[fic] Last Time - Snarry
This piece of fiction is very old, and hasn't seen the light of day since it was originally archived. So I thought I'd put it up and give it a fresh hint of life.
Title: Last Time
Author: EvilRemmy/CrimsonShinigami
Rating: PG13 (for attempted suicide)
Pairing: Snape/Harry Preslash (Touches of Voldemort/Harry)
Summary: It's snowing outside, and Harry feels numb from how his life has been wasted.
Notes: Written with excerpts of Last Time by Dry Cell
Last Time
Harry lay back on his bed, the silence about him ominous. His curtains were pulled right up to the walls about his bed and he kept his eyes firmly closed, ignoring everything about him. Harry had been in a state of constant despair for the past few days. School had been terminated and he was alone as anyone in his position could be. He, Dumbledore and Snape were all that remained of the faculty here, they were all that dared remain, because Voldemort was oppressing the entire world with his shadow. Harry sighed and pulled the blankets up tighter around himself, closing his eyes.
Harry knew that Voldemort was enjoying his despair. Linked, at least emotionally, Harry was aware of every one of Voldemort's emotions, and vice versa. Voldemort was aware of the effects any kind of attack had on Harry, who had become his focus of anger in the past year. Even if the murder didn't help Voldemort get closer to overthrowing the wizarding world, it didn't matter so long as it hurt Harry. This meant that most of the Gryffindors who knew Harry Potter, and their families had been brutally murdered.
They say it's true -- Something's not right. They laugh at you.
Voldemort laughed at him, and Harry knew because he could feel every little bit of humour running through to the very depths of his soul. It was distressing, and it was killing him. Harry didn't know how to alleviate his pain. It was impossible, because if he even tried to be happy, Voldemort would expertly send a wave of reminder between them, like a mocking telephone call, but with images. Hermione lying bloodied, broken, raped and killed at his feet, Ron's bodiless head, his dismembered corpse. Blood. Everywhere.
Harry knew why he was still alive, as a punishment, and to amuse Voldemort. He knew why no parents allowed their children to attend Hogwarts after the end of last year. It had been a massacre. Harry hadn't been there, and Voldemort had known it. At Hogsmeade, Death Eaters had set upon students from every building, having overthrown every house in the village. They rained down killing curses while the terrified students tried to escape. The students knowing of what was going to happen hadn't been involved, and had saved who they desired to from the masses.
Hurting all the time and you just don't know why. Destined to lose.
Harry moved to his feet without a thought, dressed in only his pyjamas, uncaring of the cold of the snow, of the cruel wind, or the fact that he was most visible, and didn't have his wand. He drifted down the stairs of the common room, the cold, stone floor under his bare feet, his eyes unseeing, knowing the way off by heart. He didn't care, slipping out without a glance to the lady in pink, who seemed to notice his despair and left him be.
He descended the long stairs, followed along the great hallways, descended another set of stairs and only paused, shivering at the doorway to the Great Hall. The enchanted ceiling had been destroyed some weeks ago, crumbling down into the hall below, only reminding Harry of the emptiness. He hadn't even eaten there since his friends had been killed.
It's not right -- What can you do?
All you do is fight and you're losing your insight
Why did he deserve this? Why did anyone? Voldemort had chosen him as a child, marked him as his equal, and as the boy he would torment for the rest of his life. Harry Potter, his name made famous by the unknowing wizard community, doomed from his birth. He couldn't win. Could anyone? Dumbledore could hold of Voldemort's attacks for only so long. The school was taking the brunt of the attacks. Half the buildings were crumbled or damaged. It would only be so long.
Harry couldn't fight Voldemort and win. Voldemort was a powerful wizard in his prime, well trained and encouraged by his victories so far. He was also far more lenient with his curses and hexes. Harry could never cast the killing curse, even on Voldemort. And even then he wasn't sure it would kill him. No, Harry was going to lose. He was preordained to lose, after all, one of them had to, and the side of light, the broken Order of the Phoenix, were most definitely falling, unstoppable.
All you do is fight and you're losing your insight It's alright. It's okay. You're never far away.
Harry slipped down the last set of stairs quietly, feeling the grind of the stone on his bare feet, his toes throbbing with a disjointed frozen feeling. His fingers were frozen, and Harry could feel the chill rolling over his body. He circled around the bottom of the stairs quietly, coming into the entrance hall where all the trunks and animals were usually kept before the first feast in the hall every year. Harry
wished desperately for the simplicity that used to be his life.
