Author's Opening Notes: Thank you to keppiehed for help in the initial brainstorming and outlining stages, auctasinistra for initial beta work, which showed me exactly what wasn't working, Erin and Avery for read-throughs and feedback, and accioslash for the final SPaG check.

Disclaimer: I do not own HP, most especially the dialog taken directly from Half-Blood Prince and Deathly Hallows. The Chronos idea came from Piers Anthony's Incarnations of Immortality series, to which I also make no claim, and to one of the theories surrounding Merlin in the Arthur legends.

Note: This fic is written in reverse chronological order in Harry's POV, including the lines of dialog, since his mind and his magic are flowing backwards through time from his death to his birth, while his body is growing normally forwards through time.

The Chronos Factor

There is all around me a darkness that is not absolute. It is filled with the love and brightness that make up all things, and yet I can pinpoint nothing solid. It's as if I'm floating free, surrounded by a presence that I enjoy. I hear laughter and words, an endless stream of words - words filled with love, high and light; or filled with mischief, the delight of the ages; or dry and harsh, yet humorous in their own right. I like these words. I am safe here. I am loved here.

But here is somewhere I cannot stay. A force pushes on me ... pushes me away ... pushes me out. A pain sears me as I feel a tingling spread from my core and seep into the whole of my body. I try to cling to the comfort of the darkness, but it is no use. I am gone from there. It is with reluctance that I expand my lungs and gasp as air enters my system. I open my eyes, and this light is harsh, cold ... unwelcome. White surrounds me. Only the briefest relief is given in a pale blue curtain behind figures in alabaster. So many people, three or four at least, rush around, brandishing long sticks while jets of colour shoot out and sparkle in the air. This fascinates me. I glance to the side, and a woman with red hair sits beside me, holding my hand, which is wrinkly and frail. Love and tears fill her eyes; I want to console her, yet there is nothing I can say.

The red-haired woman with kind eyes, Roxanne Weasley, visited with Harry almost every day, sometimes helping the attendants and house-elves take care of his physical needs (mostly trips to the lavatory and such), sometimes just sitting, holding his hand, talking gossip or politics. Harry was usually confused during these times as she would often say "Do you remember the kids who attacked a street musician in Diagon Alley last week?" or "Do you recall my saying yesterday that I would bring you the new trick cards from Father's store?" when in fact she had done none of those things. He found that odd, yet he kept quiet, not wishing to alarm her, although he was curious as to whose sanity was questionable here. It became very disconcerting when the next day or the next week arrived, and the very thing she had talked about came true. He wondered if she was a seer.

Often Roxanne or one of her cousins would come to read to Harry since his eyes were poor and wouldn't focus properly. Harry liked the fairy tales the most - stories of daring adventure and magical feats. He had a wand but it didn't do much, just a few sparks here and there. He could feel his magic as a small orb of energy inside. One day, he hoped, it would grow to be an immense power. And flying! Yes, he desperately wanted to go flying; that sounded great. The Quidditch stories in particular entranced him. With a smile he would fall asleep, dreaming of riding on a wooden broom, chasing a winged, golden, flying ball.

The rug was on fire, and broken glass lay strewn on top of it. One of the vases had fallen, knocking over a candle it seemed. Harry panicked, not sure how to handle such a situation, but with a sudden shift in pressure his magic burst out of him on its own. Harry willed himself to control the flow, but it was raw and wild and he lacked experience, thus agitating the situation. He forced himself to calm down. There was nothing to get upset about; surely this was a normal thing to happen to a wizard his age, right? He couldn't possibly be expected to have control over his magic just yet, but he worked at it anyway. He stared at the shimmering fragments of glass, willing them to reconnect. He could feel it, taste it, a power more important than just a simple command, something along the lines of destiny. He knew he had to do something with this power. But what?

It was like trying to remember a dream once he'd woken from it. The feelings were there, but none of the images would come to him. Instead, he concentrated on the task at hand, breathing in, focusing. Magic surged forth from him, and the glass vase was made whole and the candle set back on its stand, burning as it should. Yes! Progress at last.

Feeling more confident, Harry decided to practice control in a different way. He concentrated on the vase, willing it to move. Nothing happened. He was sure he'd seen it move earlier when he'd thought about it, but perhaps he just needed new glasses. With blurred vision, he attempted the command again. Still nothing.

Harry hung his head. He would get the hang of it, though; he just needed more practice. He would be master of his magic. He had to be.

Harry woke one evening with an urge to take a bath. Usually, he just showered before crawling into bed, but he'd forgotten to do that the morning before, so he came alert feeling gritty. A bath was just the thing for a more thorough cleaning.

Harry sank down into the warm waters, intent on relaxing. Over the past few years, he had gained a modicum of control over his magic, but as he soaked, Harry eased up on the restraint, letting his magic flow out of him and into the water. Curious, he watched as it swirled around, twinkling and sparkling. Images appeared, at first shifting and changing, then coalescing into a single picture. Sound was present as well. Harry watched as events unfolded.

He saw himself eating dinner at the local Indian restaurant he'd picked out. He saw himself cutting the ribbon on a new orphanage, the very same one that was on his docket for today. Then, he saw himself eating lunch at the Burrow, something else marked on the calendar for today. Hey! These were like memories, only of the future, not the past. In fact, this whole thing seemed like one giant pensieve. He continued viewing, willing his magic to speed up through the dull parts, paying particular attention to talks he would be having with other people. He had put together the fact that he was somehow living backwards, his brain reordering events as they happened so it made sense to him. Mostly this hadn't bothered him, except for conversations, which tended to be quite stilted as he hadn't a clue what the person was going to say next and therefore could not voice the proper responses ahead of time; perhaps this could help smooth over the roughest parts. At last he had an idea of what to say! He would try out this new fore-knowledge at the ribbon-cutting ceremony and see how his speech went. It would certainly make life less confusing, for him and for everyone else with whom he came into contact. Then he would do this water ritual again tomorrow and see if yielded more glimpses of the next day.

It had already been a trying week for Harry. Everyone was mourning the death of Severus Snape, and he was bombarded with questions and interviews and funeral plans. Even with his scrying ritual, Harry found it very difficult to talk about a man whom he had never met, yet of whom he was supposed to be intimately knowledgeable. There were several pictures of the Man in Black - as Harry liked to call him - scattered about his home, usually showing Severus scowling at the camera, often with his arms around Harry himself. The Severus in the magical photographs sometimes gave a slight smile to the live Harry (never to anyone else who stopped by Harry's home and viewed the images), while the copy Harry always grinned and winked at him. The real Harry thought they looked cute together.

