Professor Snape was sitting in the snow, being slowly driven mad by the shrill ringing of a doorbell.

"What do you want from me, Potter?" the Potions Master asked quietly. There was no hope that the arrogant boy would listen.

The gun muzzle was pressed against his forehead.

"At least the ringing will stop," Snape thought, feeling almost relief.

The gun fired. Professor jumped to his feet as he woke up, and the boat careened dangerously. He quickly lowered himself to the bench, clutching the sides of the boat with both hands.

"You should be more careful," Harry said indifferently, munching on some bread crust. "We could drown, you know. I'm a very bad swimmer."

"So am I," Snape muttered, trying to calm down. "So am I."

At least we had no one to fear in Liverpool. That was some luck.

"They would never think to look for us here. And the idea of smuggling the Dark Lord's body out of England is so insane that Scrimgeour would dismiss it immediately." Of course, that's exactly what we were doing, but...

"And he'd only even consider it if he were drunk," Snape agreed darkly.

We spent almost a day in that inn for the simple reason that both of us needed to clean up, heal a bit, and get some sleep. I was secretly glad that we would take a sea route from there, because it would be much easier than dragging a coffin through deep snow.

"Are we going to rent a cabin cruiser?"

"I am afraid we have to buy one."

Snape had spent most of his time in our room studying the map and measuring something with a ruler, even when I was asleep. It made me angry because, for one thing, he should have learned that map by heart long ago, and for the other, when he was hungry and tired, he was twice as malicious.

"Why? We have documents."

"I would use them only in emergency, Potter. And you'd better too. Have you fixed up the coffin?"

"Of course."

I had assembled the coffin in an hour after we had arrived at the inn, and Snape knew that perfectly well. He just couldn't help ordering me around.

Eh, let him. It won't be long before Scrimgeour takes one of us into custody ... and it won't be me.

Snape bought a motorboat instead of a cabin cruiser. Either he was saving money, or he was afraid that we would not be able to manage a cruiser. I didn't ask, partially because I didn't want to make him cross, and partially because I feared the answer. I liked him better silent, anyhow. During the past month I had learned to keep silent too. Of course my silence wasn't quite up to his standards, but still.

"We shall not stop at Belfast," he informed me dryly on the second day of our sea voyage.

"And what about supplies?"

"We'll acquire both water and fuel in Portnahaven," he snapped without even a glance at me. "From there we shall head straight to Stornoway. If we have extra time, we'll stop."

All this was foreign to me, so I took the map. My spirits sank. He'd told me that we were going to Ireland. I was so eager to see it; I had never been abroad, thanks to Voldemort. On the other hand now, again thanks to him, I was finally travelling.

The cold winter sea was hardly a joyful, cheerful place, but I liked it all the same. I liked that we were moving in the right direction, that it was lightly snowing instead of raining heavily, that even though my feet were wet and had lost all sensation, I didn't have to walk. I didn't have to drag the coffin, care for its wheels, sleep on spruce branches, make fires… And Snape wouldn't be limping again as he was limping then, in the very beginning. All the way to Edinburgh I had to consciously not worry about what I would do if he could not walk.

"Just imagine what a storm'd feel like out here," I blurted out without thinking one night after we had already left Portnahaven. The place had turned out to be a tiny, dirty town on the Scottish island of Islay.

Snape threw a fierce glare in my direction.

"Idiot," he said through gritted teeth, and I figured it out. Speaking ill might draw a disaster to us, and that scared me. After all, I was a wizard, even without a wand. But fortunately, the weather wasn't paying attention to my words. It was nasty even for a winter seascape, but it didn't qualify for a storm.

No, our disaster happened for a completely unrelated reason. One morning I was woken up by cracking and crashing sounds. Heavy smoke was issuing from our stern, and I coughed. I made it to get up, the boat tilted, and the coffin slowly glided to the port side. It lost its lid, and Voldemort tried to catch it without rising.

"Sit down!" snapped Snape, and he began coughing too.

I did not know whom he was addressing - me or the corpse struggling out of the coffin. But Voldemort, who had apparently gone deaf in the afterlife, paid Snape no heed, rose to his full height and immediately fell overboard. I went in after him. What else could I do? Incidentally, I do not recommend taking a swim in the Sea of the Hebrides in January. It's not pleasant.