He found he couldn't walk any further, collapsing quietly on the top of the final set of steps, his toes still cold. He suddenly had an intense desire to see the lake, but he was on the east side, and the lake was to the south, he couldn't see it from here. He'd warm up a little first. Quietly he pulled his legs in and rubbed at his toes slightly. That would do for now.
It's so real. It's so right. This is the last time. It's alright. It's okay. You're never far away.
Slipping out into the faint wind and falling snow, Harry let himself pad on, his feet buried in cold white, uncaring. He hated this fighting. He wanted everything to be happy again, he wanted to go back to his nice normal life, even though it was with the Dursleys. He didn't care any more. He didn't want to fight. He was just a boy. He didn't deserve this. All this punishment for something he couldn't control. Yes, he'd been known to frequently wish he'd not been the Boy Who'd Lived. And yes, since Cedric's death he had meant it.
Harry barely registered he was shivering any more. He had wrapped his arms about his body, and he walked quietly around the perimeter of the castle, only happy once he could see the lake, but he didn't stop. Walking was keeping him warm, and he wasn't satisfied with collapsing to die here. He had somewhere to get to, the place his father and the Marauders had spent most of their time, under a currently leafless beach tree.
It's so real. It's so right. This is the last time. It's alright. It's okay. You're never far away.
Harry padded quietly across the expanse of cold whiteness, unknowing of the snowflaked remaining unmelted on his cold face, settled in his messy hair and clinging to his pyjamas. His feet were clad in a layer of white snow, and his hands had discoloured to a shade of blue that Harry was enjoying examining. His breath was still a cloud of white smoke, and his glasses were getting covered in a mass of snow too. With a grunt Harry pushed them away quietly, dropping them onto the icy surface.
Calmly, Harry made it to the tree, lifting his hand to touch the trunk, which felt icy with permeating chill. He closed his eyes and sighed, leaning against the trunk slightly and lifting his eyes to look out towards the lake. It was frozen solid, and snow had piled up on its edges. Underneath the clear surface, Harry could see the giant squid rolling and diving. At least the squid was happy, even when Harry's heart
felt as cold as ice, and as heavy as lead.
It's so real. It's so right. This is the last time. Hurting all the time and you just don't know why.
Harry slid down the tree quietly, feeling a sob rise in his throat. He hadn't cried since Sirius' death, it was his little vow that he wouldn't let anything get to him. But it didn't matter. He could cry. This was the last time he would ever cry, and that made it a fair exchange. He'd join his beloved parents and friends soon. He'd join Sirius, Hermione and Ron, James and Lily, Neville, Dean, Seamus, Ginny, Fred and George, Remus, Moody, Tonks, Figg. They'd all be waiting for him after death, wouldn't they?
A choking sob burst from Harry's lips. This was the last time. It was right to cry, it was letting reality set in. They were all dead. Tears must be shed, and he would give up, because that was all he could do now. Fighting was irrelevant. Voldemort would destroy him, and that would be a far worse death than to simply let his heart stop out here from cold, even though the chill stung him through. He wished the numbness would come already. It had already come to his feet and hands. He couldn't stand now if he wanted to. He just had to let the rest of his body numb, and then he would grow cold and his heart would stop. Easy, really. Perhaps too easy, but after everything else he deserved it. He needed it to be this easy. No more pain. No more hurt. Just death.
Who made this true? Its not right.
You make it through.
Harry used to be strong. After every death he would tell himself that it was just another reason to kill Voldemort, to end it and soon. He'd make it though, and he would avenge his friends. He had to, because that was what happened. Good won over evil.
But this reality was wrong. Good wasn't winning, evil was, and there was no way that good would eventually win over evil, thrusting them down at the last second. Voldemort was far too powerful. It was impossible. It was more than impossible for Harry. He couldn't do this. Harry closed his eyes and bit his lip, which was also numb with cold, his saliva burned it like fire. His ears burnt like ice.
Hurting all the time and you just don't know why. They don't know you -- Not inside.
Dumbledore had always tried to comfort him, had always been there. It had used to work, the very man's presence had been inspiring and powerful, but as the war had continued, it had closed in on him, and it was obviously in his bent posture and the lack of time he could spend on the battlefield that age was closing in on him. Dumbledore's magic was weakening, so he gave up doing everything else, gave up comforting him to focus his magic every hour of the day and hold off further attacks.