It was with growing trepidation that Harry approached the deathbed to take his first real look at Severus. The wizard lay there as stiff as any petrified creature, his eyes unfocused, not seeing. He was gaunt and frail; his hair was thin and stringy. His potion-stained fingers were clenched in a half grip that looked ready to throttle the life out of someone. All in all, he appeared … well, mean. How did Harry end up with this man? How had they gotten together? What was their life to be like? Harry didn't rightly know, and his magic couldn't see past one day, so Harry was very interested in how this was to come about.

While everyone held their breaths, Severus' body became animated, and he inhaled. His gaze sharpened directly on Harry. The blackest of obsidian depths locked onto Harry's verdant ones, and Harry fell. Not into love or lust - Harry really didn't know about such things yet - but he fell into eternity, into this man's soul, his mind, his intelligence. Wisdom from a century and a half of experience broke upon Harry with sharp clarity, and keen awareness brought Severus' features back to life. The gaze was ruthless around the edges but contained a center of warmth that reached out and touched Harry's pounding heart. By all accounts, this was his future lover, confidant, mentor, and friend, if only Harry could figure out how.

Harry sat in his favourite chair in the sitting room, staring at the cold fireplace that was not needed yet in early autumn, emotions churning inside him. He was disoriented from his bathing ritual, which had shown him a difficult discussion coming up next, and he still wasn't sure what to make of everything. Severus and he had lived in this house together for several years now, but they resided in separate bedrooms, even though they were said to be lovers; however, Severus was always gruff and caustic in his dealings with Harry and had never made any sexual advances toward his life-partner, which had Harry very confused as to how they ever got together in the first place. The last few weeks had been especially bad with Severus constantly huffing and puffing and blowing hot air around. If it wasn't for the occasional stolen glances of longing Harry had spied from the man, he would have assumed Severus hated him, and he almost called Severus out a few times for it. His scrying said that tonight would be a first talk about such things between him and his mate, so he was anxious and nervous.

Severus strode over to the chair in their sitting room, his gait slow but steady in his aging body, summoning - although from Severus' position it was banishing - two glasses of (empty) Firewhisky as he did so. He did not look at Harry as he lowered himself into the chair, irritation oozing from his demeanor. Harry agreed that the additional warmth would be necessary for this difficult conversation.

Severus looked up from his lap to burn Harry with his gaze. There was an intense heat that Harry had never been subjected to before, a passion that had Harry squirming in his seat. But it wasn't anger; Harry had experienced that already from Severus. No, this was hunger - the yearning of unrequited lust mixed with the bitterness and resentment of self-denial. This was the element of their relationship that had been missing thus far, the wish to crush the other to one's self and drown in the flames of desire. Harry's heart-beat raced and his breathing was laboured as he absorbed his partner's sexual overtures, trying to come to grips with the knowledge that this man wanted him.

Finally, Severus opened some real communication between them, in low but passionate tones. "Understand that I will be cross and sore for many years yet to come, although I suppose in your experiences, it has already happened. I want our hands in each other's hair; I want our bodies pressed tight together; I want our souls reunited. I want you more than you are aware. Harry, this is a very difficult ... predicament for both of us, but for me right now more than for you."

"Why are you the one that's cross? I don't get how we came together when you are like this," Harry stated, a little put-out by the years of treatment.

"I have been harsh with you because nothing has ever been easy," Severus spat at him. "For many years I have had to live separated from you, and that has been a more bitter potion to swallow than any I have physically ingested." His frustration and anger were quite evident." I have endured training you on your magical control, and the close contact without release has strained me to the breaking point. I cannot continue on in this manner. We have entertained many conversations between us - at least, there will be many in which you will participate in your future - but it has grown too taxing for me." Severus sighed.

"And we talk a lot about ... stuff?" Harry wanted reassurances to his lot in life.

"We have argued the point and concluded that Fate required you to be at your magical peak to defeat the Dark Lord, but the timing of your birth was ... unfortunate, so it reversed your history, in much the same way as it is conjectured to have done to Merlin's life."

"Why is that?"

"Your magic is also running backwards, weak now but growing in strength as your mind develops. You have already discerned that your mind is running backwards through time, although your body - along with everyone else's minds and bodies - is progressing normally forwards." Severus was in lecture mode now.

"I want more information," Harry urged.

"The rest you will discover on your own. This is it, Harry. Yesterday, which is really tomorrow for you, you indicated that we need a first discussion of your mind and your magic and our history together," Severus concluded. His gaze dropped to the tumbler in his hand that was full of the red-tinted amber liquid they had been drinking, wary of the prospect it held, and he sent it away. He got up and moved to where Harry was sitting, watching Severus intently.

Locking gazes, Harry saw the deep emotions of want and need in those dark eyes as Severus' fingers touched his cheek and sent tingling shivers through Harry's nervous system. Harry stopped breathing. He hoped this sensation would go on without end, that he might die trapped in this moment of longing, but the reality was short-lived. Severus removed his hand and swept out of the room to leave Harry to stew in his own thoughts. He would have to remember to tell Severus tomorrow to have this talk with him today.

Harry met Severus down in the dungeons for his weekly magic practice, just as Severus mentioned they would. The place was as dank and dark as any good dungeon should be, and it fit the cantankerous mood that always followed the dour man. During these training sessions, Severus' eyes burned like black coals while his tongue dropped acidic critiques upon Harry's feeble attempts at combat. Harry knew he was improving; he could feel his magic growing every day. He had a destiny to fulfill with this power, and he needed to be at peak performance when the time came to defeat Voldemort, hence the need for these practices, but he also knew it would take years to perfect. That was no reason not to start now, however, as Severus had argued more than once.

Severus was the best defence spell-caster around, better than most Aurors Harry had met, and he was also well-versed in Dark curses. Harry was in awe of the sheer power the older wizard commanded as well as his ability to cast non-verbal and even wandless spells. It made sparring with him a bit intimidating. Harry was just now grasping simple non-verbal spells, but he was rubbish at wandless magic. He still had a long way to go to achieve full magical control.

"This is preposterous! You are getting weaker as we stand here waving plant stalks at each other," scolded Severus.

Harry knew he was just saying this to rile him up and push him to train harder. He knew it wasn't true; he was improving. He began thinking of what his next move should be.

"Now, pay attention! Looking away leaves him an opening which you cannot afford. You need to be able to read his lips, watch his stance, follow his wrist movements, in order to anticipate an attack. Never take your eyes off of your opponent. Do not look away!"

Did he really have to yell? Surely positive encouragements would work better than negative ones at increasing his performance, but that was not Severus' teaching method.

Harry's psyche felt bruised during these sessions. The man would not stop laying into him. It was emotionally draining.

Harry had experienced quiet moments in their lives when they would just sit together drinking tea, yet, now that Harry thought about it, those times were fraught with tension as well. Small lines would crease Severus' forehead and his eyebrows would draw in. Anytime Harry sparked some conversation between them, Severus would become agitated, uneasy, like he was dealing with a leper and didn't want to be contaminated by Harry's presence. Harry realised it was just unfulfilled sexual frustration, but it still hurt to be on the receiving end of such spite.

