There was nothing heroic about it, Harry thought, as he tried to keep his hand from shaking. The wand clenched between his fingers trembled violently. His vision was obscured by blood. Not all of it was his. He had a feeling that when it was over, he would be in a lot of pain, assuming of course that he survived the day.

The huge house was like a maze, and he was hopelessly disorientated. He had no idea what had happened to any of his friends. Voldermort was dead. He clung to the thought. No matter what else happened, he had managed that much. Years of hunting had finally come to an end. The magical assault caught him before he even recognised the danger. Pain wracked him. Agony tore through his already battered frame, and he hadn't even seen the source of it. He writhed, unable to focus his mind on any spell that could protect him from this attack.

So this is it he thought.

Through his blurring vision, a figure ran at him. Harry had just enough time to recognise his old potions master before he was knocked to the ground. The boy who lived, or at least outlived Voldermort realised he was going to die. Snape had, as far as he could tell, been trying to kill him since the day they first met. The pain subsided a little, allowing coherent thought to return. Snape was firing off a lethal spell at someone, Harry couldn't see the recipient. A small mercy, he supposed. There wasn't much hope his old nemesis would give him a quick or easy death. Harry remembered his beloved mentor Dumbledore's murder at Snape's hands and wished he had been able to avenge that killing.

He lay still for what seemed like an age, waiting for the pain to start again. He felt Snape collapse against him, his body hot and heavy against Harry's side. This made no sense at all. Harry pulled himself into a sitting position. Lights flashed before his eyes and it took all of his will not to lie down again. It was then he realised how burned and battered the other man was. Torn robes exposed savaged flesh.

"Are you all right?" Snape croaked, raising his head to look at Harry. His voice was raw with pain.

Harry could think of nothing to say. His mouth was dry and he was struggling to make sense of the scene.

"Yeah," he eventually managed.

"Good. Malfoy was the last Death Eater to fall. Aside from myself of course. I won't be long for this world."

He shuddered, and tiny flecks of crimson dotted his pale lips.

"I had not envisaged dying in your arms Potter, unless of course you intend to finish me in person? You have your chance."

Harry wondered briefly if Snape was playing for time, intending to attack him once he had regained his composure. Why was Snape goading him to attack? Was it a trap of some sort? Harry tried to unravel what was happening. He looked at Snape's face, saw pain etched deeply in the older wizard's eyes. Good sense prevailed over years of hatred, and the young man realised there was no pretence – the former head of Slytherin was grievously, if not fatally wounded. As his mind raced through the events of the previous minutes, Harry started to make some sense of what had happened. The peculiar thought struck him that everything stopped hurting when Snape threw him to the ground. Had the man been trying to protect him, rather than kill him?

"What's going on?" Harry asked. "Why did you protect me just now?"

"I doubt you will believe me Potter. I've been protecting you for years to the best of my abilities. I believe this will make me the fourth person to die for your sake."

"You aren't dead yet," Harry said.

Snape smiled at him. It was a peculiar look, impossible for the young wizard to decipher.

"Give me time," he said.

"You killed Dumbledore," Harry said, his voice low. He'd imagined this scene countless times, although usually he would be shouting the words in righteous anger just before destroying Snape utterly. He had no idea where the anger had gone. There had been too much killing for one day. He could not raise his wand to finish the man.

"I have done a number of terrible things in my life, that was perhaps the worst," Snape replied. "Dumbledore was a dying man, I simply hastened his demise. It was his idea. He used his death to assure my place in the Death Eaters. He foresaw that you would need an ally, as you did today."

Another shivering coughing fit took him, and he lost his balance, falling against Harry. It was an instinctive response to catch him, to hold him. Tears stung at Harry's eyes: The aftermath of the fight, the conclusion of so many years' struggle, and now this. Snape became still, his breathing even and slow. Harry could have let him go then, but he didn't. Instead, he dropped his wand, and placed that hand lightly on Snape's arm.

"You must admit, my efforts to win your enmity were considerable," Snape said. "I taught you to hate me."

"Yes," Harry said, his voice muted.

"I won't humiliate myself by seeking your approval Potter, I simply wish you to appreciate that I have gone to some considerable trouble on your behalf."

Harry was lost for words. Years of perception were being dismantled around him, making him realise he had never known anything of Snape or understood his motives. Had the man been trying to help him all along? Dumbledore had always trusted him, perhaps with reason. It all seemed so unlikely, and yet here Snape was, wounded and bleeding, his head resting against Harry's shoulder.

"I didn't know," was all Harry could think of to say.

"Of course you didn't," Snape snapped, his tone reassuringly familiar. "Credit me with some skill boy. You were not supposed to know."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I am almost certainly bleeding to death and the prospect makes me a little sentimental. I would rather depart knowing… knowing…" he stopped, and Harry froze, expecting more dreadful coughs. None came. Snape was still breathing.

