Chapter Text
Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and
purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you every where
like a shadow or a friend.
—Kindness (part 6)
by Naomi Shihab Nye
*
"What does that mean?" Harry asks quickly, coming up with several possibilities in his mind and disliking about seventy per cent of them instantly. "Did something happen to you, Severus? 'Cause you can tell me about it, whatever it may be about, you know that, right? I'm here for you, and I can always hel—"
"Harry, do kindly shut up. You're rambling."
Harry's mouth snaps shut. "What is it, then?"
"Nothing," Severus mumbles in a voice that tells Harry everything he needs to know. That's the voice he uses when he's upset about something but is trying to hide it by being a brick wall of silence and brooding.
Harry sighs. "Severus…"
"Stop prying into my life!" The boy sneers, hitting his hand against the arm of the chair in his fit of anger. "I don't need a babysitter, nor am I in need of your misplaced guilt. My troubles aren't any of your business."
Oh, okay. Harry could work with hidden messages.
"Troubles? What troubles?"
Severus pursues his lips. "Have I not just told you to stop sticking your nose into my business?"
"Have you? Hun, funny, I must have misheard you. Now, quit stalling, what happened?" He asks. "What do you need?"
"You are insufferable."
"It's part of my charm."
"Who said you have charm?"
"Why, Sev," Harry teased, shortening his name only to annoy him. "A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell."
"Do not call me that. If you must ignore all modicum of respect between a student and a professor, at least do me the honour of calling me by my given name."
Hun, another hint. Ignoring the rest of the sentence, Harry tilts his head in consideration. "I think it's safe to say that we're way past what could be constructed as a normal relationship between teachers and students, Severus. I don't want us to be like that — you already know that."
"Well, maybe I'm not as accustomed as you to stomp all over social customs," he says, and it sounds so much like an admission of weakness that Harry nearly jumps off his chair to kneel before Severus and offer a multitude of soothing praises.
Merlin, it still kills Harry how badly the adults of Severus' life failed him. He deserves so much better than that.
"Try me," Harry offers instead, knowing that coming on too strongly would be the opposite of helpful. He does make sure to keep his expression earnest and open, showing him that Harry has nothing to hide, no concealed reason to offer his help. "Okay? Just try me. I don't give a shit about what society tells me is right, and I don't want you to concern yourself with it, too — not when you're in these rooms, with me. I won't judge you."
Silence holds for a long moment, and the need to fill the silence with assurances is almost too much to ignore, but Harry steadfastly clings to his resolve and lets Severus study him, choosing whether to trust him on his own time.
Finally, after an eternity, Severus sighs and sags in his place, shoulders dropping from their terse position. "What do you imagine I'll do, once I'm no longer a Hogwarts student?" He asks, avoiding eye contact.
"Potions," Harry answers straight away. "I can't imagine you doing anything else." And it's the truth — maybe not teaching the subject, but Severus would never truly abandon his passion.
"Neither can I," he admits. "I want to get my mastery. Being a Potions Master is all I can see myself doing for the rest of my life, and I do have the grades for it — or I will, after I'm done with my N.E.W.T.S."
"So? That's great news, no?"
"No, it isn't." Severus shakes his head. "It's simply not done. An eighteen-year-old, half-blood sending an application straight out of Hogwarts to the Guild? It's unheard of. At best, they would laugh at my daring."
Harry feels his temper rising. "That's bullshit. Why should your blood status — or your age, at that — influence your application? You're brilliant at potions; any dimwit can see that."
"Don't be obtuse, Harry, it doesn't suit you. It matters for many reasons, as I'm sure you're well aware, but mainly for the connections. They welcome a select group of people every year, and most of them have reached out to their preferred Master and have been accepted as an apprentice. To send an application without anybody knowing your name? It's not done."
"I'm sure you could talk to any Potions Master in the goddamn world, and they would be glad to have you, Severus. Please. If that's upsetting you so, I could reach out and arrange a meeting on your behalf," Harry offers, already calculating the different ways in which he could get the person to agree to take Severus in. He wasn't above playing a little dirty if he had to.
The tension seems just to be growing inside Severus, instead of seeping away. As soon as Harry is done talking, the boy gets up from his chair and starts to pace around the room, his robes billowing as he walks side to side.