It had been worse in the beginning. Severus used to arrive in a huff and rage at the littlest things Harry did. Even though they had discussed the effects of the backwards living, Severus' temper at his life-partner's perceived ineptitude had a very short fuse. Some lover he was turning out to be. It almost made Harry want to quit right then, to hell with it all, to throw away their future to go live somewhere more peaceful, but he forced himself to calm down, fortified his resolve and weathered the storms.

After a long while, things improved. Severus didn't shout at him as much, except in these instances when Harry made a mistake while dueling.

"Incarcerous!"

Harry sighed. Back to training.

Harry registered the feel of arms encircling him. He gazed into eyes that held both sadness and compassion, black pools swirling with need and the resentment that had long been there. Harry guessed that Severus knew this was his last kiss and was hating the way Fate had written their lives.

As Harry watched, Severus leant in, bringing their bodies together. This was the fulfillment of a dream Harry'd been having for years now, knowing they would one day be lovers, as evidenced by the pictures in the house and the talk of their friends, but not knowing when it would finally occur. His own sexual frustration had been increasing as of late. It didn't help that he caught glances of simmering heat in the older man's gaze along with Severus' gentle touches on his cheeks and the backs of his hands. He had begun to want this man in more ways than just a roommate. Harry closed his eyes and tilted his head, so their noses wouldn't bump. He frowned, hoping he wouldn't embarrass himself from his inexperience.

The kiss was nothing like his musings. How could it be? Nothing in his wildest dreams could have prepared him for the beauty of the actual moment, during which all lustful visions paled in comparison. Harry felt a jolt as their lips met, and he stopped thinking about the angle of his head or if his glasses were askew. In that moment, there was nothing but sensation. Severus poured all of his heart into that kiss, and Harry could barely keep his knees from giving way. Never had he felt so wanted.

There was never any doubt who was in control, Severus being the more experienced, older partner. He was careful to keep the kiss away from the blazing passion as he wanted to communicate something deeper in the slide of his lips, in the nips and the caresses. Harry could see there was a yearning for so much more underneath the surface, a wish for a thousand different days of both past and future shared. There was more in this kiss than just a need to satiate the body. There was heart and soul.

Harry stiffened. There was also good-bye.

He kissed back for all he was worth. If Harry had any say in things, he wasn't about to let Severus go so easily. Severus was going to remember this kiss for the rest of his days. As for Harry, he'd just found what he wanted, and he wasn't going to give up his one shot at happiness. This was not good-bye for Harry, but hello.

I wake from such peaceful dreams that the euphoria stays with me as my consciousness takes in my surroundings. I am languid and happy, and joy radiates from every pore when I come to realise that Severus Snape is in my bed and wrapped around me. His warmth is amazing, and the obsidian pearls he has for eyes glow with an inner flame of tenderness and possession. I feel so cherished in his embrace as well as ecstatic at the knowledge that he is finally mine and I am his. It has been a long time coming - years of struggling and frustration at our relationship, then months of sweet caresses and mind-blowing snogs. The resentment I noticed at first has slowly waned as the days move on. There is still a little sadness, though, which I mean to kiss away.

His lips are pliant and gentle, not harsh like everyone else expects them to be. The kiss is mellow and slow and lasts for eternity.

"Indeed," he says in response, one eyebrow raising a little.

I beat him to the punchline. "I love you, too," I say, grinning and nodding.

In a very solemn manner, as is his custom, he holds my face and states, "I love you, Harry, more than mere utterances can ever convey." His eyes bore into my own, holding the weight of understanding about the plight of our lives for me to acknowledge.

I know this is difficult for him, his last sexual act with me, but I can't be arsed to care right now. Everything feels so good. I stretch, enjoying the slide of skin on skin. More kisses rain down, quick little nips that tingle through my system, until we are panting heavily upon a plateau of feeling. Severus is inside me, and it's all so much more than I ever imagined. I feel full and satiated - complete. Small pushes and thrusts feed my growing ardour and suddenly I am blinded. I scream his name as the world explodes from deep within me. I hear him groaning above me - "Harry" he mutters - so I know he's had his own release. His thrusts are much faster now and more insistent, but then the tension eases as they taper off.

It's beautiful, these lingering caresses that he places over my body, the wonder at touching all of his lovely parts. It leaves me feeling desperate and begging, "More … please."

"Indeed, yes," he growls with need.

"I want you," I admit.

His kisses are just as many as before and I glory at having it all, at last.

Life became pleasant and routine after that. Days were spent in training and nights were spent in passion. Harry joined up with the local Auror force to hone his attack and defence spells in the afternoons, and he maintained a separate session for Dark spell-casting with Severus in the mornings. At other times, they would take strolls through the local gardens, admiring the flowers in different seasons, talking about everything and nothing. Dozens of dinners out and hundreds more eaten in grew the familiarity between the two wizards. All traces of sadness were erased from Severus' ebony orbs to be replaced with warmth and small smiles. Joy infused Harry's spirit. He felt light-headed and carefree, with only a small thought to his destiny ahead.

They joked about having kids.

"No, I guess not," Harry would admit.

"Do you see any rugrats running around in our future?" Severus would demand.

"Don't you want to have kids, someone to teach potions to, someone to carry on our love?"

Harry had this yearning for a large family of his own, probably due to his lack of parents or siblings - though his friends and their children swarmed his abode every day, an extended family of sorts - but he was starting to realise that life didn't always give you what you wanted. It presented opportunities or one could create an opening, but more often than not the options just passed you by. Children, it seemed, was one of those lost experiences for Harry.

Even the simple act of bonding ended up beyond his reach. Not that anyone could accuse Harry and Severus of not practically being married as most of their waking and sleeping moments were spent together, but there was never any formal or legal ceremony performed. In their middle years, when both were comfortable in the relationship, they discussed it, yet with Harry's odd situation it made no probable sense.

"You will live past such a day moving backwards through time, and so shall I going forwards. How would it even work? I have no recollection up to this day," Severus stated, "of us exchanging nuptials, and you inform me that you are similarly void of such a memory."

Harry saw the impracticality of it and soon gave up on pushing the concept, so he set aside the hope of having a spouse and learned to be content with simply having a lover.

The first time Severus was hospitalized, Harry's heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest, while his stomach wanted to revolt and not eat for three days. An attack by rogue Death Eaters, for which Harry felt inadequate and wholly unprepared to defend against, took them all by surprise. The curse upon Severus steadily gained in strength until he had to be admitted to St. Mungo's. As the staff worked to save Severus' life, Harry watched, praying - irrationally, of course, as he already knew the older wizard would recover and live for decades more - for Severus to pull through. He couldn't lose him. It would be a blow of enormous proportions. Severus tried to reassure him that this was only the latest in a long stream of attacks on his person, and although this one had gotten past their defences, it hadn't killed the old git before his time. Now that the scoundrels had gotten their blow in, Severus was sure that the incidents would drop off.