None of the other teachers had known him like Dumbledore, and they couldn't either. None of them could help him and none of them held the power Dumbledore had held over his emotions. Harry had gradually spiralled into disrepair, perhaps even insanity. He was cold and in pain, all the time. They didn't know him, so they couldn't uncoil him, couldn't make him feel anything but pain. Harry wanted it to end. He was sick of being strong, since it had never worked. He was just a boy.
They have issues.
Fighting all the time has made them lose their insight
To make it worse, the teachers had fallen to bickering with each other. Many left, ministry officials had to be grafted in to hold up the ranks. Teaching had fallen, then Hogsmeade and the teachers had disbanded.
Only a few had stayed, all of them belonging to the Order of the Phoenix, and then the rest of them had died. They fought too long, holding on to what was left of Hogwarts when they ought to have left completely. The school was useless now, even as a strategic base. Constant fighting wore them down and they made bad mistakes, crashing to nothing when the easily avoided killing curse knocked them down. It had been the same with Sirius. An accident from fighting for twelve years. Sirius had been lucky, he had missed the real pain of battle.
It's alright. It's okay. You're never far away. It's so real. It's so right. This is the last time.
But Sirius was waiting for him now. Sirius was waiting for him with his mother and father, with his friends. Away from the Malfoys, from the Macnairs and the Lestranges, from Voldemort himself there was a whole group of people just waiting for him to die and join them. There were only two people wanting him to remain here, and one of them would join them very soon, while the other would easily fit into the new world which would rise, Voldemort's world. Severus Snape would be fine, if not a little sad.
Harry's body was so cold now, but it still stung faintly. It needed to be numb. His breath wasn't nearly as hot any more. It hurt to breathe in and it was horribly cold in his lungs. The snow covered earth was coming towards him and suddenly he found himself on his side. His muscles sung with anger when he tried to move, curling up tighter, shivering immensely.
It's alright. It's okay. You're never far away. It's so real. It's so right. This is the last time.
There was something coming towards him across the lake. It was too distant to know what it was at the moment. Harry suspected it was death coming to take him away and he sighed a shuddering sigh that tore through his body savagely, as though ripping his insides from him. Harry blinked the snow off his eyelashes quietly and tried to pay no attention to the approaching group of dark creatures. They were unimportant.
What Harry recognised as a black fox trotted as if from nowhere, turning its obsidian eyes towards Harry. The creature looked slightly greasy, perhaps due to the snow melting on its coat, and Harry suddenly wished he had the creature against him, warming him up, caring for him. He took a soft breath as the creature came over to his side and sniffed at him curiously, as though waiting for him to die so he could be eaten. Harry didn't care. He'd be dead. This was the last time he could ever be useful, as food for a starving animal.
This is the last time.
This is the last time.
His mind was completely away from the approaching group of death eaters as the animal came up to his side, curling up against him, shivering at how cold he was, while the hot burn of the creatures heat seared Harry. The boy sighed sadly as the black fox lifted its muzzle and began to lick his face gently, singeing away the numbing coldness. Harry tried to turn his head away but his muscles refused to work.
His breath was coming hard and fast in his throat, and his heart was pumping uneasily in his chest. So this was what it felt to die? He felt numb, as though he couldn't get his chest to move to breath, couldn't force his mouth or nose to allow any air through. His heart beat frantically, desperate for oxygen, and Harry distantly registered the fox changing into Severus Snape and easily plucking him from the ground, as though he were nothing more than a toy doll.
So fall asleep.
Hurting all the time and you just don't know why.
Harry's heart kept beating desperately, and Snape was saying something incoherent. The black shapes were getting closer, and the black haired man looked almost as though he was about to cry. Harry's eyes slid shut slowly and then flickered a little. His chest was being forced up, oxygen surging down his throat to fill him, his heart giving a set of steady beats.
Snape breathed again as he wrapped his robes around Harry and disappeared. They were in the warm again, and it was painful, Harry didn't register more than a sudden warmth sliding down his throat though. He could breath easily again, but he was so tired, and he let sleep overcome him, dragging him away into unconsciousness.
Be peaceful as you lay.
Forget about the world, you're going to be okay.
His sleep was peaceful and dreamless. There was no Voldemort, no death, no pain. There was no love or hate. There were no wizards, witches of Muggles, no goblins, centaurs, giants, thestrals, just Harry in his floating bliss of blackness and relaxation.
