Chapter 11

Harry was sprawled out on his stomach on the lumpy old bed in his room at Grimmauld Place, as he often did when he was killing time between Ron's daily visit and Severus's nightly visit.

He flexed and stretched his right hand, sore from overuse for the day. He'd written over a dozen lengthy letters.

He lifted his wand, cleared his throat, then cast the protective spell over the many pieces of parchment laid out before him. Remus had taught him the spell over breakfast, without asking Harry why he needed to know it, which he was grateful for. Remus still loved to teach and Harry could see that he was flattered when he'd asked him about it. Sirius hadn't said much. He wasn't a morning person, and was also still sulky over the continued presence of one Severus Snape in his home.

Harry stretched out his fingers once more, then folded each letter into thirds, and stuffed them into envelopes which were individually labeled with names.

Finishing all of the letters, oddly enough, filled Harry with a sense of peace. A sense of conclusion to his short but tumultuous life.

There were things he needed to tell his loved ones once he was gone and these letters would hopefully answer any questions they might be left with.

Harry could imagine his friends holding these letters after his death, perhaps crying a bit, but ultimately finding comfort at Harry's words. Just a little something to remember him by, maybe.

Harry pulled out one more piece of parchment and wrote his will.

All of his inherited wealth would go to Remus, Sirius, the Weasleys, and a large donation to Hogwarts, too. They were the ones who'd raised him, and Hogwarts had been his home.

Hedwig would go to Severus. Harry could see that Severus was growing weary of his solitude. Maybe Hedwig could give Severus companionship, the way she'd provided it to Harry during his lonely summers at the Dursley's. His broom, to Ron, of course. And his books to Hermione, of course. Everything else, he'd let Sirius sort through and give away or donate.

Harry needed his loved ones to know that, while he might be dead, they were not abandoned. He needed them to know how cherished they were.

Harry pulled on his black leather boots and sat at the edge of his bed, stack of letters in his hand. Severus would be there any minute for their lesson. Severus was reliable, and with that, came punctuality.

Right on time, a knock on his bedroom door.

"Harry, he's here," came Sirius's irritated voice. He rolled his eyes and pushed himself off the bed.

"Happy New Years, Severus," Harry said, closing the kitchen door behind him.

"And to you." Severus inclined his head in greeting then cast the silencing charm, as he always did. "Are you ready?"

"No. When am I ever?"

"One day, you will have to be."

"I can't be a paranoid bastard every minute of the day like you are," Harry said, his tone light and teasing.

Severus's face showed no humour. "You've become a paranoid bastard like me some years ago, I'm afraid to inform you."

Harry smirked. "True. But I'm not always on guard."

"But you need to be. That's why we're here." Severus shifted his gaze to the tiles beneath his feet. "You know I wish it didn't have to be that way."

"I know," Harry said sadly. He reached out to hold Severus's hand. The man's long, slender fingers thread themselves through Harry's effortlessly.

Harry looked into the professor's dark eyes and saw the pain and sadness that had always been there, but seemed to be intensifying. Harry wondered if it was because the man wasn't finding the answers he needed to break the prophecy.

He was afraid to ask, so he never did, and Severus never brought it up.

Harry wished he'd started a journal. He'd love to remember the exact moment he began to see beauty in those sad, dark eyes. He'd love to remember the moment he first touched the man before him, and remember when Severus no longer seemed unnerved by Harry's affections.

They'd long become comfortable with one another. Severus never touched Harry first, but had began to seem comforted whenever Harry would embrace him, or hold his hand... even though Severus was always the first to end the contact.

Severus squeezed Harry's hand once then removed himself to pull the wand from his robes.

"I'm ready."

Severus pulled his lips into an impossibly thinner line and raised his wand.

Harry pictured a literal brick wall, the one around Aunt Petunia's garden, and imagined it shielding his mind from the man aiming to invade it.

It held firmly, but then began to collapse. Bricks crumbling and falling. And then he was spiraling into thoughts and memories.

Running into 9 3/4 and smashing his trolley into it when Dobby had closed it.

His legs resting over Severus's at the safehouse.

Receiving his first Weasley jumper on his eleventh Christmas.

Severus sifted through these memories, never latching onto any of them, just continuing to push forward.

Harry was panting and sweating profusely. He took a deep breath and removed his new Molly-made jumper and laid it over the back of a chair.

"You kept me out longer than usual." A compliment, in Snape-speech.

"But still not good enough," Harry said.

"No."

"Could you do something for me?"

Severus's lips parted as he looked at Harry, brow furrowing in a silent question.

Harry pulled the letters from the back pocket of his trousers and handed them to the raven-haired man.

"I need you to send these, after I'm gone."

Severus looked down at the stack. The envelope on top had the man's own name on it. He slowly sorted through them to read Hermione, Ron, Sirius, Remus, Molly & Arthur, Albus, Prof McGonagall, Neville, Luna, Ginny, Hagrid and... Draco.

"Are these- ?"

"Yeah."

"I can't... I'm not sure I am the one to be your executor."

"You're the only one. Please, do this for me? Just say yes."

The man blinked slowly. "Yes," he said quietly.

"Thank you. And, erm, don't read yours until I'm actually dead, okay?"

"I will never need to open this. I refuse to allow this to happen."

"Please stop!" Harry demanded. He added more softly, "Everyone else is doing this to me. Telling me to be optimistic, to be hopeful. You're the one person in my life who has always been realistic, who has always been honest with me and been able to see things the way they are. I know you're working hard to save me. But right now, this is reality. This is the future I am looking at. I've made my peace with it. Please, please, just accept that this is what is going to happen. And then... deliver the damn letters."

Severus looked crestfallen, but tucked the letters into his robes.

"I want to despise you for doing this to me," Severus said.

"Will you miss me when I'm gone?" Harry tried to sound teasing, to lighten the heavy air between them.

Instead, Harry found himself crushed within the strong arms of the older man. The first time Severus had initiated touch.

Harry hoped that the comfort he found there in that embrace would be what it felt like to die. Engulfed in a calming blackness.

Harry clung to Severus like a last hope, because that is exactly what Severus was to him.

He smelled like cardamom and sweat.

Harry thought he heard a soft sob.

Perhaps it was his own, because Severus Snape doesn't cry.