue from his childhood with the Dursleys, and Ron had kept sneaking Finite Incantatems at Harry to end whatever hex or curse he was under. But in the end, they had accepted that this was his way of dealing with the war - the fear and the tension and the thought of what he would have to do, of what he had already been forced to do - and had not spoken of it again.

Harry had been relieved, yet sometimes he wondered what they made of it. He had given them the impression that it was temporary - as he had, on one level, truly hoped it would be. Looking at their actions now, Harry wondered whether they had not seen deeper than he had and known that it would not be temporary.

He sighed inaudibly and looked ahead at the girls. They were approaching the garden now, and in the light that fell through the hedge he could clearly see Ginny’s rigid back and her stiff movements. He felt horrible for doing this to her, but hurting her now was the best way. For all of them.

‘Ah, there you are, my dears!’ they heard Mrs Weasley cry with relief. ‘I had begun worrying, you’ve been staying to long. Where have you been? Hermione, there are grass stains on your shirt! What did you do? Give that shirt to me tonight, I’ll get them out for you. Where are the boys?’

Harry and Ron stepped through the gate in the hedge, and immediately were greeted with a flood of words as well. Mrs Weasley bustled around them, fussing over Hermione’s shirt and exclaiming loudly when she saw the button of Ron’s jeans was missing.

Harry couldn’t help a quick check, and then a broad grin as Ron deeply red.

Mrs Weasley shushed the four of them into the house. They heard voices from the living room where the rest of the family had retired to for a hot chocolate before bed. Mrs Weasley tried to steer them inside, but Ginny evaded her and ran up the stairs. While her mother was still blinking in surprise, Hermione exchanged a glance with Ron and hurried after her.

‘What - what,’ spluttered Mrs Weasley. ‘What’s wrong with them?’

Ron patted her shoulder. ‘Dunno, mum. Don’t worry. Girl stuff, probably.’

Mrs Weasley looked at her son and back at the stairs, and nodded distractedly.

‘Oh, yes, yes, of course,’ she chirped. ‘Oh, Harry, do come inside. Will you stay for the night? I’m sure Ron won’t mind sharing his room with you.’

‘Uh, thanks, Mrs Weasley, but no.’ Harry smiled apologetically.

Mrs Weasley stared up at him in surprise.

‘No? You aren’t staying for the night?’

‘No, I’m-’

‘Oh, but it’s really no trouble, Harry dear, no trouble at all,’ she said brightly. ‘I’ll run up and fix your bed. I know it will be a bit cramped - you’ve both grown so much! - but I daresay you won’t mind at all.’

She was about to rush up the stairs when Harry gently laid a hand on her shoulder.

‘No, really, Mrs Weasley. Thanks a lot, but I’m not staying for the night.’

As he said it he could feel Ron watching him. A quick glance at Ron’s face told him that his friend knew why Harry wouldn’t be staying. Catching his eye, Ron gave a small nod, then grimaced at his mother’s loud protests.

Her voice brought the other Weasleys into the small kitchen, and for several moments chaos reigned as everybody seemed to talk at once. At long last, Harry managed to make himself heard. He thanked Mrs Weasley again for the offer of a bed but said he must be off. There followed a lengthy good-bye, as everybody wanted to have a few more words with him. Harry had to go into the living room to say good bye to Charlie, and Mrs Weasley tried once more to persuade him to stay. It took him almost an hour to get away, and when he finally stood outside the fence at the Apparition point, he had not had time to say good bye to either Hermione or Ginny. With a last wave at the shadowy figures standing in the lit doorway, he turned and Apparated.

He reappeared in a narrow alley. It was pitch black around him, the towering walls of the houses on either side blocking all light safe the pale starlight. Harry lightened his wand and looked around him.

The rough stone walls left and right seemed to glisten with damp. The cobbled street was strewn with rubbish. Harry held his breath and stepped carefully around the mouldering piles of junk that almost blocked the alley in several points.

At the end of the alley, he paused and, lowering his wand, peered into the broad street that ran beyond. It was deserted except for a stray cat that ran away as soon as Harry stepped out of the alley. He kept his wand out, not for protection but for light. Most of the streetlamps were broken, and the remaining ones only emphasised the darkness of the street.

Harry walked slowly and deliberately down the street. His steps echoed faintly. In the distance, he could hear a train rumble past. Apart from those sounds, it was silent.