Harry didn't want to wake up ever again, because waking up meant knowing he was still alive, and he didn't want to do that. He was dying, he was going to join Sirius and his friends and his parents. This was the last dream. This was the end. It was going to be okay. He'd be dead soon.
It's alright. It's okay. You're never far away. It's so real. It's so right. This is the last time.
Harry was almost sad when he drifted from his sleep more than twenty four hours later. He was asleep in a strange bed, his dizzy gaze focused on a blotchy ceiling. His hand slipped out for the bedside cabinet, curling around his pair of glasses and sliding them onto his face. They were cold and Harry couldn't help but want to curl up under the blankets again. He wanted to stay warm. No more snow, no more cold.
He didn't notice the fox come back in and leap onto the bed, regarding him quizzically and sternly, and Harry carefully let a hand slide out from under the blankets, reaching to stroke through the fox's fur slowly, enjoying the soft but brittle feel of the coat under his fingers. The fox tilted its head and encouraged more stroking and Harry continued lovingly as it curled up against him and slid its head against his chest.
It's alright. It's okay. You're never far away. It's so real. It's so right. This is the last time.
Despite knowing it was Snape, Harry continued the petting and encouraged the creature closer to him, enjoying the comfort that was the creature's warmth. It didn't matter after all. This was the last time he would ever have this comfort, wasn't it. Voldemort was coming. He'd die, and Snape would join Voldemort. That's how it would work.
Harry sighed quietly as the door opened slowly, the red eyed snake man sliding through to regard him. Snape slid off his lap, trotting over to Voldemort's side and changing back. The Dark Lord stepped forwards slowly, watching Harry carefully. To his credit the boy didn't flinch, and Voldemort slowly sat on the side of the bed and brushed his fingers down over Harry's jaw line.
This is the last time.
This is the last time.
"Would you like to forget everything?" Voldemort's voice was as cruel and unpleasant as ever, but it offered Harry the one thing that the boy still wanted. He wanted to forget it all. He didn't want to be the boy who lived any more. He'd do anything for the privilege of forgetting. Anything.
Harry nodded tiredly and slid out from underneath the covers, uncaring of his current state of nudity. He needed to show Voldemort how desperately he wanted to be free of his memories. Tears leaked onto his cheeks, ran down them quietly and Voldemort let him lean against his chest, stroking through his hair in a fatherly fashion.
This is the last time.
Hurting all the time and you just don't know why
This was the last time Harry would have to remember this, the last pain he would ever have to suffer, a little memory charm, and it would all be over. He'd forget Sirius, he'd forget his parents. He'd forget Ron and Hermione, Neville and Dean and Seamus, Ginny, the twins, Remus, Dumbledore, Colin. They would all be gone, and he would finally be dead, just as they were, only he would be reborn as someone else, and perhaps later he would be able to be with them. But now was not his time. He couldn't leave. This was the last time for Harry Potter. Later he would see them again, but now he would forget and live, and perhaps be happy one last time.
Voldemort carefully brought up his wand as Harry snuggled into his chest. Harry's eyes fell on Snape. Not Snape the fox, for he had changed back, and his eyes reflected the sadness in his heart. Harry suddenly realised that Snape had managed to live through it, so why couldn't he? No...this was Voldemort's last time. This was Voldemort's end. Snape needed to be free just as he did. They'd be free together. He was in the perfect position to retaliate, and he did so by jamming his knee straight into Voldemort's groin and grabbing the man's wand. Harry barely registered casting the killing curse. From this close distance the power blast between them like an explosion, knocking Harry back from Voldemort's chest and killing the man; the horror, instantly. That was the last time. That was Voldemort's end. The end. He'd had his revenge and he could be happy. They could be happy. And they could wait for him.
They say it's true -- something's not right. They laugh at you.
Hurting all the time and you just don't know why.
Snape stepped forwards, dazed, kneeling down beside Voldemort to check that he was dead before coming over to Harry, lifting him up slowly to his feet and brushing fingers through his hair. "That was the last death, Harry. Noone else will suffer for this."
Harry nodded, trembling as he leant against Snape's solid chest while the man whispered encouraging words into his hair, such as "It's allright" and "It's okay." Harry suddenly realised that Snape had the power to comfort just as Dumbledore had had, and it was okay, all of it was fine except for a faint stinging in his heart. A part of him hurt. A part of him was missing. But he was alive, and that was what counted.