The cold was so intense it was actually painful, and I was terrified. My head was underwater and I suddenly realized with horror that if the corpse drowned, we would never find it. I opened my eyes, couldn't see anything, flailed, and came up to the surface despite my jacket that kept a big bubble of air around me. Or, perhaps, because of it.

Snape was silently floundering nearby.

It was clear that he could not swim either, because his face was pale and lacking any expression, and he clutched the floating coffin lid like a kick pad, trying to turn it towards the coast.

On the other hand, our corpse was an excellent swimmer. Dumbfounded, I saw him making a beeline for the shore, paddling along gay as you please, doing the breaststroke, of all things.

He was escaping!

We had to get the coffin to the shore, too. Clearly, Snape would not get out of the ocean without the lid, so it was up to me to get the coffin.

I made a couple of mighty strokes, clutched its wooden side, and tried to lean on it with my body to get it to float in the right direction. It didn't work. The coffin tilted and began to turn over.

"Dive!" bellowed Snape.

Scared, I released the coffin and sank, feeling a dull thud above me. The coffin had turned over with a smack and missed me by inches.

When I surfaced again, Voldemort was pensively walking along the shore with our sack on his shoulder, while the coffin was floating bottom up near Snape. We had to get out of water soon, or we would freeze.

I reached the coffin and began to push it slowly towards the shore, abandoning all attempts to use it. When I finally reached dry land, Snape had already pacified our corpse and was briskly walking around in the crunching snow, rubbing his arms to get warm.

"Come on, Potter," he said with annoyance. "We are almost there."

I crawled out to the shore and looked at Snape with loathing.

"You're right, I am almost there."

He glanced at me indifferently and went to fetch the coffin out of the water.

"Get up! We need a fire."

Instead of replying, I lay down and closed my eyes. I wanted to sleep. I couldn't bear it anymore.

Snape couldn't bear it, either. He lashed out at me.

"Unbelieveable. Look at you, laying down like a dog. You snivelling ... you only boast of your exploits to your enraptured admirers!" he hissed. "You will meet Death right here without having done a single worthy thing in your life!"

Right, I'll die right now. I could not care less.

"Fine," he said, and the snow crunched under his boots as he walked away.

He will leave me here. Without a moment's hesitation. Why am I surprised? He was going to leave me behind in the forest, after all.

With difficulty I half-opened my eyes. Snape put Voldemort in the coffin, closed the lid, and began nailing it down. I was right, he was going to leave without me.

If I were him, I would not leave him behind, I would put him in the coffin.

But he was nailing the lid down.

So what if he is?

I closed my eyes again, and in a while I felt a bit warmer.

I wonder if he's already left.

"Potter, Potter." Snape was tapping me on the shoulder, and I could clearly hear concern in his voice. "Get up immediately. I have some rather bad news."

Oh, gods, what now?

I could not decide whether to laugh or cry.

"What's the bad news?"

"Actually, it's terrible news." His voice was trembling a little, and I opened my eyes.

It looked like he was laughing.

"What?"

"The boat's engine is inoperable, so you will have to rely on your arms to get us the rest of the way."

Now he was openly laughing while demonstrating with his arms what I'd have to do.

"I have to swim?" I rose up on my elbow.

"If you wish, but taking the distance into account, I'd suggest you row."

"Why me? You've got a pair of arms, haven't you? You do it!"

"Potter, if you row without a break for the week we have left, we shall make it just in time."

He was saying all this while choking on his laughter, but since I couldn't see anything funny, I began to think that he was simply hysterical.

"Stop it," I rose to my feet. "Do you know where we are?"

"Most likely this is the Isle of Barra. From here we can either walk, or row."

"Let's walk," I replied quickly.

"The distance is the same, but it is faster by water."

"I don't give a damn."

"Potter, we will not make it in time if we walk. Do you wish to live on these islands till February? Hmm?"

I did not want that. But rowing…

"How far are we from the Isle of Lewis?"

"About a hundred miles."

Why a week then? And what was this 'rowing without a break' business?

He was unfolding the map with his usual displeased mien, and I realized that he had actually been laughing. At me.

"I need to dry my clothes."

"Make a fire," he threw to me without a glance.

The git had deceived me! He had started about a fire as soon as I got out to the shore! But his insults didn't work, so he had deceived me! "You will row without a break." Oh yeah, Professor? How's this? "You will spend the rest of your life in Azkaban when this is over." How's that for an order?