Not being thrilled with this attitude, Harry set up firmer wards around their house and began taking extra precautions when they went out. As it happened, attacks increased as Severus said they would, but the two wizards were alert now and staved off these residuals of war. It still made Harry nervous. If these were petty pranks pulled by outlying DEs with a grudge against Severus for his betrayal and Harry for his defeat of their master, how much more potent were the Inner Circle going to be? And what of Voldemort? Harry didn't feel ready to defeat him. Severus once again had to reassure him that he would have enough power to win.

"Of course you will win against the Dark Lord, and quite spectacularly, from what I understand of that night. Blast it all, Harry!"

"I still feel out of my depth no matter how much I train. What if I'm not strong enough?"

"You are marvelously talented and have righteousness at your side. Plus that is the point of all these years of practice and you living backwards, so you will be strong enough. Of what are you still afraid?"

"I'll be too timid. Voldemort has so much power, years more experience, and the ruthlessness to hurt all without remorse."

Severus stared hard at Harry's downtrodden face. "This is utter nonsense. Why are you brooding?" If there was one thing Severus just couldn't stand, it was whiny people.

Harry knew this, so he swallowed his sour mood and put on a smile, although he couldn't stop thinking about the battle yet to come.

The attacks forced Harry to appreciate every moment with his loved ones, from the simple touch of Severus' long fingers to the joy of holding Hermione's newborn baby girl, her lips puckered up for a scream at the unfairness of all this manhandling around the nursery. Each flash of ginger hair careening through their home became imprinted on his mind along with Severus' scowl at the shenanigans, and even McGonagall's cool smiles were treasured for their rarity. But most of all, it was the kisses and the licks and the slide of skin on skin that consumed Harry's memories. He wasn't going to let one day go by without some physical sign of their affection and love.

It was becoming harder and harder to do that, though. Severus began backing away from him, the looks becoming wary, confusion settling into those black depths. Phrases began appearing in his speech as the days quickened to the time when they would no longer be a couple: "Are you quite certain this will last?" and "It is the height of folly to pursue such a relationship. The path it would follow is problematic at best," and "I awake each morning, Potter, in anticipation of the ridicule that will come once we conclude this affair."

The sex gained a touch of restraint as well. It was less frisky, more unsure, to the point that Harry was clinging desperately to each moment. Harry's spirit began to hurt at the hardening of Severus' features, so he fought in every verbal and non-verbal way he could think to keep the man as his. He stalked him at lunches and in his dungeon labs - much to Severus' annoyance - and talked to, or sometimes at, him to continue the open flow of communication, but in time it was obvious that all good things were coming to an end.

"This backwards living you claim is your life is utter rubbish and is simply a method to ensnare me in your misguided affections. I don't know what love is, Potter; I've never been shown it except in your mother's sacrifice and my own selfish means of gaining her attentions."

"I wish I could have you all the rest of the days of my life." Harry's gaze turned from sad to defiant. "But I love you, Severus, and I have shown it all the rest of the days of your life." Inside, Harry was crying at loosing this man to nothing more than time.

Severus' next statement hurt more than anything. "Something of tangible worth cannot come from this association."

Pain shot from Harry's heart and raced up his spine to burn painfully behind his eyes. This was so not true! Harry wanted to prove him wrong in this, but now was not the day, and Harry was not even the man. Severus would come to realise it for himself as the years went by. Harry was beginning to understand the resentment that Severus had felt near the end of their lives; it appeared that now it would be Harry's turn to feel the anguish of unrequited love. Loss clouded his mind; Severus had much to look forward to, yet he had almost nothing.

Harry woke to conflicting emotions. His body was languid and satiated, as was usually the case after intense sexual activity, and he was nestled into the warm embrace of his lover. He knew the pleasure that was coming once Severus woke up would be wonderful, but the ecstasy inherent in the act was eclipsed by the knowledge that this would be their last time, at least for Harry. He thought back over Severus' comments from days prior: "I imagined you would have run out on me by now," "Third times a charm, so long as this doesn't prove to be a hoax of enormous proportions just to get my goat," and the latest one from yesterday, "I'm not in the mood for chit-chat. This is only the second time we've had post-coital bliss, Potter." If this was truly going to be their first time from Severus' point of view, then Harry needed to make it as memorable as possible to convince the greasy git that he meant every touch, every caress, every thrust of hips colliding together, every whispered promise of love.

The younger wizard began with deft glides of hands and fingers along Severus' arms and back, slides of thighs and calves along his legs, and gentle kisses along throat and jaw and that huge, glorious, striking nose of his. Severus opened his eyes in sleepy wonder.

"That was ... magnificent," Severus drawled.

Harry grinned.

He continued to prove that it could be again - each kiss fierce and bold, each movement hungry, needy. They usually alternated positions, but for this last week, Harry let Severus have control as a way to show his devotion, himself just needing to feel and remember. This would have to do. This would have to carry him through the long darkness to come.

There is wonder in his eyes as we hold each other, panting as if from exertion. He acts like he's never been kissed. This means the world to me so I drink in his astonishment, his joy. For once in his life, I've shocked him into silence, and I could grin at that, but I know it would put him off. Still, a small smile emerges, yet it quickly disappears to be replaced with awe as our lips come back together, both of us clawing at the other in our mutual starvation - his from almost forty years of loneliness from his birth till now and mine from the next twenty to come until my own birth.

The kiss slows and becomes a worship. Tears rain down my cheeks as I savour this final meshing of our lips.

It's not fair! I want my lover beside me when I strike down Voldemort, but I know this is not to be the case. My destiny is to stand alone, even to die alone (if I believe everything Severus and my friends have been telling me about the final battle against Voldemort, which I do). I can't stand the thought of losing this man, so I keep the kiss going as long as possible, sustaining the tingle that rips through me down to my groin. I put my hands on his chest to steady us and moan into the contact, as does he. We linger for a long time right on the edge, our lips just barely touching.

When he breaks away, all I have is my yearning and my memories.

Life for the next few months was a slowly saddening affair in which Severus drew further distant in his interactions. They were no longer living in the same house together, no longer lovers. Harry made sure they saw each other regularly, though, usually before and during Harry's bathing ritual, which he had taken to doing in the lake in the Forest of Dean, a place Severus had said years ago was important to their mutual history. Harry clung for as long as possible onto the simplest of touches - holding hands, nudges of knees, fingers soothing through hair, even heated gazes - but soon those became infrequent, then not at all. Talks they shared became impersonal, no more than Ministry politics and sports with the odd diatribe about the masses or the students or just anyone, really. Harry looked for an opportunity to tell Severus of their relationship, but it was like dealing with an Alzheimer's patient whose memories were slowly slipping away.