-Fin-
Title: Last Time
Author: EvilRemmy/CrimsonShinigami
Rating: PG13 (for attempted suicide)
Pairing: Snape/Harry Preslash (Touches of Voldemort/Harry)
Summary: It's snowing outside, and Harry feels numb from how his life has been wasted.
Notes: Written with excerpts of Last Time by Dry Cell
Last Time
Harry lay back on his bed, the silence about him ominous. His curtains were pulled right up to the walls about his bed and he kept his eyes firmly closed, ignoring everything about him. Harry had been in a state of constant despair for the past few days. School had been terminated and he was alone as anyone in his position could be. He, Dumbledore and Snape were all that remained of the faculty here, they were all that dared remain, because Voldemort was oppressing the entire world with his shadow. Harry sighed and pulled the blankets up tighter around himself, closing his eyes.
Harry knew that Voldemort was enjoying his despair. Linked, at least emotionally, Harry was aware of every one of Voldemort's emotions, and vice versa. Voldemort was aware of the effects any kind of attack had on Harry, who had become his focus of anger in the past year. Even if the murder didn't help Voldemort get closer to overthrowing the wizarding world, it didn't matter so long as it hurt Harry. This meant that most of the Gryffindors who knew Harry Potter, and their families had been brutally murdered.
They say it's true -- Something's not right. They laugh at you.
Voldemort laughed at him, and Harry knew because he could feel every little bit of humour running through to the very depths of his soul. It was distressing, and it was killing him. Harry didn't know how to alleviate his pain. It was impossible, because if he even tried to be happy, Voldemort would expertly send a wave of reminder between them, like a mocking telephone call, but with images. Hermione lying bloodied, broken, raped and killed at his feet, Ron's bodiless head, his dismembered corpse. Blood. Everywhere.
Harry knew why he was still alive, as a punishment, and to amuse Voldemort. He knew why no parents allowed their children to attend Hogwarts after the end of last year. It had been a massacre. Harry hadn't been there, and Voldemort had known it. At Hogsmeade, Death Eaters had set upon students from every building, having overthrown every house in the village. They rained down killing curses while the terrified students tried to escape. The students knowing of what was going to happen hadn't been involved, and had saved who they desired to from the masses.
Hurting all the time and you just don't know why. Destined to lose.
Harry moved to his feet without a thought, dressed in only his pyjamas, uncaring of the cold of the snow, of the cruel wind, or the fact that he was most visible, and didn't have his wand. He drifted down the stairs of the common room, the cold, stone floor under his bare feet, his eyes unseeing, knowing the way off by heart. He didn't care, slipping out without a glance to the lady in pink, who seemed to notice his despair and left him be.
He descended the long stairs, followed along the great hallways, descended another set of stairs and only paused, shivering at the doorway to the Great Hall. The enchanted ceiling had been destroyed some weeks ago, crumbling down into the hall below, only reminding Harry of the emptiness. He hadn't even eaten there since his friends had been killed.
It's not right -- What can you do?
All you do is fight and you're losing your insight
Why did he deserve this? Why did anyone? Voldemort had chosen him as a child, marked him as his equal, and as the boy he would torment for the rest of his life. Harry Potter, his name made famous by the unknowing wizard community, doomed from his birth. He couldn't win. Could anyone? Dumbledore could hold of Voldemort's attacks for only so long. The school was taking the brunt of the attacks. Half the buildings were crumbled or damaged. It would only be so long.
Harry couldn't fight Voldemort and win. Voldemort was a powerful wizard in his prime, well trained and encouraged by his victories so far. He was also far more lenient with his curses and hexes. Harry could never cast the killing curse, even on Voldemort. And even then he wasn't sure it would kill him. No, Harry was going to lose. He was preordained to lose, after all, one of them had to, and the side of light, the broken Order of the Phoenix, were most definitely falling, unstoppable.
All you do is fight and you're losing your insight It's alright. It's okay. You're never far away.
Harry slipped down the last set of stairs quietly, feeling the grind of the stone on his bare feet, his toes throbbing with a disjointed frozen feeling. His fingers were frozen, and Harry could feel the chill rolling over his body. He circled around the bottom of the stairs quietly, coming into the entrance hall where all the trunks and animals were usually kept before the first feast in the hall every year. Harry
wished desperately for the simplicity that used to be his life.