These thoughts were my only source of warmth and consolation while I gathered firewood and they sustained me while I sat around the fire with Snape, trying to dry our drenched clothes and boots. I had to take my boots off and practically shove them into the fire. In the end I failed to keep an eye on them, and a sole of one boot got scorched, but just slightly, because Snape noticed the smell in time and saved it.

"Professor, it's no good. We can't go by boat," I told him looking at the map. "It's too far, and besides, we haven't any food. Everything went overboard when Voldemort had his little, erm, 'incident.'"

"There are plenty of seaside villages where we can stop. We shall make it, certainly. The main problem is to arrive by the full moon."

Indeed, there were villages. We were able to buy fish, bread, and milk there. We were even able to boil some hot water once a day.

From time to time the coffin began to bob up and down, and whoever who wasn't rowing at the time would sit down on it. Since it was higher than the bench and it was fun to use as an observation point, by the third day it had become my favourite location.

"Potter, you should go into horseback riding," Snape grumbled. "If you can ride this…"

I shot a nasty barb back at him, though for the life of me I could not explain what was so insulting in his suggestion about the horseback riding.

Our greatest fear was bad weather. We were so afraid of it that, like the superstitious fishermen around here, we didn't even talk about the possibility. But it didn't help. It was snowing all the time, and the wind stubbornly kept trying to blow us towards shore. Finally on the fourth day we had ran fast aground between two islands. It was night, the icy water was filling the boat, and there were barely discernible lights far on the shore. We decided that there was no sense spending the night in the boat.

"Should we send him for help?" I tapped with my knuckles on the coffin lid and immediately heard a cheerful knock from inside.

"We cannot set the boat afloat without help!" Snape yelled in response and added something less polite. His words were muffled by the sound of the waves and the howling wind, but I got the point. "Neither of us can swim well enough!"

"But he can!" I shouted, and tapped on the coffin again.

It looked like Snape had got tired of yelling. He pulled out the cord, tied it around his waist and threw me the other end. I was about to tie it around my own waist, but he shook his head and began to tear off the coffin lid with the axe.

He's releasing the corpse? What does he expect Voldemort to do, pull the boat to shore?

I knew that Voldemort had been too pushy by half in life, but I had my doubts that he could be that powerful a force in death.

A wave crashed over us, and when it subsided I saw that Voldemort was already getting out of the coffin.

Snape expertly hit him on the head with the lid and put him back. He threw the sack with our instruments into the coffin and, after passing the cord under the lid, quickly nailed it down.

It suddenly dawned on me what his idea was, and I really liked it. Neither of us had any chance in the icy night sea, what with the high waves and snow, and a coming storm. We would drown for sure.

"If we push it into the water first, we'll never mount it again," I yelled, remembering how the coffin had tipped over and had come within inches of doing me harm a few days ago. "We should sit down on it first!"

Snape nodded, and we hefted the coffin and laid it across the boat. Snape gave me one of the oars and mounted the coffin. He'd forgotten the hammer, so I hooked it through my belt and settled behind him. I was not afraid. Of course, we'd be drenched by the time this was over, but I could see the lights on the shore and that meant we would make it.

When we began to shift forward slowly, the boat tilted under our weight, I pushed with my legs, and we smoothly glided into the water. We were immediately covered by a wave, but we managed to keep our balance, pulling strongly with our oars, and fought wind and waves as we headed for the shore of the Isle of Lewis.

Despite the unfortunate landing, I was on cloud nine. We had finally reached the damned island that had invaded my dreams for a month. It was a terrible spot to go ashore. There were forty more miles to cover by foot to Stornoway, and the coffin broken on the shore rocks. While I chased Voldemort around with the axe in my hand, I fell twice, tearing my jeans and bruising my knees, but it didn't matter. Snape calmed Voldemort down with the half of the former lid, and we worked until morning reassembling the coffin by touch, because the drenched torch refused to work. Both of us bruised fingers during the process, but by dawn our corpse was lying peacefully in an incredibly lopsided box that bore no resemblance to a coffin anymore.