Most houses in the broad street and the next, smaller one Harry entered seemed empty. Here and there he saw broken windows and graffiti on the walls. Two or three houses had no front door, and one other appeared to be close to collapse. Among those ruins, some houses were clearly occupied. Light shone from their little windows. A few tunes of music drifted through the air. A bike lay in front of one house; a couple of flowerpots flanked the doorway of another.

Above them all loomed the chimney of an old mill.

Harry turned into another small street. It was almost as dark as the alley where he had Apparated as only one of the streetlamps was still intact. He walked past a row of houses, all dark and empty, until he reached the last house. There was no sign of occupation either. The windows were dark. But in contrast to the other houses it showed no signs of decay.

Harry smiled and extinguished his wandlight, then slipped the wand into his sleeve. He knocked on the door and, without waiting for an answer, opened it and slipped inside.

Four

Harry stood under the door and looked at the tiny room he had stepped into.

It was given the impression of a dark cell by the bookshelves that ran along the walls, from floor to ceiling, above and underneath the two small windows. The shelves were crammed with books and rolls of parchment. The air was heavy and full of dust and the scent of old leather.

In the middle of the room stood a small table with a rickety sofa on one side and a deep leather chair on the other side. Above the table hung a chandelier, and one lone candle stood on the table. They were the only sources of light in the room, creating an island of warm brightness in the dusky room.

Burrowed so deeply in the armchair that he was barely visible sat a man. His head was bent down over the book he held in his pale hands. His long hair fell forward and hid his face. He did not look up at the sound of the door closing, nor in the following silence. After a moment, he lifted one hand to turn a page.

Harry strode forward into the room. He shrugged out of his coat, threw it over the back of the sofa, and sank down onto its faded cushions.

The man opposite still didn’t look up.

Harry settled back onto the sofa, legs stretched out in front of him, arms loosely folded in front of his chest, eyes trained on the black head. The minutes went by in silence. The only sound was the occasional turning of a page.

Harry let himself slip into the silence. A feeling of home and safety rose in him. He smiled as his body and mind relaxed. Here, for this one, he didn’t have to be anything or anyone he wasn’t. This man had seen his worst. Had seen it and understood it. Here, Harry was at peace. He laughed softly. Who would have thought?

The man opposite him moved slightly at the sound of the laughter. His head came up, slowly, as though against his will. Cold, black eyes met Harry’s.

Harry inclined his head.

‘I’m back,’ he said softly.

The man regarded him for a moment, and then snorted.

‘Obviously.’

He returned to his book. Harry closed his eyes and allowed himself to think of nothing. Not Ginny and how much he must have hurt her; not Ron and Hermione; and not his silent companion, either.

After a while, he felt eyes watching him and opened his. Severus frowned irritably.

‘Have they no offered you a bed?’ he asked snidely.

Harry yawned and nodded. ‘Oh, they have.’

His opposite drummed his fingertips on his book when no more information came forth. Another couple of minutes passed by. Harry did nothing, simply watched the other man lazily from under half-closed lids. He knew what was going on behind those seemingly empty black eyes. But he was damned if he made it any easier for Severus.

Finally, Severus spoke again.

‘Why didn’t you accept it?’ His voice sounded as though he was forcing the words out, strangled and wooden. His pale face was an expressionless mask.

Harry no longer found this unnerving; the blank façade meant Severus was using Occlumency. Considering that he knew Harry was no Legilimens who would try and pry into his mind, that could only mean that he was suppressing his emotions once more.

That, however, Harry did find unnerving.

‘Why?’ He shrugged. A soft smile ghosted over his lips. ‘I told you I’d come back.’

Severus snorted. His fingers clutched on his book. ‘It is bad manners to say “I told you so”.’

Harry grinned.

‘And it is impolite to gloat,’ he informed Harry testily.

Harry laughed. ‘Tell me about it.’

Severus gave an irritable hiss and went back to his book. Harry let him, enjoying himself. He knew that behind those cold eyes impatience warred with the dislike to appear weak, or, Merlin forbid, interested, by asking questions.

He wondered vaguely why they were still playing those games, still trying to one-up the other, but then shrugged inwardly. Severus was a Slytherin. This kind of game appealed to him. And if it made him happy, Harry was willing to play along.

‘Miss Weasley did not accidentally slip out of her robes to hold you back?’

Harry blinked his eyes open. Severus was staring at him under frowning brows, his thin lips pressed together so tightly they seemed to have vanished. The question registered, and Harry laughed.

‘Oh, is that the way Slytherin girls get their man? “Accidentally” drop their robes?’