He found he couldn't walk any further, collapsing quietly on the top of the final set of steps, his toes still cold. He suddenly had an intense desire to see the lake, but he was on the east side, and the lake was to the south, he couldn't see it from here. He'd warm up a little first. Quietly he pulled his legs in and rubbed at his toes slightly. That would do for now.
It's so real. It's so right. This is the last time. It's alright. It's okay. You're never far away.
Slipping out into the faint wind and falling snow, Harry let himself pad on, his feet buried in cold white, uncaring. He hated this fighting. He wanted everything to be happy again, he wanted to go back to his nice normal life, even though it was with the Dursleys. He didn't care any more. He didn't want to fight. He was just a boy. He didn't deserve this. All this punishment for something he couldn't control. Yes, he'd been known to frequently wish he'd not been the Boy Who'd Lived. And yes, since Cedric's death he had meant it.
Harry barely registered he was shivering any more. He had wrapped his arms about his body, and he walked quietly around the perimeter of the castle, only happy once he could see the lake, but he didn't stop. Walking was keeping him warm, and he wasn't satisfied with collapsing to die here. He had somewhere to get to, the place his father and the Marauders had spent most of their time, under a currently leafless beach tree.
It's so real. It's so right. This is the last time. It's alright. It's okay. You're never far away.
Harry padded quietly across the expanse of cold whiteness, unknowing of the snowflaked remaining unmelted on his cold face, settled in his messy hair and clinging to his pyjamas. His feet were clad in a layer of white snow, and his hands had discoloured to a shade of blue that Harry was enjoying examining. His breath was still a cloud of white smoke, and his glasses were getting covered in a mass of snow too. With a grunt Harry pushed them away quietly, dropping them onto the icy surface.
Calmly, Harry made it to the tree, lifting his hand to touch the trunk, which felt icy with permeating chill. He closed his eyes and sighed, leaning against the trunk slightly and lifting his eyes to look out towards the lake. It was frozen solid, and snow had piled up on its edges. Underneath the clear surface, Harry could see the giant squid rolling and diving. At least the squid was happy, even when Harry's heart
felt as cold as ice, and as heavy as lead.
It's so real. It's so right. This is the last time. Hurting all the time and you just don't know why.
Harry slid down the tree quietly, feeling a sob rise in his throat. He hadn't cried since Sirius' death, it was his little vow that he wouldn't let anything get to him. But it didn't matter. He could cry. This was the last time he would ever cry, and that made it a fair exchange. He'd join his beloved parents and friends soon. He'd join Sirius, Hermione and Ron, James and Lily, Neville, Dean, Seamus, Ginny, Fred and George, Remus, Moody, Tonks, Figg. They'd all be waiting for him after death, wouldn't they?
A choking sob burst from Harry's lips. This was the last time. It was right to cry, it was letting reality set in. They were all dead. Tears must be shed, and he would give up, because that was all he could do now. Fighting was irrelevant. Voldemort would destroy him, and that would be a far worse death than to simply let his heart stop out here from cold, even though the chill stung him through. He wished the numbness would come already. It had already come to his feet and hands. He couldn't stand now if he wanted to. He just had to let the rest of his body numb, and then he would grow cold and his heart would stop. Easy, really. Perhaps too easy, but after everything else he deserved it. He needed it to be this easy. No more pain. No more hurt. Just death.
Who made this true? Its not right.
You make it through.
Harry used to be strong. After every death he would tell himself that it was just another reason to kill Voldemort, to end it and soon. He'd make it though, and he would avenge his friends. He had to, because that was what happened. Good won over evil.
But this reality was wrong. Good wasn't winning, evil was, and there was no way that good would eventually win over evil, thrusting them down at the last second. Voldemort was far too powerful. It was impossible. It was more than impossible for Harry. He couldn't do this. Harry closed his eyes and bit his lip, which was also numb with cold, his saliva burned it like fire. His ears burnt like ice.
Hurting all the time and you just don't know why. They don't know you -- Not inside.
Dumbledore had always tried to comfort him, had always been there. It had used to work, the very man's presence had been inspiring and powerful, but as the war had continued, it had closed in on him, and it was obviously in his bent posture and the lack of time he could spend on the battlefield that age was closing in on him. Dumbledore's magic was weakening, so he gave up doing everything else, gave up comforting him to focus his magic every hour of the day and hold off further attacks.