Finally, it was obvious that Severus only came by to check up on Harry, thinking the Saviour had gone mad, swimming naked in the lake at sunset, his magic creating colourful patterns in the water like some child's first paintings.

Severus stood on the bank, watching him. How many more nights would this be? Harry cherished any time they spent together, but these debates were growing more difficult since his heart clenched at each encounter.

"If I must," Severus grumbled, finishing up what he was saying.

Harry grinned, assured of at least one thing. "Oh, but you will put up with me," he concluded.

"You are completely cuckoo, Mr. Potter."

"Turns out it doesn't matter much. Because I was trying to determine what to say and when to say it."

Severus gave him a puzzled look. "That makes about as much sense as the Dark Lord holding a singing contest to boost Death Eater morale."

"I have to know what you will ask me before you ask the question in order to give the proper answer. Sentences come to me in reverse order. Conversations are very difficult." Harry paused for an instant, gathering his thoughts for what to say next based on what he had just seen with his magic. "No, the future I've lived through, and I know that you will own an apothecary shop, as I've been there once or twice. The pools just inform me of today's events."

"You see the future in these scrying pools? I cornered Miss Cooleridge and discerned that she has not mentioned the apothecary sale to anyone, neither have the lawyers." It was clear that Severus doubted the validity of Harry's statements, but there was a spark of wary belief in his face.

"I take it you are back to confirm what I told you yesterday, even though I don't know what I've said to you about the sale. Hello, Headmaster," Harry concluded, knowing already that this would be the close for tonight's argument. He would have to try again tomorrow.

The second night Harry was once again bathing in the waters, seeing glimpses of the day ahead - more meetings with the acting Minister (some bloke named Hineford who would lose in the next election) and a gala luncheon to benefit war-orphaned kids. He heard soft crunches through the brush, and there Severus emerged to sit and watch him.

"I have come to terms with the falsehood of thinking you were a spoiled, attention-seeking brat." Severus opened, remorse for his actions setting the tone.

Harry knew this is how Snape had seen him as a child, but the tightening of his chest at the realisation that Severus was saying this hurt until Harry replaced it with anger. "Can't you see that I'm not?"

Severus placated him. "I admit I despised you for being a copy cat of your father, James. Now that there is no more need for animosity between us, I suppose I could put forth the effort to be civil."

"We end up on good speaking terms, you and I," Harry chuckled. Ah, it was so much more than that; however, now was not the time to tell Severus of their more intimate relationship. The man wouldn't understand. It was hard enough accepting Harry's odd predicament, much less a friendship that grows into more. "I've been to your shop plenty of times, and you've just told me about the sale," he said by way of explanation.

Severus was astounded. Nobody was supposed to know about that yet, except his lawyer, the old owner, and the title authority witch over in the Ministry. "It wasn't supposed to go public yet. Did Miss Cooleridge divulge the sale?" Severus scowled. For all his own years of deceit, he couldn't stand those who lied or wouldn't keep secrets.

Harry closed his eyes and prayed that this information about the shop would convince Severus of Harry's altered state. "Based on your own admissions, I know that with your reward money from the Ministry, you have signed the papers to buy a place on Salisbury Court to open an apothecary. Please, I know you don't trust me, but I was hoping this could prove it."

Severus folded his arms. "I should have you committed. Still on about this backwards ruse?"

"Yes, I haven't defeated Voldemort yet, not since I'm living backwards. I need you to teach me Defence and Dark Arts spells."

"I don't see how you could need me. You've already finished school and offed the Dark Lord. Nonsense, Potter."

"You will never teach secondary school again, although you will teach me, Headmaster," Harry said with a sad smile, thinking of all the lovely days they had spent together.

"They would not have me as returning headmaster, nor do I choose to spend the rest of my days lecturing a bunch of dunderheads." Severus snorted.

"Hello, Headmaster," Harry greeted him, to let him know that he respected the man, even if he couldn't tell Severus that he loved him.

With that, Severus walked away from the lake. Harry watched him go, then sighed as he went back to examining his activities for today, trying but failing to ignore the emotional pain.

Evening was falling the next night, and Harry was once again swimming in the lake, awaiting Severus' arrival. He now knew this was going to be his last evening to really talk to him, for afterward they would be at odds with each other. The last few nights had not been easy as Harry's beloved Severus slowly grew into the bitter Professor Snape. It hurt to lose him in this way, little by little, although now it was more like giant step by giant step. Anyway, he couldn't let his feelings colour his words. These were about to be the very first words Severus would hear on the matter. It had to go well.

Severus walked around the clearing, still dressed in his usual black. His face was stern and set. He promised to return tomorrow, if only to make a second diagnosis.

"I'm not insane and I can prove it. Look, I know you don't believe me, but please return tomorrow." Harry stroked his hands through his hair. "Damn, this is always confusing. But you have, or at least, you will, Severus."

Severus made move to go as he spat at Harry, "I have never allowed you leave to call me by my given name. You take liberties, Mr. Potter."

Harry panicked. This wasn't they way it was supposed to go! "No, Severus, wait ... please, stay and listen!" He knew he shouldn't have used Severus' name, but everything hurt so much and all he wanted was his lover back.

"Now I'm glad I followed you down here, Mr. Potter, as you have obviously gone 'round the twist, which I will tell Madam Pomfrey immediately."

"I would never joke about this, especially not with you!" Harry exclaimed, tears threatening to show up in his eyes. If Severus wouldn't listen to him now, how was he ever going to live through the next years as this man's student? He racked his brain to come up with the next response. "Listen! Tomorrow when you meet me here again, that will be my past self. The boy you've been teaching is my future self. My body still grows normally, it's only my mind that works backwards."

Harry could see anger seething in the obsidian gaze. "Perhaps you could pull such a trick on your classmates, but how dare you consider that this would work on me. Have you forgotten that I have been watching over your sorry hide for almost eight years? That is the most preposterous notion I've ever had the displeasure of witnessing."

Harry pushed down the hurt in those derogatory words, and with great fortitude laid out his predicament. "It sounds ridiculous, I know, but for some reason, Fate decided that my mind and my magic would live backwards through time." Severus blinked once, but Harry continued with his speech before the older wizard could make a nasty retort. "I know you don't believe me, but ... I am living my life backwards, Headmaster."

Confusion and scorn marred the features Harry had grown to love. "All of this mucking about in waters must have addled your brain, as that last sentence didn't parse correctly."