"Are you being purposely dull?" He snarls, face morphed into an ugly scowl. "One doesn't send a letter to an unknown Potion Master and hopes for the best! Salazar, isn't it obvious? They'll require me to send an endless list of potions alongside the letter, just to prove I'm not some incompetent fool wasting their time."
Harry resists the urge to get up as well, knowing it's up to him to deescalate the situation. "And? I assume you are beyond capable of brewing whatever is necessary, are you not?"
"Don't you—don't you dare suggest that I'm anything other than perfectly capable, Harry. I'm the best fucking Potions student this school has seen in centuries!"
"Great! I agree. So what's the deal? Stop bullshiting me and just spill it out, for God's sake."
"I don't have the money!" Severus finally roars, stopping in front of Harry and leaning in his direction, coming close to baring his teeth at Harry in his anger. "Obviously not something you would think about, but we, mere mortals, with no inheritance to speak of, don't just have the money to buy the ingredients. The amount of money necessary to brew some of those potions are exorbitant. There's a reason most Potions Masters are pureblood."
Just like that, the fight leaves Harry's body. "Severus. For the— Is that what this is about? Money?" He asks, bewildered. "You can come to me with whatever you need. It doesn't have to be a fight. I get that it's a complicated subject — I do, despite what you may think about me — but it doesn't have to be, not between us." He leans back against his chair. "I can give you the money."
Severus' eyes widen. "What?" Then he grows suspicious. "What can you possibly gain by helping me? Do you even understand the number of galleons we're speaking of?"
Harry would've gotten offended, if not for the glint in Severus' eyes that seems suspiciously close to relief and maybe — just maybe — happiness.
"I thought we'd reached an agreement about this a while ago — no? It's my pleasure to help you, Severus. Truly." And it is. Harry is ready to lay the world at the boy's feet if only he sums up the courage to actually ask for it. "I don't care how much money we're talking about — if it's about your future, then I'm happy to help with as much as you need."
"You mean this," the Slytherin points out, rather needlessly. He does sound surprised, though, as if he's still processing. "You'll give me the money — just because I said I don't have it."
"Screamed it, actually," Harry jokes, cracking a smile, hoping to break the tension a bit. When he opens his mouth to argue, Harry raises a hand. "Peace, sweetheart. I don't mind, to tell the truth — although, yeah, we need to work on our communication powers, for sure. You could've just asked me."
Severus crosses his arm in front of his chest, frowning. "Asked for it," he repeats the words, testing them out in his mouth.
"Sure."
"You're saying I should've walked into your rooms and asked you for money," Severus says, as though the concept of merely asking for something is a strange idea in his mind.
Harry nods, smiling. It's a rare thing, to see him so utterly confused. "Yes, Severus. A 'Harry, I need money' would have sufficed, I think."
"Oh. Should I have skipped the conversation about my future entirely and simply told you to hand some money over?"
"Don't do that. I want to hear from you — I always want to hear about whatever you want to share with me, you know that. I'm just saying that you don't need to justify yourself to me, Severus. I don't need a prelude, a story — you needn't convince me of anything. I'm happy to help you even if it means giving you pocket money to buy quills, or candy, or clothes, or whatever you might want."
"That's ridiculous. Even for you, I feel the need to point out."
"It must eat at your insides, as a Slytherin, to feel the need to say that, hun?" Harry laughs. "Should I apologize?"
Severus throws his hands in the air. "I rather feel as though I should be ashamed at taking such obvious advantage of your stupidity, but clearly even that is wasted on an idiot like you. It's like you're impossibly eager to have me t—"
"I am," Harry interrupts, feeling the edges of his smile softening. "I am eager. It's about time you realized that. Please don't think you're taking advantage of me, not for one moment, 'cause it couldn't be further from the truth."
Severus breathes. "Okay," he says, sighs. His shoulders sag, and the weight of the world seems to ease off his back. "Okay."
*
Severus cocks his head in interest, and Harry's a shark smelling blood in the water. The intense spark of need, the sharp desire swimming in those black eyes… it's too inviting. He wants it. Can't think of anything he wants more than to close the distance separating them, sliding his hand up Severus' arm, pressing him against the shelves behind him, angling his face just right so that their mouth align and they can—
"Harry," the Slytherin calls, blinking slowly. It's a purposeful action, a demand for attention.