None of the other teachers had known him like Dumbledore, and they couldn't either. None of them could help him and none of them held the power Dumbledore had held over his emotions. Harry had gradually spiralled into disrepair, perhaps even insanity. He was cold and in pain, all the time. They didn't know him, so they couldn't uncoil him, couldn't make him feel anything but pain. Harry wanted it to end. He was sick of being strong, since it had never worked. He was just a boy.
They have issues.
Fighting all the time has made them lose their insight
To make it worse, the teachers had fallen to bickering with each other. Many left, ministry officials had to be grafted in to hold up the ranks. Teaching had fallen, then Hogsmeade and the teachers had disbanded.
Only a few had stayed, all of them belonging to the Order of the Phoenix, and then the rest of them had died. They fought too long, holding on to what was left of Hogwarts when they ought to have left completely. The school was useless now, even as a strategic base. Constant fighting wore them down and they made bad mistakes, crashing to nothing when the easily avoided killing curse knocked them down. It had been the same with Sirius. An accident from fighting for twelve years. Sirius had been lucky, he had missed the real pain of battle.
It's alright. It's okay. You're never far away. It's so real. It's so right. This is the last time.
But Sirius was waiting for him now. Sirius was waiting for him with his mother and father, with his friends. Away from the Malfoys, from the Macnairs and the Lestranges, from Voldemort himself there was a whole group of people just waiting for him to die and join them. There were only two people wanting him to remain here, and one of them would join them very soon, while the other would easily fit into the new world which would rise, Voldemort's world. Severus Snape would be fine, if not a little sad.
Harry's body was so cold now, but it still stung faintly. It needed to be numb. His breath wasn't nearly as hot any more. It hurt to breathe in and it was horribly cold in his lungs. The snow covered earth was coming towards him and suddenly he found himself on his side. His muscles sung with anger when he tried to move, curling up tighter, shivering immensely.
It's alright. It's okay. You're never far away. It's so real. It's so right. This is the last time.
There was something coming towards him across the lake. It was too distant to know what it was at the moment. Harry suspected it was death coming to take him away and he sighed a shuddering sigh that tore through his body savagely, as though ripping his insides from him. Harry blinked the snow off his eyelashes quietly and tried to pay no attention to the approaching group of dark creatures. They were unimportant.
What Harry recognised as a black fox trotted as if from nowhere, turning its obsidian eyes towards Harry. The creature looked slightly greasy, perhaps due to the snow melting on its coat, and Harry suddenly wished he had the creature against him, warming him up, caring for him. He took a soft breath as the creature came over to his side and sniffed at him curiously, as though waiting for him to die so he could be eaten. Harry didn't care. He'd be dead. This was the last time he could ever be useful, as food for a starving animal.
This is the last time.
This is the last time.
His mind was completely away from the approaching group of death eaters as the animal came up to his side, curling up against him, shivering at how cold he was, while the hot burn of the creatures heat seared Harry. The boy sighed sadly as the black fox lifted its muzzle and began to lick his face gently, singeing away the numbing coldness. Harry tried to turn his head away but his muscles refused to work.
His breath was coming hard and fast in his throat, and his heart was pumping uneasily in his chest. So this was what it felt to die? He felt numb, as though he couldn't get his chest to move to breath, couldn't force his mouth or nose to allow any air through. His heart beat frantically, desperate for oxygen, and Harry distantly registered the fox changing into Severus Snape and easily plucking him from the ground, as though he were nothing more than a toy doll.
So fall asleep.
Hurting all the time and you just don't know why.
Harry's heart kept beating desperately, and Snape was saying something incoherent. The black shapes were getting closer, and the black haired man looked almost as though he was about to cry. Harry's eyes slid shut slowly and then flickered a little. His chest was being forced up, oxygen surging down his throat to fill him, his heart giving a set of steady beats.
Snape breathed again as he wrapped his robes around Harry and disappeared. They were in the warm again, and it was painful, Harry didn't register more than a sudden warmth sliding down his throat though. He could breath easily again, but he was so tired, and he let sleep overcome him, dragging him away into unconsciousness.
Be peaceful as you lay.
Forget about the world, you're going to be okay.
His sleep was peaceful and dreamless. There was no Voldemort, no death, no pain. There was no love or hate. There were no wizards, witches of Muggles, no goblins, centaurs, giants, thestrals, just Harry in his floating bliss of blackness and relaxation.