Harry rubbed his fingers over the scar on his forehead. Talking with Severus always had been one of the most trying aspects of his backwards life, although he suspected school was about to be harder. "It can be awfully tricky sometimes. I had to develop a way to see what would happen each day so that I might know the proper words to say and actions to take."

"Why would you waste your breath on such inanities? Didn't you learn that divination methods heralded by charlatans like Trelawney should never be trusted?" Severus' scowl turned into a puzzled frown. Harry knew that the older wizard would never understand why people put their faith in such stupidity. Severus was of the opinion that Fate was a horrible alternative to free will, and he much preferred the latter.

"The waters act as a sort of scrying agent, letting me see and hear the events for today," explained Harry, hoping that Severus would catch on that this was not your ordinary divination, but true magic - his magic - necessary for Harry's survival and the fate of the world. This was not some tawdry act of trickery.

But Severus thought it was. "I have seen the tendrils of shining light coming out from you and swirling through the water. You have a very strange ritual going on here, Mr. Potter," drawled Severus.

"My magic has told me of your coming. You are not losing your skills or your sanity, Headmaster." Harry shook his head. He was losing the conversation; there were only a few sentences left as indicated by his magic.

"You have proven more observant than most, either that or I am becoming lax in my convalescence." Severus stepped back into the brush and vanished from sight, only the slight rustling of the reeds to mark his passage. Not even a good-bye or a hello.

"I know you're there; please, come out. Professor Snape? Hello?"

There was no reply. The conversation had gone about as well as expected, but it was not enough to hold Harry in the dark of night when the troubles he was about to face came upon him. Only his memories of their love would be there to carry him, not the actual reality. Their partnership was over, and he was left bereft. Grief overtook him. Hot tears fell, mixing with the magic in the waters around him causing his day to appear murky at best.

In the coming weeks, Harry tried to tuck away his grief, although the loneliness consumed him at night even more than in the past few years of their separation. Now their relationship was truly over, and no one else would ever know of Harry's awkward existence. The magic ritual when he awoke in the evenings was his only consolation.

He still trained when he had the time, but much of his days were involved with Ministry speeches and parades and clasping society hands. It was evident that the time for defeating Voldemort was drawing near as the parties became more loud and boisterous and the articles in the papers grew longer, more detailed and excited. The interviews were the worst. Harry had to think fast about what he read in the posts, since he only had some idea of what was to come at the final battle thanks to his friends, especially Ron and Hermione, but even they had not been aware of everything that would happen to him. Harry wished the press wouldn't make such a huge deal of it; it was starting to make him nervous.

When he could, he would slip away to see Severus - Headmaster Snape he had to keep reminding himself - as the wizard slowly recovered from Nagini's snake bite. It was cursed and therefore the scars would never fade, as Harry was aware, not only because it was similar to the Dark Mark and his own scar, but because he had already lived decades with the recovered man, who had taken to wearing higher cut collars to hide the hideous tracks. Harry had always liked them, though, and used to trace his fingers over them at night while whispering how proud he was of Severus' courage. Staring now at the reddened wounds brought back those images; Harry swallowed a lump in his throat.

His saddened state made it easy to sit through the funerals of those who had died defending Hogwarts. He wondered which ones had been his friends, and he looked forward to getting to know them, especially Fred Weasley. George was a prankster for sure - the success of his joke shop was clear evidence of that - but his demeanor had always been subdued. Harry hoped this attitude would lighten when his twin was returned to him and that they would bring some humour to Harry's school years. Needless to say, he would have to watch his step around those two. Remus Lupin was another man he was eager to meet, having been friends with his parents. Yes, he knew all about the Marauders and the basics of what would happen during both wars; Severus had recounted many stories to him over the years during breaks in training sessions or over cocktails before dinner. Unfortunately, Harry also knew that his parents had been murdered when he was a baby and that he wouldn't see his family for a while yet. At least he would be surrounded by his best friends for the next seven years, so he clung to that to keep his sanity.

The evening after the final battle dawned on Harry as he awoke in Gryffindor tower. His body still felt weak and tired from whatever fighting he would be doing, yet he greatly needed a glimpse of what this day held. It was too much effort to trek down to the Black Lake - plus all the grounds were in ruins and people were milling about outside - or to Apparate to the Forest of Dean, so he tip-toed to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. She eyed him as he swam in the water, and he invited her to watch as the coming night's activities were unveiled. Harry gulped when he took his first look at the Dark Lord, so hairless and snake-like that Harry was convinced he had a forked tongue in his repulsive mouth. He held his breath during all the battling, cheered Neville on when the other boy killed the accursed snake, trembled at the sight of his own "dead" body in the arms of a weeping Hagrid, was befuddled at the strange foursome who walked beside him - oh, gods, that's his mum and dad! So that's what they looked like - and became dizzy while viewing the pensieve memories, that weird disconnect of looking at a picture in a picture. The images moved rapidly, too, so he couldn't linger too long on any one topic. But the attack on his lover made him hiss his breath and want to scream in frustration. How dare Voldemort hurt his Severus! And Harry could do nothing about it; he would, in fact, have to sit there and watch it happen.

In a fit of rage, Harry banished the magic and, without saying good-bye to Myrtle, stomped back to the tower that would be his real home over the next few years. It was going to be a long night, and rest was the proper prescription.

Harry woke with the morning sun shining through the tower windows. This was it; time to face his destiny. He ate the sandwich the house-elves had left for him, then sauntered downstairs to meet up with Ron and Hermione. They made their way to the Headmaster's office to talk to Dumbledore's portrait. Harry carried the Elder Wand with reverence, knowing the power it could wield, knowing it was one of the keys to tonight's victory, his magic being the other. He wished to prolong the talk with the venerable wizard, but there wasn't time. Later, he knew, there would be a chance to have things fully explained.

The three walked down to the Great Hall, slipping in amongst the victory celebration. It was odd that there was so much mourning happening as well; the two would be intertwined for the next few weeks, as he'd experienced. He shook hands and gave hugs, trying to stay focused on the task ahead. At last everything calmed down, and Harry found himself standing in the center of a circle of expectant people, staring down at the dead face of Voldemort.

He let out his magic, feeling it flow from his center and fill the area, buzzing and thrumming with energy; then he flung the Elder Wand into the air, letting it mix and merge with his magic as the Dark Wizard was revived. His breath stuck in his throat as he locked gazes with those red slits. He willed the Elder Wand to obey him as he cast his magic to block and deflect the Killing Curse. The resultant bang resounded through the Great Hall.

Voldemort's face was a fiery fury as he caught the Elder Wand.