Merlin, Harry wants to savour the way in which Severus wraps his lips around his name, bottle it, and keep it hidden inside his mind for the rest of eternity.
He demands attention; Harry is showering him with it. "Severus." It's the only word that crosses his lips, and despite it having only three short syllables, it's enough to give away his fucked-up need to respond to every single wish Severus may have.
"Why do I get a distinct feeling that you're waiting for me to ask for something?" He asks in a drawl, almost a dare.
There's only one answer to that. "'Cause I am."
Severus eyes narrow. "What could I possibly ask for?"
"Whatever you want," Harry says, too fast, too readily.
"That seems like an improper suggestion to make to one's student, Professor," Snape drawls. His face is a blank mask; it's impossible to read how he's truly feeling about the idea — if he's trying to politely reject the attempt at building a relationship or if he merely wishes to test Harry's response.
With him is always a gamble, really. One Harry is only too eager to make, though.
"I'm aware," he agrees with a nod. "Would you like me to stop?"
"Would you?"
"Yes. You need only to say the words."
"And my other option?"
Harry takes a step forward and breathes in Severus' personal space. "Tell me what you really want," he says, hoping his eyes don't betray how badly he craves that. "Tell me what you want, Severus, and I promise I'll give it all to you. Every single thing you could ever need — leave it all to me."
"You're risking a lot with this conversation," Severus says, still searching, testing. "You could be fired. Your reputation damaged beyond repair — if I came forward with the insinuations you're making."
The mild tone is what cracks Harry's resolve. He wants anything from Severus, anything but that mask of control and that polite tone of voice, so composed, so distant. Harry's tired of playing.
He slams one hand on the shelf next to Severus' head, caging the boy between the wood bookcase and his body. "Stop deflecting. You want to go, to run to the Headmaster and tell the world I'm being inappropriate with you? Do it. Stop toying with me and just do it — I won't move a finger to stop you, you have my word. Otherwise, quit with the games, Severus."
The challenge seems to ignite a spark of Gryffindor bravery inside the Slytherin. "I'm not running anywhere!" He protests, glaring at Harry for even daring to suggest such a thing.
Harry, for his part, grins widely. Teasingly. "Is that so? What do you want, then, my little Slytherin?"
Severus takes a breath, gathering his wits. "Kiss me," he demands, tilting his chin up as he speaks in a show of brattiness that really should not be as endearing as it is.
"Gladly," he purrs, already leaning to capture those irresistible lips.
In truth, Harry means it for it to be a slow, sweet kiss — a token of his affection, a show of restraint and the ability to respect whichever boundaries Severus wished for them to have. Somewhere between the moment where their breaths mingle and Harry has the first taste of tangy flavour that's all Severus, however, all thoughts of keeping it gentle fade away to be replaced with an irresistible need to consume. To devour.
In a flash, Harry has Severus plastered against the bookcase, shoving his thigh against the boy's legs and propping him up a bit, taking his feet off the ground, tangling his hand through his long hair and pulling.
Shit, it shouldn't be so good. So impossibly good.
And then Severus opens his mouth and their tongues brush together, making them both moan in unison, and it gets even better, somehow. It feels as though that shouldn't be possible, but it is.
There's not an inch of space between them, Severus is trying to claw his way into Harry's robes, apparently assuming that Harry would be fine with getting them wrinkled and perhaps ripped, if he pulled only a little tighter. Which Harry is, by the way. Fine with it — so fine. Every shred of self-control Harry pretended he had evaporated, and suddenly he's ravenous.
"What else do you want?" He growls, using the grip he has on Severus' hair to tilt his head up.
"For you to stop stopping, for one thing," he snaps back, ferocious as ever.
"Oh, trust me. I'm not stopping, Severus, we're merely getting started. Tell me; I want to hear you say it."
There's a pause, and they're both breathing hard, panting in each other's faces, studying the picture they are creating together. "Don't be absurd, Harry," Severus finally says. "I would never settle for anything less than absolutely everything you've got. Surely I don't need to spell it out for you."
Harry's grin turns sharp, vicious. "Oh, sweetheart, I might just make you do so."
And it's a fucking promise.
*
"C'mere," Harry calls, trying to conceal his excitement under a careful veneer of nonchalantly. "I wanna show you something."
"I'm reading," Severus points out, mentioning the open book in front of him.