Still, he was there, not moving, and not trying to escape. And while our end product was pitifully crooked, the contraption was resting on the same three wheels that Snape had fetched a million years ago during our departure from London. None of our former troubles mattered anymore. I might have been thinking about a previous life. This was it; the final push. We had three days and forty miles of snow-covered track. Just forty? Piece of cake. There was no doubt that we would make it. It was the happiest I'd been in a long time.

I was lying on the coffin and looking at the fire. The storm was over, the sky was clear, and it was snowing lightly. I suppose I fell asleep, but I was not sleeping very deeply, for I heard the fire cracking, Snape rustling with the map, and Voldemort scraping under the lid.

"Are you awake?" Snape had already folded the map and put out the fire with snow. "Let's go."

The coffin rolled down the country road, creaking all the way, the corpse scratching at the lid in time with the wheels. My bruised knees hurt and tried to buckle, Snape was trailing behind, and I considered sticking him in there with Voldemort for a nice doze, but I didn't have the strength to pull them both.

We spent the night in some ramshackle outpost. I only remember that it smelled of cats and there was a draught assaulting my ear all night. The next morning I woke with a massive headache a pounding pain in my left ear, and very sore legs which I'd have preferred be numb.

The weather turned nasty. We were surrounded on all sides by snow, and we had to leave the road for a forest track to skirt round a bay.

I desired only three things in the world: to eat real food, to sleep, and then to die. But we had only the frozen-over bread to eat, we slept in the forest again, and there was no reasonable expectation to die any time soon. Being deathly tired didn't count.

The last day before the full moon was horrible. It was cold at noon, so by nightfall it was freezing. The snow was falling heavier and heavier by the hour, and the corpse turned restive. The coffin was jerking all the time, which made dragging it more difficult, but the main problem was Snape's reaction to Voldemort's activity.

"I suppose he is so nervous because we are doing the right thing this time."

"Of course, we're doing the right thing!" he hissed at me spitefully.

"Why are you so angry?" I was baffled by him. "We're almost there."

"You are not almost there, Potter!" he yelled. "You are just chattering uselessly!"

"What are you doing, then?" I threw him the cord. Let him drag it.

At that very moment, the coffin began whirling on the spot, leaving deep grooves in the snow with the wheels. Snape threw me a furious glance, took the cord that had fallen in the snow, and marched briskly forward dragging down the road the struggling coffin, which was trying to break loose, and leaving me running after him.

To cap it all, we had a chance of being late.

If we don't get there by the evening, I'll have to stay on this island for another month in the company of this boor, who is not talking to me, and a hopping coffin.

The track had disappeared, and Snape eventually got stuck in the snow up to his knees.

"My watch has stopped." He sounded heartbroken.

"Perhaps being around you made it suicidal."

I swear, I had no intention of saying that out loud. It just came out.

He looked at me, infuriated, and spat, "You sneaked into my office to steal the potion ingredients, fourth year!"

Is he mental? As if we have time for this.

I fired back anyway. "I never sneaked into your office! You were just too stubborn to believe me!"

We were pulling the coffin by the cord together now, trudging through the snow, falling in icy ditches every half a mile and bickering spitefully. It drew my attention from my aching ears, the fierce cold, legs that were ready to fall off, and the incessantly jerking coffin.

"You didn't teach us anything!"

"Of course I didn't – you're unteachable!"

"Dumbledore never treated the students like you!"

"And where is he now?"

Git!

I stopped abruptly, and the coffin ran into my back. It knocked me into the snow. Snape thumped his foot on it with all his might, pressing it to the ground to prevent it from jerking, and spoke to me with a sneer, looking at me down his nose.

"And you," he said softly and venomously instead of helping me up, "since your fourth year you have been dreaming of using Cruciatus on me and enjoying the effects. And don't you dare to say that this is not true."

I gasped. "You had no permission to get into my head!"

"As if I would. Your face always betrays you."

"And what does it betray?"

"That you are a dunderhead and a good-for-nothing! Why are you lying around? Get up!"

The darkness was quickly descending, but we were almost there. Both my companions were very nervous, but Voldemort at least was mum. I had been an idiot for missing Snape's conversation. I should have cherished every second.

"Come on, come on, Potter, start remembering," he said when I was pulling the coffin out of snow one more time. "Anger gives strength, didn't you know?"

Now I do.

"You let it slip that Lupin was a werewolf."

"You almost killed Draco Malfoy."

"It was self defence!"