The sound that reverberated in Severus’s throat could be called a growl. Harry smiled, a little sadly, and shrugged. ‘No, she did nothing of that kind. She’s not that kind of girl.’ He paused. His eyes became vacant as he stared into space. ‘Not that it matters. She won’t do it now.’

‘Mr Potter, every woman is devious in her dealings with the male sex. Even Gryffindors. I can scarcely believe she would not do her utmost to win you back.’ This was said with a sneer, but Harry thought he could hear a question behind the words. His mouth twisted.

‘She won’t do it now, Severus, believe me. I … I talked to her. Told her.’

‘Mr Potter, if you wish your conversation partner to understand you, try to refrain from uttering cryptic fragments of sentences.’

Harry grinned against his will. ‘I told her that I can’t be with her.’

‘Which, of course, resolved the matter.’

‘Ha, and here I thought you taught her for five years! Of course she didn’t accept it! I-’

‘Of course not.’

‘Hey! Wha-? You just said …’

‘That, idiot boy, was what the initiated would call irony. But you must forgive me. I forgot that you are quite unaware of such subtleties. When one attempts irony, one says exactly the opposite of what one actually thinks.’

‘Yeah, thanks for that, Severus, but I actually knew what irony is.’

‘Remarkable.’

‘Oh, stop it,’ Harry said impatiently. ‘Do you want to hear it or not?’

‘It, Mr Potter? I believe I told you to not be cryptic.’

Harry rolled his eyes and simply went on. ‘Well, as I said, Ginny didn’t like it when I told her I can’t be with her, and she didn’t want to accept it. She … she wouldn’t accept my reasons.’

‘Half-cooked excuses,’ Severus said under his breath.

‘Shut it. You know they weren’t excuses. The war … things … it changed me. I would have hurt her. I told her so, but she wouldn’t believe me.’ He fell silent, staring into the fire, unaware of the alert black eyes on his thoughtful face. ‘I … I think she might have been of your opinion. That they were excuses. She got pretty angry at me for, as she said, making her decisions.’ He shook his head and smiled, a little lopsided. ‘Called me an arrogant berk. So I showed her.’

Harry didn’t notice the white fingers clench around the book or hear the tiny gasp.

‘I shocked her,’ he went on quietly. ‘She was scared afterwards. Too scared to even … Well, doesn’t matter. So, we broke it off for good.’

‘Indeed. And what makes you think that I will accept Miss Weasleys leftovers?’

Harry’s head jerked up. ‘It’s rather the other way round,’ he said angrily.

‘Oh? So, Miss Weasley is too good for my leftovers?’

‘That’s not what I meant, and you know it!’

‘Do I?’

‘Of course you do!’

Severus gave a snort that delicately indicated disbelief. Harry sighed and slumped on the sofa.

‘You know what I mean, Severus,’ he said wearily, running one hand through his hair. ‘This is nothing to do with someone’s leftovers. Besides, what am I? Some kind of steak? No, this is about you and me being the same. We share … the experience. You understand.’

‘I’m sure Miss Weasley would be more than willing to do her best to understand you.’

‘Yeah, and that’s it, isn’t it? She’d try. But she can’t. Never. None of them can. None of them had … had their souls ripped apart by Voldemort. They won’t ever understand the need to … They’d never understand the violence. The light, from the abyss. You do. I do. We are the same.’

Severus was silent for a long while. His eyes were downcast, but Harry didn’t have to see them to know what the man was thinking. What he was remembering. Because he remembered, too.

And that was the reason behind all this. They shared the experience and memories of the war, and no one who hadn’t been involved would ever be able to understand. Not Ginny, she had not fought. Not Ron and Hermione; they had been through it all with him, but they had never been at the centre of it all. Not like he and Severus had been.

War veterans, the both of them. Harry smiled grimly. And no civilian, no one who had not had lived with the mortal danger day by day, no one who had not lived through the Darkness that was Voldemort and his magic, could ever understand what it had done to them.

‘Ah, and I thought Gryffindors were so brave,’ Severus breathed finally. His voice was soft, fragile, but the sarcasm was there all right.

Harry blinked. ‘Huh?’

Severus waved one hand in a dismissive fashion. ‘Daring, brave … no thoughts about danger, always willing to risk everything …’

‘What has that to do with anything?’

Severus bent his penetrating stare on the younger man. ‘I was wondering that Miss Weasley, in spite of her professed love for you, was not brave enough to face the changes in your nature.’

‘I told you, she was scared!’