Harry isn't in the mood to wait, though, so with a lazy wave of a hand, he closes the book from afar and blinks. "Oh, how fortuitous! Now you're not."
Severus pursues his lips. "That was rude," he drawls slowly.
"Was it?" Harry blinks. "How awful. Now c'mere. I swear you'll like what I have to show you."
"What is it?"
"If I were going to tell you, I'd have done it already."
"Don't be childish."
"I have no idea what you mean, Severus. That's no way to speak to your beloved teacher. Now chop, chop — let's go!"
Severus narrows his eyes. "You're unusually excited about this. What have you done?"
"Why must I have done something?"
"You're biting back a smile and averting your eyes," Severus says, tilting his head in consideration. He does, however, get up from his chair and walk towards Harry as he speaks, so Harry chooses to ignore the comments on his performance.
"Here," he directs, pointing in the direction of his room. "Come."
"Is this a poorly thought-out attempt to seduce me?" Severus asks, a glint of humour shining in his eyes as he steps forward to lead the way.
Harry chokes on air. "I'm going to ignore that," he says, trying to do just that. It wouldn't do to linger on any thoughts of that kind. "Open the door to your left."
"Harry, I've been here many times before. There aren't any doors to my—" The words die on his lips as he stops in front of the new door standing to his left, defying his surety with its presence. "This is new."
"It is. Nicely observed," Harry teases with a small grin. "Now open the door."
As any good Slytherin, Severus shows caution in the face of the unknown. "Why? What sort of room is this?"
"Oh, for the love of Merlin. Trust me, okay? Just open the bloody door before I get old and grey."
"You are not that far off," Severus remarks dryly in retaliation, raising an eyebrow. Thankfully, he also twists the doorknob and pushes the door open, eyes focused on the space being slowly revealed.
The room is spotless. Scrubbed clean and organized to perfection — every counter shining, every shelf glimmering, every container washed, every knife sterilized, every cauldron sparkling new. It's the best Potion lab money can buy, with rows and rows of ingredients already stored and labelled and all the protection wards already cast in advance.
"It's yours," Harry adds needlessly when Severus fails to do anything other than gape at the lab, hand still gripping the doorknob. When he keeps staring in silence, Harry goes on, rambling like an idiot. "Missy helped me to clean and organize everything. I talked to Slughorn, and he gave me precise instructions about how to store the ingredients and how to keep the temperature of the room stable — apparently, that's a big deal for Potions labs. I mean, I had no idea—"
"Harry," Severus interrupts, his voice shaky. "Are you trying to tell me that you have spent piles of galleons on a Potion laboratory for my personal use? In your private quarters?"
Oh, boy. "Is that a problem? I thought… Well, you spent all your time here, anyway. I thought it seemed only logical to build it here," Harry explains, skipping the part where he admits that he doesn't want Severus holed up somewhere else that isn't within Harry's domain. "I shouldn't have presumed. I apologi—"
"Do shut up," Severus cuts him off, finally entering the room, running his fingers over every surface he came into contact with. "Only you would try to apologize in a situation such as this. I can't…"
"You can't?"
"I can't believe you've done this." Severus' voice wavers. He stops, lets his chin touch his chest so his hair falls like a curtain around his face — hiding, always hiding. "How am I supposed to pay for a third of this?"
"You're not," Harry says, moving until he can reach for Severus' chin, holding it gently in his hand and lifting it until their eyes meet once more. "Hey, don't do this. We're past this, are we not? I'm allowed to give you things without a shady motive."
"Even you must see that I couldn't possibly accept this," he protests, sounding almost mad. He doesn't try to escape Harry's hold, though, and his eyes tell a whole different story.
"Why not? Do you not want it?"
"I do," he says, admits, with fervour. Even as they speak, his hand still clenches the counter, as though he's afraid it will vanish into thin air if he so much as releases it for a single moment.
"Then 'thank you' would be a much more suited response," Harry says, giving him a small smile. God, Severus is so insecure about his self-worth, and it kills him. This is nothing, should be nothing compared to what he deserves.
"I can't—"
Harry's thumb caresses his bottom lip. Slowly. Purposely. "Severus… it's yours. Take it," Harry says. Tells him.
There's a pause — a moment where they both seem to hold their breath — then the tension uncurls and Severus draws a shaky breath, releasing the air against Harry's thumb as he exhales from his mouth.