"You stole my textbook!"

"Slughorn gave it to me!"

"But you didn't give it back!"

"Why would I do that? Do you think I'm an idiot?"

"You could have fooled me."

I suppose I walked right into that one.

Then all at once, I saw them. Several vertical stones winked for a second in the distance, and immediately disappeared in the dusk behind the curtain of snow.

"You refused to teach me Occlumency!"

"You got into my Pensieve!"

God, does anyone visit this place at all? At least in summer?..

The snow was everywhere. It was in my boots, jeans, jacket, on the coffin, on Snape, and everywhere else.

I made two more steps and again fell into a huge ditch, followed by the coffin.

"Could we use this pit?" I asked Snape. "I can see the stones from here."

"Does it run in your family not to finish what must be done?"

"Then jump here and push it out yourself!"

"No, you've fallen there, you push it out."

For a moment I imagined him marching off with the coffin and leaving me behind in the pit, but I put those thoughts aside.

"Come on, Potter!"

I had no more strength. I could not even lift the coffin. Pushing it out was beyond me.

"I can't."

"I am appalled by your lack of effort!"

"Go to hell!"

He jumped down to me, and we began pushing the jerking coffin up together.

"You taunted Sirius!"

"There should be at least some joy in one's life…" he smirked, and the coffin tilted on me.

I'm going about this wrong. I need to enrage him, not to make him laugh.

"So, what have you done with your Pensieve?"

That did it. The coffin practically flew up the slope, Snape shoved it so hard. He immediately leaped out in its wake, and, glared at me without even holding out his hand for me.

Well, I can get out without help.

I attempted to pull myself up and realized that I overestimated my strength.

"Your empty-headed godfather's death was your own fault, Potter," Snape said venomously, gripping me by the collar and pulling me up.

"Or, perhaps it was yours," I yelled at him as soon I was next to him.

The coffin jerked and fell back into the pit. I think it wanted to join the brawl, but could not and was miffed. We worked together to pull it back up, still fighting. None of us wanted to go back down in the pit and push from there.

"Your father relied on his friends too much," Snape argued.

"Says the man who never had any," I spat back.

"Are you saying that Sirius Black was a good friend to your father? Ha! With a friend like that, who needs enemies?"

"You're just jealous!"

"Of a werewolf?"

"Of him too."

"Or perhaps of a dead Gryffindor mutt?"

"Shut up!"

"Or, perhaps, of your father, who could not find anyone better to marry than a Mudblood!"

"I told you to shut up!" I roared, incensed.

"Don't you dare!"

We yanked the cord with incredible force. The coffin popped free, sprang out of the pit and fell on Snape. Unable to keep my balance, I tumbled on top of it. There was a muffled cry and I slid down in the snow so I could pull the coffin off Snape. One of the wheels accidentally hit him on the face in the process.

He was lying spread-eagled, and there was a lot of blood around him in the snow. I tried to clear the blood away and was about to apologize when he looked at me mockingly and said hoarsely, "Your father was a failure, just like you. That's why he died."

What?

"Would you listen to yourself?" If he hadn't been covered in blood, I would have hit him. "I killed Voldemort! And you…"

"And I killed Dumbledore. Pleased to meet you."

That's it. He asked for it.

"You're going to rot here," I said. My voice was trembling. "On this foul island. And nobody will ever find you. Nobody will even remember your name. And if by some miracle someone even says your name, they'll spit with disgust and forget you in an instant."

Furious, I yanked the coffin, dragged it a few steps and stopped.

"Go on!" yelled Snape, slightly raising his head.

I stood there heaving, looking at the stones that were so close and yet so unattainable, taunting me in the moonlight, foggy with snow.

"Don't you dare stop! Go on!"

I turned away from him and dragged the coffin forward.

The damned git! I wish you were dead! I must have been crying. That wasn't snow hitting my cheeks.

Come on, forward! He was about to leave me behind in the forest. He almost left me behind. But only to come here…

The snow was stinging my face and the gusts of wind grew stronger.

Why is it blowing in my face? If we'd come by water as we'd planned, we'd be going from the sea and the wind would be at our backs. And now it's in the face…

I bent my head low and tried to eliminate all my thoughts, one by one, because I could not understand which of them were distracting me and which could still be of use.