"I am the true Master of the Elder Wand," Harry taunted him. "Does the wand in your hand know that its last master was Disarmed? I took his wand from him. I overpowered Draco weeks ago. I got there first. You've missed your chance." He went on to describe the path the Elder Wand had taken back to the night of Dumbledore's death and the plan made between him and Severus. "Severus Snape was never the true master of the Elder Wand. That wand still isn't working for you because you murdered the wrong person." Even though he's not dead, Harry thought to himself. He's not my lover anymore, but I won't let you kill him. Love and devotion surged through Harry, wanting to protect the one person who meant the world to him.

"I crushed them as I crushed your mother, Snape's supposed great love!" Voldemort shrieked. "It matters not whether Snape was mine or Dumbledore's, or what petty obstacles they tried to put in my path! It matters not!"

Oh, but it does. "He was Dumbledore's spy from the moment you threatened her, and he's been working against you ever since! He loved her for nearly all of his life, from the time when they were children." And after this, he will come to love me as well. You never knew love, did you, Tom? No wonder you are so evil. Love is what makes us Light. Then Harry realised that he had won, not because of how powerful his magic was nor how skilled he had become, but because he loved and was loved in return, and Love would always conquer. Voldemort was at least correct in that nothing else mattered.

Harry let the scene play out as it was supposed to, as he'd seen it in his scrying pool. He put the Invisibility Cloak on and scampered through the fighters back outside. He faked his death, although it was hard to keep from lashing out at the Dark Lord's accusations of his supposed cowardice. He let his magic swirl around the battlefield, interrupting the evil wizard's silencing spells and the Body Bind Curse placed on Neville. Hagrid, crying with such despair that Harry wanted to end the charade and reach out to the half-giant, carried his body through the woods to Voldemort's clearing, where Harry ended up face down on the ground, his magic once again protecting him from the Killing Curse. He blanked out, and his magic transported his mind to a deserted King's Cross Station where he had a long talk with Dumbledore. Returning to consciousness, he gazed upon the Dark Lord, then slowly returned to the forest.

Walking back to the castle, Harry drank in the sight of his ghostly parents and godfathers. He wanted to stay with them, talk with them, bask in their love, but he couldn't. He hurried back to the Great Hall. There he found Ron and Hermione and the rest of the Weasleys mourning over Fred's lifeless body. He didn't want to disturb them in their grief, so he made his solitary way to Dumbledore's office, to the pensieve holding Severus' memories. After viewing them, he placed them back in the container and gathered his two best friends to head to the Shrieking Shack.

They found Severus lying in a pool of his own blood, and for a brief instant, Harry's heart clenched in terrible pain. No! He couldn't be dead! He must spend the next hundred years living with Harry! Harry's magic was still active, and it responded to his panic, flowing over to his love and bringing him back to consciousness. Severus grabbed at Harry's shirt. Their eyes met. Harry put as much love and yearning into his look as he had within him, yet Severus' was devoid of emotion.

"Look … at … me."

Harry unstoppered the flask and began pouring the memories back into Severus. As he did so, he also sent some healing power into Severus' body. It would take awhile to work, but it would keep the man from dying until he could be moved to St. Mungo's, where the medical staff would finish the healing. Harry handed the empty vial to Hermione, and the three scrambled to their hiding place below the wooden beams. He watched as Nagini bit Severus, raging inside as he itched to stop it, but his anger was tempered by the knowledge that everything would be all right in the end. With a heavy heart, he left his lover behind to go destroy the Horcruxes.

The temperature inside the tent was not cold thanks to Hermione's warming charms and the anti-weather spells built into the magical space, but Harry felt cold. And lonely. And disheartened. It had been a month since Ron destroyed the Horcrux locket, saved Harry's arse from the freezing cold lake, and then left them. Hermione and he were camping all alone, both caught up in their grief - hers from Ron's departure and his from Severus' - all the while the locket was taunting them and whispering evil thoughts into their spirits.

Harry knew the doe patronus had belonged to Severus as he'd seen it a few times in years gone by, so he'd searched the immediate area but to no avail. Severus never revealed himself, and Harry didn't think it was appropriate to call out to him; they weren't lovers at this point, after all. They weren't even friends or accomplices. By all indications to everyone else, Severus was the enemy these days - Death Eater Number One, right after Voldemort. It pained Harry to not be able to speak the truth. Instead he was forced to sit by and listen as the Order degraded his love's name. He raged inside, and at night he slept curled into a fetal position, wishing for Severus' arms to hold tight around him and for the wizard's sensual voice to grumble in his ear to stop being an imbecile since everything would be all right.

Harry didn't have an inkling what to say or do anymore as his bathing ritual was denied to him throughout this horrid hunt (riding the dragon had been a huge surprise, as was breaking into Gringotts), so it was something of a blessing that it was just Hermione now. They went days without speaking to each other. With Ron there, the boy had wanted to talk and debate, and it was an immense task trying to infer the next line of their conversations. Now there was only the silence and the emptiness.

I lay sprawled on the ground, rage enveloping my being as I look into Severus' ebony eyes and see the rage mirrored there. I sail back towards him as white-hot pain slices my face, his arm tracing the same arc a second later. He hit me! What have I done that he would hate me so much?

"DON'T CALL ME COWARD!" he bellows. Oh, yes, that would do it. I must call him that for running away from Dumbledore's death and not standing trial, but I know the real reason for it. He is angry at the world, angry at himself, angry at Dumbledore, angry at me.

You are not a coward, my dear Severus; I'm sorry you will be labeled as one for a while yet, but eventually the world will know the truth. Even so, I hate the next line I mutter. I wish I could die now and not have to hurt him in this way, but that's not an option. "Kill me like you killed him, you coward -" My insides clench at the damage those words will do. I hurt, too. "Kill me then."

"No ..."

A hex comes at me as I dive for my wand.

"I don't think so," he sneers. "And you'd turn my inventions on me, like your filthy father, would you? It was I who invented them - I, the Half-Blood Prince! You dare use my own spells against me, Potter?"

Is that what he wants me to do? Attack him? I am flown back through the air and my wand comes to my hand, just as he yells again, "No, Potter!"

I should stop this before someone gets hurt; Hagrid's hut is already burning behind me, and I am panting and sore and yelling inside my head. This must stop! Levi -

With a flick he blocks my spell. Perhaps if I cut his wand out of his hand ... "Sectum -"

Pain streaks through me as I thrash on the ground. Such intense agony that I just want to die, to end it all. I can hear him shouting at someone behind me, but my own screams are overwhelming. Finally there is a "No!" and the pain cuts off. I know that he is trying to protect me, to keep me alive even among all these Death Eaters, but the harsh reality is that he is about to kill Dumbledore, and that hurts, knowing my love is a murderous bastard. I know it's wrong of me to be furious at him. I know this is all arranged between them and that Severus is still on our side, but at the moment I don't care. I want to hurt him for hurting me, so I start flinging curses at him.