"Alright," he whispers, his voice almost inaudible. "Thank you."
The words aren't that important — Harry hadn't done it for the thanks, for the appreciation. It's the eyes that matter. With Severus, it's always the eyes. He'd done it for that glint of pure joy that even his tough, hardened Slytherin cannot hide.
For Severus' happiness, Harry would do much more than that. So much more. In fact, sometimes he scared himself when thinking of just how far he would go if it meant keeping Severus just as he is at that moment — open, trusting, and almost glowing.
*
Harry wakes up screaming.
It was a nightmare, he tells himself, it's not real. There's no one hiding in the darkness — he's alone in his bedroom, in his rooms, in the whole fucking vicinity, actually, seeing as he chose a secluded place like a fucking hermit.
Nobody's dead.
Severus is alive.
Somewhere in the dungeons, in his dormitory, Severus is sleeping surrounded by his year mates. Peacefully. Secure.
Harry takes a deep breath, and another, and one more for good measure. It's a nightmare, and nothing else. He knows those, understands why he'll probably have them until the day he dies. There's no reason to freak out.
Cold sweat sticks to the back of his neck and the whole room stinks of desperation and tears. There will be no going back to sleep — not after this. He might as well be productive with his time.
There's a Gringotts letter on his table, just waiting for a drop of blood and his signature. Hun. A lazy tempus lets Harry know that it's 4:57 a.m.
Not bad.
Ragnok will be up — no doubt working on something already.
With a nod to himself, Harry goes to the bathroom, grabbing a pair of jeans and a sweater as he moves. A quick shower and he'll be good to go. Maybe a couple of fingers of whiskey, for good measure.
Some things are better solved in person. This seems like one of those things.
*
Harry waits a week.
"I've set up a vault for you at Gringotts," Harry informs one day, sliding a key over to the Slytherin. "It's in your name; it's yours — only you can withdraw money from it, I made sure of it. I know you worry about it."
About his financial security, about Harry leaving one day, about needing to ask for things that should be readily available to him anyway.
Severus, who has just entered Harry's private rooms, stops in his place, eyes glued to the key glimmering on top of the desk.
"A vault," he says, mouths the words carefully.
"Yep. About time, hun?"
"Do I even want to know how much money you set aside for this?"
Harry smiles, knowing. "Of course you do. Slytherin to the core, you are. I'm pretty sure curiosity is eating at your insides," he teases, placing a black folder next to the key. He jabs a finger into it. "This is your new financial life — learn it, live it, love it. There are a couple of suggestions in here on how to invest your money, should you wish to do so."
Severus snatches both the folder and the key, holding them tight in his hands. "Why would you give me independence?" He asks, and Harry can tell that the uncertainty is driving him wild. He frowns. "It doesn't make sense."
"It doesn't make sense because you believe I want you dependent on me, which I don't. The goal was never to keep you on a leash, Severus," Harry explains, gently. "I only want you around if that's also something you're interested in. Otherwise, I am happy to see you thrive in whichever path you choose for yourself."
Silence holds.
Harry raises a brow.
"That's absurd," Severus proclaims, twists in place and goes for the door without another word, robes swirling around him in a dramatic fashion. Harry bites back a laugh, amused at the scene.
Before he leaves, however, Severus halts. With his back turned, he says: "Thank you."
Harry opens his mouth to respond, but the boy storms out, softly closing the door behind him, and Harry is left with only the emptiness of the room as his companion.
Merlin, Slytherins.
*
"Have you ever killed?"
Harry swallows. "I have, yes," he says, fighting back a grimace at the admission. "Does that change how you see me?"
"Should it?"
"Probably," Harry admits. "It's a very serious thing, to take one's life. You don't walk away from that unscared."
Severus looks away, pained. "You believe me unscarred? Truly?"
"You are," Harry says fervently. "Hey, look at me. C'mon, Severus." When their eyes meet once more, he adds: "You are young, and pure, and untainted by every disgusting thing waiting for you out there. You are, no matter how much you might feel otherwise. I look at you and I see the future, the millions of opportunities you have waiting for you just outside. You're eighteen, for Merlin's sake. There's still a whole world of experiences you never had, Severus."