I have to reach those stones. Then take off the lid. Get the spade. Close the lid. I have two nails in my left pocket.

With all my might, I drove any distracting thoughts out of my head, but one was still leaping about in my head with mad laughter, mocking and taunting me.

I won't be able to dig the grave in this frozen ground. If I only had a wand…

But I had just the spade. And the axe behind my belt.

I reached the nearest vertical stone and leaned on it exhausted. A human figure emerged right in front of me, and for a moment I felt joy because it could be only Snape, but then I remembered that I had left Snape in the snow and snatched out my axe.

Malfoy snitched on us. Only he knew where we were going. But why is there just one person?

It was Mr. Weasley, but I could not feel surprise any more.

"Where is Snape?" he asked quickly.

Face wet with snow and tears, I silently gestured in the direction where I came from. He said nothing and rushed into the snowstorm, while I made a few more steps and noticed a huge pit lightly covered with snow. We could be buried here all together - the coffin, Snape, and I…

There are two nails. In the left pocket.

No, first I need to open the coffin. Then I must remove the spade. No need to dig, but I have to open it.

I hooked the lid with the axe and pushed it off with a foot. Voldemort sat up.

I stared at him dumbly for a few moments, and then I sobbed and hit him in his face with all the strength I had left. There was a terrible crunch, muffled by the howling of the wind. I think I broke something in his face. He fell down.

Remove the spade. Two nails… no, first close the lid. Close first.

The lid had become incredibly heavy.

If it fits, it will be a miracle. I'm not asking for much. Please, let this work. Two nails. In the pocket. In the left one.

Having nailed down the first one with the axe head, I clenched the other in my lips and got crawling along the coffin, dragging the spade in my left hand.

Find a crack between the planks. Fit the nail in. In the left pocket. No… in my mouth. Fit it in. I'd left the axe in the snow… But I still have the spade. Crawl away… Get up. Done. Raise the spade. Done.

I could not see anything at all. I swung the spade surprisingly easily and drove the nail home.

That's it. No more standing up.

I knelt down again and began pushing the coffin into the pit, hoping not to miss it. I could not see anything.

The coffin hardly moved at all at first, but then it began to glide as if over ice, and smashed down into the pit. Exhausted, my legs went out from under me and I tumbled after it. Somehow, I landed on the lid, and I couldn't move.

I will never get out of here… But then I won't be able to bury it. If I stand on the coffin… Come along, Potter, it's not that deep. Get yourself up.

I didn't even bother opening my eyes. My glasses had been plastered with snow, so there was no need to. Everything was white anyway. And I was white, I suppose. I stood on the white coffin in the white grave and, clutching its white edges, tried to get out into the white world.

Someone had taken my glasses, obviously. I could see nothing but infinite white.

"Potter, what the blazes are you doing down there with the coffin?"

He had left me in the forest.

I had left him too.

"You promised to bury me together with him." My lips were numb, but I couldn't help but respond. "I wanted to make it easier for you."

"I am touched."

He pulled me up, and I noticed with surprise that it was colder up there. It was not so windy in the grave.

"Harry, open your eyes." Mr. Weasley sounded strained as he put the glasses back on me. "You must bury him yourself."

I opened my eyes. He must have cast Impervius on the glasses, because snow was flying away from them, instead of settling on the lenses. The snowfall was not that heavy anymore.

"You have a choice of two spades, Potter." Snape was mocking me again. "Which one would you like to start with?"

"Harry, the full moon will not last much longer - you must make haste!" Mr. Weasley was very nervous.

Mr. Weasley, don't you understand? We made it here to do this. Just the two of us. Well, technically, the three of us. Can't forget the monster we dragged all over Britain…

"Potter cannot choose a spade, Arthur, but we should not hurry him. His choice might make some deep mystic sense."

Your sarcasm is duly noted, you git. And when I'm finished with this grave, it will make perfect mystic sense if I grab another spade and hit you in the head with it. After all, I deserve it. In a mystic sense.

Speaking of "mystic," why am I burying a coffin while you just stand there gawking at me?

I realized then what I wanted to do after leaving this place - to see that Veela on a Thestral, just one more time. She was worth doing this job. But first I had to finish burying the coffin, and I suspected that Mr. Weasley had never seen a Muggle burial in his life. Honestly, the pit he'd dug for this casket was big enough to hold a mammoth.