‘Yes, yes. But you must allow me to be surprised. I wasn’t aware that Gryffindors knew what fear is.’

Harry rolled his eyes. ‘This is getting old,’ he murmured.

‘Stop mumbling, Potter, it is impolite.’

‘Yeah, whatever.’

‘You have no manners, Mr Potter. Another trait Gryffindors share.’

‘Yes, with the Slytherins,’ Harry said with a small laugh.

Severus’s nostrils flared as if he had smelled something unpleasant.

Harry laughed again, louder. ‘Really, Severus. Not all Slytherins have impeccable manners, and yes, Gryffindors know what fear is.’ He sobered, his eyes darkened. ‘But we don’t run away from it,’ he added, more to himself.

This drew another snort from his companion. ‘And what would you call Miss Weasley’s actions, then?’

‘Survival instinct,’ Harry retorted. He cocked his head questioningly. ‘I wonder … You keep talking about her, Severus. What for? I told you it’s over. I’m not going back.’

The black eyes stared back at him for a long time. A tiny smile began to lift the corners of Severus’s mouth. A wicked glow warmed the empty depths of his eyes. Harry felt something in his stomach coil.

‘What?’ he asked, slightly breathless.

Severus laughed, soft and low. ‘You may consider my harping on House characteristics as “getting old”, but you cannot deny the truth in them.’

‘Severus …’

A slender, pale hand rose and stopped Harry’s words. The wicked glow became positively vicious. Harry shivered.

‘You cannot deny, Harry, that Slytherins know how to win.’

Harry’s breath caught. Another shiver ran down his spine and ended in his groin. Without thought, he got up and stepped forward. The table was thrust aside and fell down with a clatter that neither man regarded. Then, Harry was kneeling over Severus, his hands in the lanky black hair. The book was cast aside. Severus’s eyes burned into Harry’s mind. Their lips met in a savage kiss.

The familiar wave of white-hot lust rose inside of Harry at the contact. He leaned in, deeper and deeper, closer, wilder. Sharp teeth tore open his lower lip. He groaned. The wave crashed down on him, and Harry let go.

He pressed down hard into an answering hardness. There was nothing soft; all viciously sharp edges under his hands. Hot and sharp, threatening him, trapping him, and setting him free. He sunk his own teeth into the hardness and bit down, drawing the light out of the abyss.

A hissing sound echoed in his ear. He was pushed backward. His body collided with the hard floor. The impact sent his head spinning.

He was pressed down. Hands tore at him. Everything was light; he couldn’t breathe. His body burned in the light, the need. He had to move, up and closer, deeper, higher into the light.

Harry snarled and fought the hands, the body holding him down. The sharp, lean heat twisted, and then he was holding it down, pressing it into the floor, tearing and sucking and biting and kissing.

Pale hard flesh moved against, into his hands and lips. There were razor-sharp edges underneath it, beautiful white hard ridges. They beckoned him to kiss, to mark, to possess. Yes, this, and then more and deeper, tear it all, let the light out.

He moved again, further and down. Pale sweetness and musky shadows, and he took it all, bit, kissed, marked, owned until the wave rolled in and over him.

He was thrown down again, and then turned over onto his stomach. Hard fingers pressed his shoulders into the ground. Harry snarled. He struggled up onto his knees and pressed his palms flat into the floor for leverage.

Then, there was the white-hot stab of feeling inside of him, feeling far too intense for easy words like pleasure or pain. He threw his head back as the light enveloped him, carried him higher and higher up. He screamed, howled, spurred on by the snarling and hissing coming from behind him, spurred on and further by the wild rhythm, the light beating inside of him, on and on and further and up and higher until he exploded into the white light around him.

With a hoarse whimper, Harry collapsed, Severus on top of him, and the receding light sucked them into the abyss.

The floor was cold and hard beneath him as Harry slowly came back. He blinked his eyes open; everything was blurred. He groaned and tried to move but a warm weight pressed him into the cold floor. Harry tried to wriggle out from underneath it and groaned again. His body was sore and aching. His shoulders and neck burned with what he knew was bite marks, and his ass burnt as well.

The body on top of his moved with soft, regular breaths. Harry peered over his shoulder at the blurry face half-hidden behind tangled hair. Severus lay half on top of him, his head on Harry’s shoulder, one leg thrown over Harry’s.

It was cold and uncomfortable, lying on the floor like this. Harry smiled. He linked his hand with the one that was still holding him down and snuggled closer into the body lying on top of him. His eyes closed. It was all right. He was home.

Epilogue