"I can't recall the last time I felt eighteen," Severus admits, still looking so troubled and scared, as though a harsher wind could sweep him off his feet with no difficulty, and Harry feels his heart breaking in response. "I'm tired, Harry. I'm aware of my limitations..."
"What limitations?" Harry asks softly when he doesn't explain.
"I am not blind to my own faults, Harry — you needn't act stupid to soothe my ego."
"Everyone has faults. My God, Severus, why must you be so harsh on yourself? You are amazing and talented and a genius, really, and so, so loyal, and brave — amazingly brave, no matter how much you try to hide it," Harry says, knowing he's giving himself away with the ardour in which he speaks the words, but past the point of caring about such things. If he has to, he'll sell his own soul to convince Severus he has one.
Severus' face twists deeper and deeper into a pained frown as Harry goes on. It's as if the words physically pain him; like they are scraping him raw. It's such a private, intimate moment, a delicate mood settling between them, opening doors to secrets usually left unspoken, that Harry stops breathing, less he moves a muscle and breaks the spell.
Severus' hands twitch. "Do you love me?" He asks in a quiet voice, eyes piercing Harry's as though he's trying to read his thoughts with his will force alone.
The question is like a blow to the diaphragm. An eternity of feelings and emotions converging into one fleeting moment, and it's fire, lava, thunder, and lighting, crackling with the force of forgotten Gods, and Harry bends to it. Caves, as he'd always meant to.
"I do," Harry breathes shakily, crumbling to ashes and burning anew at once. "I love you as plants love the sun, and the oceans love the wind, and the ground loves the rain, and as all living things love life itself. I love you — have loved you for what feels like an eternity, Severus."
The words hover in the air, painting a picture that still feels so sadly insignificant in comparison to the true depths of Harry's sentiments and devotion. He wants to say more, to confess all the darker compulsions he feels in the corners of his soul, demanding that he take care of Severus, that he protect him at all costs and love him better than he could ever be loved by anyone else.
Harry opens his mouth to do just that, to speak until Severus knows just how far he'll go for him, to lay his wand, and his magic, and his heart at Severus' feet to use as he well pleases, when his beloved steps forward, falling to his knees in front of Harry in one graceful, fluid movement.
Severus grabs Harry's hand, squeezes them tightly until it hurts, locks their eyes and breathes into him.
"Marry me," he says, pleads, begs. Their magic touch, and in a blink, they are burning together. "Marry me. I am not certain of a single thing in my life, but I'm certain of you. I'm young, foolish, and I have nothing to offer you. If you're wise, you'll say no."
He pauses and raises a hand to touch Harry's cheek, his chin, his bottom lip, tracing the skin with his fingers. "I do not have your penchant for declarations, and words too often sound like lies, but if you'll have me, I shall do my best to show you for the rest of our lives."
Harry doesn't have to think about it. There was never an option in the first place. "Yes," he says, agrees, claims. The dark, endless pools of Severus' eyes flare, and Harry teethers at the edge of a cliff, knowing he'll fall forever into their depths, drowning and breathing, lost in the shadows.
Severus blinks. "Yes?"
Harry gives him a fond smile. "Yes, sweetheart. There's nobody else for me but you. It's always been you." He just hadn't always known so.
Those obsidian eyes shine with wonder and surprise and shock and happiness and satisfaction and protectiveness and an unbearable amount of love — unspoken, yet so loudly painted on his face that Harry would have to be a fool not to notice.
This time, when Severus comes closer, is to steal a kiss, and that too feels like an unspoken confession of all the feelings pouring out of him like lava erupting from a smoking volcano. Their lips meet, and Harry melts into the kiss, shuddering when Severus' hand moves to cup the sides of his head, holding him as though he's the most precious, valuable thing humanity has going for it.
It's perfect — so close to a fairytale moment that Harry is tempted to pinch himself to check if he's dreaming or really getting engaged to the man he's in love with. Surely Harry is not the type of man who gets to have a happy ending?
It must be real, though, because he feels Severus' hands, and his lips, and his nose bumping against his cheek, and his torso leaning over Harry's knees, and their breaths synchronizing, and God, if it isn't real, then Harry hopes never to wake up again.
Somewhere in the distance, over the soft blow of the wind, so faint is almost inaudible, Harry thinks he hears Dumbledore happily whistling off-tune.
.
.
.
The End