Then I noticed that Snape took the second spade and joined me, sighing and rolling his eyes.

"Severus, I am not sure…"

"Nonsense, Arthur. It's only a symbol. Potter could have simply thrown a handful of dirt on the coffin and walked away, and instead he is falling over himself. Just look at him."

"Is that so?" Mr. Weasley sounded pleased. He took my spade from me and started throwing frozen dirt down into the grave.

I took a few steps aside and sat down on a rock while they worked. After a while I lay down and closed my eyes.

Hermione will be so upset once she calculates how much school I've missed. It is the middle of January, after all.

"Why did you make it so deep?" Snape grumbled, wielding the spade.

"I was nervous," Mr. Weasley sounded a bit defensive. "You were still not here when the moon was up, and it was easier to do something rather than sit around and wait. And I'd never dug anything with this… instrument… before."

"Did you enjoy it?" scoffed Snape.

"Well..." hesitated Mr. Weasley, "I had to melt the snow and ice."

He used magic here! Damn it all! I should have realized that earlier, because he'd patched Snape up.

"They'll find us," I yelled without opening my eyes.

"No, they won't." Mr. Weasley raised my head and poured something burning and extremely foul into my mouth. I gagged, but swallowed it. "There is so much magic here that our modest contribution cannot be detected. Get up, we shall Apparate."

I was confused. Mr. Weasley was only talking to me, and very quietly.

"What about him?" I asked. Snape was ramming down the earth on the grave, and hadn't heard us.

"Let Malfoy retrieve him. I cannot take both of you at once, Harry. I have only one wand and it is too far."

I won't leave him behind again. Once was enough. And how can anyone rely on Malfoy?

"I won't go."

"Arthur, what is the matter?" Snape had grown tired of jumping on the grave, and he came over to us.

"Harry does not want to leave…"

"Do you want me to dig the grave again?" he smirked nastily.

"What for?" Mr. Weasley was taken aback.

"The professor has been threatening all the way to bury me with the corpse," I explained.

"Let's get out from here," Mr. Weasley looked at Snape with distaste and firmly took me by the sleeve. We Apparated ... and left Snape behind.

First I had a good lie-in at the Burrow. Then I had a heated discussion with Scrimgeour at the Ministry, or rather he explained his actions while I declared that the "pain in my scar" had caused a giant memory lapse. I had no inkling of what had happened in the past few months, of which I had managed to inform Rita Skeeter before my visit to the Minister. Then I confessed everything to McGonagall. Dumbledore listened to me attentively from his portrait and occasionally nodded approvingly, which made me conclude that something was fishy about his murder. Perhaps Snape would tell me the truth about it one day.

Having left the headmistress's office, I came across Draco Malfoy, who was very glad to see me.

"My father asked me to tell you that you are a damned lucky prat," he said softly, standing very closely.

I should have passed on the message to Lucius that the elder Malfoy was a damned lucky prat himself, but I had a strong suspicion that Draco had somewhat rephrased his father's message. That is, if there had even been a message in the first place.

"How is Snape?" I asked just as softly.

"What do you care?" Malfoy asked, but closed and opened his eyes slowly, giving me to understand that everything was all right.

I wonder if he's seen his father's racy Patronus?

I would have been absolutely happy if not for Hermione. She had no interest in my adventures. The only things holding her attention were the approaching exams.

"You've missed so much!" She was horrified. "So much!"

If I'd had no difficulty keeping up with my studies I would have ignored her, but unfortunately, I did. I didn't want to do poorly on my N.E.W.T.s. The last straw was Professor McGonagall's suggestion that I repeat my seventh year.

I was horrified.

Am I an idiot? I imagine what the Prophet will say. Even Draco Malfoy, who did nothing all last year except attempt to do away with the Headmaster will leave with his class. And I, a "mentally troubled victor", will have to repeat the year.

Ron and Hermione knew. I don't know how, maybe they simply guessed, but when I returned to the Gryffindor common room after a walk, I was met with disgustingly pitying glances.

That night I lay in my bed unable to sleep, and thinking about what I should do. Hermione was an excellent person to help me, but she hardly had time to do all her homework and she was helping Ron. She had no time for me.

No one had time for me.