"Sir?" Harry enquired, forgetting himself for a moment.

A ragged chuckle escaped Snape's lips.

"Fool that I am Potter, I would rather leave this world with you knowing I acted not from hatred of you, but from… shall we say, a certain degree of affection."

Stunned into silence, Harry could only gape. A deep, soul-rending ache took hold of him.

"I'm waiting for the none-too-witty retort," said Snape. "Kindly don't delay too long. I should hate to miss it."

"You aren't going to die," Harry said. It was strange to find how strongly he wanted to keep Snape alive. There had been too many deaths - he could not bear another one, not even of a man he thought he hated. Snape's bizarre confession had rocked even that certainty. Harry wasn't sure what he felt any more.

"Have you any healing spells or potions at your disposal?" Snape enquired.

"No, but I could get help, or get you out of here, or…"

"You never did think things through properly did you? I doubt I have time for your heroic gesture."

"What can I do?" Harry asked, with mounting desperation. "Tell me what I can do."

"You could stay with me," Snape said. It was the first time Harry had ever heard him say anything without a caustic note in his voice. The words cut him to the core.

"Of course I will," Harry said. He shifted his position so that he could support Snape more easily. The realisation that he must now sit in this grim wreck of a house, waiting for Snape to die made him sniff audibly.

"Potter, are you crying?"

"Yes," he confessed. There wasn't much point denying it.

Snape's fingers alighted on his cheek, the touch gentle as Harry's tears continued to rain down.

"Not for me, surely?"

"Yes, for you, and for me as well I suppose."

"You won Potter. What more do you want?"

Snape tilted his head so that he was staring up into Harry's face. He looked pale and drawn. Dark shadows circled his eyes, and his lips were tight. His eyes glistened, and Harry watched in amazement as a lone tear made its slow journey down Snape's cheek. Without thinking, he leaned closer and kissed the droplet away. He touched his forehead against Snape's, trying to swallow back his own treacherous tears. Too many people had given their lives for him. Snape had given all those years when they might have been on good terms, teaching him to hate when they might even have liked each other. He had played the villain to perfection, becoming friendless and despised just so that he could protect Harry when the last battle came. Harry tried to imagine Snape spending all that time masquerading and all the while knowing he would give his life if needs be. It was a harrowing thought.

"Harry." Snape breathed his name as though it was a caress, and his fingers fell away from the young wizard's cheek.

"No!"

Harry pulled back in time to see Snape's eyelids fluttering closed. He was deathly pale. The ache in Harry's soul tortured him, rising in ever stronger waves until he thought it must burst out of his body. There was nothing he could do. He brushed his lips to Snape's mouth, hoping the dying man felt this desperate gesture of affection. The pain washed through Harry, dark and fiery at once, potent as the shifting oceans. He shook and sobbed with it. His mouth tasted of salt and iron, his blood drummed wildly in his ears. Harry thought his heart must surely break from grief and regret. Power coursed through him, drawn in anguish from the depths of his soul. This was old magic, wild and dangerous. This was the magic his mother had used to protect him. He knew its name, and it terrified him.

His vision blurred by tears, Harry looked down at Snape. The man's chest moved with the faintest hints of breath. There was a suggestion of colour in his cheeks. His eyelids opened, and he gazed up at Harry, an expression of wonder on his face. He no longer looked like a dying man. Harry felt stunned by the force of magic that had passed through him and wondered if Snape understood its source.

"You're not going to die just yet," Harry said.

"Apparently not." Snape flexed his fingers, looking at his own hands as though he could barely recognise them. "Tell me Harry, do you always kiss like that?"

He smiled. Harry had never seen him smile like that before. There was no cruelty in it, no malice, or self importance.

"I don't think I do it all the time," he said. "But maybe I should test that."

He kissed Snape again - just a cautious brushing of lips, until he felt Snape's fingers in his hair, pulling him closer. Their mouths pressed together, opening slowly until their tongues met. Harry clung to him, relishing the warmth and life he had returned to the dark haired wizard. All those years of fighting and resentment, and perhaps all he had ever wanted was to have Snape take him seriously. To have Snape take him. They kissed until Harry was giddy from it. He pulled away, laughing.

"I thought you hated me," he said.

"Quite the reverse I'm afraid," Snape replied.

Harry kissed the tip of Snape's nose.

"I think we should try and stand up."

"So fickle. Tired of holding me already Potter?"

"No, it's just I can think of better places to be right now." He smiled in what he hoped was a slightly suggestive way.

Harry struggled to his feet and offered Snape his hands. The man might be alive, but he was weakened and wobbly. Harry pulled him close.

"I think I'll have to carry you," he said.

"Oh Potter, I detect a lack of forward planning again. You should have brought a broom at the very least."

It was almost like being at school again. Almost. Harry grinned, and lifted Snape gently in his arms.