Harry didn't want to wake up ever again, because waking up meant knowing he was still alive, and he didn't want to do that. He was dying, he was going to join Sirius and his friends and his parents. This was the last dream. This was the end. It was going to be okay. He'd be dead soon.
It's alright. It's okay. You're never far away. It's so real. It's so right. This is the last time.
Harry was almost sad when he drifted from his sleep more than twenty four hours later. He was asleep in a strange bed, his dizzy gaze focused on a blotchy ceiling. His hand slipped out for the bedside cabinet, curling around his pair of glasses and sliding them onto his face. They were cold and Harry couldn't help but want to curl up under the blankets again. He wanted to stay warm. No more snow, no more cold.
He didn't notice the fox come back in and leap onto the bed, regarding him quizzically and sternly, and Harry carefully let a hand slide out from under the blankets, reaching to stroke through the fox's fur slowly, enjoying the soft but brittle feel of the coat under his fingers. The fox tilted its head and encouraged more stroking and Harry continued lovingly as it curled up against him and slid its head against his chest.
It's alright. It's okay. You're never far away. It's so real. It's so right. This is the last time.
Despite knowing it was Snape, Harry continued the petting and encouraged the creature closer to him, enjoying the comfort that was the creature's warmth. It didn't matter after all. This was the last time he would ever have this comfort, wasn't it. Voldemort was coming. He'd die, and Snape would join Voldemort. That's how it would work.
Harry sighed quietly as the door opened slowly, the red eyed snake man sliding through to regard him. Snape slid off his lap, trotting over to Voldemort's side and changing back. The Dark Lord stepped forwards slowly, watching Harry carefully. To his credit the boy didn't flinch, and Voldemort slowly sat on the side of the bed and brushed his fingers down over Harry's jaw line.
This is the last time.
This is the last time.
"Would you like to forget everything?" Voldemort's voice was as cruel and unpleasant as ever, but it offered Harry the one thing that the boy still wanted. He wanted to forget it all. He didn't want to be the boy who lived any more. He'd do anything for the privilege of forgetting. Anything.
Harry nodded tiredly and slid out from underneath the covers, uncaring of his current state of nudity. He needed to show Voldemort how desperately he wanted to be free of his memories. Tears leaked onto his cheeks, ran down them quietly and Voldemort let him lean against his chest, stroking through his hair in a fatherly fashion.
This is the last time.
Hurting all the time and you just don't know why
This was the last time Harry would have to remember this, the last pain he would ever have to suffer, a little memory charm, and it would all be over. He'd forget Sirius, he'd forget his parents. He'd forget Ron and Hermione, Neville and Dean and Seamus, Ginny, the twins, Remus, Dumbledore, Colin. They would all be gone, and he would finally be dead, just as they were, only he would be reborn as someone else, and perhaps later he would be able to be with them. But now was not his time. He couldn't leave. This was the last time for Harry Potter. Later he would see them again, but now he would forget and live, and perhaps be happy one last time.
Voldemort carefully brought up his wand as Harry snuggled into his chest. Harry's eyes fell on Snape. Not Snape the fox, for he had changed back, and his eyes reflected the sadness in his heart. Harry suddenly realised that Snape had managed to live through it, so why couldn't he? No...this was Voldemort's last time. This was Voldemort's end. Snape needed to be free just as he did. They'd be free together. He was in the perfect position to retaliate, and he did so by jamming his knee straight into Voldemort's groin and grabbing the man's wand. Harry barely registered casting the killing curse. From this close distance the power blast between them like an explosion, knocking Harry back from Voldemort's chest and killing the man; the horror, instantly. That was the last time. That was Voldemort's end. The end. He'd had his revenge and he could be happy. They could be happy. And they could wait for him.
They say it's true -- something's not right. They laugh at you.
Hurting all the time and you just don't know why.
Snape stepped forwards, dazed, kneeling down beside Voldemort to check that he was dead before coming over to Harry, lifting him up slowly to his feet and brushing fingers through his hair. "That was the last death, Harry. Noone else will suffer for this."
Harry nodded, trembling as he leant against Snape's solid chest while the man whispered encouraging words into his hair, such as "It's allright" and "It's okay." Harry suddenly realised that Snape had the power to comfort just as Dumbledore had had, and it was okay, all of it was fine except for a faint stinging in his heart. A part of him hurt. A part of him was missing. But he was alive, and that was what counted.
-Fin-