It doesn't work, of course, as he deflects each one, and soon I must race the Death Eaters to the Astronomy Tower, only to be thrown under my Invisibility Cloak and stuck to the wall by Dumbledore's magic as the elder wizard soars up from his death to stand, lifeless, before Severus. The green of the Killing Curse flows out of his corpse and back into Severus' wand before the Avada Kedavra is cast.

The Headmaster's pose is broken and resigned as he begs my lover to end his life. "Please ... Severus." That's all it takes, and my heart is bursting into tears.

Thank Merlin for Ron and Hermione, Fred and George. Insanity would be at the top of Harry's class schedule if it wasn't for the goodness of friends. Between the craziness of classes - honestly, who needs History of Magic when it's all written down in a book and no one's going to live through it anyway, even himself? - enduring a Dark Lord's wrath, trading hexes with the Slytherins, and being subjected to his relatives every summer, it was enough to drive a wizard to drink, if only Rosmerta would let him have some Firewhisky. Unfortunately, he couldn't convince her that he was over one hundred years old - at least in his mind and his magic - because his body was that of a fifteen-year-old. If anyone was in need of a drink, it was him. Who else saw his godfather come to life before his shocked eyes? It was maddening.

Potions was the worst, of course. He tried to concentrate to get them right, to make Severus proud of him, but he was always nervous around his acerbic teacher, who had become an utter prick. No wonder nobody liked him. Harry also found it hard to keep his emotions in check. Anger was always there, but whenever Severus came to his rescue, there were the butterflies of lust in his groin and the knot of loneliness in his belly. They had Occlumency practices in the evenings, and it was torture to make up scenes from his "past" and let Severus think he had broken into Harry's mind to view them, all the while keeping his backwards life secret from the older man. Some days, Harry thought he'd never make it through.

He was starving, locked away in his cupboard again. Harry didn't know what he was supposed to have done wrong this time, but he could tell that it was bad by the amount of pain he was in, which meant his magic had been involved in some way. It had become sporadic and crazy again over the last few years since leaving Hogwarts. As his body de-aged to that of a young boy it appeared that control of his magic was slipping. Perhaps this was the reason he wouldn't be able to kill Voldemort when he reached fifteen-months-old, for he could tell that his magic was still powerful. It must be by sheer luck that he survives at all. He knew that day was coming, and the only silver lining was the knowledge that he would be united with his parents afterward.

Wishing he could escape the Dursleys and run to a magical family like the Weasleys until that time, Harry shifted to a less cramped position that didn't put pressure on his side. He was sure one of the ribs was broken, and it hurt to breathe too deeply. He closed his eyes - really, what else was there to do? - and envisioned his friends in his mind. They were all back at Hogwarts, laughing and pranking, living carefree in the high sky tower, enjoying smuggled chocolates and Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. He remembered spending holidays with Andromeda and Teddy, watching with delight as his godson would squeal at each opened present. He lost himself in thoughts of flying after a golden snitch. There was a simple happiness in these things that lightened his load and made the days of endless chores bearable. But there was one sight that held him aloft through the pain yet managed to make him feel immensely lonely - Severus' dark gaze filled with warmth and quiet mirth at Harry's enthusiastic and cheeky mannerisms. He loved that man, and he missed him so very much.

Something was crying all around him, a deep howl of loss that echoed the disaster of the following explosion. Shards merged from everywhere as Harry felt his magic swirl around the place. A horrid, deformed figure congealed before him, and he was staring into the red eyes of the nefarious Dark Lord Voldemort. Panic seized Harry, who was frozen with both equal parts rage and fear, so his magic, mixed with another's, flashed out in protection. The Killing Curse rebounded off of him and back into the terrible wizard's wand. He sat trembling and crying, at a loss for what to do; his body was so small that it couldn't tame his magic.

The evil man brought his wand to bear on the woman on the floor in front of Harry's crib. It was his mother! Green spell light streaked out from her chest as she rose and came to life. She was blocking the man's access to Harry, screaming and yelling. Harry's eyes were wide. So this was the woman who had loved him enough to die for him. Her hair was different than he imagined, not as carrot orange as the Weasleys', but a deep auburn. Voldemort backed down the hallway, and Lily turned back to her son, their green eyes meeting. Fear, worry, horror, and helplessness all swam in her gaze, but underneath was love and a determination to save her son. Harry reached out and placed his tiny hand on her cheek; he wanted to reassure her that it would all be okay in a moment.

She picked him up and fled with him downstairs just as the front door imploded. It was then that he saw his father, urging them to go. A commotion was heard outside the house, and the three of them sat down on the settee to wait. Soon the noise was gone, and Harry recognised that everything was finally over.

Over the next fifteen months, Harry was as happy as he could ever be. He got to fly around on his toy broom, causing raucous laughter to emanate out of Remus when he knocked Sirius off his feet by flying through his legs. His dad would tell him wonderful bedtime tales, all those Wizarding children's stories that he and Hermione had never heard while being raised in the Muggle world. His mother's hands were gentle and caring as she changed his diapers and rocked him to sleep. At last he felt loved and wanted again, after too many years walking through a desert. He treasured every moment of it. The only thing that could make it better was if Severus were here.

I think this is it - the last day of my life. I have grown smaller within the past few weeks, alternating between sleeping and feeding. I used to lie awake and listen to my mother sing and watch my father work around the house, but even that requires too much energy these days. Now we are at the birthing clinic where medi-wizards and -witches monitor Mother and I for complications. Nothing is wrong, and each goes away smiling, saying what a handsome baby I am.

I am wheeled into a glaringly-lit room and close my eyes. The attendants poke and prod me, and I try to fend them off with my arms and legs, but it doesn't stop them. I wail, "Just leave me alone!" They bring me over to the table my mother lays on. A long red tube is attached to me, and I am frustrated at the treatment. I cry again. With a whack the medi-wizard smacks my back, and I stop breathing. My lungs are not sure what to do, yet that hardly matters an instant later when they begin stuffing me into my mother. The pressure is intense, but with very little pain I am pulled into warm darkness. It is cramped in here, but that's all right. Somehow I like it. It reminds me of the other place from a long time ago because I feel safe and secure and loved.

In nine short months, my body is reduced to single cells. I wonder what will happen to me next when I cease to exist. Will my consciousness be erased - perish that thought! Will I merge with the overall world around me? Perhaps. Or will I go back to that other place? I do not know, but I will have no choice but to find out. My wish is to be reunited with my friends and family, most especially with my lover.

As my life blinks out, my spirit detaches from the world. Sensation stops, as does time, and I merge with the darkness. The presence is back and I feel comforted. I know I have passed into the Great Peace beyond the Veil, that place filled with words and happiness that I came from. I hear sounds all around me, and it is with bursting joy that I recognise the deep, silky tones of the one I have longed for. It seems my wish is granted, for he is here with me.

My love. Severus.

-the end-