The next morning, I sent Snape a letter. I told him that they wanted me to repeat the year and there was no way I'd do it. I told him that I would leave him my vault in Gringotts in my will under the condition he keeps his promise to take me to the Isle of Lewis and bury me in the same grave with Voldemort. I told him that I'd obey him. I was sure he would reply. I was giving him a chance to taunt me as he pleased for four months. If it was not tempting enough for him, well then, that was it because I could think of any better plan.

"Idiot," he wrote me the next day.

I was happy.

McGonagall allowed me to leave. She promised to send me all the homework and even visit me sometimes. I could take my exams in June if I wished so, and if not I could return to school in September to repeat the seventh year.

"I assure you, Potter, that there is nothing shameful about it."

That's what she thinks.

"Not everything goes as planned, my dear. There are unforeseen circumstances, illness…"

I am healthy! My only problem was that I thought too much about the wrong things. I should have asked him to teach me while we were in the forest; I bet he would have agreed.

Professor McGonagall wished me luck, and that same night I took up residence in Sirius's old digs at Grimmauld Place. The next day Snape arrived at three p.m. sharp, just as he'd promised.

He was still not talking to me much. He called me a dunderhead at every opportunity and even managed to make me cook. I didn't object. After all, he was my guest. But on the whole, things began to go much better than I expected, and in April I attended some classes at Hogwarts especially for the tests.

"What are you going to do after school, Potter?" Snape asked me one night, nose deep in a book.

I didn't know. Actually I'd always wanted to become an Auror, I still wanted it, but Snape would say something nasty on the matter. I knew that he had asked this question on purpose, but I did not want to spoil the evening.

"I was thinking about opening a funeral home."

He raised his head and stared at me for a moment, trying to figure out whether I was joking but I kept my poker face. Though it took me an incredible effort, I did not smile.

"We can do it together. Snape and Harry's Mortuary. I've already come up with our first advertisement: Quick and thorough burial in location of your choice!" Do you like it?"

He was silent. I had specifically suggested my first name so as not to spoil the mood by unpleasant memories. I doubt that he'd ever agree to put his name together with "Potter" under any circumstances. Despite my best efforts, he was just silently observing me, and I could not understand what he was thinking.

What the hell! He was smiling at Lucius Malfoy. He was even laughing at his jokes. Why doesn't he laugh at mine?

By the way, about Malfoy.

"Will you ever tell me whose Patronus was in the forest?"

He blinked and his mouth twitched.

Of course, now you are smiling!

"As if you had not guessed yet, Potter," he smirked.

I had.

"And how about the funeral home?"

"I'll consider it." He'd just buried his nose in the book again when we heard the door bell.

Snape flinched, threw me a panicked look and shut the book. Then he braced himself and slowly rose from the armchair.

"Are you going to open the door?" he asked flatly.

An impressive reaction. I stood up. "I can ignore it, if you wish, but it must be someone from the "old crowd". The house is Unplottable, after all."

He gulped nervously and for a moment I clearly saw distrust in his face. For the first time, I swear, for the first time since November when I had found him peacefully sleeping in the Shrieking Shack, it occurred to me that all this time he had been afraid of me at least as much as I was of him. And maybe even more. If I had made this discovery in January or before that, I'd have been very happy. But now… "The boy called Harry and the Dark Lord Are filthy, loathsome and foul ..." He was afraid of me. He feared me as much as he'd feared Voldemort. And he hated us both for this.

"Let's ignore it." I was careful to be nonchalant, and returned to my chair at the table.

"Nonsense, open the door," Snape said calmly. "It's silly."

There were no traces of his fleeting terror, but he'd trusted me enough to let me see his panic. I took this as a good sign. Perhaps things weren't so broken after all. Unfortunately, the doorbell continued ringing, and I headed for the entrance hall. Snape quietly followed me.

For Merlin's sake, whom is he so afraid of? He knows very well that Aurors would never find this house.

"If this is Voldemort, I'll hang myself," Harry said dryly, hastening to the front door. "Ugh, what a detestable sound."

"And if this is you again, I shall hang myself," Snape muttered under his breath, matching Harry's tone. Then he straightened. His command was decisive.

"Open it."

Finis.

Translator's Notes: Thank you everyone for reading! All your comments are very much appreciated and critique is welcome.

Just want to say once more that without tremendous help from my betas - Belana, Eloriana Gatts, and Kiki Cabou - I'd never posted this translation.